Looking bor a place to stay, in the distance Usef is on the left, Mr. Kashavarz on the right with his back to the picture, and Alex beyond facing the camera. |
The quiet little northern village of Kalibar |
Getting to know Iranians and their culture and exposing them to Americans and our culture ranked high among the goals Peace Corps set for its volunteers. The summer brought the opportunity for us to hold instructional sessions for some of the students in Ahar and conduct them our way, breaking from the Iranian model. In theory this presented the possibility of change as we showed our hosts different techniques and styles. In reality we met with mixed results.
"Tell Pashahee to stop hitting Partovi. That's not what you're supposed to do when you're put out at first base," I shouted to Usef. "Tell him to be a good loser and learn how to play the game. Tell them that in baseball it's not okay to hit someone when you're unhappy."
The game we played looked like baseball. All of the boys stood in the right places and performed the proper actions. But somehow the end product lacked something essential.
We decided to teach the boys baseball because it was something that both Alex and I knew, it seemed simple enough, and we could easily provide the necessary equipment. At a carpenter's shop near the bazaar I bought a dowel rod three inches thick and just over thirty inches long. On the first day it split. We wrapped the second one with tape and it lasted longer. For a ball we used one made of heavy sponge rubber so that the boys could catch it without gloves.
We borrowed a shovel from Old Hotami and used it to cut down the weeds that grew in the school yard. Once vacation started and the boys stopped walking through the area, the weeds grew; mostly tall thistles with sharp stickers that made navigating the area treacherous. We cleared off a pitcher's mound and took away thistles from the baselines. The boys enjoyed sliding into each base, whether they needed to or not, but a few suffered painful accidents when they got carried away and went beyond the cleared strips and into the weeds with their sharpstickers.
Alex coached his group and I coached mine. We let Usef be the umpire. That presented problems because Usef hardly understood the game himself and every time something happened he would run to one of us and ask us what to do. Then, with great fanfare, he would march back to home plate and shout, "You're out," or "Safe!"
The boys liked to shout, "slide," "walk," "strike," "ball," "go for home," and the rest of the jargon that we taught them. Generally they understood which term or phrase went where, but on occasion when one student stood at home plate getting ready for the pitcher to throw the ball someone at the side would yell, "Go for home!"
The missing ingredient proved to be any ability on the part of the boys to initiate action by themselves. They did exactly what either Alex or I told them to do. Only rarely did we see any spark of self-direction. They liked the new game but they never played it unless we were around to coach, and they seldom did anything more than what we suggested.
"It is an American game," said Usef. "They will be playing it if you are here. When you are not being here, they must play Iranian games. Iranians must be doing things in the Iranian way."
That logic surfaced again and again. More than anything else it explained Iran's ability to selectively snub Western ideas. The Iranians used the excuse when it suited them, and at the same time, they believed it.
One unexpected application of the baseball terminology surfaced during class one day. Before going home at noon, I led my group in a few sentence drills. As they looked at a picture of a youngster standing in front of an Iranian house, I said,
"What is the boy doing?" I said, starting a multiple substitution drill.
"He is going home," they all answered.
"Where is the boy going?"
"He is going home.
"Who is going home?"
"The boy is going home."
Then I began again, "What is the boy doing?"
They repeated, "He is going home."
At that point Nassar Alimee who sat near the front of the class shouted, "He is safe!"
In all about twenty-two boys showed up for our summer session. We held it in the morning for about three hours daily. For variety we mixed English lessons, games, and handicrafts. In the bazaar we bought flour, salt, cheap water colors, and a few brushes. Then we taught the boys how to make papier mâché animals. As models, I made a giraffe and Alex made an elephant. The boys watched carefully. Then each started on his own animal. Every boy in my group made a giraffe and every boy in Alex's group made an elephant. When it came to painting, more paint landed on the desks and on the boys than on the animals. In the process we worked in vocabulary and sentence drills. After four weeks of this the boys who attended the summer sessions improved their English and we came to know them far better personally than I could have during the regular school year.
For the most part, the month in Ahar passed uneventfully except for our trip to Kalibar. Kalibar is a village about forty miles directly north of Ahar. I cannot remember now why we wanted to go there other than the fact that it was some place new to go.
"Have you ever been to Kalibar?" I asked Usef.
"No. But I am never wanting to go to Kalibar. There is nothing in that place. Everybody is knowing this."
"How do you know there's nothing there unless you've been there?"
"There is nothing in Kalibar. I am knowing many people who have been in that place and they are saying that there is nothing there," said Usef.
"Well, then I guess you don't want to go with us?"
"The busses that go to Kalibar are the very bad ones. They are awful."
"Look," I said. "We have a day without classes and we've decided to go to Kalibar just for fun. The bus leaves from the station near the river early in the morning and it comes back late in the afternoon. We'll look at Kalibar and then return. Maybe we'll see something interesting and maybe we won't. Alex is going and I'm going and Mr. Kashavarz is going. Are you coming with us or not?"
Usef hated to miss anything. "There is nothing in Kalibar," he mumbled.
"So, we'll see you when we get back."
"I will go," he said, "but there is nothing there."
The bus that left Ahar the next morning had holes in the floor where rust ate through the metal. Old, dirty, and badly dented, it had been painted and repainted. Large strands of wire held its hood down over a noisy engine. The driver looked out through a very cracked windshield. Before we got on, Alex and I looked at the bald tires. We never did find an exhaust pipe.
We left about two hours late. As we headed north chickens squawked under foot and feathers floated around the inside of the bus. Two geese and a few ducks rested next to a villager on the seat behind us. The larger birds hissed now and then and the chickens pecked at us, each other, and the ducks whenever they could. Across from us two women, bundled in their chadores, sat quietly. One of them nursed a baby and, while she kept her face covered, she pulled back the garment exposing one breast. On the floor at the back of the bus sheep lay in the dust and debris, kicking now and then at the ropes that held their legs.
Alex and I considered the day as an adventure.
"I told you," said Usef between bounces, "that the busses which are going to Kalibar are not good."
He sat in his seat mumbling to himself and looking out at the scenery as it lurched by.
Three monotonous, jarring hours later we arrived in Kalibar. It was nothing more than a small village in a tiny valley surrounded by mountains. Kalibar had no large buildings of any kind. Small mud houses sat crowded together on the sloped hillsides. On the south side, a small one-room school perched on a knoll next to a round brick tower.
We walked to the school and the house near it to see if we could find a teacher or anyone to tell us something about Kalibar while we waited for the bus to start back to Ahar. A nervous, small man came to the door of the house. He said that he was the only teacher at the school. Reluctantly he invited us in for a cup of tea. His poor house with its mud floor contained no furniture and as nearly as we could tell, he had no family.
Looking bor a place to stay, in the distance Usef is on
the left, Mr. Kashavarz on the right with his back to the
picture, and Alex beyond facing the camera. The quiet little northern village of Kalibar
"Tourists never come here," Usef translated as the teacher talked. "The round brick building is a tomb tower left by the people called Mongols but it is badly damaged. He is using the place as a place for putting things he is not needing. The man is saying that we should look very fast and then go back to Ahar. There is nothing in this place."
When we left, our host looked relieved. Through his window he watched us poke around the brick tower and then walk away. Villagers often fear outsiders and strangers. They can bring trouble and they are not friends or members of the community.
Kalibar had no restaurants, hotels, bazaar or anything else of interest. So we walked back to the hut where our driver had parked his bus.
"What does he mean, 'no bus'?" I asked Usef.
"The man is saying that only we four are wanting to go to Ahar but there are some for tomorrow so he is waiting," translated Mr. Kashavarz.
"Looks like we stay the night in Kalibar," smiled Alex.
"We can't stay here tonight," I protested. "There's no hotel, and we have classes in the morning."
"Well, we can't walk back - it's forty miles," said Alex. "What do you suggest?"
"I guess we look for a place to stay and something to eat."
"We must be telling someone that we are not being in the classes tomorrow," said Usef.
We finally find a small mud building with a "P.T.T." sign that indicated the Iranian Post, Telephone, and Telegraph. The peasant inside told Kashavarz that the telephone had been broken for some weeks, but that we could send a telegram to Ahar. We paid for what Iranians called an "emergency" telegram and sent it to Mr. Hashemi telling him that we would be a day late returning from Kalibar.
"I have found a place that is like a hotel," said Usef who had gone off to scout the village more closely. "It is a house near the small river and the man is having a room with some beds for just two hundred rials."
The room was as dirty and dusty as the man who owned it. Spiders competed for ceiling space and a thick coat of mud hid whatever floor lay beneath. Sour smelling blankets lay on the sheetless beds over damp mattresses.
"This is the only place," said Usef sadly. "There is no other."
Kashavarz argued with the owner and demanded sheets. The man argued back telling Kashavarz that he had not realized that two of us were Americans and that he should have charged more money for the room. The sheets that the owner finally brought looked no cleaner than the beds we put them on.
Near the P.T.T. office we found two shops and bought a watermelon, two bottles of Seven-up, a box of stale cookies, and a jar of locally made yogurt. We had to promise to return the jar.
"What about breakfast?" I wondered. "Maybe we can find something to buy for the morning."
"We'll wait until we get to Ahar," said Alex. "Let's not press our luck."
"Now," muttered Usef when we had finished dinner in our room, "I know for sure that there is nothing for seeing in Kalibar. The next time I will be staying home."
In the morning we arrived at the garage early and boarded the ramshackle bus. In their own time the other passengers came and we left Kalibar. Just before noon the bus drove into Ahar along the river east of town. Alex and I went to the hammum to wash off the dust. Mr. Kashavarz walked home and Usef went to tell Mr. Hashemi that we had returned safely.
"He is not knowing that we are not here," said Usef when we saw him later that afternoon.
"Didn't he get the telegram?"
"No. No person in Ahar is knowing that we are not here. I am talking with our students and they say that they are playing in the street by your house this morning and then they have gone home."
Two days later Mr. Hashemi received the telegram from Kalibar.
At the end of the month, Alex and I packed and left Ahar.