quiet courage pireza mosaei

story by | sheri kleinsasser stockmoe

When you first meet Pireza Mosaei, you see a shy smile and hear a quiet voice. Quickly you discover she has a kind, honest heart. Her eyes tell you that. But this Moorhead mom has a story that runs deep. A story you can’t see. A story that epitomizes strength and courage. A story that started thousands of miles away as a young girl. A story of always moving forward.

Pireza [peer-oh-zah] Mosaei [moh-sigh] grew up in a small village in Iran. She fondly remembers her childhood filled with laughter and a loving family. Her father, a farmer, and mother, a housewife, raised nine children in a home with no electricity or running water.

“My dad was so nice and kind. He spoke three languages,” Pireza says with a smile. “My mother was beautiful and such a hard worker. I remember my friends saying, ‘you are so lucky to have such nice parents.’”

She also remembers the beauty of Iran. “The temperature was mild, like a spring day in Minnesota, and during the summer it is very green.” a love

But memories of her homeland seem like a lifetime ago. She left nearly 25 years ago and hasn’t been able to return since.

Pireza was 15 years old when her husband, Sadegh [sod-aahk], first visited her quiet village. Sadegh was a soldier in the Kurdish Army fighting against the Iranian government. Soon the two fell in love.

“My mom knew I loved him,” Pireza says. “But she warned me it was very dangerous because he was a Kurdish soldier. If it was found out, we would have to run. From mountain to mountain we would have to run because that was Kurdish life then. So we could tell no one.”

Pireza kept her love a secret, not telling anyone for fear she would put them in danger as well. Sadegh continued fighting in the war and visited Pireza and her family when he could. But as careful as they were, their secret was exposed.

“My husband sent a friend to my home and told me the Iranian soldiers were going to capture me and take me away that night because they knew we were in love,” Pireza recalls. “I was so scared, but I had to leave.” an escape

Pireza was just 16 years old.

Sadegh and another Kurdish soldier came to help Pireza escape. “I knew I had to go, but I was so scared and shaking. I knew if I stayed and was captured…it would be very ugly,” she says with her voice trailing off.

They left on horseback in the pitch black of night with only the clothes on their backs. They rode as fast as they could to the mountains, narrowly escaping the Iranian soldiers pursuing them. The young couple crossed the border into Iraq, were married, and stayed in a small camp consisting of four other families living in tents where Sadegh knew the people. He had to leave Pireza there and return to the fight in the war.

“These were my husband’s friends and family, but I still felt so alone. So scared,” she said. “I was always worried about my husband. Was he alive or dead? I never knew and it was still so dangerous. I was getting more depressed. Iran is so beautiful and Iraq was filled with war.”

For the next two years Pireza would do her best to acclimate to her surroundings. Days would be filled with foraging for food and water and there was constant fear. Weeks would go by without word of her husband’s wellbeing. And it was a regular occurrence for fighting to force everyone in the camp to hide in the nearby mountains until all was quiet again.

“I had never seen anything like that before,” Pireza says shaking her head.

As the fighting would move, so would the small camp. The fighting seemed to never end, but the women of the village would band together.

“We would get two or three women who had husbands fighting and we would get together and take care of each other,” she explains. “We lived in the same house, worked together, cooked together; we took care of each other.”

When Pireza became ill her neighbors became very concerned. They secured a car and took her to the closest hospital, which was more than three hours away. It was July 28, 1991…the day her son, Delshad [del-shod], was born.

A Mother

Pireza had no idea she was pregnant.

“I had nothing for him when he was born,” she said. “I remember the doctor was so mad at me because I didn’t bring anything. Finally, they gave me some old clothes they found to wrap him in.”

Pireza returned to her camp. Life was difficult. She was on her own. There was much worry and little food for this young mother.

“I remember being so hungry,” Pireza says. “A lot of my time was spent trying to get food. I was so skinny, and the baby too.”

Sadegh would eventually find his wife and young son, but his presence was short lived, as he had to return to the war. And Pireza soon discovered she was pregnant again.

“I did not want to be pregnant and have another baby and have Sadegh gone,” Pireza confesses. July 9, 1992, her second son, Deldar [del-dar], was born at home with the help of a neighbor.

“My boys were not even a year apart. I was so sad. I had two little babies, my husband was leaving, we had no money and little food,” she says.

Danger was always present. Pireza remembers nights hearing the whistle of incoming bombs or a grenade exploding nearby and having to lie on the boys, shielding them with her body to protect them. They would lie there for hours, terrified, not knowing when it would stop.

“Better I should die than my babies be hurt,” she says. “We always had this, every day, there were bombs and people would get killed right there in the small village, sometimes in the house next door or out in the street. It was hard being Kurdish, running, hiding, always being scared, always being hungry, always worrying.”

Through it all, Pireza never regretted her decision to leave Iran.

“This was God’s plan for me. This is my life,” she says confidently. “When I looked around, there were lots of people like me that left their family. At the time we didn’t think about the family we left. We only thought about that day.”

A Decision

It was a beautiful spring day in 1995. Deldar and the other children were playing outside. Even Sadegh and the other soldiers in the village were playing volleyball and soccer when two cars drove by with machine guns pointed out the windows.

Pireza was in her home while Delshad slept, but the minute she heard the gun fire she ran to Deldar to protect him. Sadegh and the other soldiers pursued the terrorists to insure they didn’t return to hurt their families.

“People were screaming, there were bodies everywhere. Young and old,” Pireza remembers. “It was a nightmare. The bullets were like rain, they just came down on everyone.”

Pireza and her family were safe. But it prompted her and Sadegh to discuss their future.

“We had lived in Iraq for seven years and it was still so dangerous,” she says. “Always, always war. My husband and I ask, ‘why are we living here?’ First, we wanted freedom, but we also had kids now and we wanted an education for them. We decided it was time to leave.”

They would escape to Turkey. Sadegh paid two men to take his wife, young boys [three and four years old at the time], and two other women and their children to his uncle’s home. They set out on horseback, bringing only a few possessions. It was dark, raining, cold, and they had little food. They desperately wanted to stop, rest, and build a fire to warm themselves, but the danger was too great that enemy soldiers would spot them. They would push on. And when the terrain became difficult to ride the horses, they walked. Covering miles and miles while carrying her two sons; one strapped to her back and the other to her front. Pireza’s knees were sore and bleeding from many missteps and falls, but she kept going.

Her children were hungry and crying, but their mother had nothing for them. She kept going.

Even after the two men who promised to take her all the way to Turkey ran away…she kept going. She was close to the border now and found a man who could help her.

“He seemed so mean and asked us lots of questions. ‘No passport? Where is your husband? These are your children? What should I do with you?’” Pireza recalls him asking. “I had to lie and tell him I was Iraqi and going to Turkey to see my sick mother. I was so scared that they would not believe me. I told the other women, ‘better to go to the river and throw ourselves in than be captured.’ They started to cry, but I didn’t cry…I just prayed.”

The man decided to help them and arranged for a driver to take them across the border. As they came to the soldier checkpoint, anticipating being searched and questioned, they were simply waved through.

“The driver couldn’t believe it,” Pireza says. “That was the first time he crossed without being searched. He told me I must have an angel with me.”

Pireza would wait three months for Sadegh to arrive in Turkey. They were able to get passports, food, and clothing. They started their new life.

“We planned to stay in Turkey forever. And yes, we had passports, but we were not citizens and it was very hard to become a citizen,” Pireza explains. “And at that time the Turkish soldiers were very mean to Kurdish too.”

In 1996 the Mosaeis applied to the UN for refugee status. A year later and after many interviews, testing, pictures, and tons of paper work, they were told they would be going to Australia. Then they got a call.

“It was a Friday,” Pireza remembers. “They said, ‘you are leaving Monday for America!' I was happy. I would be free. No more hiding. No more worry, but I was also so sad to leave family again.”

A Dedication

The Mosaei family arrived in Fargo September 22, 1997. They spoke no English and had no idea of what to expect. “We arrived at the Fargo Airport and I saw a man wearing Kurdish pants. I thought ‘Oh my, they have Kurdish people here too!’” Pireza recalls. “I was so surprised!”

The man waiting was there to pick up the family and welcome them. Together they ate and discussed life in America. “They talked about working, language, and

I started to cry,” she remembers. “I realized life was going to be hard here too.”

The family was quickly thrown into American life. Sadegh would start taking classes, the boys would go to school and Pireza, who had no formal education, would have a tutor come to her home to teach her English.

“I started with ABCs,” she says with a smile. “I worked so hard, all night copying ABCs and saying words and numbers. I had our UN papers and I would copy and spell out all our names to practice.”

Pireza soon began attending classes with her husband. Sadegh got a job with a local farmer, bought a car, and obtained his driving license. He encouraged his wife to get her license as well. She would study feverishly. During a 15-minute break in class, Pireza would run across the street, where she could take her permit test. She would practice driving in the high school parking lot before moving on to roads. And she would successfully get her license.

Pireza’s next goal was to become a US citizen. In 2000 she had another son, Miran [meer-ahn], and started taking classes at Partners in Learning, where she met Marla Anderson, one of her teachers, who would help Pireza reach her goal.

“She was a student every teacher would love to work with,” Marla says of Pireza. “She was diligent, persistent, always willing and eager to try any activity or assignment. Her positive energy and warmth made people want to be around her.”

In 2004 Pireza found out she was pregnant with twins, daughter Tina [tee-na] and son Artean [are-teen]. She kept going to school and studying for her citizenship. At the end of her pregnancy she was placed on bed rest in the hospital for a month, but Marla continued to help Pireza to achieve her goals.

“Every single night she would come visit me and bring me my school work,” Pireza said. “I had worked for three years on my citizenship and the doctors weren’t going to let me leave to take my test, but then they said if I didn’t have any contractions I could go. Thank God, that morning I didn’t have any contractions.”

“A person can’t miss the citizenship interview and test,” Marla says. “It could delay the process for months or years, it is that vital. So we got the doctors’ permission, loaded up the wheelchair, and off we went to the Federal Building. And of course she passed!”

“I was so happy!” Pireza says. “Getting my citizenship meant a lot to me. I worked so hard for it.”

One week later, Tina and Artean were born. And one year later Sadegh received his citizenship as well. Delshad and Deldar are also US citizens.

“Pireza and her family represent that “perfect, golden” part of new Americans,” Marla explains. “They demonstrate what most people think new Americans should be and do. “They kept their language and culture, but also made this new country their home and learned how to blend the new with the old. They took pride in getting an education, getting jobs, paying taxes, voting, and respecting the system that gave them support as they made a new life here.” a

Heritage

There are things in Pireza’s past that she wishes she could forget.

“A lot of times I have dreams, bad nightmares about things I saw,” Pireza confesses.

But there are many parts of her culture and Kurdish heritage that she works to keep a part of her family’s life. Her children can speak some Kurdish, they celebrate holidays in Kurdish tradition, and they have traditional Kurdish clothing [her daughter’s favorite part].

In April 2009 Pireza completed a project for school. She wrote about her life, coming from Iran to America, and all the things she experienced along the way.

“I hope my kids have learned a lot from me,” she says. “I wrote the paper for them so they know where I came from. What I went through. And so I don’t forget.”

Pireza has many accomplishments, but the greatest are her children. Deldar is enlisted in the US Marines. Delshad is completing his degree in finance. Miran [a seventh grader] and the twins [third graders] have many friends and enjoy school.

“Pireza is such an involved mom and loyal wife,” Marla says. “She is the glue that keeps her family together and makes them so strong. There is genuine love and respect within her family that they all show for each other.”

Pireza Mosaei is a lot of things. She is Iranian, a daughter, wife, and sister. She is Kurdish, a survivor, English speaking, hard working, and trustworthy. She is a US citizen with a story.

“People ask ‘why are you here?’ I want people to know we are good people,” she says. “We left everything behind. We came here to be safe, for good education; we came here for our kids. We couldn’t go home. We would be killed…we are here for my kids. A better life for them.”

“There is a saying,” Marla says. “Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day that says I will try again tomorrow. This saying is Pireza.”

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I am from a village, Growing up on a farm. Growing beans and wheat. Raising animals. Everyone working together.

I am from a family of 6 girls and 3 boys. I am the 5th child.

I am special to my dad.

I am from eating together, sitting on the floor, Next to my dad, my hand in his lap, Sharing a large bowl of food, eating with a spoon from my own plate. Eating together, 3 meals a day.

I am from no electricity, Carrying water from the village to our house.

I am from not sleeping, Listening in the night for the Iranian soldiers Coming to find my future husband. My family so scared, not able to sleep.

I am from fear and worry,

by: pireza mosaei

The soldiers taking my father at gunpoint to question him.

I’m from getting married as a young girl. My husband…a Kurdish soldier.

I am from leaving, it’s too dangerous to stay, Leaving my home, my family. Running to the mountains with my husband, The soldiers following. Being so cold, so hungry, so scared. Walking to Turkey, Living for 3 months in a camp.

Living with war.

I am from waiting and worrying, Being alone, Husband fighting, Not knowing if he is alive. People being killed by bombs.

I am from no food, Moving from village to village, Mountain to mountain, Tired and hungry,

Using a rock for a pillow, leaves for a blanket. Waiting and worrying…alone.

I am from walking and riding horse-back From Turkey to Iraq and back again, Living surrounded by war.

Taking my 2 young sons looking for safety, alone.

Going house to house trying to find a place to stay, Being turned away.

Finally finding someone who would help us. All this time not knowing where my husband was or if he was alive.

Finally, together again.

I am from always living in danger, Scared to go out.

Going to the UN for help, Answering many questions, Waiting…always waiting, Coming to America.