I am your passing guest
We were in the bakery the other night waiting for our sangak to come out of the oven. Bakeries in this part of the world produce just one type of bread and people queue up ten or twenty at a time to take home a fresh armload for lunch or dinner. Sangak is my favorite flatbread- two feet long, with sesame seeds on top, baked on red hot stones in the enormous bakers’ oven. Steaming hot, it is pitched onto a table to cool and stones are carefully removed before heading out the door again. Made without preservatives, it truly is daily bread—delicious for the day and like shoe leather by the next.
Flatbread has been made in the Middle East for the past 12,000 years or so. No wonder the bakers seem to know what they’re doing. One guy continually bends over a tubful of dough (perhaps a meter in diameter and just as deep), spreads it carefully on a long handled paddle and once formed to his satisfaction, pitches it into the gas powered oven. The other young guy keeps an eye on all the sangak that’s baking and quickly removes them at precisely the right time for waiting customers. Men waiting sit on benches around the cooling table, scooting through when it’s their turn for bread. Women have their own bench to the right of the door. An older man with the cash box presides over a small table by the women’s bench. People hold up fingers to indicate the number of pieces of bread they are paying for. Everybody seems to know whose turn is next. David and I were carefully acknowledged as we waited (standing off in a funny place from everyone else, we hadn’t figured out the queue yet) and when our turn came around, the sangak was ours (for about 8 cents per two foot piece),
Besides 12,000 years of flatbread making, Iranians are awfully good at friendship and hospitality. Pizza Mohammed took us home for lunch this week. His wife had cooked a feast of lamb and chicken with all the trimmings. It was just the usual lunch crowd at his place- his wife and two kids, sister-in-law and husband, brother-in-law, youngest sister-in-law, and both of his wife’s parents. Such gentle people—playing with the kids, sipping tea, asking about our lives. We ended with a vigorous game of backgammon--- Pizza Mohammed has promised to make us world champions in strategy.
P. Mohammed went on to talk about his sister and brother-in-law who work in a medical clinic in a small village in the mountains. They have been in the village for 20 years, he says, they have become “mahram” to the people there. Later in the day, I asked T. Mohammed (teacher of Persian) to elaborate on what it means to be “mahram” to someone. He said that there are two meanings. One is to be close kin—and so deeply tied to the intimate family system. The other is to be “mahram” by choice—to be 100% trusted, welcomed, invited in even though originally non-kin, even a stranger. If you have become “mahram” to me, I have given you my heart, welcomed you as a close family member, held nothing back.
The door bell rang earlier this evening. A neighbor (upstairs) introduced herself. We tried speaking in English and Persian and finally settled on French as our mode of communication. (Those of you who have heard my French know how sad this is). She spends half of her time in another city, half in Qom. I told her I was a Christian. She vigorously waved three fingers under my nose and said in impeccable French—“Moses, Jesus, Mohammed. Three great prophets, one great God, it makes no difference to me or to God. I am so glad you are here. Let’s be friends.”
David and I spent an evening at the Bazaar last week & stopped for a fruit drink on the way home.
The place was full of young adults (all the women in chadors) chatting and having fun. One young woman smiled at us as she devoured her ice cream. On her way out with friends, she called over her shoulder, “Good-bye my sweet guests.” On the bus home an older woman peaked out of her chador at me and solemnly winked. As she off the bus she grinned and held up the peace sign.
“I am,” says the Psalmist (39:12a) “your passing guest, a sojourner like all my forebears.” As I conjugate verbs (up to three tenses now), study the Quran, learn the history of the Shia people, worship with Christians in Tehran and accept the gift of friendship from so many, I think of these words. The Middle East is so very complex, nuanced, volatile. Our few months in Iran teach us that it is also welcoming, a kind place to sojourn, and a part of the globe where one may be offered the chance to be truly “mahram.”
Flatbread has been made in the Middle East for the past 12,000 years or so. No wonder the bakers seem to know what they’re doing. One guy continually bends over a tubful of dough (perhaps a meter in diameter and just as deep), spreads it carefully on a long handled paddle and once formed to his satisfaction, pitches it into the gas powered oven. The other young guy keeps an eye on all the sangak that’s baking and quickly removes them at precisely the right time for waiting customers. Men waiting sit on benches around the cooling table, scooting through when it’s their turn for bread. Women have their own bench to the right of the door. An older man with the cash box presides over a small table by the women’s bench. People hold up fingers to indicate the number of pieces of bread they are paying for. Everybody seems to know whose turn is next. David and I were carefully acknowledged as we waited (standing off in a funny place from everyone else, we hadn’t figured out the queue yet) and when our turn came around, the sangak was ours (for about 8 cents per two foot piece),
Besides 12,000 years of flatbread making, Iranians are awfully good at friendship and hospitality. Pizza Mohammed took us home for lunch this week. His wife had cooked a feast of lamb and chicken with all the trimmings. It was just the usual lunch crowd at his place- his wife and two kids, sister-in-law and husband, brother-in-law, youngest sister-in-law, and both of his wife’s parents. Such gentle people—playing with the kids, sipping tea, asking about our lives. We ended with a vigorous game of backgammon--- Pizza Mohammed has promised to make us world champions in strategy.
P. Mohammed went on to talk about his sister and brother-in-law who work in a medical clinic in a small village in the mountains. They have been in the village for 20 years, he says, they have become “mahram” to the people there. Later in the day, I asked T. Mohammed (teacher of Persian) to elaborate on what it means to be “mahram” to someone. He said that there are two meanings. One is to be close kin—and so deeply tied to the intimate family system. The other is to be “mahram” by choice—to be 100% trusted, welcomed, invited in even though originally non-kin, even a stranger. If you have become “mahram” to me, I have given you my heart, welcomed you as a close family member, held nothing back.
The door bell rang earlier this evening. A neighbor (upstairs) introduced herself. We tried speaking in English and Persian and finally settled on French as our mode of communication. (Those of you who have heard my French know how sad this is). She spends half of her time in another city, half in Qom. I told her I was a Christian. She vigorously waved three fingers under my nose and said in impeccable French—“Moses, Jesus, Mohammed. Three great prophets, one great God, it makes no difference to me or to God. I am so glad you are here. Let’s be friends.”
David and I spent an evening at the Bazaar last week & stopped for a fruit drink on the way home.
The place was full of young adults (all the women in chadors) chatting and having fun. One young woman smiled at us as she devoured her ice cream. On her way out with friends, she called over her shoulder, “Good-bye my sweet guests.” On the bus home an older woman peaked out of her chador at me and solemnly winked. As she off the bus she grinned and held up the peace sign.
“I am,” says the Psalmist (39:12a) “your passing guest, a sojourner like all my forebears.” As I conjugate verbs (up to three tenses now), study the Quran, learn the history of the Shia people, worship with Christians in Tehran and accept the gift of friendship from so many, I think of these words. The Middle East is so very complex, nuanced, volatile. Our few months in Iran teach us that it is also welcoming, a kind place to sojourn, and a part of the globe where one may be offered the chance to be truly “mahram.”
posted by Quakers in Qom at 3:46 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home