Iman Rappetti
Iman Rappetti is an award-winning journalist who has been involved in print, radio and television. She worked as a young journalist in South Africa and then abandoned it (along with all her worldly possessions) when she became Muslim. She lived in the Islamic Republic of Iran for two years, where she also worked on a current affairs TV show for the state broadcaster before returning to South Africa and resuming her life here. In this moving and entertaining memoir, Iman shares stories and what she has learned from her colourful journey through life. This is an extract from her book, Becoming Iman.
I stared at Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini and asked loudly, ‘What should I do?! I’m dying!’
The serious, dark eyes of the Father of the Iranian Revolution stared back at me, almost disapprovingly, through his trademark bushy eyebrows but his mouth was firm and silent.
‘A giant poster on a wall can’t answer you, Iman,’ my inner voice admonished.
I felt stupid, but desperate. I paced the tiny area at the front of our main street apartment in Iran’s holy city of Qom. A lone cockroach also appeared not to care and lazily went about its business scavenging escaped grains of basmati rice under the tiny sink. I was in too much pain to go after him. The cheap, grey carpet squares bore the brunt of my anxiety. Up and down I paced in a shuffle of heavy, muffled steps. I fearfully gripped my sides as my swollen belly became the epicentre of lightning rods of fresh, intense jolts of the most extreme pain I had ever felt. Minutes earlier the sky had prepared for a wardrobe change by shaking off its ebony and magenta nightgown and slipping into a sunrise sheath bursting with yellows and oranges. The call to prayer had gently tapped on the window, carried by the amplified voice of the Muaddhin from the mosque nearby.
‘Hurry to prayer, hurry to success,’ it exhorted. I had done my ritual wash and the prayer mat was unfurled and ready at my feet. I made it through the first prostration but my swollen belly wouldn’t let me go any further. Bulging with slurry amniotic fluid, it prevented me from connecting my head to the floor. Then the pain came. Then the fear. My mother, Maureen, who’d flown out especially for the birth of my first child had already made her way back to South Africa because I had stupidly misunderstood the delivery date the gynaecologist had given me. Anyway, she’d had enough of the city, and Iran in general, repeatedly asking me if my head was right. It didn’t help that when she had arrived at Mehrabad International Airport she’d forgotten she wasn’t in Dubai, but Tehran, and had neglected to put on her headscarf. Mistake. Big mistake, as she soon discovered. Immediately after exiting the plane, hostile guards shouted at her and marched her to the bathroom; she was bewildered and frightened and I think the old lady genuinely expected to be shot! She didn’t speak Farsi, of course, and as she tearfully pulled on a scarf she was almost ready to go straight back home. ‘You’d swear my hair was a bomb and could do terrible things! Hair! Hair! What are they afraid of?’ she complained miserably. I chuckled privately as I pictured how it must have looked.
The plane ride between Dubai and Iran is hilarious. It’s like the women on board have taken their hair for a picnic, an outing, which has now come to an end and must be packed away. Petulant coifs and curls must be tucked back and the scramble for headgear is a whirl of clips and slides till it’s fixed in place. And ticks the box of what’s acceptable.
I genuinely felt sorry for Mum as this was the first big trip she had ever taken. I soothed her and distracted her with that most delicious of Iranian sweets, ‘gaz’. So while she was undoubtedly munching on its sweet, nutty and gooey insides, here I was about to have my firstborn in a strange country, in a hospital thousands of kilometres from home and in a language I did not yet speak nor understand properly. I was about to become a mother without familiar faces and hands to help with my initiation. I wanted to cry like a child. My copy of the infamous What to Expect When You’re Expecting lay uselessly on the floor next to me. It was a lie. I looked at it in the same way a woman looks at a lover who has betrayed her. My water didn’t break, nothing was going according to plan and who could remember how to measure the bladdy contractions! I knew I would have to call someone. Ah, I remembered the mother of a friend. The only trouble was that I had only the most basic ability to communicate in Farsi. I was the butt of many jokes at the market, asking for watermelons when I wanted butter, or chillies when I meant meat and confusing the money. I called her anyway but the poor woman was so confused so my husband and I piled into a taxi and headed for the hospital in the breath suppressing heat of an Iranian summer. It was a Tuesday in July and we were about to become parents. I had entertained no fantasies of a beautiful birth in plush surroundings so I was prepared for the bleakness and basic provision that was the Shahid Beheshti Hospital but I thought that hospitals in Muslim countries would at least be religious about privacy and modesty. It was not so. Well, certainly not in this hospital.
Women were lined up on beds in rows facing each other with each person’s baby-arrivals portal facing the next. If I sat up on my pillow, I could see right into the sister across from me and of course she had ringside seats to my most private parts. But this was not the time to care about whether things were tidy or how your experience compared with another woman. A stocky nurse with meaty, manly hands injected oxytocin into my IV to speed up contractions (read: hot, liquid, pain) while another pregnant woman feverishly walked past praying, calling for Imam Zaman, the last saviour of Islam, to please help her. It was a way of asking for strength and comfort. I tried in vain to tell the nurse, in the only coherent Persian sentence I knew, that I was close to death, and that I really meant it. But she disrupted the vapour of my dying breath with a wave of her hands and a knowing smile. Minutes later she came back looking worried. The baby was going into distress. His umbilical cord was making an attempt on his life, having snaked its way around his tiny neck. There is a flurry of activity and a doctor from the university is summoned. Thankfully she speaks English and I am whipped into theatre. My last memory before slipping away was of the nurse’s meaty, manly hands pressing down on my tummy with her entire body weight. I mumble, ‘This can’t be right, please…’ and then disappear.
I wake up. Next to me is my boy. I can’t believe it but I am so tired I slip away again. Hours later I wake to the sight of his dad by my side, joyfully staring at the little life in front of him. He teases me, saying, ‘I could hear your screams all the way down in the reception area one floor down!’ Men are generally barred from the maternity wards in Qom, I’m told, so he doesn’t stay long and leaves a few minutes later. We name the life in the bassinet Muhammad Husayn. A name chosen in honour of a young man who volunteered for suicide operations during the Iran–Iraq War. He was just thirteen when he blew himself up in front of an Iraqi tank to stop it from reaching the Iranian border town of Khorramshahr at the beginning of the conflict. I had always planned to name my son Muhammad, in part to force my family to say it. To constantly drive home the message that I was Muslim and to get them to accept it. At last, after months of ritualistic throwing up after eating platters of soft, fried chips drowned in yoghurt, black pepper and vinegar, in that mad craving of pregnancy, I could cradle the subject of my sacrifice. I touched his downy face and tried to imagine his future. His mouth searched for my finger. I looked around anxiously for guidance but aside from dispensing medication, the nurses expected there to be a relative or friend to help new mothers. I had no one. And Muhammad was loud and demanding. His cries scratched the walls and drew sympathetic looks on faces that also seemed to judge my inability to quieten him. I couldn’t even communicate with the other mothers, let alone ask for help. My body seemed to rebel now that it had expelled its charge. My nipples refused to come out and sat there indifferently, almost as if they were watching the ward, seeming to focus more on blowing dry a fresh coat of nail polish than dispensing the royal jelly of colostrum and milk. The boy was hungry and searching and my bladder was tugging. I put him down and took my first, tentative steps off the bed to make my first pee. Before my feet hit the ground, the pain did; I’d almost forgotten that I’d had a C-section. I took a deep breath and shuffled to the toilet. Pain. Pain. Pain. And then I remembered. This is Iran. I’m in a village. Long drop. I stood for a few minutes trying to work out how I was going to hold the drip, lift up my dress, tear down my knickers, squat, support myself and let go. I gathered all the strength I could, crying as I descended, howling in pain as my stomach convulsed and the fresh stitches tugged meanly. Motherhood and Iran were going to be such fun …
IMAN RAPPETTI, originally from Phoenix in KwaZulu-Natal, counts among her career highlights, interviews and encounters with former South African President Thabo Mbeki, President Jacob Zuma, and queen of talk Oprah Winfrey. A senior eNCA anchor for 11 years, Rappetti left the broadcaster in April 2017 to spend more time with her family but continues to be on the airwaves hosting a weekday radio show on Power FM.
Whether you believe in God or not, this is a must-read message!!!
Throughout time, we can see how we have been slowly conditioned to come to this point where we are on the verge of a cashless society. Did you know that the Bible foretold of this event almost 2,000 years ago?
In Revelation 13:16-18, we read,
“He (the false prophet who decieves many by his miracles) causes all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on their right hand or on their foreheads, and that no one may buy or sell except one who has the mark or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.
Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: His number is 666.”
Referring to the last generation, this could only be speaking of a cashless society. Why? Revelation 13:17 tells us that we cannot buy or sell unless we receive the mark of the beast. If physical money was still in use, we could buy or sell with one another without receiving the mark. This would contradict scripture that states we need the mark to buy or sell!
These verses could not be referring to something purely spiritual as scripture references two physical locations (our right hand or forehead) stating the mark will be on one “OR” the other. If this mark was purely spiritual, it would indicate only in one place.
This is where it really starts to come together. It is shocking how accurate the Bible is concerning the implatnable RFID microchip. These are notes from a man named Carl Sanders who worked with a team of engineers to help develop this RFID chip
“Carl Sanders sat in seventeen New World Order meetings with heads-of-state officials such as Henry Kissinger and Bob Gates of the C.I.A. to discuss plans on how to bring about this one-world system. The government commissioned Carl Sanders to design a microchip for identifying and controlling the peoples of the world—a microchip that could be inserted under the skin with a hypodermic needle (a quick, convenient method that would be gradually accepted by society).
Carl Sanders, with a team of engineers behind him, with U.S. grant monies supplied by tax dollars, took on this project and designed a microchip that is powered by a lithium battery, rechargeable through the temperature changes in our skin. Without the knowledge of the Bible (Brother Sanders was not a Christian at the time), these engineers spent one-and-a-half-million dollars doing research on the best and most convenient place to have the microchip inserted.
Guess what? These researchers found that the forehead and the back of the hand (the two places the Bible says the mark will go) are not just the most convenient places, but are also the only viable places for rapid, consistent temperature changes in the skin to recharge the lithium battery. The microchip is approximately seven millimeters in length, .75 millimeters in diameter, about the size of a grain of rice. It is capable of storing pages upon pages of information about you. All your general history, work history, crime record, health history, and financial data can be stored on this chip.
Brother Sanders believes that this microchip, which he regretfully helped design, is the “mark” spoken about in Revelation 13:16–18. The original Greek word for “mark” is “charagma,” which means a “scratch or etching.” It is also interesting to note that the number 666 is actually a word in the original Greek. The word is “chi xi stigma,” with the last part, “stigma,” also meaning “to stick or prick.” Carl believes this is referring to a hypodermic needle when they poke into the skin to inject the microchip.”
Mr. Sanders asked a doctor what would happen if the lithium contained within the RFID microchip leaked into the body. The doctor replied by saying a terrible sore would appear in that location. This is what the book of Revelation says:
“And the first (angel) went, and poured out his vial on the earth; and there fell a noisome and grievous sore on the men which had the mark of the beast, and on them which worshipped his image” (Revelation 16:2).
You can read more about it here–and to also understand the mystery behind the number 666: https://2ruth.org/rfid-mark-of-the-beast-666-revealed/
The third angel’s warning in Revelation 14:9-11 states,
“Then a third angel followed them, saying with a loud voice, ‘If anyone worships the beast and his image, and receives his mark on his forehead or on his hand, he himself shall also drink of the wine of the wrath of God, which is poured out full strength into the cup of His indignation. He shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of the holy angels and in the presence of the Lamb. And the smoke of their torment ascends forever and ever; and they have no rest day or night, who worship the beast and his image, and whoever receives the mark of his name.'”
Who is Barack Obama, and why is he still in the public scene?
So what’s in the name? The meaning of someone’s name can say a lot about a person. God throughout history has given names to people that have a specific meaning tied to their lives. How about the name Barack Obama? Let us take a look at what may be hiding beneath the surface.
Jesus says in Luke 10:18, “…I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven.”
The Hebrew Strongs word (H1299) for “lightning”: “bârâq” (baw-rawk)
In Isaiah chapter 14, verse 14, we read about Lucifer (Satan) saying in his heart:
“I will ascend above the heights of the clouds, I will be like the Most High.”
In the verses in Isaiah that refer directly to Lucifer, several times it mentions him falling from the heights or the heavens. The Hebrew word for the heights or heavens used here is Hebrew Strongs 1116: “bamah”–Pronounced (bam-maw’)
In Hebrew, the letter “Waw” or “Vav” is often transliterated as a “U” or “O,” and it is primarily used as a conjunction to join concepts together. So to join in Hebrew poetry the concept of lightning (Baraq) and a high place like heaven or the heights of heaven (Bam-Maw), the letter “U” or “O” would be used. So, Baraq “O” Bam-Maw or Baraq “U” Bam-Maw in Hebrew poetry similar to the style written in Isaiah, would translate literally to “Lightning from the heights.” The word “Satan” in Hebrew is a direct translation, therefore “Satan.”
So when Jesus told His disciples in Luke 10:18 that He beheld Satan fall like lightning from heaven, if this were to be spoken by a Jewish Rabbi today influenced by the poetry in the book of Isaiah, he would say these words in Hebrew–the words of Jesus in Luke 10:18 as, And I saw Satan as Baraq O Bam-Maw.
The names of both of Obama’s daughters are Malia and Natasha. If we were to write those names backward (the devil does things in reverse) we would get “ailam ahsatan”. Now if we remove the letters that spell “Alah” (Allah being the false god of Islam), we get “I am Satan”. Coincidence? I don’t think so.
Obama’s campaign logo when he ran in 2008 was a sun over the horizon in the west, with the landscape as the flag of the United States. In Islam, they have their own messiah that they are waiting for called the 12th Imam, or the Mahdi (the Antichrist of the Bible), and one prophecy concerning this man’s appearance is the sun rising in the west.
“Then I saw another angel flying in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach to those who dwell on the earth—to every nation, tribe, tongue, and people— saying with a loud voice, ‘Fear God and give glory to Him, for the hour of His judgment has come; and worship Him who made heaven and earth, the sea and springs of water.'” (Revelation 14:6-7)
Why have the word’s of Jesus in His Gospel accounts regarding His death, burial, and resurrection, been translated into over 3,000 languages, and nothing comes close? The same God who formed the heavens and earth that draws all people to Him through His creation, likewise has sent His Word to the ends of the earth so that we may come to personally know Him to be saved in spirit and in truth through His Son Jesus Christ.
Jesus stands alone among the other religions that say to rightly weigh the scales of good and evil and to make sure you have done more good than bad in this life. Is this how we conduct ourselves justly in a court of law? Bearing the image of God, is this how we project this image into reality?
Our good works cannot save us. If we step before a judge, being guilty of a crime, the judge will not judge us by the good that we have done, but rather by the crimes we have committed. If we as fallen humanity, created in God’s image, pose this type of justice, how much more a perfect, righteous, and Holy God?
God has brought down His moral laws through the 10 commandments given to Moses at Mt. Siani. These laws were not given so we may be justified, but rather that we may see the need for a savior. They are the mirror of God’s character of what He has put in each and every one of us, with our conscious bearing witness that we know that it is wrong to steal, lie, dishonor our parents, murder, and so forth.
We can try and follow the moral laws of the 10 commandments, but we will never catch up to them to be justified before a Holy God. That same word of the law given to Moses became flesh about 2,000 years ago in the body of Jesus Christ. He came to be our justification by fulfilling the law, living a sinless perfect life that only God could fulfill.
The gap between us and the law can never be reconciled by our own merit, but the arm of Jesus is stretched out by the grace and mercy of God. And if we are to grab on, through faith in Him, He will pull us up being the one to justify us. As in the court of law, if someone steps in and pays our fine, even though we are guilty, the judge can do what is legal and just and let us go free. That is what Jesus did almost 2,000 years ago on the cross. It was a legal transaction being fulfilled in the spiritual realm by the shedding of His blood.
For God takes no pleasure in the death of the wicked (Ezekiel 18:23). This is why in Isaiah chapter 53, where it speaks of the coming Messiah and His soul being a sacrifice for our sins, why it says it pleased God to crush His only begotten Son.
This is because the wrath that we deserve was justified by being poured out upon His Son. If that wrath was poured out on us, we would all perish to hell forever. God created a way of escape by pouring it out on His Son whose soul could not be left in Hades but was raised and seated at the right hand of God in power.
So now when we put on the Lord Jesus Christ (Romans 13:14), God no longer sees the person who deserves His wrath, but rather the glorious image of His perfect Son dwelling in us, justifying us as if we received the wrath we deserve, making a way of escape from the curse of death–now being conformed into the image of the heavenly man in a new nature, and no longer in the image of the fallen man Adam.
Now what we must do is repent and put our trust and faith in the savior, confessing and forsaking our sins, and to receive His Holy Spirit that we may be born again (for Jesus says we must be born again to enter the Kingdom of God–John chapter 3). This is not just head knowledge of believing in Jesus, but rather receiving His words, taking them to heart, so that we may truly be transformed into the image of God. Where we no longer live to practice sin, but rather turn from our sins and practice righteousness through faith in Him in obedience to His Word by reading the Bible.
Our works cannot save us, but they can condemn us; it is not that we earn our way into everlasting life, but that we obey our Lord Jesus Christ:
“And having been perfected, He became the author of eternal salvation to all who obey Him.” (Hebrews 5:9)
“Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, ‘Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.’
Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ And He said to me, ‘Write, for these words are true and faithful.’
And He said to me, ‘It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning and the End. I will give of the fountain of the water of life freely to him who thirsts. He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God and he shall be My son. But the cowardly, unbelieving, abominable, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone, which is the second death.'” (Revelation 21:1-8).
Picture this – 3 am in the morning, I had a line of fiends stretched around the corner of my block. It was in the freezing middle of January but they had camped out all night, jumping-ready to buy like there was a sale on Jordans. If you were 16 years old, in my shoes, you’d do anything to survive, right? I got good news though; I MADE IT OUT OF THE HOOD, with nothing but a laptop and an internet connection. I’m not special or lucky in any way. If I, as a convicted felon that used to scream “Free Harlem” around my block until my throat was sore, could find a way to generate a stable, consistent, reliable income online, ANYONE can! If you’re interested in legitimate, stress-free side hustles that can bring in $3,500/week, I set up a site you can use: https://incomecommunity.com