Always searching

Behnaz Cheraghzadeh was born in Iran and now lives in Almere. She works as head of marketing at streetwear brand Patta.

Behnaz: “I recently spent two weeks in Iran for the first time. It wasn’t until then that I realised how much it had impacted my family there when we left. Only a brother and sister of my mother remained in Iran, while we fled to the Netherlands, and other family members to Germany and Canada. We were mainly concerned with what we missed and lacked, but it also affected the family there a lot.

Whenever I saw photos of family in Iran, it was difficult to distinguish who was who and which story belonged to that person, while they followed us closely from a distance and watched us grow up. They saw pictures of how we visited each other, while they had almost no one left. Our absence has played a major role in their lives. I feel that a lot of people in the diaspora don’t think about this because they’re so busy with what they are missing themselves.”

Grandparents

“As a child, I hated that I had no “weekends at grandma and grandpa’s” to talk about in the group after the weekend, because mine were in Iran. When they died, it was very intense for my mother. I felt guilty that it didn’t hurt me that much, even though it made sense as they hadn’t been a part of my daily life.

When I went to Iran, I absolutely wanted to visit my grandparents’ grave. There, together with my Iranian family, I brought back fond memories of them. It was sad to hear that they alone had to care for them and arrange their funerals, because we were all gone. I felt the need to bring something from the grave for my cousins in the diaspora. So I filled little pots with sand and leaves from the olive tree that my aunt had planted on the grave.”

Identity

“I’ve always been looking for my identity. Although I have a Dutch passport, I’ve never felt Dutch. I’ve been to sixty countries by now. When I went to Iran, I hoped I would finally feel at home there. At certain times, I was able to do so, for example when I changed flights in Istanbul and suddenly found myself on a plane filled with people who all spoke the same language as me.

In Iran, I was constantly searching for recognition. At the bazaar, I wondered if my parents walked there with me when I was a baby. At a hospital, I thought: could this be where I was born? At an unexpected moment, when we were going to get something to drink, one of my cousins suddenly said: “Just around the corner is your old house, where we all said goodbye to you.” When I saw the house where I had once walked out the door for the last time to leave for good, I broke down. I cried very hard.”

Appearance

“Dutch or Iranian, either way I don’t feel accepted. I don’t look Dutch, but I don’t look Iranian to many people either, because I’m so dark. I always thought I was ugly – which is typical for children in diaspora, I think – but when I look back at photos now, I see a very beautiful child, who simply did not live up to Western beauty ideals.

My biggest internal struggle is that I have always resisted being in the Netherlands. Only a few years ago I started accepting that I am a Dutch Iranian, I started including ‘Dutch’ in it at all. I try to find my own Dutch identity in subcultures, but it is difficult to be proud of a country where you feel that you are not wanted. If my mother and sister and her family did not live here, I would not stay in the Netherlands. I don’t like the culture, the systems, the lack of community and the individualism.

All my favourite cities, like Mexico City, Santiago, and Tehran, are in valleys. The fact that they’re surrounded by mountains does something to me. If I ever retire, I want to live in the Iranian mountains. But I also realise that this will be a challenge, as I’m used to so much freedom and Western civilization.”