My Attempt at Sanctions Busting In Iran

Got Me The Offer of a Second Wife

I worked as an independent sales agent for a large U.S. manufacturer who was approached by an Iranian company to be the supplier of their products in that country. At the time the U.S. company was not allowed to deal with them but had a European factory that could supply and as I was a UK national it was not technically illegal for me to be their ‘hands-off’ representative out there. My boss, as my client, gave me the ‘nod and wink’ to make the arrangements.

I was on a project to oversee their production of a new method of coating materials in Singapore that was being delivered to Qatar after, so I planned to fit the Iran trip onto the end of that trip. I had met the Iranians for a tentative meeting in Dubai previously and knew them well by the time I eventually flew into Tehran. I was fully aware of the politics of the region at the time and flew in with some trepidation, but no more than I would have of going back into Saudi Arabia.

The Emirates flight from Qatar was almost empty except for a replacement crew of flight attendants, who did not instill me with confidence as they screamed and squealed as the plane hit much turbulence and dropped and bounced quite sharply. If these experienced staff was screeching in fear how do you think I felt, especially as an omen for my trip into this pariah state. I need not have worried as we landed perfectly, and they all gave a round of applause for the pilot.

I was met at Tehran airport by my contact Ali and a lady interpreter introduced to me as Farida. I felt rather embarrassed as Ali presented me with a bunch of flowers as a welcome present and I had to carry these out to a waiting car. Farida was in full black Abaya, but with half a head of hair protruding from the headscarf, which was their way of pushing the boundaries of the religious rules out there at the time. They made me very welcome and drove me to what was formerly the Hilton Hotel. I did get another reminder as to the politics, for the entrance paving had “Death to America” engraved in large letters into the floor tiles. They checked me in and showed me up to my room and ensured that my flowers were placed in a vase near the window. It was late evening and I had eaten so they arranged to meet me for breakfast, pointing out that would have to be early because Ramadan was about to commence.

We were welcomed into the breakfast restaurant and the maître d'Or was ok with us going over time because I was a non-Muslim, so long as the doorway was kept shut to all others. I found many other instances of their paying ‘lip-service’ to the rules during my stay. As in Saudi, and even in the more liberal U.A.E. Ramadan fasting was rigidly enforced, but in Tehran, many fought against it in subtle ways. The predominantly Shia, Iranian people were generally far friendlier than their fellows in the Sunni-run states, where this sort of religious conformism was concerned. In fact, it was pointed out at times that the difference was between them and the Arab states, for they often referred to their more European heritage and were quite racist in their opinion of the “stupid Arabs.” They were certainly very aware and proud of the ancient Persian civilization and history.

The next day I was introduced to the boss of their company, a tall, well-built, jovial man with the customary half-grown stubble of a beard that most seemed to sport. Another difference between the ultra-conformist Sunni Muslims and themselves. I was taken around the city where they proudly showed me a market of many artisans at work and introduced me to some friends there, one was a beautiful lady artist selling her portrait paintings, some of herself and all with their hair resplendent, another small piece of rebellion against the rules. Everywhere I went, and especially as this was noticeable being the holy month, the laws were pushed to the limits. Instead of the abaya or burqa type covering it was almost fashionable for the women to wear a long black overcoat with a headscarf, that was pushed back to show as much of their hair as they could get away with. Some followed the stricter codes, but the majority did not, even if an abaya was worn the scarf was of brighter colors and almost always revealed a lush amount of hair.

Later I was to experience many of their lax take on the laws. It was explained to me by Ali that the population, in general, would push and take liberties regularly until all of a sudden a mob of thugs in black leather jackets would seemingly come from nowhere and act as enforcers to literally cane or whip them to toe the line again.

On going into town that evening he pointed out the street we were in which was a long downhill stretch. In a sort of 2-way dating dance, young guys and girls slowly drove in a traffic jam up and down. In their car windows, they held large sheets of paper with their mobile phone numbers scrawled on when they saw someone they fancied, smiling, and gesturing all the while. All are highly illegal because the authorities judged that all courting must be pre-arranged with parental approval. I had many offers that night and found it highly amusing from a western point of view. These young people were desperately breaking the laws.

We were at the office at about 2 pm in the afternoon and the number 2 in charge decided that we’d wrap up for the day and go back to his place for a dinner party. This being Ramadan they were supposed to be fasting until sundown but there were still a few hours to go. At his large apartment, there was a feast laid out similar to what we’d have as a Christmas lunch. We enjoyed a wonderful meal with his wife and kids, and mother. Farida interpreted all along. When we arrived there Farida hung her overcoat on a hook and went into the bathroom to freshen up and when she returned she looked stunning in her fashionable clothes of tight-fitting jeans and a nice blouse, her hair was lush, thick, and long. She had fluffed her hair out across her shoulders. By this time in my trip Farida and I had become quite good friends, as she enjoyed using her dictionary to check out my English words.

At the meal, the alcohol flowed readily as beer, wine, and spirits flowed. They explained that they just had to make a phone call and order, and a dealer would deliver. While we sat after the meal enjoying some wine offered that was poured from what was, at first sight, fruit juice cartons, that turned out to be a neat spirit like vodka. We relaxed and chatted enjoying other nibbles and it was then that Farida laughed and seated next to the boss’s wife said to me, “You’ll never guess what she just asked me?” I shook my head and she explained that the host’s wife had asked first how old I was, which she knew that I was 56 at the time, and then nudged her into asking, “Does he want a second wife?” Meaning, of course, Farida my 23-year-old interpreter. I gulped and thinking that Farida would be offended, I asked “What do you think of that?” Her answer also surprised me when she said, “It is ok, my dad is over 70 and my mum is only mid-thirties! Oh dear, I thought I’m going to have to watch myself. I managed to show my embarrassment in a flushed face and the conversation moved on.

Later, there was a party planned for me at Ali’s friend’s apartment apparently and they had to drop me off there, but first, they wanted me to see the splendor of what they called “The Shah’s park.” Since the revolution, this park had been opened to the public. I thought I was being set up when the boss and his wife dropped me and Farida at the gates and left her to show me around. It was a magical setting on the snow-covered ground and landscaped gardens. Farida explained to me that this was a renowned place for courting couples as we walked around, and she hung onto my arm.

We had a lovely stroll together, but I was so wary, the last thing I wanted was to be caught out in that country in a clench and have to marry to save her or her parent’s honor. Did I try to kiss her while we hid behind large trees, I wanted to, and I didn’t want to, it was a strange and scary situation. I never did and regret it to this day.

We finished our stroll and went back to the boss’s car, and they drove me to Ali’s pal’s apartment block. It was in a classy area, on the edge of the mountainside, they called up from the security office and Farida gave me such a smile as she explained that Ali was arranging a more ‘male party’ for me. It was a sort of ‘nudge, nudge, wink, wink,’ way of sending me to some sort of Lion’s den of iniquity! I had heard tales of business people being set up on their travels and felt that I’d passed the first test with Farida, but it was with some trepidation that I walked the 100 yards across the piazza and into the posh apartment block, into the elevator and up to the high floor.

Ali’s pal Mahmoud lived in a beautiful pad, he had everything there, the view, a fridge crammed with booze, a balcony with a great view of the snow-covered mountain, and a gas barbecue out there to make perfect lamb kebabs. The only odd thing that I saw there was a large cardboard box upturned in the corner. On further inspection, there was a round hole cut in the middle of the box, and Mahmoud explained that under the box was a satellite dish through which the center probe poked. He could get almost all channels on his tv from around the world and delighted in playing MTV to show me. Mahmoud explained that the authorities flew helicopters over occasionally seeking out those with these decadent forbidden items. His compound was so secure anyhow, and he had CCTV covering the elevator entrance that if ever there was a raid, he’d have more than enough time to get rid of any evidence, where I never found out, but he just impressed me so much with his lifestyle. The beautiful artist that I’d met in the artisan market was his girlfriend and she appeared from the kitchen with a tray of champagne and some pistachio nuts and olives.

I asked Mahmoud what he did for a living, and he explained that he was into women’s fashion. He could live very well and cheaply in his home country. He visited Brazil and met a woman who became his lover a few years previous, he bought her a high-end fashion shop in Sao Paulo, and they shared the profits with him visiting once a year for a couple of months. That worked out well, so he did the same in Italy. I thought to myself what a clever bastard, a win-win all around for him and the women! Apparently, they all knew the arrangement, even his artist girlfriend and he made money locally for appearances.

Later on, the phone rang, and he checked out the CCTV which showed 4 niqab clad figures down at security, then soon after, at the elevator, he buzzed them to come up. The doorbell rang and these 4 women entered, quickly throwing their coverings off and joining us to make up the party. One of these new arrivals was an older lady, a chaperone for if the younger women were out on their own, they would have been arrested. I knew that it was another attempt at a set-up so I played up to the old lady, flattering her until I got scolded by Ali, to choose one of the younger ones, this was a ‘gift’ and I should not insult the patron. What could I do, I could not wriggle out of this so went with the flow, figuring that Mahmoud wouldn’t go to all that illegality and security if he was going to blackmail me. I had to take the edge off their uneasiness and one of the girls came and seemed happy to be my dance partner and more later.

Everything went ok in the end, and I was nothing other than a business partner. Ali made sure that the rest of my stay in the country went well and we enjoyed many nights out elsewhere. It seemed that everywhere we went the whole country broke the Islamic laws. At an Indian restaurant, the company boss wore a big coat like a seaman’s pea-jacket which had smuggler's pockets full of cans of beer. They would order a round of non-alcoholic beers and glasses to save the restaurant owner from connivance, then knock that back and pour real beer into the glasses, under the table.

Another time Ali decided that we would drive out to the mountain as the weather was bright and we stopped at a restaurant next to a mountain brook, that was open for dinner and served wine and beer openly, and this all during Ramadam, their holy month. He explained that it was far enough out of the way to not be worried.

There were none of the shut-up shops 5 times a day for prayers as in Saudi, yes they were watchful for certain officials but apart from that, the Islamic law is not popular. If they ever got rid of the Mullahs at the top, I’m sure the people would revert to normal society as in the west.

We went to a male-only beer hall where trestle tables were lined up like an old canteen, and they grilled lamb chops on a long sword before stabbing the sword onto the table and you had to rip the chops off the blade. Later we sat and smoked from a hubbly-bubbly or hookah pipe of blended tobaccos and fruits, maybe even dope, they seemed to do whatever they liked, despite the law. Of a night Ali would come to my room and leave me a few cans of extra strong lager beer from Rotterdam, telling me to flatten the can after and bring in my briefcase the next morning when he collected me for a visit to a few factories, once on the highway, he would just lob the flat cans out of the car window with contempt.

We did much driving around the country, and they took great delight in playing cassettes of western music along the way. I visited projects and all manner of plants where our materials would sell to. Out in the countryside towns and villages, they were more careful but once back in Tehran, they didn’t give a hoot for the Mullah’s rules. Ali even told me that he was bribing one Imam in charge of the Isfahan region. They never used Riyals always U.S. Dollars and seemed to have toilet rolls of those hidden on their person.

When it was my time to leave, they gave me a big send-off party at the office, and the big boss, who was apparently a senior ex-policeman, took me back to the artisan market and gave me a gift of a beautiful, lacquered chessboard & Backgammon board complete with Islamic figures, that I still have today. They saw me off at the airport and Farida even managed to give my hand a hidden squeeze, was that a come-on for the future? Our love remained unrequited though, but we kept in touch for many years, I was even introduced online to her mother.

They were all-around lovely people, Ali and I met in Dubai often after as he based himself there and I set up the arrangements to import via the freeport. Farida had an arranged marriage to a cousin which lasted only 2 years and she moved to Canada to finish her Ph.D. and stayed on after, working there and the U.S.A. as a very talented female engineer.

The west would do well to cultivate Iran as their oil supplier and dump the nasty Saudis. Our current problems with Iran holding some dual national’s hostage is purely because we owe them some $40million of their money held in our banks. The only leverage they have over our government is that. I’m not condoning that tactic but even the international court has stated that their claim should be paid.