Iranian Rappers and Persian Porn

celestial teapot orbiting the earth to be false, then, in fact, there must be one up there doing just that.

Even the CIA itself has admitted that Iran has no nuclear weapons program, by noting that Iran is ten years away from developing nuclear weapons. The importance of this timeframe cannot be overstated, for it means Iran has no such program whatsoever, or, as former UN weapons inspector Scott Ritter put it in a recent speech, “Ten years, ladies and gentleman, in this modern day and age, means Iran is not doing anything! Any nation in the world today is ten years away from developing nuclear weapons!” In 2007, much the same was concluded when America’s collective intelligence agencies produced an authoritative National Intelligence Estimate (NIE) on the current state of Iran’s “nuclear intentions and capabilities.” This report rubbished claims that Iran is trying to obtain a nuclear weapon and concluded with “high confidence” that as of 2003 Iran had abandoned its nuclear weapons program and had not restarted it.

Another oft repeated distortion used to demonize Iran is that the country’s president, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has stated that he wants to “wipe Israel off the map.” My personal opinion of President Ahmadinejad is that he’s an odious little twat, but when translated correctly, his alleged remark, which took place during a controversial speech in 2005, actually says something very different. According to American professor of modern Middle Eastern history, Juan Cole, as well as other Farsi language analysts, the correct literal translation of the remark is, “The Imam said this regime occupying Jerusalem must vanish from the pages of time.” No reference to “Israel” or to a “map.” And a regime is very different to the landmass of a country and its people.

In Farsi, the remark is “Imam ghoft een rezhim-e ishghalgar-e qods bayad az safheh-ye ruzgar mahv shaved,” which I put here not for the benefit of those who can understand it, but due to the significance of the fourth word in, “rezhim-e.” This is the “regime” bit, which is pretty much pronounced the same way as the English version but with a bit of a throaty “eh” at its end. Ahmadinejad had actually been quoting from a speech given by the late Ayatollah Khomeini back in the early 1980s, so the words attributed to him are not even his original prose. Khomeini’s earlier remarks had expressed a hope that one day the Israeli regime mistreating the Palestinians would be replaced with a fairer, more equitable one.

Also generally unknown is that Ahmadinejad compared the downfall of the regime occupying Jerusalem to the demise of the Shah in Iran. Jonathon Steele makes the following observation in an article for one of Britain’s leading newspapers, the Guardian:

The fact that he compared his desired option—the elimination of “the regime occupying Jerusalem”—with the fall of the Shah’s regime in Iran makes it crystal clear that he is talking about regime change, not the end of Israel. As a schoolboy opponent of the Shah in the 1970s, he surely did not favour Iran’s removal from the page of time. He just wanted the Shah out.

When Pedram, the lads, and I arrived back in Tehran there was a street carnival of some sort kicking off in the north of the city. After weaving our way through the hectic traffic and animated revelers, we headed over to Pedram’s place. This would be the last time I’d get to see them, because I was leaving for Esfahan first thing in the morning. We all embraced and shook hands vigorously as we wished each other well. I was gonna miss these crazy bastards.

Once inside, Pedram and I had the unfortunate prospect of trying to act completely sober in front of his parents and not just in passing, but over a meal that they had prepared for me. The fact that Iranians eat their evening meals very late was our saving grace, as we managed to get a full two hours sleep before dinnertime. The snooze did the trick, and we both managed to hold it together, although it wasn’t easy.

At the meal were both his parents, his sister, and his brother-in-law, who had come over especially to eat with me. His mother put on a wonderful spread, which was a mixture of traditional Iranian foods, like kebabs and crispy rice cake fritters, along with more Western culinary delights, like fried chicken. After being asked what I thought of Bush and Blair, I asked my hosts the same question, to which Pedram’s brother-in-law came up with a novel reason, and possibly the only reason, to like the prime minister. “I like Mr. Tony Blair,” he said. “He wear nice suits.” When I asked them what they thought of their government, they were restrained and seemed reluctant to answer.

After dinner, Pedram presented me with an English translation of the poems of Hafez. “In Iran, there is a saying that every house should have two books, first the Koran and second Hafez.” And from my experience, I might add a third—an English-to-Persian translation of the lyrics of German rock gods, Modern Talking.

Since I would be visiting Shiraz soon, which is home to Hafez’s tomb, Pedram asked me to visit it and read some of the book there. I thanked him for the gift and his parents for the meal and their hospitality. Before going to bed, Pedram and I sat up with his father and drank several cups of sweet tea together as a sort of goodbye gesture. As a result, I awoke in the middle of the night in dire need of the bathroom.

Before getting out of bed, I recalled something Ricardo had told me about the reaction of a middle-aged Iranian man to his Turkish travel book. The man had casually thumbed through its pages until he came across a picture of a man in swim trunks on the beach. On seeing this, he looked embarrassed and gave the book back in a hasty way, as if handling illicit contraband. With this in mind, I considered putting my pants on in case I bumped into Pedram’s parents in the hallway and they were similarly appalled by my unshapely hairy legs and knobbly knees. But as it was about three in the morning, I just couldn’t be bothered; surely they were both tucked up in bed and away with the fairies.

I quietly got up and started the long dark walk to the bathroom, wearing nothing but my “smalls.” I stalked across the creaking floorboards as if on some covert Special Forces op, trying to detect the slightest sound or stirring coming from Pedram’s parents’ room. All was clear on the western front. I reached the toilet door with a sigh of relief, and slowly began to open it whilst continuing my reconnaissance behind me, looking back in the direction of their room. I got the fright of my life when I now turned around and looked into the bathroom itself, where to my horror was Pedram’s father, not a foot away, with his pants around his ankles taking a dump on the squat toilet. I quickly slammed the door with an, “Oh my goodness, I’m awfully sorry!” and made a tactical retreat back to Pedram’s room.

Thank God it hadn’t been his mother was all I could think. I lay in the darkness straining to hear his father return to his room. I heard him leave the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived; just to make matters even more embarrassing, he came into Pedram’s room and started to apologize repeatedly for not locking the door. I didn’t want to have a drawn-out discussion on this one, so apologized back in the hope he’d leave it at that and we could just forget all about it. It took a while, but eventually, after several more cringeworthy apologies, he left. I waited for a tense ten minutes or more before I tried to go back to the bathroom again.

I was far more agitated this time, and on reaching the toilet door, I cupped my ear against it to check it was vacant. After a fraught moment, I made the decision it was clear and quickly slipped inside. After taking a leak, I got myself ready for the journey back again but as I opened the door to leave, I had the fright of my life as there in the hallway in a tablecloth-like veil was Pedram’s mother. I quickly shut the door again, my veins now awash with adrenaline.

I prayed fervently that this conservative Muslim woman hadn’t seen me in my underwear. This was total madness, and I couldn’t get my head around what the hell they were both doing up wandering around the house at this hour. I didn’t dare exit for another fifteen minutes. In the end, I took a deep breath, turned off the bathroom light, then quickly opened the door and sprinted for Pedram’s room. Next time, I decided I’d sure as hell be wearing my pants, a shirt, and if need be a tie as well.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Traveling in Style with the Single-Handed Man

Pedram and I awoke at six o’clock sharp when his alarm went off. We were greeted by a delicious breakfast prepared by his wonderful mother who must have got up especially early to make it before I left. I was quite touched at her generosity. After breakfast, Pedram phoned a cab and then had a word with the driver in Farsi, telling me the correct price to pay so I didn’t get ripped off. We hugged, wished each other well, and parted.

The taxi was driven by a kindly old chap who spoke good English. He explained that the office had given him the job because Pedram had mentioned when he phoned that the lift was for an Englishman. As he was the only English speaker in the office they gave it to him, so I would have someone to talk to.