What is a Baha’i? A believer in Baha’u'llah. There are several hundred thousand believers in Baha’u'llah in the United States, but not all of them do you see at Baha’i community activities. For some they are cut off by geography from being able to partake of being with the Baha’i friends on a regular basis. For others the isolation may be more by choice. Maybe they experienced hurt feelings. Maybe they don’t see themselves as worthy. But there is always a story there that is worth knowing about.
Nevergreen is a teacher participating in Teach for America, which is, according to its website, the national corps of top college graduates who commit two years to teach in under-resourced public schools and become lifelong leaders in the pursuit of educational equity. In its 16-year history, Teach For America has recruited and trained more than 14,000 teachers, impacting more than 2 million students.
Nevergreen is also a writer. She composes stories like the rest of us breathe air.
There is a Baha’i story in this writer, just as there is a writer in this Baha’i story. Nevergreen is an isolated Baha’i.
Here is one of Nevergreen’s stories. My thanks to her for letting me re-post it. “Real Baha’is, real life.”
May 4, 2006 - Thursday — “Wish”
For some reason, I’ve had trouble accessing this site at my house. This is trouble, because I like writing about things at home. I like posting them online, where others can read about it. Writing is also my self-esteem fix–since it’s the only thing I feel particularly good at. Not being able to write, to communicate with an audience comprised of friends, is driving me nuts.
And then there’s the matter of other people’s blogs. I can’t access those either, most evenings. My computer just quits. It refuses to download the whole page. So, I’ve read part of Jamie’s account of her marathon. I’ve seen captions, but not pictures, from Denise’s long-anticipated concert. I’ve tried to re-read Ben’s essay, “Primal,” and couldn’t load more than the italics. I haven’t been able to see whether or not Danielle is continuing her foray into the tintillating world of blogging. I’ve seen some lovely fragments of poetry from Lily, or maybe it was Emily. Probably both. Sarah wrote about eleven good things, I think, but I read two lines. It’s frustrating. Dammit, I’m frustrated.
I need to know what’s going on in other people’s lives. No need to discuss why. I long-ago acknowledged my cravings for voyeurism, whether in the form of blogs or tabloids. (I prefer my friends’ blogs. And Neil Gaiman’s.)
So, now, I’m frantically typing at school. There are so many things I need to write about, but I can’t when I’m writing in a Word program. Don’t know why. It’s my attention-fix, I guess. My need to send something out into the world.
Photo by Nevergreen, “today’s readers, tomorrow’s leaders”
There are so many things I’m thinking about. Those dead dolphins, for instance. Or, how a substitute teacher, a grown woman, mind you, called my twelve-year-old student a ho, a tramp, and a doorknob–another slur with the same meaning. (How on earth did doorknob come to mean a ho? I wonder.) Another teacher joked and said, “They’re probably fighting over the same man.”
I’ve also been thinking about the fights, the damn fights, my students keep getting into. So many students have been suspended since Tuesday. It’s frustrating. Temperature and tempers are rising.
I’m also thinking of my student, who’s been living as a little girl her whole life. Turns out, She actually has more of a male anatomy and chromosomes. So what will that mean for this child? I mean, this child’s life is about to change.
And then there’s one of my favorite students. Boys bullied her last September, sexually harassing her. Called her names, asked her to do a little bit of this and that to her. Then they started touching her, and other girls, inappropriately. Running up to them and grabbing their breasts, for example. I was the teacher she confided in. I turned all this information into the office, only to be told by the school counselor that the boys were only playing a game. And that the girls were playing the game to–so really it was everyone’s fault. Well, this girl began to receive a new wave of sexual harassment earlier this week. This time, the office is dealing with it. (Only because a fight was brewing, if you ask me.) But it’s terrible to see her go through it. I don’t know what to do. Well, I refer her to the district psychologist for therapy. I hope her parents won’t withdraw her from the services.
Some good news: I went to Memphis to celebrate Ridvan with the Baha’i community. They were warm and wonderful! I loved it so much. It was home. There were so many families there–young couples with children running around. It was a great group of many races, many ages, many backgrounds. I heard German, English, Farsi, and the language they speak in Pakistan being spoken. I met people who’d traveled all over the world. And I was embraced by each person.
One man did seem a little confused, even stern, that I hadn’t been to a Baha’i function in the two years I’ve been here. However, if he knew me, knew that I’ve been inactive, that I’ve been isolated all my life, that I’m struggling to become re-connected, I think he would respect that.
Photo from the Baha’is of Memphis and the Mid-South website
Overall, the Baha’is were wonderful. I can’t believe that it took me this long to reach out. And something even more wonderful came out of the evening: …they need a seventh-grade reading teacher there! I’m definitely applying for the position and hoping it works out.
Because I’m desperate to leave the school I’m teaching in. When adults, substitute teachers no less, can say You need to keep my name up out your mouth to me, then I’ve got to go. I’m tired of being beaten down, by parents, by administrators, by colleagues. In Teach For America, they say that the kids drive you nuts your first year, but it’s the adults who get to you your second year. I’m definitely feeling that way. I hope doors begin to open for me.
I have been a little depressed the past few weeks. It’s a struggle to keep going, to push through the last month before summer vacation. I just wish I knew what was going to happen. I made a mistake, a big mistake, by not applying to MFA programs for this fall. Because I just want to go back to school, now. I’m ready. I’m ready to write and be part of a writing community. But I find myself stuck here. I’m feeling so down about staying another year that I’m even considering going back to live with my parents for a spell. (That’s when you know things are bad.) Everything’s so confusing, and I don’t handle transitions well at all. *sigh*
Whatever. At least I have free cable and can watch Lost in silent rapture, forgetting my worries for a while.
Nevergreen, “Wish,” MySpace
In “Remembering Mona” he writes: Today, I found myself pondering on the life of Mona Mahmudnizhad, the teenager who was put to death in Shiraz solely on the basis of her religious beliefs as a member of the Baha’i community. The poem below by Shamlou captures what history has witnessed too many times:
Home-visiting has special meaning for Baha’is, celebrated as it is in Ruhi Book 2, but home-visiting is also associated with the Naw-Ruz holiday celebrated by Iranians generally, as Nizam describes in his post “Deed-O-Bazdeed“:
In Montreal, however, with a large Iranian and Baha’i community, one still finds a flavor of how paying visits to another was observed in Iran. Since Mr. and Mrs. Saririan have been through a trying and challenging year with his illness, the community felt that the Saririans get priority to be amongst the first to be visited. In a matter of moments, the Saririan home was filled with many cheerful souls and well-wishers who had come to brighten the day. [Left and right], you may find some pictures of did-o-bazdid a la Montreal! 
