Despite repeated reassurances from Washington that it is not seeking out another country for a military venture, nobody believes them. Among those thought to be on the hit list is Iran, which, along with Iraq and North Korea, was labelled the “Axis of Evil” in 2002.

The media has vilified Iran’s leaders for, among other things, an appalling human rights record, the country’s unshakable resolve to enrich uranium on an industrial scale and the detainment of British Royal Navy personnel.

But what about the other Iran, the non-apocalyptic one? Is it, as many assume, an extremely dangerous place for outsiders to visit? While millions of Iranians have uprooted themselves and settled elsewhere, particularly in The Great Satan (California and Texas have been favourites), a few people have actually bucked the trend, and moved to Iran. One such maverick is Rousse resident Anil Saha.

Born in Bangladesh, Saha, now 52, had originally come to Bulgaria on a scholarship to study at the Sofia Medical University during the mid-1970s. During university holidays he would travel around Western Europe, and for two summers stayed with his uncle in London, where he worked in an Indian restaurant. Receiving his medical degree in general practice, he spent a further three and a half years in Pazardjik, specialising in gynaecology.

“It was there that I learned from my brother, also a doctor, of the great opportunities for physicians in Iran,” Saha recalls.

The lead-up
As the result of the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran, the pro-Western, but autocratic rule of the shah, or emperor, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, was overthrown. It was replaced by a theocratic regime that imposed reactionary policies, and whose signature slogan became “Death to America”: their crowning glory came with the conquest of the US embassy and holding its staff hostage.

Foreign experts, along with much of Iran’s professional, educated and Westernised classes – which largely amounted to the same thing – fled the country, creating a severe skills shortage.

As the next generation of specialists underwent training to replace them, the new government began recruiting new foreigners, mainly from the Indian subcontinent, to fill in the void. At first Saha was very skeptical. After all Iran was still engaged in a fierce, protracted war with neighbouring Iraq. But his brother reassured him that most of the killings and misery took place in the south-west border areas, among contested territory and petroleum sites; human habitations, even in the vicinity, were largely untouched. He, on the other hand, was working peacefully in the north-west, near the Turkish border.

Moving and settling
By this time Saha had married a Bulgarian woman and had two children to feed, so in 1988 headed east. (For a fleeting moment, he had considered going south, to Libya.) His new employer, the Iranian ministry of health, assigned him to Gaehshran, a small city in the south-west of the country whose name literally translates to “chalk”. He says rocky outcrops featured prominently, with some eucalyptus trees and grass sprouting here and there.

It was precisely towns like these – barren, desolate and lifeless – that qualified Iranians shunned, placing themselves instead in the bustle of cities, and areas with more temperate climates to the north and west.

Saha ended up in a new hospital, build by the British as part of their wider investment in the oil industry. As a result the staff had a good command of English. He explained that “they made me feel welcome, regardless of my Hindu background. In Bangladesh I had experienced first hand the horrors of sectarian violence”.

Local flavours
Locals here would invite him to their homes for tea and meals, and vice versa. Often in the sanctuary of their homes, they would break open bottles of illicit beverages from Dubai, Europe or concocted in closet distilleries. “I have witnessed Iranians who in drinking contests would put Siberians to shame,” Saha says. However he breached an unwritten rule of Iranian etiquette when he would decline to continue on with them after a token round.

Such frivolities, however, would never take place in public – except on pain of a sound thrashing by the morality police. These guardians of virtue also enforced the dress code, which, for men at that time, consisted of long-sleeved shirts and trousers, all black or dark coloured, though recently these have rules relaxed somewhat. Saha says that he had never seen white, yellow or bright colours. All women were obliged wear the chador, a full-length swathe of black cloth, or the manta or roo-poosh, a long, raincoat-like garment plus a roo-sari (headscarf) in public, revealing nothing except their hands, feet and eyes, though faces are optional.

Once again, indoors was frequently another story. “Whenever Kambiz, my landlord, invited me to his house on the ground floor, his wife Gulnoosh would come out, wearing bright, florid dresses, and displaying her permed hair,” Saha said.

Though his clinic featured state-of-the-art facilities and equipment, Saha said he got fed up with the management, and so requested a transfer to another facility. He received one: in Behbahan to the north-west, even closer to all the action. Aside from the petrol industry, the small city sustained itself through groves of oranges and dates. He described springs and autumns there as quite mild and pleasant, though in winter temperatures sometimes dropped to zero, and on rare occasions it even snowed. In summer, it soared to 50 ?C.

Sometimes painful
Once while travelling between the two cities, Saha nearly got caught up in an Iraqi air raid. “When it was over, I asked the taxi driver to go to one of the bomb sites. There we found a huge, charred crater, still hot and smouldering, just 15 minutes after the blast,” he says.

As the combatants frequently targeted oil facilities, causing extensive fires and plumes of acrid smoke, the subsequent rains came down mixed with soot. He says the grounds and wheat were blackened because of this.

Then, just two days before the official end of hostilities, the opposing side launched a chemical attack. “Dying soldiers were brought to my hospital,” Saha said. “Exposure to mustard and nerve gas completely discoloured and disfigured their skins.”

Family experiences
With the war over, his wife Milena, along with their four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter, came to live with him in Iran. They would not have done this if the living conditions been less than “decent”. He describes most people where he lived as being neither well-off, nor living in poverty. Everyone had a house with normal furnishings and utilities, maybe a car, generally small sedans, like a Lada, either locally made or from imported from Asian countries.

Food was in adequate supply and they found the local cuisine quite good, with unleavened bread and long-grain rice serving as staples. “My hosts would cook fragrant rice in large pots with nuts, raisins, minced meat, saffron and spices, served with a meat dish,” he says. Vegetables featured prominently as well, in the form of ash reshteh (a soup), khoresht (thick stew), abgusht (meat and vegetable hotch pot) and shivit (dill patties), flavoured with yogurt and cheese. Afterwards they would have fruits such as persimmons, figs, pomegranates or melons, or an assortment of nuts, sweets and pastries.

Adapting
The Sahas soon became close friends with two or three others families and often entertained one another in their homes. They quickly picked up Farsi, the official language, and blended into the community.

Recreation here and in smaller towns included shopping, going to parks and having picnics, and as an added bonus for men, hanging out in teahouses and cafes. In larger cities like Teheran, Isfahan and Shiraz, life was somewhat more cosmopolitan.

On holidays, the Sahas would tour the ancient sites of the country. “My favourite place is the Blue Mosque of Isfahan,” he says.

A year later, his son returned to Bulgaria to start school, and Milena and their daughter returned the following year.

Challenging anomalies
Saha’s wife, along with an Indian colleague, had been the only women with whom he had had any form of social contact in Iran. The authorities made very clear that men (doubly so for non-Muslim foreigners) could not speak to, let alone fraternise, be in the same room with, touch or – and at least in theory – look at women other than members of their own family. But in an odd twist, due to the high demand at the time (an average Iranian women bore five children), and low supply of specialists, 90 per cent of Saha’s duties were obstetrical.

Some of his patients stood out more than others. This included a teenager girl, Soela, who had come for a check-up, her denim trouser hems showing under her chador. Removing it, it turned out that she also had on a short skirt. “What had happened was that she had attached cut-off trouser bottoms onto her ankles and secured them in place with elastic bands,” explains Saha.

There were less slapstick moments as well. A lady came in asking if he could certify that she had not had done anything all day. She explained that in the morning, her husband had gone out of town on a business trip. Later, answering a knock on their front door, she found his friend, a frequent visitor. When she informed him of her husband’s absence, he left. However, some neighbours had seen this and began juming to conclusions. Saha told her it would be difficult to clearly distinguish the time intervals.

Occasionally someone’s life hung on the balance, as when a teenage girl, accompanied by her mother, requested that some tests.

The results: she was no longer a virgin. “I have discovered something else,” Saha continued. “Your daughter is also pregnant.” Both had suspected it, and pointed at the father. In the ensuing trial, the judge sentenced him to be hanged, but this was commuted to life imprisonment on account of his mental state.

Re-rooting again
Feeling restless, three and a half years later, Saha relocated to the north-west of Iran, along the Turkish border, to the town of Salmas, population 40 000, to join his brother. It was quite a change for him.

He describes the climate and geography there as “resembling the mountainous areas of Bulgaria, with (until recently) four distinct seasons, and lots of snow”.

Here too, the people differed. They spoke Azerbaijani, a language akin to Turkish. And the locals were, on average, not as open and sincere as Persians, the dominant ethnic group of Iran. “A person might say, ‘I like you. I’m your friend,’ when in reality he feels just the opposite – and later confirms it,” Saha said.

The mutual suspicion and mistrust people had of each other was aggravated by an intelligence network in town. “People were encouraged – or happily willing – to spy on others, and report to the local police,” he said.

In one instance, a local Christian friend, Thomas, invited Saha and his brother over to his house for a hearty supper – never complete without a bottle of Armenian cognac.

A few days later he received a summary notice from the chief of police. “You were drinking and pushing alcohol to Iranian citizens,” he said portentously. “I was with my ‘brothers’,” Saha replied. “None of us are Muslim.” He eventually he managed to wiggle his way out of 100 lashes.

In Bulgaria…
After three years he felt time was up. By this time home-grown doctors were beginning to replace those from the subcontinent, though his supervisors offered him another contract. Saha rejoined his family in Rousse, where he remained, save a hiatus in 2000.

…and elsewhere
In that year, he again joined his brother – in New York. This time, however, he was not so lucky. “The medical establishment would not recognise my degree, saying I had to take ‘upgrading’ courses which lasted two years.” To survive he landed a job selling newspapers in Manhattan, which give him the chance to interact first hand with the locals. “I found New Yorkers rather materialistic and always in a hurry,” he says. After nine fruitless months, Saha returned to Bulgaria, and resumed his medical practice.

Of his seven years in Iran, he says it had been a very unique experience, and that he would do it all over again. “Overall Iranians are one of the most friendly and hospitable people I’ve met.”