Marzieh's biggest challenge in life is to come up with money for her daughter's wedding. In Persian custom, it is the parents' duty to provide a dowry, known as jahizieh, and as a widow from north Iran, she feels it is important to fulfil her responsibility and protect the family's honour.
To achieve this, she is ready to sell one of her kidneys. If she is successful, she will travel to one of Tehran's kidney transplant centres and have it removed. She will have to cope with only one kidney from then on, but she will have performed her duties by her daughter.
"It is getting too late for my daughter to marry – her moment has already passed," she said.
Iran is the only country where the selling and buying of kidneys is legal. As a result, there is no shortage of the organs – but for those trying to sell a kidney, there is a lot of competition.
In order to advertise her kidney, Marzieh has written her blood type and her phone number on pieces of paper and has posted them along the street close to several of Tehran's major hospitals, home to the country's major kidney transplant centres.
Others have done the same. Some have written in big letters or in bright colours to attract attention; some have sprayed their information on the walls of public or even private properties.
"Kidney for sale," reads one ad, carrying the donor's blood type, O+, and a mobile number, with a note emphasising "urgent", insinuating that the donor is prepared to consider discounts. Another similar ad reads: "Attention, attention, a healthy kidney for sale, O+." Many are handwritten, though some have typed the ads to make them look better. "24 years old, kidney for sale," another reads. "Tested healthy."
Competition means that some ads have been torn down. Some have added their information to ads by other donors. Others have placed their ads on people's doors or simply written them in marker pen on trees where they think they will catch people's attention.
At the heart of the capital, near the Charity Association for the Support of Kidney Patients (CASKP), the number of ads has made the streets of Tehran into a sort of kidney eBay. "My six-month-old baby was paralysed after falling from the hands of my wife," said Ali, 28, from the northern city of Nur in the Iranian