Duke festuar Nowruz në lagjen Evin 209, me shpresë për pranverën e vërtetë të Iranit
Nga ish- e burgosura politike Shabnam Madadzadeh
Celebrating Nowruz in Evin’s Ward 209, with hopes for Iran’s genuine spring
A memoir from former political prisoner Shabnam Madadzadeh
Barrowed from her twitter account @ShMadadzadeh
March 24, 2009: The doorbell sounds at Ward 209 and I hear the scratching sound of the guard dragging her slippers on the floor. I sharpen my ears to find out where she stops. The sound stops right in front of my cell! Then the iron door handle turns…
Get ready! Your interrogator is here!
As I was getting ready, I concealed the only orange left from the last week’s shopping in between my chador (long head-to-toe veil) and blindfold so that the guard wouldn’t see…
It had just struck me that I might see Farzad (my brother) and I could give him the orange as a Nowruz gift.
The corridor of Ward 209 and its usual odor…
From underneath my blindfold I can see the interrogator’s shoes…
I’m stressed as usual…
Sit down here!
In one of the interrogation rooms, I have to sit on a wooden armed chair. I could recognize some names carved on the arms. In that island where you lose count of time and place, you want to carve something may be someone, someday, would see it.
A few minutes later, the interrogator comes in holding a paper in his hand.
Come on! Want you to call your parents, but you mustn’t say anything about your case, where you are, etc.
What happens to Farzad? Farzad must call, too!
He’s already called. I sent him back to his cell.
I want to see him!
I refused to call and continued to argue with the interrogator for 15 minutes.
Finally, Farzad was brought in and we called home, together.
After the call, in the interrogation room, right in front of the interrogator, I gave him the orange and told him, “Happy Nowruz! Although in solitary cells, but we won’t forget Nowruz wherever we are, even in Ward 209!”
That year, we spent the spring at Ward 209, with hopes for the genuine spring of Iran and enjoyed the few drops of spring rain that occasionally lost their way and passed through the window net… Madadzadeh?
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