In a village called Huwai, mi staying overlaps with New Year’s eve. It is March, 21st in our calendar, and the first day of month Farvardin in the Persian calendar. Iraj is a young English teacher. His family and him are happy to host me for that special night.
A frame with Quranic verses takes preferential place over a carpet. In front of it there is a series of objects that seem to have been congregated by the random hallucination of a loony. There are apples, tea, and plates with candies. So far so good. Beneath comprehension, there is also a bowl full with water and two coins in its bottom. Not far there is a tray with living grass, which will be dropped the following morning. At midnight we are all jumping across a bonfire in the village’s streets. I start to understand that Shia Muslims in Iran still conserve several elements from Zoroastrian tradition.
My host’s house, the following morning.
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