Imam Khomeini Metro Station

After what was another immense gathering of silent Tehranis – draped in black on this occasion – I made my way back to Vanak to get out of town. Having popped in a shopping complex for a few minutes, I exited to see a line of twenty men dressed in civilian clothing yet holding batons with accompanying riot shields and helmets. In addition to this they each wore a homemade red armband. It was an odd sight and frightening to say the least. We're these just vigilantes or members of the religious militia known as the Basij?

I made my way to the main square for which five pick-up vans passed me, each with ten to twelve similarly dressed men bundled in the back, all heading up town. Upon arriving at the square people were quietly talking and moving with haste; the square was circled by maybe thirty to forty of the very same guys.

They maybe had an average age of forty, probably could spend more time in the gym and a visit to respectable clothing store wouldn't go a miss either. I couldn't help but think that some old boy had rounded some lads from the local, armed them and asked them to go enjoy themselves.

This moment was in complete contrast to the what had happened an hour before and I'd rather keep my thoughts there.

I called some friends out of concern about the scene at Vanak, they asked about the event that I'd been to before hand. "What do you think the size of the crowd was", I was asked, "I'm not sure, how does one estimate a crowd? Especially one that meanders through streets that you can't see", I answered. "I asked the guy with me whether he thinks there's more than a 100,000 people, and he seemed to think there was way more". I went on to explain that at the event, like the days before, we were silent, only interrupted by calls for respect for the prophet Mohammad, for which we universally give the appropriate response.

At the gathering we stood for about an hour and a half in the summer heat, watched by those high up in the telecommunications building, situated in what for me and many others, was far off the beaten track. Occasionally a lone police helicopter would pass from a comfortable distance, "hands up people", we were asked as we raised the peace signs up in view.

Again talk rippled through the crowd about future locations and where exactly this crowd was planning to take things on this occasion. Stated places are always listened to with skepticism and when a bogus location is heard the crowd quickly looks to correct it. We appeared to waiting for Mousavi to arrive, but people wanted to move on. Where exactly to move on to became a matter of debate. Many just got up and left for which voices would emerge from the crowd saying, "don't go, don't empty the place, Mousavi is coming".

The route we took would take us passed the British embassy, which I was interested to see whether we'd be greeted in any special way. As it turns out, only one very English looking chap stood outside, being his good English self. I took my long awaited photo of the "no photos" sign and moved on. A little further up we began to hear a roar smelling. It frightened me as I imagined that things had gotten ugly. Those nearby went deadly quiet, not knowing what to expect. The roar got louder and the crowd around me made hushing gestures. "Mousavi!", screamed the crowd followed by a tsunami sized call of his name. The crowd rushed back in the direction we'd came to see what was happening. A motorbike raced ahead with a man wearing a green balaclava, "get out the way!" he screamed and from behind him we saw several men and a woman up-top a truck. "Shit, it's him", I said to my friend as I rushed for my camera. The man's face got a metre away from mine and what a glowing face it was. I'm talking of auras like those seen with his competitor in the UN, but a face of sheer disbelief and gratitude, "Mousavi, you won. You won something, here's a million, people, maybe more".

"God is great, god is great, god is great...", chanted the crowd as they raced forward to keep up with the car. The chants turned to, "Ya Hossein, Mir Hossein, Ya Hossein, Mir Hossein". The street boomed with this chant for which sounded like it echoed throughout the city.

I checked to see if I'd gotten a good picture, "damn, his hands in front of his face", I said to my friend, "my hand was in front of my lens", he replied.