I held my first photo exhibition in late 2017, a few months after returning from Mosul, Iraq, where I had documented the operation to liberate the city from Islamic State. From the first moments of the event, I felt gloomy as my family cast concerned looks at me while the press took pictures of my hair freely protruding from my scarf and clothes – a deliberate rebellion on my part against Iran’s conservative traditions and beliefs.
I suddenly experienced a flashback to all the ways in which I had been oppressed as a woman during my life. When I turned six, they pulled me out of my games with the boys in the neighbourhood. When I turned seven, they covered my head with the ugliest scarf in the world, which looked like a burlap sack, and sent me to school where, even though it was staffed solely by women, no one was allowed to remove the scarf.
