Memories in suitcases

Ali's bags were packed for his imminent departure to Canada, after more than two years of waiting in a small city in western Turkey. One of the tens of young Iranian men identifying as homosexual, that chose, or were forced to leave their country and claim for asylum and resettlement from Turkey.

After briefly explaining the gay life in Shiraz, Ali's hometown in southern Iran, he took out a carefully wrapped and labelled package from one of his suitcases containing home made films of private gay parties hosted at friend's homes, as part of what formed the underground 'scene'.

As the first seconds on the film flashed on the laptop screen, he said something that for me encapsulated the situation for LGBT Iranians, and those displaced due to their sexuality and gender identity around the world.

"Honestly, I don't know what happened to all these people. Some are refugees, some are living in Canada, some still in Iran, some imprisoned, and others are dead."

The films showed groups of men in their 20's and 30's dancing, eating, laughing, smoking and enjoying this safe space together. In at least three of the videos, the parents of the host were not only present, but fully embracing the situation, joining the dancing, clapping, and joking whilst bringing dishes of food to their guests.

Turkey, December 20th 2013.
Image caption: Sourena, left and Ali, right looking at photos and videos in Sourena's kitchen, Turkey. (C) Bradley Secker

Iranian De-dash

I'd been in Tehran for a week or so and I decided to hop on an overnight train to Mashad. The journey took me trough the bleak desert of central Iran, and onwards to the north-eastern region of the country, close to Turkmenistan.
The moment I found my cabin on the train I greeted my fellow travelers 'salam aleikum'. They soon discovered that my Farsi wasn't great and that I was not Iranian.

We laughed and joked in bits of languages we all had in common and watched the sun set on the minus 18 degree dust rolling past the window.
We arrived in Mashad to heavy snow and yet colder temperatures when Mortezza insisted that I stay at his house. I went home with him, we lit a fire and smoked cigarettes before sleeping.
Little was I to know that we would spend the next two weeks together. We visited some of his friends and he showed me the sights of the city, including an amazing mosque complex covered in mirrors and glass. After constant hospitality and generosity we went back to Tehran.
I stayed with Mortezza and his friends in Tehran for a couple of days, mostly taking high speed tours around the city's icy streets on a motorcycle.
We left each other at the train station as I headed further south. I gave him some gifts and got on the train.

Damit garm de-dash. Khoob-est ti?