BEING KHAREGI

A Kharegi

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The Gift of Being a Khareji by X-Rey

Khareji is the word used for a foreigner, but all who are foreigner are not khareji. The main use of khareji is for Americans and Europeans. All Far East foreigners are called Japanese and all black skins are Africans!

The word khareji is mostly used in this sentence: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA(wow!), kharejiiiiiiiii!”

You’re in Vali-asr Street in Tehran, where there’s almost always a khareji seen. Now pay attention, as a khareji guy you’re under the young girl’s attention, especially if you’re a blue-eyed, blond-haired one. You may also encounter the angry looks of the boys you’ve robbed of their girl’s attention! As a girl I really can’t say what happens to the attention when a Khareji girl is around!

The kharejies are really beloved in the majority of people, if you’re a khareji you’ll soon realise it, for example, when sitting in taxi, where the taxi driver will try to start a polite conversation with you about politics, the weather or even Darwin’s theory of Evolution. You’ll also realise it when you’re lost, you’re in the queue at the bank or even when you’re at the bakery; you can always count on our help! And do you know why?! Cause we Iranians love kharejies! We love to tell our friends that we’ve met a khareji, that we helped a khareji, and that we had a chat with a khareji. It makes us feel proud!

Ok, now let me tell you a story:

I was once in a park with a friend.

we do not know what to do with this large volume, the government made some of them to control the relationship between boys and girls

As we have a large number of police in Iran and we do not know what to do with this large volume, the government made some of them to control the relationship between boys and girls, to make sure everything is Islamic enough!

The police stopped us as we were walking:

“Sorry, can I know what is your relationship and what are you doing in the park?!”
“No you can’t!”
“He’s my classmate sir, and we’re here cause I wanted to give his book back”, I brought his book out of my bag as evidence!

“Hehehe, so why did you have to give it back in the park?!”

I tried to show him the place I was before hand (the clinic which again as evidence I showed him my scrub and my card), and the place I was going to (home, which I had no evidence for!), and the place my friend was, and, as a conclusion I told him the park was in the middle of the place we both were! He asked me for my ID card (maybe I was a real important person and I just didn’t know it myself!). He gazed at it.

“Where is Hamburg?!”
“It’s in Germany!”, the place I was born.
“Oh! So then you’re khareji?!”
His eyes had a shine and his smile reached his ears!

“Well, not really!”

In fact not at all, none of my parents are khareji and I didn’t really lived there, but it seemed that it wasn’t really important to him, he continued:

“Germany! Can you speak in German?!”

Rey, keep your smile on your face and calm down!

“Hehe, yeah, I can!”
“So say something!”, the smile! Oh my god!! The smile!

I really can’t remember what I said; I just remember that I counted the whole new conversation as a positive sign. He laughed and said something in Turkish, gave me back my card, “good luck, it means”, he said with a smile, and disappeared on the horizon as he was shaking his hand and the birds were singing and the sun was setting or…he just went!

So now you know why being called khareji as a gift, right?

This entry was not written by me [ddmmyyyy] but has been edited by me. I've added the pre-edit in the comments section - its worth the click.

SPRING CLEANING

A male street trader selling headscarfs.

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"There's only one stop that bus is making", my friend laughed as we negotiated the crowds of Tehran's estrogen interchange that is Vanak Square. My reaction to this would only have been found on the inside as the ugly reality of what I'd seen 24-hours before revealed itself.

The previous day I'd stumbled upon this Islamic carnival quite unknowingly, in passing I donned a dumb grin, "Oooo, TV cameras, Oooo big bus, Oooo, lots of officially dressed people". I slowed down, deducing what type of guest was in town: there was just enough people for it to be the president, too many for a foreign notary and certainly too many for a news article. The bus was curtained, so I guessed that they were famous, but why so many empty cars parked around I pondered. I loitered, but it was too calm, I assumed I'd missed the precession and left in disappointment.

That night I'd popped out with my father, traveling by car we couldn't help but go through Tehran's notorious Jordan Boulevard – notorious among other things for being a road not unlike a catwalk. As we inched forward I noticed the traffic had slowed for different reasons to usual. One-by-one police officers glared in at the drivers subsequently ushering the women drivers to the side whereby further police and a blacked-out van awaited.

If a headscarf falls in a far away forest and nobody is there to see it, will they make a sound?

If a headscarf falls in a far away forest and nobody is there to see it, will they make a sound? I thought while I sat watching the the police decipher the morally correct with no great ease.

"My friend was cautioned", said one girl at work the next day, "yes mine too", said another. We all shared our stories and although this annual tactic is expected we all agreed that the level was way beyond what has been seen for the last few years at least.

A fellow blogger amusingly writes, '“The news is reporting that 93% of the population approves of the crackdown on hejab,” our cab driver told us. “If that is true, there is no need to enforce hejab,” I responded.'.

This self-serving statistic, true or not, is mentioned almost like things would be different if it was the other way round, but we live in the Islamic Republic and it's that time of year for us to be reminded.

RED WEDNESDAY

Dancing around the fire in the street.


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"Strange, riot police", I exclaimed as we edged passed two pick-ups packed with black-clad, heavily armed men jostling helmet-to-helmet, "heh, that's how the Iranians transport their sheep around – same pick-ups, same packing", I pointed out to my fellow passenger.

There wasn't much about the slowly-panning scene around us that said anything other that civil war. Bodies hung out of cars lighting various explosives and tossing them under the neighboring car. Young men ran around between varying sized groups keeping a cautious eye on the regular clothed police. Our journey dragged on as roads would be cut-off by further pick-ups supported by batoned men in military uniform, "the road's closed, turn around, hey Mr. where are you going, come back here!".

Iranians choose to celebrate this night by gathering outside to leap over fires, throw fireworks at one another and to dance to any available sound system

The last Tuesday of the Iranian calendar is known for celebrating the last Wednesday, we call this night Chaharshanbe Suri, meaning Red Wednesday, seen as marking the arrival of spring and revival of nature. Iranians choose to celebrate this night by gathering outside to leap over fires, throw fireworks at one another and to dance to any available sound system. For me the night simply marked my premature graduation into a latter stage of adulthood, [sound of banger at my feet], "damn kids, I knew they were going to do that", I grumbled as I stood on a street corner cold and lost.

"Where are we?", I asked my friend as I assessed the ideologically-challenged terrorists advancing. The taxi driver had dropped us off at a similarly named road, my friend was wounded and we were a long way from back-up. It wasn't a good start to the evening.

It seemed that little had changed in the passing of time as we descended on the gathering: shrieking humans circled a fire or gyrated to unofficial national anthems while dodging the incessant barrage of arsenal. In the observance of ancient practice there was a lack of observance with contemporary practice as citizens freely danced in the streets with conscious disregard for the enforced moral codes. Hair would fly around as carelessly as the fireworks and an odd sense of defiance and unity warmed up the cold and fragile night.