Every spring since I was little, I can remember my mom setting up a “Haft-Sin:” a table adorned with garlic, apples, dry oleaster fruit, lentil sprouts, pudding, vinegar, and sumac berries. My sister and I would accessorize the table with hand-painted hard boiled eggs and freshly picked purple Hyacinth flowers. We would do this to celebrate Nowruz, the Persian New Year, which happens every year on the first day of spring.
Millions of people, including my relatives in Iran and America, celebrate Nowruz each year by deep cleaning their homes, shopping for gifts, and wishing one another health and happiness. It has been an incredibly important tradition to my family and one of my fondest reminders of our rich Iranian heritage.
Over the last year, Iranians have dealt with immeasurable grief. 176 Iranians died in a plane crash in January and thousands have been hospitalized because of suffocating pollution.
Now, as Coronavirus is ravaging through Iran, it seems increasingly likely that they will never catch a break. With the virus still spreading, almost eighteen thousand people have been infected and over a thousand have already died. The situation closely parallels the developments occurring in the United States, rendering my family on both sides of the ocean unable to leave their houses.
Celebrating Nowruz is one of the only things my family and I have been looking forward to after months of terrible news, but the spread of Coronavirus has disastrous ramifications for Nowruz festivities. On Chaharshanbe Suri, an Iranian festival that is akin to America’s 4th of July, the streets were left empty as people were forced to stay home. Banks and schools that are usually closed for two weeks to commemorate the family-oriented festival of Nowruz are now indefinitely shut down, leaving Iranians with little certainty about the future. Instead of celebrating new life and beginnings, they have been left mourning death.
My house, which would usually be bustling with relatives and freshly baked pastries around this time of year, is ominous and empty. Typically, my family would be giving out Eidis, gifts that usually take the form of cash, at this time. Now, my relatives are repurposing the money they’d use for Eidis into purchasing sanitation and critical supplies that are quickly running out. Iran was already reeling, but now the economy is on the brink of collapse as people are unable to work or shop.
My grandmother, the matriarch of our family, has taught me to always make the best of any situation. Even while struggling with Iran’s rapid inflation, she has never stopped demonstrating Taarof, the Iranian art of etiquette. During Nowruz she would always pile plates high with basmati rice topped with fesenjoon, crushed walnut stew, and insist people take second helpings home, refusing to take no for an answer.
Recognizing the turmoil my relatives in Iran are facing, my parents have been having video calls with my relatives in Iran to boost their spirits amid this historic crisis. The tumultuous trials we have faced over the past few years illustrate a truth about the Iranian people:
They are strong.
In the face of adversity, we find and nurture the tiniest slivers of hope. I recently found out that my mother’s cousin was one of the doctors captured in now-viral videos of Iranian doctors dancing to Persian music to relieve tension during back-to-back shifts. The grit that healthcare workers like my uncle are showing in this time of distress speaks to the determination of the Iranian people.
I’m confident that in the spirit of Nowruz, Iranians can come together and safely celebrate our rich heritage.
Words by Sophia Kianni