Captive in Iran

by Maryam Rostampour

  “Yes, we did that,” Marziyeh said. “We spent fifteen days at Vozara.” Maedeh was very interested in Christianity and asked a lot of questions. She had visited a church and felt joy listening to the prayers and hymns, even though she didn’t understand the language. Eventually, we shared some stories of our lives and our faith journeys with each other, and we prayed together. After a while, Maedeh and Magda were released.

  Maedeh was a great example of God’s love and power even in situations that seem hopeless. If we hadn’t been in prison, we wouldn’t have had the chance to leave our messages at Vozara and Ward 209. If Maedeh hadn’t been in prison, she never would have seen them and we never would have met her. What looked like a failure by worldly standards was a great victory for Christ: His message proclaimed under the very noses of a regime desperate to stop it.

  CHAPTER 17

  A WATCHING WORLD

  Marziyeh

  Our conversation with Maedeh was another reminder of how God had moved us on from what we thought we should be doing to what He wanted us to do. We had hosted two home churches and distributed twenty thousand Farsi New Testaments, evangelizing while avoiding the regime. It was a slow process. Now that we were in prison, we could talk openly about our faith. Whereas before we had searched for people to speak to, now they came looking for us: “Go see the Christian girls!” The very prison system that tried to silence us was now our megaphone: Our arrest, our story, and our message of faith were news around the world. Our interrogators were helping us share the gospel!

  As remarkable as that situation was, God never seemed to run out of new surprises. When we got back to Ward 2, the gossipy old woman we called Mommy had been moved to a new spot in the room, away from the door and into a back corner, to try to keep her from stirring up trouble. It didn’t help much. She kept telling stories about inmates, spreading rumors, and trying to turn one prisoner against another. It seemed like this was her way of feeling important.

  Her big mistake came from crossing Tahmasebi, whose stature as a long-timer made her fearless in standing her ground. A new girl, named Mahnaz, was in on drug charges. For some reason, she came to live with us on the second floor instead of downstairs with the rest of the addicts. Encouraged by Mommy, she bullied the other women, the way the addicts were used to treating one another.

  One day, Tahmasebi, who was very fastidious about cleanliness and about her big stash of personal belongings, saw Mahnaz leaning on her bed. That caused an argument that later grew into a full-fledged fistfight. When we heard a lot of yelling and ran into the hallway, we saw Tahmasebi holding Mahnaz by the throat with one hand, like a cat holding a mouse, and furiously slapping her face with the other. She was so angry and so strong that the rest of us were powerless to stop her. Finally, her anger spent, Tahmasebi let go, saying, “No more bullying from you. This is it! One more step out of line and I’ll deal with you permanently.”

  She knew that Mommy had encouraged Mahnaz’s behavior. Walking to the door of Mommy’s room, Tahmasebi added, “Let me warn everybody who fans the flames of these troubles: Stop it. Immediately. I don’t care how old they are, or how long they’ve been here. From now on, I will deal with them the same way.”

  The rest of us in the room discussed whether we should complain directly to Mrs. Rezaei, the warden of the women’s prison. Many of us had tried to reason with Mommy; we had tried to befriend her and had endured her lies and slander countless times. Furthermore, we had seen her one night walking briskly and easily in the hallway when she thought no one was looking—her whole “I can barely walk” routine was just an act! Another way of getting attention! When we shared the idea of a formal complaint with Rozita and a few others, they were ecstatic.

  When Mommy caught wind of our plan, she rushed to give Mrs. Rezaei her side of the story first, hoping the warden would make a decision on the spot and refuse even to see us. But we got our appointment anyway. Inmates waited hours in the hall outside the warden’s door for a meeting that might last ten minutes at most. When our turn came, we entered a large, comfortable office decorated with plants and carvings. There was a big desk with several large leather armchairs in front of it. Mrs. Rezaei was a tall, slim woman with a welcoming face and a calm manner. We knew from experience that prison officials were more careful with political prisoners because they were more likely than others to spread the news of how they were treated. Our recent notoriety on TV and on the Internet made our treatment even more important.

  Mrs. Rezaei invited us to sit down, pretending not to know why we were there. She was a very good actress.

  I explained that the woman we called Mommy constantly caused disturbances and breakdowns of peace and calm in our room. She was addicted to talking behind other people’s backs and turning women against each other. “We’re sure you have heard of the fistfights she has caused recently in our ward,” I said.

  “She also has a habit of telling new prisoners all about the other inmates,” Maryam added. “We don’t actually mind that, because she always tells them we’re here because we are Christians. This makes the newcomers curious, and they always want to know more about Jesus and Christianity.” This was true. We knew many of the guards didn’t like the fact that we talked about Christianity and were very sensitive about the issue. Privately, we knew that Mommy, as irritating as she was, was also helping us. In spreading her gossip about us, Mommy spread the word to every newcomer about “the Christian girls” and made them want to know more about our message.

  Mrs. Rezaei thought for a moment. “You are absolutely right about this old woman,” she said. “She’s too old to change her behavior. The only solution I can see is to move her to another room. I will order the change.”

  Later that evening, someone came in and said to Mommy, “You are moving to another room immediately.”

  Mommy was incredulous. “Never!” she sputtered. “Who has ordered this?”

  “Mrs. Rezaei.”

  Mommy bolted for the warden’s office, but the order stood. She would be moved away from the political prisoners and in with the murderers.

  Mommy’s next tactic was to delay the move as long as possible, but the guards would have none of it. Miraculously, by the end of the day, Mommy was gone for good. Everyone in our section was happy, and they showered Maryam and me with thanks for doing what had seemed impossible.

  Our friend Mrs. Arab returned from her parole. It was normal for women who had been locked up for a while, and who had families, to get a temporary parole to visit their relatives. As strongly as Mrs. Arab had defended Islam, she was getting more and more interested in Christianity since her son had been released by his kidnappers after she prayed to Jesus. She told me she was still in prison partly because her husband, an Islamic fanatic she had left years before, was jealous of her success in the rice trade and was using his government connections to keep her behind bars until she agreed to go back to him.

  One night, not long after she returned to Evin, Maryam and I had a long talk with Mrs. Arab about Jesus. The next morning, she said she had dreamed about Him. Later that day, when she came back from the cultural center, she said she had a secret to share with us after lights out.

  When the guards closed the cellblock for the night, Mrs. Arab called us to her bed. From underneath her pillow she pulled out a book of short excerpts from the Bible. With tears streaming down her face, she said she had found it in a stack of unused books in the cultural center library.

  “When I opened it, I couldn’t believe what I had,” she said. “The sentences were talking to me. I felt like this was God’s way of answering my questions about Him.”

  It was another amazing reminder that God has His own way of doing things. Mrs. Arab hid the book under her pillow and read from it every night from then on.

  MARYAM

  We had now been imprisoned for nearly six months, including two weeks at the Vozara police station and thirty-eight days in isolation in Ward 209. We still had not met with a lawyer
who was in a position to represent us in court, and still had not seen the charges against us in writing. We had come to terms with the fact that there was nothing else we could do to gain our freedom. Christian activists were calling for our release, faithful believers around the world were praying, and (we later learned) influential people were working behind the scenes to help us. But it was all in the Lord’s hands. We had to trust the next step to Him. Rather than worrying about our release, we focused on getting through each day and reaching out to our fellow prisoners with encouragement and compassion.

  In the outside world, our story had become international news and seemed to get bigger every day. We’d heard about this during our most recent interrogation. New arrivals now recognized us from TV and Internet reports. Some greeted us like entertainment personalities. We didn’t care about the celebrity; the advantage to us was that it made new prisoners seek us out and ask us questions about our faith. In an alien environment where they were disoriented and afraid, our familiar faces attracted them.

  One example was a woman who came into our room one night after lights out. The area was packed with bodies as usual, so that she had to find a spot on the floor. We heard her crying and saying, “I don’t belong here with all these criminals!” Later, she started crying again, making an irritating noise like she was trying to get attention. We made a sign to Rozita that we’d like to talk to her. When Rozita signaled her response, Marziyeh and I went to sit beside the woman on the floor in the dark.

  As we sat down, I took the woman’s hands in mine. Her face was swollen, probably from a beating. She grasped my hands in return and said, “I’m so afraid, I’m losing my mind! I can’t sleep. I’m in here because of a mistake. If my husband could have paid my bail, I wouldn’t be spending the night with these prisoners. I’m afraid of them.”

  “All prisoners are not criminals,” I said softly. “Many of the people here are political prisoners or have been arrested on financial charges. They’re normal people. You don’t have to be afraid of them.”

  “Are you a political prisoner?” the woman asked. “I like you.”

  I laughed. “No, my friend and I have been jailed because of our belief in Jesus Christ.”

  The woman sat up straight with a start. “You’re the two girls on Voice of America TV! I thought I’d seen you somewhere. My husband and I follow the news about you on TV and the Internet every day. I never imagined I’d be seeing you in person. I didn’t think they would keep you here with the regular prisoners. Do you know you’re famous?”

  “Yes,” I said, laughing again, “we’ve heard something about it. So, now do you feel better? If you hadn’t come to this prison, you would not have had the chance to meet us.” I added, jokingly, “So you see, being in prison isn’t all that bad. You’re in here with famous people. You don’t have to be ashamed of coming to prison and cry about it. In fact, if you keep crying, the long-term inmates will get angry and send you down the hall to sleep with the murderers. This room is the best one in the prison, so you’d better keep quiet.”

  The woman held on to my hand like a child. “Do something to calm me down,” she begged. “I’m so afraid.” I prayed for her and told her to try to go to sleep.

  As it happened, she was held for only a few days. On the morning of her release, she said, “As soon as I get out, I’m going to tell everybody I saw you in person!”

  A few days later, Marziyeh and I were visiting with Shirin Alam Hooli in Room 2 when another new inmate sat down beside us and asked excitedly, “Are you the two Christian girls who are supposed to be executed?” We all laughed at the question, but then we asked how she knew about us and that we were supposed to be executed.

  “I saw your photos in the news and on the Radio Farda website. [Radio Farda is the Iranian Farsi language service of Radio Free Europe.] Now here you are, just like in the pictures: one with short hair and one with long hair. I heard there were two Christian girls here, and when I saw you, I realized you’re the ones on the news.” Then her tone sharpened. “I’ve heard you will be executed. You’d better think about this. It’s not worth it.” The woman’s comments made Shirin angry, but we decided not to get into a conversation.

  Another prisoner, Mrs. Pari, came back from parole with news that her daughter’s home church was praying for us. Her daughter was happy that she knew us and hoped we would encourage her mother to open her heart to Christianity.

  “I think on some Islamic celebration day you’re going to be forgiven,” said Mrs. Pari, “because there are lots of campaigns going on saying you should be free. It will be hard for the government to convict you. On the other hand, if they set you free, they will lose face. It would be admitting they were wrong. Therefore, they will issue an official forgiveness.” Seeing all the reports about us on the outside had convinced Mrs. Pari to treat us with more respect.

  In my wildest dreams, I never expected to celebrate my twenty-eighth birthday in prison. Yet here I was, and it was a wonderful party. Shirin Alam Hooli had knitted a beautiful bag for me; others made gifts in the craft center or bought them from other inmates. Silva and our friend Marjan sang for me, and Shirin even danced, which no one had seen her do before. Marziyeh’s sister had sent her some jewelry to give to me, and my sister had sent a beautiful cross for me to wear as a necklace. Since we had not yet been allowed contact visits, these gifts were smuggled in by families of our friends in prison, who secretly gave them to Rozita during one of her contact visits.

  At our meeting with the warden, we had told her that we had not been allowed any contact visits, even though we should have, and she arranged for them after that.

  My cross necklace was yet another way to attract the attention of new prisoners. One of a group of new girls stopped me in the courtyard during a break and asked if I was a Christian.

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “I noticed your cross, and I thought you and your friend must be the two famous Christian girls everybody’s talking about. Is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. How do you know about us?”

  Without speaking, the girl took me by the hand and led me over to the rest of her friends. There were ten girls, all still in their party clothes from when they had been arrested for improper social contact under Sharia law.

  “Hey!” the girl shouted to the group. “This is Maryam, the Christian girl we prayed for in church. Can you believe she’s here in person?” Her friends crowded around, hugging me and shaking my hand. Shirin Alam Hooli and I sat down to visit with them.

  “Most of us are Christians,” the girl explained. “We live in Dubai. We were baptized a few months ago and go to church there. We came here for vacation and were invited to a garden party where there were both boys and girls. An hour after the party started, officers came and arrested us all. We’re waiting to find out how much our bail is, but nobody knows we’re Christians. Please don’t tell anybody,” she added quietly.

  It was exciting to see so many young girls enthused about being Christians. Their biggest worry at the moment was that there were pictures of their baptisms in the cell phones the police had confiscated. If the authorities saw the photos, the girls would be in serious trouble.

  “There are two girls in our group who are not Christians,” the young woman said. “Would you talk to them?”

  Both of these girls recognized me and asked some questions about Christianity. Then one of them said, “Seeing you here is a sign for us. We feel ashamed because we actually are Christians, but are afraid to say so openly, and many things inside our hearts still haven’t changed.”

  I spoke to them and encouraged the whole group. The next day, they paid their bail and left. As they were going, one of them said, “It seems like the only reason for us coming to prison was to meet you.”

  By now, our case had been mentioned in several official reports that were circulated by Amnesty International, the United Nations, and the European Parliament about the brutality of the Iranian government.
On August 8, 2009, online petitions were launched on our behalf. On August 14, Jubilee Campaign USA submitted a formal petition to the United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention, requesting help for us. In their petition, Jubilee referred to a May 27 declaration from the European Union condemning Iran’s discrimination against Christians in general and us in particular.

  We knew the Iranian judges were much more lenient when accused prisoners begged them for mercy and made them feel important. Our elderly friend Sousan, sentenced to eight years, had had her term reduced to one year after her sister went to court and begged the judge on her knees for help. Marziyeh and I agreed that we could never humiliate our faith in that way. We had absolutely nothing to apologize or ask forgiveness for. Now God was honoring our steadfastness by sending the whole world to help us.

  CHAPTER 18

  WAITING FOR NEWS

  Marziyeh

  Ever since the postelection protests, the whole country was in chaos. The rest of the world had no idea how angry the Iranian people were at being cheated, because foreign reporters were banned from showing the crowds in the streets or documenting any of the opposition. A few brave citizens made videos with their cell phones and broadcast the truth to the world. The security police tried to keep a lid on the uprising by cutting off communication inside the country and censoring the news even more than usual.

  Within the walls of Evin Prison, the overcrowding went from extreme to unimaginable, with prisoners packed in so tightly that guards couldn’t even enter our rooms. Many women had no bed and nowhere to store their belongings. We had to stop using windowsills as storage shelves and drying racks because new prisoners had to have the space. Their blankets completely covered the floors; at night it was hard for everyone to find room to stretch out. The heat and stench of so many bodies was worse than ever. We heard that hundreds of young girls arrested in the streets were downstairs in the drug addict ward, and that hundreds more were being held in schools because the prisons couldn’t take any more.