Tagged as: Iran celebrations
Late one night last week, we drove west to a garden in the middle of nowhere for a wedding party. We drove by burning trash, industrial buildings, and military outposts. “This cannot be right,” we were thinking.
We drove onto an empty road and pulled up to a dented, dilapidated gate. It was dark. “No way is this it; it’s too dark.”
“No this is it,” the driver said. A police car drove by. Our driver leaned out the window to ask the police if this was the Garden we were looking for.
“It could be,” they answered and drove slowly away.
Keivan got out and knocked. The gate was opened by a sleepy Afghan. We see the lights of the party in the distance. “This is it!”
“If this were in America there would be signs and balloons everywhere.”
It only makes sense that in Iran a wedding party would be so coy. Once in, we danced with women dressed in tasteful gowns and men in sharp suits wearing silk ties around their necks.
A friend has just returned from Baghdad. “It’s horrible. People are really stressed. Baghdad is breaking up. Baghdad has neighborhood refugees now. People from one neighborhood are moving to others. It has become just too dangerous.”