Nowruz 1389

Aide Shoma Mobarak : Celebrating Nowruz with the IACA

by Gregory Hofmann

The nostalgia wasn't immediate when I walked ito Seattle Town Hall; the place was swanky, and people were dressed to the nines, and I was surrounded by more Persians than ever before. That's a pretty far cry from anything that ever happened in my little town back East. I hadn't been to a community event like this since the last time I was part of a community, back in Skowhegan, Maine in the late 80s and early 90s, and it wasn't like this; so I was glad that I didn't try to stroll in wearing my street clothes. Families were gathered to celebrate a holiday that I knew diddly-squat about. Nowruz. The first wave of nostalgia set in when I saw a little girl snapping photographs of the fancy holiday spread, and being gently scolded when she reached for an apple on the banquet table in the lobby. That apple, I found later, was to symbolize health and beauty going into the new year, and not to be eaten just yet. I didn't even know that it was New Year's Day. AJ Ghambari – our contact at the event – welcomed us quickly but warmly, pointed us toward the cream puff table, and disappeared into the auditorium. The lobby lights blinked, and we wandered inside. Showtime.

Here comes the nostalgia again, and it doesn't subside until later, when I leave the venue.

A high school aged duo performed traditional songs of Iran with the choral accompaniment of the Farsi speaking audience; my impression is that the two of them had been nervously anticipating this night for months, and possibly years as part of the audience. From up on stage, the audience must have seemed scary big, but an audience that sings along is a wonderful support group. After a brief welcome speech by representatives from the Iranian American Community Alliance (IACA), a gaggle of colorfully adorned kiddos poured out onto the stage in adorable misformation, bumping into one another, scanning the audience for the faces of their parents. Each child carried an offering for the traditional Haft Sin table up on the stage (here's where I learned the significance of the health and beauty apple from the lobby). It all happened too fast for me to accurately record each offering and its significance, but the performance was an endearing display of courage and solemnity by children too small to speak into the microphone. Love. The coming of Spring. Rebirth. Patience. Sunrise. Eventually the hard-smiling children scampered off stage, and were succeeded by an even smaller bunch whose dance instructors chaperoned them through choreography that seemed to blend modern with traditional. When all the children were finished, and had received roses for their performances, they were surprised by the sudden appearance of Amu Nowruz – the old man of Spring, and something like a Persian Santa Claus – who handed out something-I-don't-know-what to the eager young folks.

Intermission. Children chasing each other around a column in the lobby, a father carrying his sleeping daughter around like a sack of potatoes. Cream puffs and appetizers. A chance to talk to some of the people about what I now understand is going on. For some, the evening was an opportunity to celebrate with friends and members of the community, and to reflect upon the complexity of life in Iran. What a big crowd!

For me, it was an unexpected learning opportunity, and a chance to reflect through murky, rose-tinted memories on the community I left so many years ago in Skowhegan, Maine, where Nowruz isn't a blip on the radar, and where the entire town hall could fit inside the Seattle Town Hall's auditorium, but where dance and piano recitals held the same sleepy excitement that send ripples of supportive giggles through an audience of friends and neighbors.

The second half of the program involved more dance (just grown-ups this time), and a traditional string quintet. The sugar rush from the cream puffs had subsided, and my eyelids drooped. I would've fallen asleep entirely had I not been so tickled by the memory of falling asleep in the stiff chairs of Skowhegan's Town Hall, and being slung over my father's shoulder like a well-dressed sack of potatoes. There was talk of a dance party following the performance, but I didn't stick around to find out. It had been a long day for me, and I was off to bed early.

The event was a wonderful introduction to the the IACA, and a cozy reminder that in all the communities in the US and around the world, each generation hopes for peace and prosperity in their time and for generations to come So, aide shoma mobarak, and here's hoping that Amu Nowruz brings harmony, and the apples of health and beauty to the people of the IACA, Seattle, Iran, and the World in this, the year 1389.