I spent four years in Tanzania; between 14 and 18; 1988 to 1992. The first three of those four years were spent in the capital, Dar es Salaam, where dad was assigned to the Iranian embassy as the CFO. That sounds important until I tell you the embassy’s staff totaled 5, including the ambassador and the embassy secretary, a young Tanzanian man named Mohammad, if I recall correctly.
Second in the ranks was the diplomatic attaché, the assistant to the ambassador, the man who wore many hats, especially since he spoke English and the ambassador, a mullah (surprise surprise) did not (surprise?). This man was Brahman Jahangir, an educated and smart man in his forties, with curly reddish hair and rimless glasses.
We all became good friends with Bahman and his young wife, mainly because none of us gave two hoots about the restrictive rules of the Islamic regime by which were all made a pretense of abiding while in public. We got together for dinner and drinks (wine for the adults, soda for me) and spent many fun nights, mom and Bahman’s wife in their own world on the sofa while we three played dominoes; Bahman quizzing me on English grammar; praising me when he realized my English skills were fast surpassing his own.
All his life, it seemed as if Bahman had been forced into decisions and situations he didn’t necessarily like, but put up with because what the hell, why not. In doing so, he often overcompensated by trying too hard to do a good job; to please his superior, and it made him come across as a bumbling simpleton to strangers; and dad being dad, constantly needled him about it. It was all good natured, and they shared a laugh together, Bahman turning red as he chuckled and tried to needle him back. I even managed to get a couple of good ones in on him before I was checked by dad and told to remember to respect my elders.
There was another side to Bahman, a side I was introduced to when I was left in his charge for a while as his wife, mom, and dad all went back to Iran for a while to do… whatever. He’d come home from work, frazzled and tired. We’d all eat the meal the housekeeper had prepared, and then rest for a while as we caught up with each other’s day and whatnot.
And then came the evening, and with it brought a sparkle to Bahman’s eyes. A mischievous glint, accompanied by a wry smile that signaled his intent to let lose, to do things he normally wouldn’t. Alas, we were limited in how much adventure we could find, what with me being a 15 year old and him being the second in command at the Iranian embassy. We were expected to act restrained and Islamic like, which meant stuck up and boring.
So we went to the beach, we rented rude comedies from the video store, and we blasted whatever music we had in the car as we went to the beach and the video store. Doesn’t sound like much but we had fun! Bahman was just happy to be free of the constraints of his daily life; his job, his obligations, and everything else that was foisted upon him somehow and he surrendered to.
Even when we had to accompany the ambassador whathisname to the mosque and line up behind him in prayer, he couldn’t help but crack up because he realized I, like him, was just mouthing the prayers and mimicking others’ movements. Neither of us had a clue how to be a ‘proper muslim’, and neither of us cared to learn. It was all we could do not to burst into laughter mid prayer and get into huge trouble.
That week or however long it was, Bahman was a teenager like me. He was free to let loose, albeit in a constrained measure, knowing full and well that I would let loose with him. Because that’s what teenagers do. Faced with all the pressures and heft of life, every once in a while…
They let loose
Bahman (an old Zoroastrian name meaning “good mind”) Jahangir died a few days ago, on the 24th of October. He lost a four year battle with Lewy Body Dimentia. I guess that teenager inside him finally won the fight. For one last time…
Bahman let loose.