There is a woman who seems to cope well with. I ask her, have you been arrested before? She replies more than once! I ask, so what would happen now? She answers they keep us here till the van seats are full. They are not allowed to go back before they arrested enough women. Go back to where? I ask. To Wozara! I have heard about it, but I had never been there. It was the biggest police station which has always been used to take people who were not obey Islamic way of life. People who wore western clothes (mostly women), the young people who took part in house parties, unmarried couples caught on the street etc. “you will have to ask your parents to bring you better clothes to bail you get out” says the cool woman. A very young woman aside me who were already crying all the time, cries now harder. She shouts and begs the policewoman to let her go. Please, please, but my clothes are okay. The policewoman shouts aggressively shut up! I turn to the girl and say, why are you begging them, don’t cry, stop it, she enjoys watching us crying. She cries louder, but I don’t have anyone to bail me out! I am student here and I must be in the dormitory till 9:00 pm or they call my parents. My parents live in another city and if they find out I am arrested, they won’t let me study in Tehran. I feel pity for the girl. I understand her concerns, I am not even sure, how would my father take it. My father is not religious, he is also against the government, but still, being arrested is a big Taboo! We have been always told by our against-government-parents to behave and not to do something that makes “problem!” and I know many parents are more conservative or even agree with the Islamic governors. “Call your roommates and ask them to bring you something modest, don’t worry, it happens to everyone, be brave” I don’t even believe in what I say, because she is already modest, better than me. Nobody knows what problem do this police troops have with our appearance, at that time, we actually proofed our clothes to be modest enough ourselves. We were not rebelling, we were not trying to fight and change anything, in contrary, we were just coping and tried to live our everyday lives. 

The other policewoman pushes a pregnant woman in to the van. The woman’s belly is really big. She could pop any moment out. She shouts, I am pregnant, I was at the doctor, my husband is with me, what do you want from me! She wears a very long and loose black dress. You could literally see nothing of her body, just a big black bulk. The problem is, as the policewoman tries to say as if it’s completely obvious, your scarf is to short, everyone could see your breast!! I look at the pregnant woman, the scarf is short, but breast is too exaggerated, you could maybe see her neck and the contrast of the skin color, with the black dress. “It’s really hot and I am pregnant, and I cannot breathe or walk, and you are talking like I am naked!” says the pregnant woman. A man shouts at the policemen outside the van. “Whatever happens to my baby, you are responsible!!! Let her go now!!!” and it works, the policeman who seems to be the superior, tells the policewoman to let her go. The policewoman is obviously offended: “you get out of van and cover yourself next time! Just because of your baby! Such a shame that people like you get to become mother!” wow! I was thinking, the husband is worrying about the baby, the policeman is worrying about the baby owner, and the guilty mom should be thankful of this stupid situation because she has a baby, which she does not deserve? “that’s why you are such a bitch!” the pregnant woman yells this in face of the policewoman like a lioness! “Because nobody would ever fuck you? Is that what you are suffering from?” she shouts and rants! The husband takes she out of the van and the policeman invites the policewoman to let go. In the van we are bunch of women on the seats, who hate the only one standing up and looks at us with hate. Do we hate her, I guess we do, we agree with the pregnant woman at this moment. There is actually no room for empathy or to think clear, she is a victim herself. In this very moment, she is the arm of a big power hating us, so we her too. 

The situation is getting out of control.  The van is almost full, so they decide to take us to the station. I write my sister, to give a long mantel of mine to my father and tell him to bail me out in Wosara. The evening traffic in Tehran is insane, it would cost him a lot of time to pick me up. We get to the station in 30 minutes. The van drives in through big, massive metal doors to a big parking area surrounded with high walls. I have never been inside a police station. I think to myself, so this is how it looks like. We are supposed to get out and go to the big Terras of the big building. There are other female officers who come to us with a form. I get a form and sit on a chair. There are women everywhere. More than 10 vans in the parking place and more than 100 women, maybe 30 female officers with black vails and like 5 male officers and a bunch of male soldiers. The cool woman who was with me in the van tells me: you don’t have to fill the form with real info. They don’t have any databank here, they would ask you for an id, just say you don’t have it on you! Not so many of us have mobile phones with good camera, we are also not brave enough to take photos, they are everywhere, and no one wants to lose her phone in such a moment. Soon I realize there is a big room behind the terrace, where we will go next and being interrogated. And there is a hallway on the other side, I hear crying and shouting from there, it goes to the detention cells, says the cool woman. But don’t worry, they won’t keep us, see how many we are, and they keep bringing new ones. It makes sense what she says. Still, I am anxious. It’s my first time being arrested and investigated! But why!? 

A policewoman comes to me. Did you fill your form? Just a minute please, I reply. I remember to write fake info, but how should my father find me? So, I write my name correctly and make up all the other information. The policewoman takes me to the big hall, to a desk. 

- Your id. 

- I don’t have any.

- Well, that’s bad, we to you keep you here then. 

I am scared but I remember what the cool woman said. I try to act fool. 

- I am sorry, I didn't know it could happen, I was at work, and my id is at home, you know there are pickpockets everywhere, you don’t want to lose your Id. 

- Your driving licenses? 

- I don’t have any! (It is also a lie) I was walking!

She is obviously exhausted too. She asks if it’s my first time. I say yes and I don’t know why? Is that my dress so bad? She seems to be a calm one. Looks at me and says: well, the sleeves are too short. She gives me a new form. It’s a recognizance. I declare that it would never happen again and what are the legal consequences of not having Hijab in public. I did have Hijab, but it seems to not be enough unless you have a black veil! I sign with a fake signature. There is no automation yet, just paper forms, I guess they won’t find this form the next time and I am thankful of my cool friend. She asks if I have a phone, I am scared, I don’t answer, but she is obviously tired, she says, call your family to bring you proper dress. If you don’t have a phone use that phone. The public phone is overcrowded. But I have already told my family. I say ok. They give me a number and I am supposed to keep it in my hand and let them take my picture! It feels funny. Just like what you see in films with dangerous criminals. I take the photo and wait for them to call my name. It doesn’t take that much. I go to the desk. There is my clothes and a copy of my fathers Id on it. Oh, so he had to give his Id. I take the clothes, look for a changing room! There is not any. I go to a corner and change, then I realize, shit this one is long enough but hat shorter sleeves. Again stress! I know my dad can not go back home and take another one, it would take hours, I cover my hands with my scarf and show myself to the officer. She takes my father’s id and shows me the exit. And that was it. I go through a tunnel, and I am out. 

At the exit, there are hundreds of people, mostly men. I look for my father and I think what the young student would do. I didn’t see her anymore; would she also get out? I find my father. We don’t talk. He sighs. We walk to his car in silence and don’t talk any word all the way long. I am happy that he doesn’t ask anything, I have no energy to explain all that I experienced. We drive in the dark home; the roads are not so crowded anymore. I look at him, he seems extremely tired, so do I. its almost 11 p.m. I say: I am not going to stay in this country baba! And I start to cry silently. Baba says no word, I feel like the darkness is infusing from the streets to my heart.  

To be continued...