I am still alive to tell the story:
From the personal weblog of Foad Shams who was recently released after three months of detention.
I am still dreaming
Ninety seven days of being half awake on the hills of Evin brought nothing to me but dreams. The most beautiful children of the sun and the wind during the last cold days of autumn and winter have been on the hills of Evin; the same hills that have for decades been the meeting point of freedom lovers. The tall walls that are part of the large gate of civilization are reminders of what remains of a political greatness [referring to the time before the 1979 revolution, throughout Iran's history of 2,500 years]. Yes, for years a feast takes place on the hills, and the “Godfathers” are the hosts. I was fortunate enough to be with everyone in this feast during the second half of this year.
The experience of prison in the second half of this year [Persian Calendar year] was the best thing that happened to my life. It is an experience that will not be repeated. Prison was not as limited for us as the prison guards had hoped for. Quite the opposite, our generation turned the page and the prison became a completely creative place for us. The hosts of this feast were asking us to forget our ideals, but it did not happen. We were dreaming, even in prison. They tried to limit us by using their methods. Well, maybe they restrained us a little. But in my solitary confinement, when I thought that they had taken everything away from me, it was my dreams that would fly me through the window slots on a full moon night; just like a butterfly.
When you think you have nothing to lose and you are deep in thought amidst the heavy silence of cell 105 in ward 209, all of a sudden you hear Hashem whistling to tell you that there are still people on the grass with a flame burning inside. And you hear Mousa banging on the walls to tell you that you are not alone. And the sound of ‘Orange’ [a nickname] coming from a slot is not only a voice, but it is hope. In the dreams, when the dusk falls, suddenly they sing the song of “the Dusk.” When you think you are alone and there is no one with you and then all of a sudden Alrahman-ol-Rahim [nick name] tells you about his ‘flower,’ who after weeks of no contact, he had seen her for a few minutes and kissed her. You feel like crying, but you smile at Alrahman-ol-Rahim and you tell him to stay strong: they cannot break the stems of your flower.
When the biggest past time of your life is to listen to a chess game betwen Mahtab and Sogand [two female prisoners] and the cheating by Mahtab. When I think about Sogand and her spirit, I get sad. I blame myself for telling her that we would be staying in prison for a long time. And now I am out and she is still in there. When I think about Sogand, I only think about the dawns of tomorrow; a future when Sogand will be with us in the name of freedom. To dream means when you are in solitary confinement and silence has taken over. You even miss listening to the sound of the Qu’ran recited by al-Qaeda brothers. It is only the sound of your dreams that can give you power in solitary. When Roya [female prisoner] tells you that everyone not only stood outside [the prison] on the 16th of the month, but also the 17th and 18th, you want to scream out for joy.
This is why I miss solitary confinement after 80 days. It was a solitary that did not have the color and smell of loneliness. It was a solitary where I found the best friends of my life; friends whose faces I do not recall, but it is as if we have lived together for 10 years.
But the experience of living in cells where your spirits are lifted by the mere sound of a familiar voice and you feel the presence of a friend whom you have not seen for two years is a precious experience. The experience of banging on a wall and playing Bandari music is your biggest joy of the long dragging days. I can tell you confidently that to dream and to stay half awake for 97 days means that there is nothing tastier in the world than a packet of milk and a few cucumbers that Abbas gave me a few hours before his release. It was all the talk from Abbas and the news about the heroic act of Majid [Tavakoli], the real man behind the student movement, that provided the biggest source of energy for me.
Memories of my one day visit with Kianoosh and the immortal song by Aghasi, “I am alive with your love” was with me until the last day of detention. I learned from Kianoosh how to resist and he learned from our generation how to confess to changes within us. And of course the memory of the biggest cheat in history “Abbas Eslami,” whose stories were long and beautiful and entertaining like Indian movies; and of course they were all false. But dreams only become meaningful when after 40 days suddenly a friend comes to you and asks, “Sir! Sir! what time is it?” in an attempt to reduce the heaviness felt in the room just by a little.
And of course our nightly singing, our show of “cursing at those who live outside the country,” and the top ten nightly shows! Mehrdad taught me how to enjoy life under the worst conditions during those two weeks. Yes I am still dreaming. It is like it was all a dream. It must have been a dream when we were making playing cards using boxes from dates and we would be playing cards all night with the al-Qaeda kids. It is as if I am dreaming when I remember how we used to play backgammon with official al-Qaeda members and the games would go on for so long that they would miss their prayer times. I must be dreaming that for 20 to 25 days I was at a place where the communist song ‘The International’ was not to save human beings but the prison was internationalized itself. Americans, Arabs, Afghans, Kurds, Canadians, and Sri Lankans were all within five meters of each other. It is as if I am dreaming that “it was all well…it was all well…the only one missing was Lenin himself!”
This must have really been a dream that on my way to court the agent sarcastically suggested to me to push a button for a beautiful lady to appear and I was dumb enough to look for the button for 15 seconds only to realize that he was teasing me! It is as if I am dreaming that I am still walking in my cell, reviewing a lifetime of memories. I have killed any regrets within myself. I must be dreaming that I saw Heshmat [Tabarzadi]. He is the one who stood behind me like a mountain during the hardest days of my imprisonment. He is smiling at anything that is serious in life, and then invites me to a game of chess. It is as if it was all a dream when I see that the gate for the break room in ward 209 was even more popular than all the chat rooms of Yahoo!. Everyone was leaving messages for each other.
It is as if I am still dreaming that the guard came to me and said, “Foad, get your stuff.” After 97 days, for the first time I had teary eyes when I left the embrace of Heshmat and turned my back to him and left him in his corner.
It is as if I am still dreaming that I left the prison gates and all of a sudden people started screaming for joy and I was in my father’s arms. I am still dreaming. It is all a dream. The prison and its limitations gave me a gift of creativity. I still have dreams where the prison is only a tale.
First I must thank my dear parents who were like the sun and the sea. During the 97 days they gave me light and purity. I also like to thank all my friends whose names I will not list as it will be a long list. These friends were with me, despite the tall walls of Evin and did not forget me. And of course, I would like to thank all the media outlets who covered my news in any way possible.
At the end I hope there will come a day when the dreams of thousands of human beings who are among the most beautiful children of the sun and the wind will come true. They are the ones who finally proved right here on these hills of Evin that the winter will eventually come to an end and the spring will blossom.
But until then, I will keep dreaming. Although the hosts of the feast see Evin as only a dream, but me and millions of other green sprouts see it as an undeniable reality. Our dreams will become reality and their prisons will become a tale.
Translated by Persian2english.com
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