In Iran, it’s common to see a photo of the founder of a family business displayed on the wall of a restaurant or private shop. The older the business, the more prestigious it is considered. For the children or grandchildren, continuing the work of such a highly respected family breadwinner becomes a significant responsibility.
Typically, portraits of men proudly dominate such photographs. But once, in an old Tehran photo studio, a young girl was gazing at me from a black-and-white image. Her smile was radiant, despite the lack of color. She was our friend’s grandmother,
Zinat Baluti Tabrizi. She became one of the first professional woman photographer in Iran. At thirteen years old, she received her work permit, and at the age of eight, she took her first photograph. She absorbed her love for photography with the care and support of her parents, from birth. They were the ones who instilled in her a sense of self-belief and helped her to dedicate herself fully to the beloved craft.
This story began in 1846 when the world’s first oil well was drilled at the Bibi-Heybat field near Baku. Oil was everywhere in this place: it poured from the earth in pitch-black curls, quickly coating the bare feet — and sometimes even the entire body of workers, whose bronzed skin was a result of constant exposure to the sun. These workers, often wearing straw hats, were surrounded by the so-called “black gold.” It almost sounds like one of the magical wishes from the Genie in Aladdin’s lamp, doesn’t it? Yet, for the oil workers of Baku, this “black gold” was not a blessing, but a dangerous challenge.
Under the scorching Baku sun, which frequently caused fainting, and surrounded by the heavy, leaden smell of naphthene-rich oil, their labor was grueling—and dangerous. Sometimes, when workers encountered pockets of associated gases, they risked being burned by sudden fires. These fires were ignited when the methane-like gases rapidly combusted upon contact with oxygen as the oil reached the surface, causing a sharp drop in gas pressure. Despite these dangers, many migrants from Russia, Germany, Armenia, and other places flocked to Baku. The city became a cultural hub, earning the nickname "Paris of the Caucasus".
Among these migrants was Abdullah, the young father of our heroine Zinat. Of medium height, stylishly dressed, with brown hair, delicate features, and fair skin, he arrived in Baku driven by a dream — to become a professional photographer. Abdullah was passionate about exploring new cities, living in them for a time, and immersing himself in their unique rhythms. He always followed the rule of an old Persian proverb goes, "It’s better to see the world than to eat it." Whenever he could, he traveled and captured the world through his camera. During this period of his life, Baku became his temporary home and refuge.
With his hair styled according to the latest trends, Abdullah confidently left his apartment and headed to the photo studio of David Rostamyan —the chief court photographer to His Imperial Majesty the Shah of Persia. Rostamyan's clients included wealthy oilmen, merchants, and high-ranking officials. His studio was located in a two-story mansion on the corner of Mariinskaya and Torgovaya Streets, just a short walk from Abdullah’s rented room.
Abdullah walked into the photo studio with calm assurance and immediately requested to meet David Rostamyan himself. The young and attractive secretary appraised him from head to toe, asked his name, and then went up the stairs to the second floor to announce the visitor. On the first floor, the studio’s employees handled orders, took portraits, family photos, and vignettes — at a rather high price. Upstairs, in a luxurious six-room apartment, lived the master himself. He received his most esteemed clients there, personally attended to them, and took their photographs.
Small in stature, with a large head and a sizable belly, David Rostamyan had a somewhat comical appearance, which may have been why he never married. An Iranian national, he was well-connected with the consul and had a close friendship with him. The Persian photographer was assisted by six or seven young women—each one a beauty. And one always had to be cautious around them. On one occasion, the girls played a cruel prank on David.
David had a deep fondness for wine, always drinking from a silver horn. The girls, keen on playing a prank, bought an identical horn—but with a hole at the bottom. At one of the parties, after David had drank a little too much wine, they presented him with the new horn and discreetly removed the stopper from the hole. As the wine spilled, it drenched his pants. The girls quickly ushered David to the bedroom, and while he was changing, they took a photograph of him half-naked — without his pants and surrounded by beauties.
From that moment on, whenever David grew angry, it was enough for one of the girls to threaten him with the compromising photo. She would promise to send it to all the respected people in the city, including the consul. David would say no more. The mere threat of the photo’s release was as good as a death sentence to him, such was the value he placed on his reputation. This incident highlighted a particular trait of Iranians—their deep concern for maintaining their "aberu" (honor), which they carry with them proudly throughout their lives.
Āberu
Āberu is considered one of the key concepts in Iranian culture and extends to all areas of life: private, public, and professional. It can be associated with an individual, a family, residents of a particular city or village, fans of a sports team, or even an entire nation. A person who possesses Āberu has the responsibility to protect and maintain their prestige by demonstrating self-respect toward others, while also safeguarding the prestige of their group.
"To take away someone's Āberu" (āberu-ye kas-i-rā bordan) means to disgrace or dishonor them. A person who has been deprived of Āberu (bī-āberu) is considered a scoundrel — someone who lacks self-respect.
Āberu reflects how the public perceives a person’s behavior, which is why Iranians are particularly concerned with meeting the expectations of others. For example, it is seen as unacceptable to “take the trash out of the house” (disrespect family privacy), fail to stand up for oneself, leave an insult unanswered, break promises, appear weak, or ask a stranger for a favor.
Even a poor family, despite their limited means, may go to great lengths to warmly welcome and treat guests with generosity. While this hospitality might strain their budget, it ensures that neighbors and distant relatives do not perceive them as needy or deserving of sympathy. It is considered essential to show respect for someone else's Āberu—by not reminding them of favors received, thus avoiding making them feel indebted, and refraining from slandering or spreading rumors that could damage their reputation. To preserve Āberu, it is important to adhere to and support the traditions and values that have been established within society.
Abdullah was fortunate—he was hired right away, perhaps in part because the master had a clear distrust of women. Every morning, full of energy and always dressed in the latest trends, Abdullah hurried to David's workshop, where he was learning the basics of photography. After long days of work, he would often take walks in nature, enjoying the quiet solitude. He always carried his beloved dutar with him, finding a peaceful spot under a tree where he could sit for hours, playing the dutar and singing.
Life seemed to take a turn for the better, promising untold riches. At least, that's how it appeared, and that's certainly how Abdullah envisioned it.
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