Daughter of Sheena (2)

Behnaz Zarrabizadeh

Daughter of Sheena-2

Memories of Qadamkheyr Mohammadi Kanaan
Wife of Sardar Shaheed Haj Sattar Ebrahimi Hajir
Memory writer: Behnaz Zarrabizadeh
Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company, 2011 (Persian Version)
Translated by Zahra Hosseinian

Name: Qadamkheyr Mohammadi Kan’aan
Birthday: 7th May, 1962, Qayesh village, Razan, Hamedan
Married: 3rd November 1977
Died: 7th January 2010

Name: Haj Sattar Ibrahami Hajir, (Commander of 155 Battalion, Ansar-ul-Hussein (AS) Division)
Birthday: 1st November 1956, Qayesh village, Razan, Hamedan
Martyrdom: 3rd March 1987, Shalamcheh (Karbala-5 Operation)

Chapter One
My father was sick. They said he was affected to a very hard disease. When I was born; he really recovered.
All family and friends took my birth the cause of my father’s health and healing. "What a lucky baby! Let's just call her, Qadamkheyr.” My uncle was excited and said. I was the last child of my parents. Before me, two daughters and four sons were born that all of them were either much older than me or married and have their own families. So, I became my parents’ dearest child, especially for my father. We lived in one of the Razan’s villages. I enjoyed living in the beautiful and good weather Qayesh village. Rural houses were surrounded by large agricultural lands, wheat and barley fields, and vineyards.
From morning to afternoon, accompanied by neighbor’s girls, I was running into narrow and dusty alleys of village. With no sorrow we laughed and played. Evenings, at sunset, we would go to the roof of our houses with the dolls we had made them out of fabric and woolen. All my dolls and toys in my lap, we climbed up the high stairs of ladder and until night we would sit on the roof and play house game. Children would long for my toys, which my father had bought me from the town. To their heart’s content, I would let the children play with them.
Night, when the stars would fill the sky, children one by one would run on the roofs and go to their homes; but I would sit down there and play with my toys and dolls. Sometimes when I was tired, I would lie down and look at the silver stars winking at me in the dark sky. My mother would follow me, when everywhere was quite dark and the air little by little would turn cool. She would hug, caress and climb me down the roof. She would ready my dinner and then my bed. Putting her arm under my head, she would sing stroke my hair me to sleep. Then she would go for her works. She would make some bread rolls and put them inside the tray to be baked for the breakfast in the morning.
Early in the morning, the smell of burned firewood and fresh bread would wake me up. I would feel the breeze on my face. I would run and wash my face with cool water pulled out of the well by my mother early in the morning. Then I would sit down on my father’s lap. It was my regular place at breakfast time. He would kindly put little morsel of food in my mouth and kiss my hair.
My father was a drover. He would buy sheep from surrounding villages monthly and take them to the towns nearby and Tehran for selling. This way he would earn a good income. In each transaction, a truck of sheep would be bought and sold. It was on these trips that he would buy me a variety of toys and dolls.
It was the worst day of my life, when my father was going on a business trip. I would cry my eyes out. My father would embrace and kiss me, saying: “If you be a good girl and not cry, I’ll buy whatever you want.”
With these promises, I would be hoaxed and consented to my father’s going. It was just then that I would start ordering. "Haj Agha! I want a doll; those dolls that have long hairs and blue eyes; those dolls which their eyes would open and close.” I would say, “I want bracelet too. Also buy me flip-flop. Those wooden heel sandals that clacking when you walk with them. I want household toys, too."
"I’ll buy them. You just be a good girl, do not cry. Laugh for your Haj Agha! Haj Agha buys everything for you."; my father would kiss me saying these.
I would not cry, but I would not laugh for my father, either. Because I had not to see him for a couple of days, I was upset. I disliked loneliness. Day and night, I wanted my father to be beside me. All the people of the village had heard how I cared for my father. Sometimes when my mother and I would go to the spring to bring water or washing our clothes, women would kid me and say: "Qadamkheyr! Whom will you marry?"
I would say: "To my Haj Agha!"
They would say: "Haj Agha is your father!"
And I would say: "No, Haj Agha is my husband. Whatever I want, he buys for me."
I was young and did not understand the meaning of these words. The women would chuckle and mumble together, clutching the clothes in the pan.
Days lasted a year, until my father came back from journey. My mother had a lot of works from morning to night. I was getting tired of idleness. I complained and said, "Give me a thing to do, I'm bored," she would say: “You should eat and sleep. In time, you will work until you’ll fit to drop. Haj Agha has asked me not to let you to lift a hand.", as she was doing her works.
I did not want to eat and sleep, but it was like I had no other work. My sisters would complain: "Mommy! You have held Qadamkheyr dear so much. How much do you hold her dear? Why did not treat us this way when we were child?!"
With all my parents’ attention, I could not convince them to go to school. "The school doesn’t fit for girls." My father would say.
A young man was a school teacher and classes were mixed. “Just the thing!” my mother would say: “If you go to school, you’ll sit next to the boys and a Non-mahram teacher teaches you."
But I loved to go to school. I knew my father would not tolerate my crying. Because of this, from morning to night I would cry and appeal: "Haj Agha! For the God’s sake, let me go to school."

"Very well, you don’t cry,” my father would not tolerate my crying and said, “I’ll send you to school with your mother, tomorrow." I always thought my father was telling the truth.
That night I went to bed enthusiastically. I could not sleep until morning, but when I asked my mother to take me to school early in the next morning, my father came, cheated me by thousand tricks, promised me, and said: “We have a lot of work today, but surely we will go to school tomorrow.” Finally, I did not get my wish, and I did not go to school.
I was nine years old that my mother taught me how to pray. That year, I fasted during Ramadan. The first few days were very difficult for me, but I liked fasting. I would wake up keenly at dawns, ate Sahari , and fasted.
After Ramadan, my father took my hand and took me to his cousin’s grocery. "I've come to buy a prize for my daughter. You know, Qadamkheyr is nine years old this year and has observed all her Sawm ." After greeting he said.
Among fabrics in the back of the grocery, my father’s cousin took away small white Chador with nice and tiny pink flowers and gave it to my father. He unfolded the Chador and threw it over my head. It was just my size, as if to be sewn for me. I was so happy to walk on air. "Honey, Qadamkheyr! You must wear Chador in the face of Non-mahram, from today." My father laughed and said.
Reaching home, I asked my mother about Mahram and Non-mahram that day. Then after when someone would come to our house, I would ask my mother: "Is he Mahram or Non-mahram?!”
Sometimes I would drive my mother mad. Therefore, I would wear my Chador every time a man would come to our house. Mahram and Non-mahram made no sense anymore for me. I would wear Chador even in front of my brothers.

To be continued…