In the shadows of war, Iranians Celebrate Nowruz in Armenia

By Melika Safaei

Inside the bright, fluorescent aisles of a Yerevan City supermarket, the rhythm of life is normal. Shopping carts glide over polished floors, and cashiers scan groceries with a practiced, indifferent cadence. But for the woman searching the shelves for Senjed (dried oleaster) or the perfect red apples, this is no ordinary errand. It is a quiet, desperate attempt to reconstruct home within the borders of exile on the eve of Nowruz, the Persian New Year. A symbol of strength, the Samanū (wheat germ pudding), is harder to find in the aisles in Yerevan.

In a third-floor apartment in the Komitas district, Samin, 25, sets a table with components that are Armenian by soil, but Iranian by soul. In Yerevan, a city that has long served as a cultural bridge and a seasonal sanctuary for Iranians, the apples and garlic from local markets are carefully placed upon a Termeh (Persian silk) cloth that still carries the faint, travel-worn scent of a suitcase. While she is free to celebrate here, she does so with a heavy heart. Amidst the echoes of war and digital blackouts back home, this year’s Haft-Sin (the seven symbolic items starting with ‘S’) is no longer just a welcome to spring; it is a ritual of endurance.

Traditionally, the Haft-Sin is often seen as a reflection of renewal and the cyclical nature of life. Rooted in Nowruz celebrations for centuries, Iranians arrange seven symbolic items to express hopes for the year ahead: Sir (garlic) for health, Sabzeh (sprouts) for rebirth, Somaq (sumac) for the sunrise of a new day, Senjed (dried oleaster) for love, Sib (apple) for beauty, Serkeh (vinegar) for patience, and Samanu (wheat germ pudding) for power and blessing.

But this year, in the cramped rooms of hostels, the temporary safety of Airbnbs, and the corners of small Persian-run cafes, the celebration is muted but persistent. The hospitality of Armenia provides a physical sanctuary, yet the emotional heart remains across the border. As the candles are lit this year, the flickering flames reflect a singular, collective wish among Iranians in Yerevan: not just for a prosperous year, but for the return of peace to a home currently dimmed by darkness.

"Nowruz is here, may every day be spring anew, May Iran's dusk turn bright with morning's hue" - Bahār (The Poet Laureate of early 20th-century Iran)

For safety reasons, this story uses a pseudonym for Samin, whose real name is being withheld at her request.