Standing amidst the rubble, Amanollah Askari dug out several pictures of his students. He loved these Afghani children so much--he had raised them and provided them with free education. He couldn't imagine how their miserable lives could have been taken away by an earthquake, even after they had just fled from the chaotic wars in their own country. Amanollah said that he shed more tears for these children than for his own father, who had also died in the disaster.

On December 26, 2003, at 5:27 a.m., a strong earthquake measuring 6.6 on the Richter scale hit Bam, an ancient city in southern Iran, adding another tragedy in the war-torn Middle East. The 2,000-year-old city and more than 40,000 lives were destroyed within just one minute. The earthquake deprived Bam's residents and historical sites of a chance for another New Year.

Salaam Aleikhem

The Tzu Chi emergency inspection team consisted of eleven members, including doctors, nurses, and volunteers. Although they were not responsible for frontline search and rescue operations, they arrived in the disaster area from Taiwan, Jordan, and Turkey within 72 hours, the usual time it takes for relief to arrive.

On December 29, at 4 a.m., the team arrived in Kerman Airport, 180 kilometers [111 miles] from the disaster area. In the following ten days, they rented a big bus to survey the area and distribute relief supplies in Baravat, a town located nine kilometers southeast from Bam. Meanwhile, they also hoped to provide medical services on the bus to quake survivors now living in tents.

The relief materials included 12 cargo shipments of emergency medical equipment and family medical kits from Taiwan as well as everyday necessities bought in Iran. The Tzu Chi Jordan liaison office also sent blankets, canned food, and stoves by air freight from Jordan. The friendly relationship between Tzu Chi volunteer Chen Chiu-hua and the Jordanian royal family further expedited the progress of the relief efforts. Chen is a Tzu Chi volunteer who once taught martial arts to the Jordanian royal family. Thus he was able to obtain assistance from the Hashemite Charity Organization, run by the Jordanian royal family, to help transport relief materials.

It took six hours for the Jordanian Royal Airforce C-130 cargo plane to transport the relief materials to Iran. Chen and a Jordanian volunteer, Abu Tammar, crammed themselves onto canvas seats in the noisy plane. When I had a similar experience before, all I could think about was jumping off the plane with a parachute to get away from the uncomfortable situation.

Chen has been living in the Arab world for a long time now, so he knows very well how to get along with the local people. He often greeted victims with "Salaam aleikhem" ("Peace be with you" in Arabic) while folding his palms together, a Buddhist way to show respect to others. This extraordinary combination surely aroused people's curiosity and interest. Even Mansour, an Iranian soldier who accompanied the team to help with the distributions, imitated his behavior.

Another Tzu Chi volunteer, Hu Kuang-chung, rushed to join us from Turkey. With his relief experience from the 1999 earthquake in that country, Hu reinforced our relief force; the fact that he was a Muslim himself helped him get along very well with Iranian residents. Last but not least, volunteers from the Red Crescent Society in Iran also gave us strength.

Every one of us presented relief materials to the quake survivors with both hands and sincere bows to show our respect. In this way, elderly and immobile victims finally stopped complaining about rude and careless distributions. Before our arrival, the physically weak and immobile could only stay in the tents and complain about the unreachable relief supplies dumped just anywhere from the truck and immediately taken away by strong and young people.

Our medical team held free clinics wherever relief materials were distributed, with the intention of healing quake survivors both physically and mentally.

In order to catch up and coordinate with other international rescue groups, our relief team leaders, Hsieh Ching-kui and Wang Yun-ching, participated in coordination meetings with United Nations officials or local government officials. They both understood that relief work could not be done without careful consideration. Any reconstruction efforts engaged in would also have to take local customs and regulations into consideration.

The First Worship at Dawn

Under the arrangements of an overseas Taiwanese, Ms. Hu Yu-hsiu, Tzu Chi volunteers camped on the compound of her friends' factory to do relief work. There were three tents and one bus that served not only as residences, but also as a clinic for Dr. Kuo Chien-chung and nurse Tu Ping-shu.

Many Iranian volunteers also camped around the Tzu Chi tents, so we had a chance to see the Muslim morning prayer, which was definitely a touching experience. Chilly winds approaching zero degrees swept along and swayed the date trees, but they could not sweep away the pious religious atmosphere of the Muslims.

A Muslim elder sang a song that praised Allah, the wise prophets, and the Shia imams (descendants of the Prophet Mohammed's son-in-law, Ali). The resounding voice that sang the Qur'an evoked the Iranians' memories of their families and friends killed in the earthquake, and many of them burst into tears in the middle of the prayer.

Volunteers came from all around Iran, including religious leaders, doctors, cooks, and others. Together, they all prepared food, clothes, and everyday necessities for the victims, thus compassionately expressing their love to them.

A shattered portrait

When we arrived at the public stadium in Bam, where many international rescue groups were gathering, a fragmented picture of a young boy's face painted on the wall suddenly appeared before our eyes. Our Iranian translator Mahmood (Manouchehr Ghorbani) explained that it was the face of an Iranian national hero named Fahmideh. He had become a martyr during the Iran-Iraq War (1980-1988) at the age of 14. However, even the most heroic figure could not resist the devastation of nature. In the earthquake, falling rubble and brick damaged the portrait.

Some collapsed ruins looked like they had been nice villas. We guessed that there had been many rich businessmen in Bam. During our inspection, we met an old man named Mohammed. When we met him, he was sitting on the ground, looking at his wrecked houses and lamenting the loss of his property.

Mohammed said that he had exported wool and owned assets of about US$604,000; in other words, he was quite rich before the earthquake struck. His wife had suggested that he retire earlier and enjoy his life with some real estate, but he ignored her and hoped to do business for a few more years. He never imagined that the earthquake would come. The disaster not only ruined his warehouse but also provided looters a chance to rob most of his stock. Now he had nothing left--the looters had even driven away the truck used for transporting the wool.

He told us that he had charged deposits from his customers, but he couldn't deliver the goods to them anymore. According to Islamic religion, this is a terrible thing to do! He had lost his honor, and he was worried that he wouldn't be able to ascend to heaven after he died.

What made him even more grief-stricken was that his newly married son, daughter-in-law, and son-in-law had all been killed in the earthquake. Watching curly wisps of wool flying in the cold wind, Mohammed cried helplessly and miserably.

Many victims in similar situations were not willing to accept the relief materials. After all, it would have taken great effort for them to debase themselves from their former rich status to deprived, penniless paupers within just a few days.

A lifelong educator

The stories of Afghani refugees broke our hearts even more deeply. The following story tells us the sorrow of Amanollah Askari, the former director of the education bureau of Bam.

Both Amanollah's father and sister tragically died in the earthquake. He took his wounded mother to the Tzu Chi tents to get medical treatment, and after they had taken some medicine and calmed down, Amanollah expressed his sorrow and invited us to take a look at his collapsed home.

The place we visited was a half-ruined school. The small canvas tents in the school were too crowded to cook hot food. The bathroom was terrible because excrement had overflowed the septic tanks. We guessed the earthquake had also destroyed the original sewer systems.

Picking up several textbooks from the rubble, Amanollah finally burst into tears. He said that more than 80 percent of these books' little owners were gone!

Amanollah had been a lifelong educator who retired from the local bureau of education about ten years ago. After retirement, he established two small secondary schools. He served as school principal for the boys and his wife for the girls.

He wanted us to see the girls' school first. The fence had collapsed, but an iron gate was still there with a lock on it, telling people that it was his property and that he would come back to rebuild it. To establish the schools, Amanollah borrowed 45 million riyals [US$6,000]. Now the schools were just ruins. We could only see white curtains awkwardly twisting in the wind.

Amanollah's father had been a farmer who worked hard his entire life and who donated his land to the government to establish these schools. Unfortunately, such good deeds could not be continued because the earthquake had destroyed both the schools and his father.

Originally, a group of exiled Afghans who had escaped from the chaotic wars in their homeland lived in the house of Amanollah's father. They happily thought that they could start new lives in Iran. The earthquake harshly took away their lives.

Amanollah stood on the rubble and dug out several pictures of his students. He said he loved these Afghani children very much--he had raised them and provided them with free education. He couldn't imagine that the earthquake had taken their young lives away, even after they had just fled from the wars in their homeland. Amanollah also revealed that he had shed more tears for these children than for his deceased father.

Two sad points

Above all the rubble, several chirps sounded in the sky. Our interpreter, Mahmood, pointed at the birds' nests, sighing that even birds had nests to go to, but Iranians had none.

Just at that moment, an aftershock came! The shaking was totally different from what we often experience in Taiwan. It sounded like two cars crashing into each other and there were also roaring sounds. We were all shocked by the unexpected tremors. After we experienced this, we could imagine the strength of the earthquake that hit on December 26.

There were only a few broken chairs and tables in the ruined school, and the blackboard still had the teacher's words written the day before the earthquake: "We will have an exam tomorrow, so make sure to bring exam papers to school or two points will be taken off from your score."

Mahmood sadly said that these students might have their two points taken away forever.

Upon hearing this, Amanollah cried even more sadly. He squatted down on the ground, put his open palms upward in front of his face, and prayed. We stood beside him, hoping to preserve the solemn atmosphere.

An Iranian national television station reported that about 10,000 pupils and 1,300 teachers had been killed and about 6,000 children had become orphans in the earthquake.

Knowing that Master Cheng Yen cares much about education for children, Amanollah said that he was willing to motivate all the friends he knew from the bureau of education to help Tzu Chi fulfill the mission of rebuilding schools.

In a prayer room at school, a pile of mohrs fell on the floor. Mohrs are Shia Islamic sacred objects in the form of stamps.

Shiites believe that the Prophet's forehead really touched the earth when he established the Islamic ceremonies, and so they believe that they should press a mohr against their foreheads to show their respect. For this reason, Muslims take a mohr with them, anywhere, anytime, as a necessity for worship.

It was sad to see such sacred objects returning to where they came from--the soil--after the earthquake took away their owners' lives.

Gone in minutes

The Islamic Republic of Iran became independent in 1979. In 2000 b.c., Darius the Great left an epigraph in the palace of Persepolis: "Darius prays to Ahura Mazda and all the gods for their protection to keep this country and this land from harm, from hatred, enemies, deception, and drought."

Looking back at Iranian history, however, his prayer was not realized. More than 2,000 years ago, the governor of "the land of Anxi" (a Chinese name for Persia) established Bam. The city experienced the prosperous history of the Silk Road and witnessed the greed and slaughter of different peoples--invaders from Arabia, Mongolia, and Afghanistan all occupied this land.

The city's religious architecture has seen changes too, from early Zoroastrian altars to Muslim mosques that were built after a.d. 636, when Islam spread to this land. Though the architecture changed as historical transformations took place, the snow-capped mountains around the city still shine with the same sparkle. White poplars still stand in rows, waving in the wind over the yellow earth.

Iranians doubtlessly felt proud of owning such a splendid historical heritage. Our other interpreter, Yaser, told us that losing their families had made Bam residents sad enough, but losing such a precious historic heritage grieved them the most.

On our way back, again we passed by the portrait of the boy, the Iranian national hero, beside the Bam public stadium. But this time he had only one eye left, watching people and cars passing by on the streets.　

Akbar's tears

As a non-government organization member of the United Nations Department of Public Information, Tzu Chi conducts its relief work effectively and quickly. Akbar's tears proved it.

Akbar was an Iranian assistant to the bus driver hired by the Tzu Chi team. Every time our volunteers distributed relief materials, Akbar always enthusiastically helped out. One day he could not bear it anymore. He hid behind the bus and burst into tears.

When volunteers asked him what happened, he told them that he was moved that Tzu Chi people had come from so far to Iran to provide the same kind of sincere help that Islam taught Muslims to do. He didn't want to question what the Iranian government had done so far, but the good deeds of the Tzu Chi volunteers had touched him deeply.

On January 9, our inspection of the disaster area came to an end and we started packing to leave. However, the Iranians who had helped us in our relief work came and surrounded our volunteers, trying to grab the last few minutes to chat for a while, even if the conversation involved a lot of gesturing.

While we were saying goodbye to one another, Mahmood carefully translated the emotional words of an Iranian volunteer who had been taking care of our baggage for the past few days. The volunteer said that to say goodbye to the Tzu Chi volunteers affected him so much that he felt this spiritual earthquake was even stronger than the real one!

These Taiwanese volunteers did not know these Iranians before the relief work, but coming from different races and different religions, they were still able to help quake survivors together. Maybe this is the true meaning of the old Chinese adage, "Enjoy good fortune together, share suffering together."

Since the 1979 Khomeini revolution, Iran has been politically isolated from the international community, but in fact Iranians are eager to come in contact with foreigners. When our relief team first arrived in Iran, some members knew nearly nothing about Iran. Their poor knowledge about the country primarily consisted of paintings of the solemn-faced Khomeini on Iranian streets.

However, the sense of mystery of Shia Islam only lasted for two weeks during our stay. In a farewell gathering, everyone hugged and kissed the cheeks of Iranian men to express the Persian passion, even if that meant being prickled by their moustaches!

Bastami's solemn, stirring voice

Back in Teheran, the capital of Iran, the noisy, crowded traffic on the streets welcomed us. Sparkling snowmelt flowing slowly down the uncovered drainage ditches indicated that heavy snow had fallen a few days ago.

A delicate, quiet building on the street attracted our attention. The egg-shaped steeple stood out clearly against the noisy market. Mahmood explained that the building was the mausoleum of Zainolabeddin Zahiroleslam, an Islamic imam from the Ghajar Dynasty 250 years ago. A guard told us that it was under remodeling and that it was not open to visitors, but he still let us take a look inside.

When we opened the delicately sculptured wooden door, an arched hall decorated with countless glass mosaic tiles flashed into view. The white sarcophagus showed the reverence held for this Islamic imam. A metal plate hung on the outer coffin with words praising the holy cleric.

We were curious about some tiny strings that were knotted onto the metal plate. It was explained to us that in the Iranian tradition, every time one encountered some unsolvable problem, one would find a string and tie it to related objects. Iranians believe that someday Allah will help them untie their knots and problems. We then recalled that we had seen such knots on broken thresholds and the door handles of several flattened cars.

Heroic but tragic-sounding Persian music came into our ears from a record store in the market. An enthusiastic customer, Rajabi, explained to us that the song was the work of his friend Iraj Bastami, a famous Iranian singer. Unfortunately, Bastami was also killed in the earthquake. For a long time, his music had praised the profound religious atmosphere and described the sadder aspects of Iranians' lives.

Rajabi said that what made him feel even more mournful was the termination of Bastami's plans to tour Europe with fundraising performances for the United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund (UNICEF). The earthquake had stopped such good deeds from being realized.　

After this explanation, the hovering music sounded even more solemn. Bastami's heroic voice sang the lyrics beautifully:

"I can feel the existence of Allah, our Lord. Life is like a play. You have to feel the love of the Lord. Otherwise, your heart will ache and the play will be meaningless..."