A Simple Dream or Maybe Just Wishful Thinking

This past week I traveled across Bangladesh to seven remote villages in order to interview some of the incoming students of the Access Academy of the Asian University for Women in Chittagong. I got a chance to go and see some of these bright young women in their homes which was quite an experience and a very rare opportunity. During my trip I stopped by a few high schools just to get a feel of how they function in small villages.

In one of these high schools, many students gathered around us as soon as they realized a foreigner is visiting their school. At first I was very nervous and did not know what to really say or do. Then I saw a few teachers coming our way and I just stood still in the middle of the school yard and thought they are going to scold us or something. To my surprise, the teachers had come to simply greet me and to welcome me to their school. They showed me around, introduced some of the students to me and allowed me to explore some of the different classrooms.

The English teacher insisted to take me to the Islamic History class. The teachers took me to a classroom where an obviously highly religious teacher was at the blackboard, pointing to some things that he had scribbled on the board that were probably about Islam. As soon as the students saw us they all began to giggle and make noises. I really did not want to interrupt the class and kept asking the English teacher and others that I do not want to interrupt. But the Islamic History teacher came forward and welcomed me to his class. They told him that I am an Iranian-American researcher or something like that.All I could gather from the Bangla that they were speaking was “Irani”, “America” and “Musalman or something like that”…..He said, “Salam Wa Alaikom” to me and asked me to go to the podium and talk about my knowledge of the foundations of Islamic History and the importance of Islamic principles. I got very nervous and tense. I really just wanted to escape at that point. Looking at the teachers and the students, I felt there was no way out of this situation.

Eventually I nervously walked up to the podium and only said my name, thanked them for having let me to their school and having been very hospitable and wished them all best of luck. The students clapped and so did the teachers; although I believe that the Islamic History teacher and the English teacher were not all that content for I did not say anything about the foundations of Islam.I mean what did I really have to say?They already know more than I do!

Very soon after I stepped on the podium I observed something that it was very unique and commendable for me. Having grown up in Iran, I carry a big baggage of judgment and presumptions about things and people who look strictly Muslim or fond of Islamic principles. I have tried to change this about me. But, I believe, the fear, suspicion and the distrust that many of us lived with as children in Iran make it hard for us to free our minds of tensions of this nature. This means, I still feel vulnerable and nervous when I am put in settings that require me to “pretend” the level of my commitment to my own religion and my own god. Immediately, my defense mechanism begins to escalate and I begin to censor myself, my smiles, my thoughts and my words… I stop looking at those around me in the eye as I am afraid that the more religious Muslim men would get offended if I make eye contact with them or that the women would judge me for my liberal ways of socializing. These are all the souvenirs of the life that we lived in my country.


Despite my fear and presumptions, when I stepped on that podium of that humble school of a village in Bangladesh, I saw the snapshot of my dream for Iran in front of my eyes. I saw a snapshot of many girls and boys sitting on their benches and staring at me. Girls were sitting next to boys on one bench. Some girls had covered their hair and face, some others had covered only their hair and some did not have a veil.This, to me, is a dream for Iran. I am not saying that what I saw was perfect. No, poverty rules millions of people’s lives in Bangladesh and also I am sure there is still much work to be done in removing some of the very conservative taboos that exist in this country. However, despite all these imperfections, what I saw in front of my eyes was what I have always dreamed for Iran…the simple idea of having the permission to at least decide whether or not you want to cover your hair or not and to respectfully coexist with others even if they are different from you.Who has ordered us all to be the same, to wear the same things and to have identical beliefs?

The reason I did not have much to say on that podium was not because I was too nervous to talk or to express myself.I was too occupied observing the students as it seemed like a dream that had found a way to crawl into the reality. It was not what they were wearing that seemed like a dream to me. It was the idea that even if you dress differently you could still sit in a classroom with others to learn and to become friends with them.


Here is a photo that I took of what I faced as I was looking at the students on the podium.

What Makes My Life More Significant than Hers?

I dedicate this quick reflection to Samiya who came to my room last night and very sincerely spoke with me about the urge that she feels to do something about the poverty that she witnesses in her country everyday....

It is now close to three weeks that I am here in Chittagong, Bangladesh. At first, every hour felt like three days. I felt someone was stretching my days and nights here. I was anxious to return to the U.S. (or even Iran) and just be in a place where life is more comfortable. Whenever I leave the United States and start to miss “home”, I realize that the U.S. has become home for me after all. My time here has been a very fascinating chapter of my life. I find it hard to verbalize my observations and encounters in Bangladesh. It is either because I am still experiencing it or that life is simply different here and hard to describe with words that are all loaded with presumptions and connotation of all kinds. I feel the best way for me to appreciate my surroundings in Bangladesh has been to shut down any comparative perception or supposition that I might have of this place. It is one of those environments where you are just better off to take things for what they are and be flexible with what you expect and what you think should be expected of you.

Being flexible….The students of the Asian University for Women have often talked with me about “flexibility” and about how at this university they have learned to be flexible and cooperative under tough circumstances. They tell me that now that they have an opportunity to get a good education, they should be appreciative and responsible rather than demanding. I think a country like Bangladesh really does teach you some very important lessons.

The truth is that I have been thinking a lot here about the person that I have become in the United States in the past few years. Looking back, I realize that I have achieved many wonderful things in life and can proudly say that I could live and survive on my own. But, I also have forgotten many things in the past few years. I have forgotten the importance of the environment in which I live and the kinds of freedoms and opportunities that it has given me. I have forgotten the level of unconditional care, love and attention that I have received all throughout my life and that I am still receiving. Even if you are a brilliant author, artist, actress or scientist and you know that you have the potential to grow, the chances of you achieving professional and personal goals are very low if the society and your loved ones do not cooperate with you.

Sadly, I seem to have forgotten many of these wonderful opportunities and individuals who have made the beautiful life that I have possible for me. It is not that I do not remember or appreciate them…I do…It is just that in my private moments, I only seem to admire myself for the person that I am becoming. And this is sad! The truth is that many have faced many challenges and hardships for me to be where I am and that my success and my happiness belong to them, those who could benefit from my knowledge and capabilities and of course, myself.

Many talented individuals in the world have the desire, intelligence and vision to succeed and yet they have no real support to help them flourish. And those of us who do have the opportunity to live prosperous lives sometimes tend to forget that many other human beings in the world could have well been in our place.

Let me speak for myself and not others….I, for instance, sometimes cherish the struggles I have overcome and assure myself that I deserve what I have in life. But, my trip to Bangladesh has reminded me that, in fact, I am one of the most fortunate women in the world to live the life that I live and to be able to make decisions for my life….I mean, seriously, I live the life that many of the people that I have met here could only dream of. Whether or not we think that we live happy lives, many individuals in the world run their imagination wild and dream of the lives that we live, the things that we do, the places to which we travel, the food that we eat, the way we fall in love and the independence that we are allowed to obtain. In their dreams they replace you and I with themselves and enjoy the surreal images that pass through their eyes in disbelief.

I look around me here and keep thinking and wondering, “Azadeh, what makes you and your life more significant than this child whose bones are deformed due to malnutrition and who is banging against the window of your car and begging for your money? What makes your future more important than hers? Who decided that her life was going to be a million times harder than yours? Who decided that she should wash herself in some of the dirtiest gutters of Bangladesh and that you should shower with clean water? What motivates her to smile at smaller things in life and what makes happiness so damn difficult for you? When exactly did the world decide that you could live the life that she can’t even dream of and that she should live the life that is way worse than your worst nightmare?”

I don’t really know….All I know is that the life that I live is bigger than even the fluffiest dreams of millions in this world. What could I do other than swallowing my tears and looking away so that my eyes do not meet the eyes of that child? She and I both know that somewhere, somehow and for some odd reason someone in the world decided that my life is more significant than hers...that my wellbeing, comfort and future are more "important" than hers and that I am "better" than her….But why? Really why?

Note: Please do not assume that I am implying that poverty only exists in Bangladesh or that everyone in Bangladesh live miserable lives. All I am trying to say is that in a country like Bangladesh where poverty is more widespread and visible, you begin to remember the reality of other people's life that you have conviniently forgotten...that's all!

Sunita Basnet: An Extraordinary Young Woman from Nepal

In the past few days that I have stayed at the Asian University for Women-Access Academy in Chittagong, Bangladesh, I have had the privilege to get to know many amazing young women from various countries in the continent of Asia. One of these uniquely extraordinary young women is Sunita Basnet who demands respect with the way she carries herself, her confidence, intelligence and her determination to make a difference in the world. She is the example of a young woman in the process of becoming a world leader some time in the near future.

Sunita Basnet is standing as a candidate for One Young World, a platform where she can represent my generation and her country, Nepal, on some of the greatest challenges ahead. Help her become a delegate by voting for me now. Please take the time to read a bit about her story, her accomplishments and her dreams for Nepal and the world. I am sure,like, me you will come to really admire and respect this young woman. So, please vote for her by clicking the below link: (You have to have a Facebook account to be able to vote. Once you sign in Facebook, you can open the following link and vote for her).

http://apps.facebook.com/oywcandidates/entry/288/


Sunita Basnet needs your vote in order to represents Nepal at the One Young World and to make a difference in Nepal's future through this venue.

Here is a brief summary of Sunita's life and work. I am quoting her bio from the World Pulse: Global Issues Through the Eyes of Women website for which Sunita writes regularly.


I am Sunita Basnet from Nepal but currently in Bangladesh studying with full scholarship in Asian University for Women (AUW). I grew up in a remote village of about five hundred people in the Terai area in the eastern part of Nepal. Most people in my village especially the girls are poorly educated. I am the eldest daughter of five sisters and a brother. My father supports our family as a farmer. Additionally, I volunteered in human right journalism forum in Biratnager, Morang in Nepal. Furthermore,as an intermediate for the campaign “Constitutional Assembly and People’s Dialogue’ in an NGO named Informal Sector Service Center (INSEC) eastern regional branch in Nepal. In that NGO I had to aware 80 people who are underpriviledged women, Political Leaders, Business Men, Farmers, Teachers and Service holder in two different village development council in Morang, Nepal. On the other hand, in Bangladesh, I am also volunteering as a supervisor in IT lab, financial department, Library in AUW. In future I wanted to work against poverty especially with women for their right, education and improvement. For this I had already started my journey from my country by opening women’s saving club which will help women to save their money and take loan in a low interest in their necessary. I wanted to convert saving club into credit union bank which will be run by only women in the future for women’s improvement.



And here are some more links about Sunita:
1) Youth Action Partners for Development

2)Asian University for Women

Bangladesh (2)

Asian University for Women
Access Academy


Close your eyes. Forget whatever you know about a typical college. Close your eyes and travel to a 9-story building somewhere in the city of Chittagong in Bangladesh with me. It is called Asian University for Women(AUW)-Access Academy. Imagine over a hundred or so young women (19-25) who have come to this 9-story building from all over Asia to learn. They all live and study in this building. Some of their teachers live in this building, too. The Admissions office, classrooms, health clinic, Access Academy office and the library are all in this building. We are now at the door of AUW-Access Academy. We enter. Like most apartment complexes in cities, there is a front desk and a receptionist. She is a young girl who is both a cleaning lady and a receptionist. She knows enough English to greet you.

As you go up the stairs, you begin to see many young women who go up and down the stairs. Everyone is busy doing something: running to the computer lab to finish an argumentative essay, going to the library to study for an exam, meeting with a teacher, going to the cafeteria, going to the roof to hang the clothes that they have just washed, going to the Karate class and many different activities. They all wear colofrul clothes. They see you and very quickly they identify you as a “newcomer”. They smile and greet you politely: “Hello, Miss. How are you?” I have never seen these many beautiful smiles all at once. They are from Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, India, Cambodia and they are awaiting more peers from a few more countries in Asia next year.

I am here to interview some of the women at the Asian University for Women-Access Academy. At first, I thought of what I have to do here more like one of the “projects” that I have been assigned to do this summer. By project I mean an interesting activity that has a starting point and that will result in a written document. Very soon, however, I realized that my time here is truly more than just a project and it is really an experience that I will never forget throughout my life.
I live in the same dormitory as the students (but in a nicer room). At first, I was not all that happy about my living situation mainly because I did not know anybody and at nights I felt lonely and I thought I would make the students uncomfortable by appearing in their spaces. I did not like the food and I was scared to be alone in a big area all by myself. Above all of this, I am scared of cockroaches and bugs which really impacted my mood during first few nights here.

Gradually, I started to interact and speak with the students and without even realizing it I ended up making many friends here. It is only a week since I have arrived in Bangladesh and I already have made friends from 6 different countries in Asia. In the evening, we sometimes hang out and joke around. We talk about their futures, their worries, dreams, determination to succeed, their desire to establish a family one day, their families and how much they miss being with them. We talk for hours and hours. They sing for me and talk about their feelings, sad and happy thoughts. They ask about my life and how it was to move from Iran to the United States. They want to know how I got into a good university and what they should do to become even more successful than they already are. They are thirsty to know more about the world. When I told them I was in Argentina and Mexico for a few months they asked me to tell them all that I remember from those two countries. They just want to know, know, know...

Some of them have had hard lives and amazing life stories at this young age. They have different personalities and dreams. They come from different background and different families. But, now they are like family members for one another. Some of them are far away from their parents and siblings and have not seen their family for the past one year and a half. They have made the decision to come all the way to Bangladesh in order to get a unique education; something that is very uncommon for women their age in their localities. Of course, they dearly miss their homes and families. But, they have found profound ways to survive here. They love their teachers and each other. Undoubtedly, there are sometimes quarrel, but they know very well how to resolve the situation quickly and all by themselves. During their time they have created a family of their own with about 120 other young women who are here only to excel and learn about themselves and the world.

I am amazed by their patience, intelligence, kindness, their ability to dream big dreams and to run toward those dreams despite all the hardships and barriers. I close my eyes and imagine some of them in year 2015. They will be working at NGOs, helping their communities and the world, travelling in the world, speaking in conferences and writing about their opinions and experiences and simply making a difference in the world.

This is only the beginning of their stories. Some of these young, intelligent and beautiful women desire nothing less than running the world. I am convinced that together (and along with other hardworking determined youth in the world) they will, in fact, run the world. They are restless for the day when they are at the peak of their careers and lives. I try to remind them that the process of hiking all the way to the top is just as beautiful as the moment of victory. With their beautiful eyes that are full of energy, they try to hide their restlessness and smile. Each one of them is a true heroin and what I love about them is that they know that they are exceptional.

It is hard to describe how much I am learning from them about life, patience, determination and not losing hope.They have no idea that they are teaching me a new lesson every time they speak with me. As they go to bed every night and dream about their future, I put my head on the pillow and think about all the hardships that they have had to go through to get to where they are.

Our Neda will Stay!

I wrote this in reaction to the tragic death of Neda. I am writing this piece as I am in Bangladesh for my summer internship. This is only a way for me to try and calm down and express all this grief and…




Since last week, not a single moment has passed without Neda. I did not know Neda. But I feel I know her well enough to tell you all about her …I know Neda now… Neda, like you and I, loves to live a life full of happiness and achievements. She loves to smile. Her smile is dream-like and beautiful. She could talk for hours and analyze the world with her philosophical theories. It’s so cute when she speaks her mind in this profound way that resembles a post-modern version of the Greek philosophers.

Like many of us young women, she enjoys looking pretty. She spends some time in front of the mirror every morning and night making sure her eyebrows are symmetrically done, putting on her eye shadow, fixing her hair….She keeps up with fashion religiously…A fashionable and beautiful philosopher…

Neda has been with me in the streets of Bangladesh. In fact, we went shopping the other day one of the chaotic (but fascinating) bazaars of Chittagong. We both acted very silly in our Bangladeshi outfits. All the men were staring us down in the street as they could tell we are not from around here. They would say, “Madam, hello….hello…how are you?” We both would giggle and walk away as soon as we would hear their silly greeting words in English. We bought some random things like T-shirts, scarves and things. We bought mango and peanuts.

Neda looked very beautiful in her Bangladeshi dress(Shalwar and Kameez).It was my second time wearing their traditional outfit and it was her first time. At first we both felt funny, but then we were entertained by our new look. Her dress was bright yellow. She looked like the Lady Sun that has one day decided to come down on this planet and look around. She looked so stunningly beautiful.

Neda told me about these past few years in Iran and how she is just sick of the restrictions she faces in the university and in the streets. She told me she loved her family and that they are the best part of her life. She, like me, said that she loves her dad. She said that she knew of my mother and that she had read some of her articles on women’s rights in Iran. She told me about some of her friends’ house parties in Iran. She said that despite all the restrictions, they always find a way to at least have a little bit of fun.

Neda followed me to the dormitory in which I stay here in Chittagong. I introduced her to some of the students of the university for which I am interning. They loved her. They told me, “Miss, it’s great that you have brought your friend. She is so kind and so beautiful…” Neda talked with some of them about their lives and dreams. They just loved Neda. One of the girls sat next to Neda for a few hours and said to her, “Miss, I just want to sit next to you. Tell us about Iran.” Neda talked and talked and they listened and listened.

When the girls left my room late at night, I thought Neda must be tired. So, I went and prepared the bathroom so that she could take a shower before going to bed. I stepped out the bathroom to tell her that the bathtub is ready for her and that I left her shampoo, conditioner and a clean towel. She was not there. I looked for her. She was not in the room. She was nowhere to be found.

Staring at the video clip of her that was not even a minute long, I cried all night. The damn internet was too slow here in Bangladesh for me to understand what was happening in the video clip. It would get stuck on a scene and get blurry. Looking at the blood that had covered all over her stunningly beautiful face made me nauseous. Along with her father I screamed, “Neda…Neda….” No one heard me. I did not even hear myself. I felt some scary and violent man was cutting my nerves off from inside my body. I looked away just because I could not see the rest of this brutality; “brutality” is an underestimated way to describe what happened to Neda. I looked at the bed that I had prepared for Neda. Her yellow dress was sitting there; ripped and with blood stains all over. I cried and screamed and sobbed. I am shattered like a mirror that has gotten shattered into a million and half pieces.
I cry and think about the uselessness of my tears. Neda is gone and there is nothing I can do to bring her back to this world. There is nothing I can do to apologize for what happened to her. There is nothing I can do to give the world even one more chance of witnessing her beautiful smile.

They call her a martyr now. She was simply a young woman like you and I who wanted to freely walk, smile, love, dress, talk….Give our Neda back to us. I will never forget….forgive? You slaughtered Neda. No, I won’t forgive. I will try hard to forgive. I will try. But I doubt that I can. Give our Neda back. Give her back. Do you even have a heart in your chest? You shot her in the chest…Close to her heart. Do you even have one yourself? Bring my Neda, our Neda, Iran’s Neda back to us….Bring her back.

“Neda, fear not!” “Neda, Stay!” “Neda, Stay!” “Neda, Stay!”…The last words of her father….Did she hear these words? I hope that the angel of our dreams who is sitting somewhere in our most beautiful dreams and is looking at us with hope from afar, heard her father’s last words….they were the most important words for the future of Iran and I hope she heard them. We need Neda to stay. Neda will stay. She will. Neda will stay forever. She will stay even after we all die. She will be our name. She will be the name of our generation, our land, our loss, all the humiliations that we have undergone since childhood, our dreams and our resistance. Neda will stay and take the revenge of our generation with her peaceful, beautiful and innocent smile. She will. It is now your turn to be scared of her smile. You slaughtered her with your bullets. Now it is your turn to fear her beautiful eyes that imply nothing but peace and the dream of freedom and youthful happiness.

Her blood stained your divine talk for good. Neda will stay. She will.

Safe?

My childhood friend just sent me a message on the facebook telling me that he is back in the United States. He said that he just got back from Iran yesterday. I said, "I am happy that at least you are safe". He got very angry with me and wrote back, "Do you even know what you are saying? Safe? Safe? Do you know how many of my friends died or got beaten up? Safe? What are you talking about? I am safe. So what? What about my friends? What about them? "

I had nothing to say. Nothing...Other than staring at my laptop silently and in tears...

Happy Father's Day to Neda's Father!

Neda is a girl who got killed by the governmental forces in front of her father yesterday. Let us take this moment to ask for peace for the innocent and brave spirit of Neda who made history! And let us(with grief and hope) wish a man who lost his beautiful and intelligent daughter, a happy father's day....Let us remind the mournful man that his daughter, Neda, will never die in our hearts and in the history of Iran.....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzZGirbLiUo


Please watch this video only if you care to know what goes on in today's Iran and not to simply watch a violent video clip. This clip captures last moments of Neda's life and the brutality that is enforced upon her fragile body....

Happy Father's Day, our dearest Neda's father!