By Roya Khorshid
April-June 2000
Lemar-Aftaab
ZOHRA had been waiting for the arrival of this day for months. It was exactly three days before Nou Roz,
and her father had promised to take her to the Chaharshanbeh Bazaar to buy her clothes and shoes.
By now, her mother had sewn so many pieces of cloth on her dress to conceal the holes that the entire outfit looked like a historic quilt that truly
belonged in a museum. Her old shoes had worn out months ago; they had holes in every place possible.
Going to mosque every morning was difficult for her. There were many poor people like her, but a few
rich ones that made things difficult. She had wished so many times to have clothes like them, but knew to expect otherwise;
her impoverished family did not even have enough to satisfy hunger with bread and water.
She sat by the door early morning waiting for her father to wake up. Her eyes lit up every time he stirred under his blanket, but then she
would hear him snore again. It was after an excruciating hour that her father got up, had breakfast and held her tiny hands to head out to the
market. The walk was long and laborious; her small feet were tired from attempting to catch up with her father's fast pace.
After a while, he must have noticed that her little daughter was running out of energy. He picked her up and carried her the rest of the way.
The market looked crowded. It seemed like all the villages had come to shop for Nou Roz. Zohra had never seen such a big crowd in her
life. One side of the market was filled with people buying and selling chicken, vegetables and fruits. There were a few carts selling sweets,
cakes and cookies. Her father stopped at a tiny cart where an old lady was selling cookies and filled a big paper bag with goodies. The old lady must
have seen the crave in Zohra's eyes for she placed a broken one in her hand.
The next stop was at the stand that sold chickens. Her father bargained with the man, picked a rather fat chicken and headed
to the other section of the market where they sold fabrics, shoes, and accessories.
On one side, shopkeepers with big turbans showed demanding customers colorful fabrics designed with patterns and
flowers. They stopped at one of the fabric stores. The owner was arguing with a woman who was asking for an impossible bargain.
Finally, they came to an agreement and the woman who was probably shopping for the little girl sitting next to her, paid the man and commented
on how unfair and expensive prices are.
The man looked flushed with frustration. He came over, and after exchanging words with her father, started showing
them fabrics. She picked a soft yellow fabric with tiny blue flowers. For her younger sisters, she chose two different shades of green of the same
fabric. Probably feeling sympathetic for the man, her father did not bother to discuss the price and just paid him and left.
They walked for a few minutes until her father spotted a tiny shoe store and walked in. He asked the owner to show them a pair of black leather
shoes. The owner yelled out some orders to the young boy, who was sitting at back, reading. A few minutes later, he appeared with three pairs of
leather shoes. She tried all three. They all looked so beautiful and felt soft and comfortable around her tiny, sore feet. Finally, she picked the
one that looked shinier than the rest and waited outside the shop for her father to finish paying.
Right across from her, there was a little girl about her age with her mother selling glass bangles. They looked Kuchie and must have
come from a far area for they were dressed in heavy, embroidered outfits, with hair divided into tiny braids and plenty of
jewelry to accessorize.
When her father walked out, she asked if she can get some glass bangles from the lady, but he had already spent the remainder on her shoes. Having
nothing else to do, they headed home.
This time the way did not seem that long and harsh. Zohra's thoughts were occupied with the beautiful outfit that
her mother would make for her; but mostly, it was the thought of having new shoes that made her tiny heart giggle every minute.
Now, she can go to the mosque every morning and not be embarrassed to take off her shoes and place them
among others'. She could sit and concentrate on reading her book rather than the remarks made by other children about her worn out clothes or shoes.
Her mother spent the next day, getting the fabrics cut and sewn. They were not allowed to try them until the day of Nou Roz when they all went out to picnic in the Grand Park.
For the next two days, Zohra spent most of her time helping her mother cleaning and cooking. Every time she had a chance, she would run to the little hallway where her mother had kept her clothes and shoes on top of an old shelf.
She would carefully open the package and cherish the beautiful dress that her mother had sewn for her and the shiny, black leather shoes that her father had bought her.
The night before Nou Roz, her mother put Henna in her tiny hands, wrapped them with clothe and sent her to bed. She had a hard time falling asleep.
When she did, for the rest of the night, she dreamt about the Henna in her hands. She saw all the girls opening their hands, showing her the beautiful shades
of Henna in their palms, and then she would look at her palms: pale and colorless. She woke up crying twice that night and fell back asleep after her mother
reassured her that her hands would have a color as beautiful as the sunset.
Early morning, her mother woke her up and washed the, now, dried Henna paste from her hands. The color, as her mother had promised, was lovely. She started running to the narrow hallway to get her outfit and get ready for
the picnic. She took the package down, and quickly put on her dress. She looked at the old mirror hanging in the corner and was very much satisfied
with what she saw.
She combed her thick black hair and gathered it into two braids, hanging on her shoulders. And now, she thought, she was ready to
put on the final touch: her leather shoes. She looked in the package and did not see her shoes. Thinking that she must have left it on the shelf,
she climbed up again and stretched herself to see the entire top of the shelf. There were no shoes.
She could not believe it. This couldn't have been happening to her. At least not on Nou Roz!
The story was that her younger sisters had worn her shoes while playing dress-up and had accidently dropped one of the
shoes in the narrow stream, running along the side of the garden. Startled by the incident, they let the water take away the shoe, and tossed the other
over the garden wall.
The picnic in the Grand Park had drawn a large crowd. People, some talking, some eating and some playing games, were full of joy. Children seemed to
have the most fun of all, running around, playing.
Zohra sat at a far distant, away from everything and watched her friends with saddened eyes. They were roaming in groups, showing off their new
clothes and shoes. They look so beautiful, she thought. And joyous.
She looked down at her feet. Her toes. Those holes in her old, hideous shoes, exposing her sore flesh while displaying her status among her playmates.
She closed her eyes and let tears roll down her face.
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