Pulling the Strings
Teachers were usually recruited as members of the governing party if they ever wanted to climb the career ladder or aspire to the best. I was new, not a member but those responsible knew I was not really interested in any political activities so they ranked me as harmless. Some of them even liked me for that. One rainy evening three of those big party member teachers appeared in my mud house. They started: The foreign ministry has opened vacancies for translators and you know it is highly prestigious if you work in the foreign ministry. In addition, once you get a job there, chances that you switch to the diplomatic corps are very high. We know about your language skills and want you to apply for the job. But you should know you can’t apply without the party’s sanction. I was flattered but I didn’t really take it seriously. I even thought they were taking me for a ride.

I was struck with astonishment when an invitation from the foreign ministry to sit a language test was in our letter-box. There were one hundred applicants and most of them were teachers of English. I was an incurable listener of the BBC World Service, an Economist addict and a British Council frequenter. I remember some friends even advised against working for the Council otherwise I would have been stigmatized as a traitor for ever. So my chances to pass the test were rather high but I was well aware nepotism and party membership would bar my way. I didn’t pin all my hopes on it and was not in the least nervous when the day came. All the applicants arrived. They were sons and daughters of very influential people. It was like a dream to find myself, me a very unimportant teacher, son of a humble family who lived in a mud house to be among all those people, taking a test in the foreign ministry. Nobody could believe it.

Six months later all of us were invited again either to an interview or to tell us the results. We met in a big assembly hall. The personnel manager announced that only five candidates passed the test with my name topping the short list. One of the teachers in the neighboring school was seething with rage when he heard it. He got up and said: Sir, how can he (pointing to me) be accepted in the foreign ministry even though he is not a member of the party and I feel dubious (referring to my first name) about his identity. To my surprise the manager answered: Look, he has the party’s sanction and has the best results. I didn’t have a chance even to defend myself. In addition, I was completely beside myself and was wondering whether it was a dream or not.

I came across some of those teachers in the city. One of them turned to me and said: Look, your face is not one of those faces which belong to the foreign ministry. Sooner or later they will throw you out. Do you seriously believe you can be accepted just like that? But my poor family was very proud and had their heads in the clouds. My father said: you will be even an ambassador one day and you’ll earn a lot of money. My poor father, he was so much obsessed with money and prestige. But some people thought it was better to stay as a teacher bearing in mind the summer vacation and the short working hours.

All my hopes, however, vanished in the air and burst in a bubble when the military called me to do the service. I lost my job as a teacher and the foreign ministry was far-off shores. Instead I became a poor soldier. I thought of all possible ways to avoid it and even thought of taking my life for being a soldier was unworthy of a human being in my country. One of the university graduate soldiers even remarked: I prefer spending one year in the toilet at home to being a soldier here. There was no difference between what was your head or feet. Some comforted me by saying it was only one year and I could then choose between my job as a teacher or the foreign ministry. I bought a calendar and started ticking the days off. The first three months were not that bad. A fat officer let me work in the small library of the military camp. All the books there were about the glorious party and how to defend your beloved country. I started hating patriotism and identities.

Whenever it was lunch time the fat officer sent me to buy lunch for him but didn’t give me money. So it became quiet expensive for me to continue there. One day after a nap I had a brilliant idea. I knew I was a bit short-sighted and I thought I would go to an eye-specialist and say: I can’t see much. The military would not accept heavily short-sighted people any way and I would be sent home. I also knew there were some specialists if you gave them more money you would get the certificate. My father even knew a doctor who worked for the military. We phoned him and he told us how to proceed further. Finally, the doctor said the certificate would be sent to the officer in charge.

I waited and waited and weeks passed but the certificate was not in sight. My father went back to the doctor with some more presents. The doctor phoned some people and then said: Your son should go back and inquire in the office. It must be there by now. I had the feeling the fat officer was hiding it somewhere. I went to him and said: You were very kind to me all the time and I am going to have a suit tailored personally for you the day I get my certificate. He promised he would give it to me the moment it arrived. Two months later my father went back to the doctor with some special kind of honey and was able to get a copy. He brought the precious document home and gave it to me. The following day when I showed the officer the copy he said: let me see. Then under a big pile of papers he produced the original document. The officer immediately said: don’t forget the big invitation and the suit you promised. I said: of course I won’t, you were after all my guardian angel.

I immediately contacted the foreign ministry whether my appointment was still in place. Some weeks later I was invited to an interview with the deputy foreign secretary. He was a romantic man, a poet. He asked me one question which I couldn’t answer: if you fall in love with a lady what roses will you give her? But I think he was joking with me for I immediately got a ministerial order for my appointment. My school was informed about my transfer and I began my new career. The translations were all about the benevolent party and the telegrams sent to the most intelligent man in the world.

A few months later our senior translator said: if we didn’t switch to the diplomatic corps we would stay as translators all our life. A one-year course was organized to train those who liked the switch. We could learn and continue receiving our pay. After finishing our training my title changed to “Third Secretary”. Fate took its course and I was transferred for five years to an embassy but destined never to go back.

Jamshid
Bremen, 4 September 2007