Welcome to Chahar Mahaal
January 6, 2024 // Travel stories
Prologue
After the murder of Mahsa Jina Amini, a 22-year-young Kurdish woman beaten and tortured to death by the Iranian authorities for improperly wearing the hijab— mass protests managed to flourish. The viral image is painted by women defying local laws by cutting their hair and burning hijabs in the streets. Yet, the protesters are not anti-Islam, nor want to ban the hijab altogether. It's about people's choice— to wear or not wear the hijab. To choose to be Muslim, Baha'i, Christian, catholic, jew, or atheist.
In the center of Teheran, a yearlong battle is raging between the Iranian inhabitants and the Iranian regime. The warring creeds could not be any more different. One seeks a decentralized, secular, grassroots version of democracy, while the other seeks a radical interpretation of an Islamic Republic. Bullets in the air take on a dual meaning- seeking to render useless the physical bodies of protesters and rebel factions, but at the same time, those bullets hurl toward their ideals. The registered number of civilian deaths is lingering around 500, but the locals are heavily implying the number is much higher when emphasizing the word "registered". The Iranian government has been trying to push its narrative about the protests, denying its grand architects and forcing the blame on global enemies. Gaslighting the entire world by saying it's the United States and Israel that are pulling the strings.
Amidst all of these internal conflicts, it becomes even more important to underscore the remarkable qualities that have drawn me to Iran. When people ask me about my favorite places on Earth, typically I respond like this: the best food is in Georgia, and the best historical sites are in India, but the best and most generous people are in Iran. For that reason, I have been pulled back to Iran as a photographer again and again.
This time I`m accompanied by my Norwegian friend Adrian. As journalistic activities face strict prohibitions in this country, we had to minimize the camera gear as much as possible, and we ended up discreetly sharing a single camera. Together we envisioned a cultural study of the community that would highlight its resilience, its fraternity, and its work ethic.
North Iran - Baktiari tribe
Leaving Isfahan, I drove with Adrian and our translator, Ramin Ghafoori, in a pickup truck that steadily ascended to higher altitudes, on our way to meet the Baktiari tribe in the mountains. Along our route, we encountered numerous public buildings, their walls often adorned with graffiti art. Here, the protester's message, "woman, life, freedom," had been spray-painted for all to witness. The majority of these expressions had already been erased or concealed by government censorship.
We navigate through many of the dusty small hamlets that make up the Chahar Mahaal province, which is often shifting and expanding due to the desolate nature of the landscape. We reached the tent where we would stay for the next few days, perched at an elevation of 4,000 meters. Adrian and I step out of the car and walk up the plateau, and first see Noruz standing with his back to us— a scrawny figure looking out over the horizon with a tactical block of paper and pen in hand. Suddenly, Noruz notices us, smiles, and waves, but then returns to the paper and quickly finishes up his scribbles.
Noruz lives a double life in this remote region. On one hand, he embraces the age-old traditions of the Baktairi tribe, working as a dedicated shepherd, tending to the flock with the utmost care, and preserving the cultural heritage passed down through generations. On the other, he engages in a vastly contrasting role. As a spy for the Iranian government, he`s tasked with collecting information about any expressions of criticism or dissent directed at the government— to prevent any potential uprisings, militias, and rebel groups that could pose a threat to the state's interests. The duality of his career choices stands as a testament to the intricate tapestry of life in this unforgiving landscape.
We get invited in for tee together with Noruz and his wife, Samanjan. Their tent consists of a stone fence and a huge blanket on top. Stacks of madrassas with multiple color palettes and vintage tapestry lay profusely by the fence. I was skeptical about this spy-shepherd at first, but after spending more than a week with Noruz, I found my trust in him gradually growing.
Noruz took us around the summit and showed us the lifestyle of the Baktiari tribe.
After jumping across the river and breaking bread with the local mullah, I got hit with massive food poisoning. My grand aspirations for productive village exploration imploded from existence. Instead of immersing myself in documenting the local charm, I found myself confined to a floor mattress inside Noruz tent, morphing into a regrettable state— a bedridden bag of bones emitting an air of worthlessness, an unintended pollution for others to inhale. Life's unpredictability: 1, My sense of self-worth: 0.
Adrian and Ramin frequently checked on me, measuring the diameter of my eyelids. The provision they brought from their expedition was nothing but heavenly snacks; rice, flour for homemade nan bread, goat meat, and Pepsi.
Surrounded by a swarm of flies while trying to eat or sleep, I felt like dying prey, subject to their relentless hyena-like behavior. The sickness made my mind Sahara. Warm and dry dunes of the heatstrokes that smothered all thought. Hours and hours went by in this condition, using the little energy I had left to remove the flies from the premises.
Ramin translated Noruz`s spoken words.
"He says you look terrible and need a wash."
"Wash?" I asked, hearing my voice crack and warble as I spoke.
Three days of utter silence and soul fog distorted my speech with dysphasic lapses and creaking fumbles. Noruz and Ramin found a way to speed up my recovery— the secret to getting rid of my glamours sickness involves even more discomfort. We head back to the river and Noruz heats up water from the bonfire and pours it over my head. The adrenaline and placebo beams up and flow through my cold turkey veins. I stumbled forward to the glacier-flowing water and immersed myself in its voyage. I have met the present moment before on Tinder, but not like this. This present moment lifted my spirit and nostrils high across infinity.
Noruz, Ramin, Samjan, Adrian, and I collaborated in milking the goats and went on a long hike to gather water and firewood. The sickness and the healing ritual speeded up the process of gaining each other's trust. At this point, it feels like we have been knowing each other for years. That was a vital part of this project, to slow down and work through hardship together. Only then do we gain access to intimate moments of their life, with permission for the visual component.
The most notable change in Iran since 5 years ago is the public expression. People are now reclaiming their voices and openly criticizing the regime. Just openly discussing their political views and examining religious beliefs. When living with a spy I find this situation to be very tense. But more than often, I saw Noruz turn a deaf ear to the masses, to avoid putting people in unnecessary danger.
During our routine night stroll along the river, the moon cast a reflection in the icy waters flowing down from the glacier above us. Even when the humidity rose well above 30 degrees Celsius, the glacier remained resolute bolstered by the presence of salt in its structure. Iran stands as the few countries on Earth where such a unique geographical landscape phenomenon can be found.
Suddenly, chaos erupted from the higher glacier grounds, and a desperate cry managed to reach the whole Baktairai tribe. At least 7 people were stumbling around in the dark, idling helplessly on the slippery salt glacier— juxtaposed against the desert-like surroundings. They had to be evacuated, to prevent further damage. Ramin accelerates into an upward running motion towards the group, that is destitute of vision. He carefully uses his body as a stable anchor and transfers the casualties to safe ground. Noruz runs around them and in a similar fashion as Ramin, he also moves like he is immune to gravity and slippery surface. With the headlight to illuminate, Noruz quickly navigates the source of the voice screaming for help and prayers to Allah. Without a second thought and a safety rope, Noruz climbs down the cliff.
A man has just fallen into a gap between a glacier and a mountain cliff, 8 meters fall down to the rocks and destructive flood. The flowing river underneath the glacier saved a fatal fall, but it quickly turned into another deadly threat. The ice-cold water had already made its mark on his scratch-up torso and in a span of 20 minutes, the body would freeze to death.
Noruz reached the fallen man and secured a rope descending from above, which Ramin had thoughtfully prepared. Working together, they hoisted the semi-conscious body to safety. The saving-a-life procedure continued to ensure he was dry and warm, then carried him to the local doctor; to check for any fatal wounds or brain damage. As fate would have it, the doctor turned out to be none other than the man's wife.
We gather within the Noruz tent, seeking warmth beside the glowing gas tank. Norus begins recounting the incident from earlier and narrates tonight's unexpected mishap to his neighbors. In his lifetime he's witnessed ten similar accidents. The distinction between today's events and those of the past lies in the fact that the man who fell into the crevasse tonight, has been the only one granted a second lease on life. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the others.
Even amongst the diverse local people in Iran, through transcending language, they prevail over cultural barriers and speak in admiration. Mu` wears Ramin`s Kurdish suit one the portrait above and Noruz`s traditional Chooqa dress and his Khosravi hat in the group photo below.
While standing tall with a fearless posture in front of white bricks, her hair flowed freely in the wind giving the sense of liberation, a feeling that is considered illegal.
The Iranian government keeps pushing their own narrative about the protests, denying its grand architects. The majority of the community has come together to restructure their way of life and bend the law backward. Even individuals deeply rooted in age-old traditions are embracing this new paradigm of personal choice in clothing, political views, and career. The acceptance wave of women's rights is a significant step forward.
While not everyone may wholeheartedly endorse these dramatic changes— the foundation is already under construction.