My Relationship with Zaban

Dr. Mobina Sahraee Juybari The University of Melbourne 

In Iran, we commonly use the term zaban [literally translated as language/tongue] to refer exclusively to the English language. When someone says, “I know zaban” it is understood they mean English. For other languages like Arabic or Persian, we use their specific names.

A pragmatic reason why English is commonly referred to as zaban is that it is an abbreviation for the longer term ‘Zaban-e Kharej-eh’ [external/foreign language]. And English is more external/foreign than Arabic, an Islamic language. English is the foreign language. 

Although the advantages of learning English are recognised, there is a government drive to detach it from other cultural knowledge.  For example, in locally developed school textbooks, English is presented within the context of contemporary Iranian culture (see the images and text below).The term zaban de-emphasises difference, thus promoting the adaptation of English to familiar ways of knowing and acting. This is perhaps a vehicle for a broader socio-cultural negotiation, where the global influence of English is recognised and harnessed to be a mirror for Middle Eastern values.

Lesson 3 of ‘Prospect’ 3: festivals and ceremonies. Adapted from Alavimoghadam et al. (2016, pp. 50-51)

English as an external ‘situated’ language

It was a summer in Iran, nearly two decades ago, when my parents decided to enrol me in a language institute in Juybar, my hometown. They thought it would be good for me to learn an international skill. For them, English connoted something larger—prestige, opportunity, and connection to the broader world. I can still vividly remember the passion I felt beginning my studies, armed with my Let’s Go textbooks, which showed me something different and exotic, that came from a distant land called Britain.

As I moved into high school, I continued loving English. Biology also fascinated me—I wanted to understand how the human body and mind worked. My biology teacher deepened this passion. She studied in France, and she knew French really well. She often brought English-language videos to class—videos that explained concepts like the skin and genetics but lacked translation. At that time, high-quality audiovisual resources in Persian were scarce, whereas English materials were abundant on the Internet.

She also helped us grasp complex scientific concepts more profoundly, utilising the English terms and videos to enhance our understanding. She often asked me to translate the videos for my peers. She leveraged our understanding of the subject by drawing on English and students’ knowledge in class. Through these videos, I learned a lot. Something I distinctly remember is osmosis—the process where our skin acts as a membrane, connecting us to the external world. 

One day, after class, my teacher called me “foreign girl” (dokhtare khareji) in front of the school staff. I had a mixed feeling; it was a strange dissonance. Was I foreign? Did my ability to speak English somehow make me less Iranian? I was pleased to be recognised for my knowledge of English, but at the same time, I felt I was othered.

Expanding Zaban

Looking back now, I see how these dialogues — in the biology class and beyond — shaped a transformation in my sense of self. Zaban had become a part of me. It had seeped into my being, becoming an inseparable part of who I am. It did not diminish my Persian-ness, but I identified as both an “inside” person (a speaker of Persian) and an “outside” person (a speaker of English) at the same time. 

During my PhD in Australia, my perspective on zaban changed again.  I moved away from the idea that different ‘named’ languages like Persian and English define who I am. The feeling of being both an inside and outside person disappeared. For me, Zaban changed from being a mirror of Middle Eastern values - it was my mirror; the word was no longer an abbreviation. 

As students and teachers, our experiences underpin a living, evolving dialogue; they carry the voices of many cultures, contexts, and meanings. Zaban is not bound to one identity or culture—it belongs to all of us. Through this evolving sense of language, I am reminded that language learning is mostly about expanding the horizons of who we are and how we see the world. In this way, my journey with zaban has helped me to see how we  engage in a rich dialogue, not only with others but with ourselves.