email us


Fly to Iran

Sehaty Foreign Exchange

Flower delivery in Iran

Advertise with The Iranian


 Write for The Iranian

Big brown eyes
I wished I could be his mother

By Maryam Joseph
December 20, 2000
The Iranian

A few years ago I was in Iran for a visit. Every friday I would go hiking in the mountains of north Tehran.

One Friday, early in the morning on a cold winter day, I was supposed to meet one of my friends at a bus station in Gisha. We were going to go to Darakeh.

I was late, and in a hurry. I paid the taxi driver and ran under the Gisha overpass towards the bus station. As I was running I saw a little boy (he might have been about five-years old) coming toward me. He held up his hand and asked for money. Nobody was around.

I looked at him and asked: "Esmet chiyeh?" (What is your name?)

"Daryoush," he said.

"Maamaanet kojaast?" (Where is your mother?)

"Maamaan nadaaram, khaaleh daaram." (I don't have a mother. I have an aunt.)

He looked at me with his big brown eyes.

I wished I could be his mom. I wanted to take his little frost-bitten hands and warm them up. But I got scared -- scared that maybe someone was hiding in a corner, keeping an eye on the boy. Someone who was abusing him, and could hurt me.

I put a coin in his hand and ran away.

Comment for The Iranian letters section
Comment for the writer Maryam Joseph

 Flower delivery in Iran

Copyright © Abadan Publishing Co. All Rights Reserved. May not be duplicated or distributed in any form

 MIS Internet Services

Web Site Design by
Multimedia Internet Services, Inc

 GPG Internet server

Internet server by
Global Publishing Group.