Best Albums I Listened To
-Bon Iver—Bon Iver
-Iron & Wine—Kiss Each Other Clean
-Fleet Foxes—Helplessness Blues
-The Decemberists—The King is Dead
-The Civil Wars—Barton Hollow
-Radical Face—The Family Tree
-Black Keys—El Camino
-Blind Pilot—We are the Tide
-Paste Magazine’s Compilation of Free Christmas Music (not an album, but free, and Christmasy)
Best Books I Read (Limited to First-Time Reads)
-Best American Non-required Reading 2010
-The Raw Shark Texts
-Cold Mountain
-The Places In Between
-The Tiger’s Wife
-Johnny Cash’s autobiography
-The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
-The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris
-Black Garden
Best TV and Movies (Incomplete due to Poor Memory):
-Midnight in Paris
-The Wire
-X-Men: First Class
-Homeland
-The Social Network
-Tron: Legacy (Almost Exclusively for the Soundtrack Award)
-Sherlock (BBC)
-Doctor Who Season Six
-Vacations in the Danger Zone—Nagorno-Karabagh region
Best and Only Trips (International):
-Scotland
-Istanbul
-Assume that trip back to the US fits here as well
Best Trips (National):
-Camping in Oguz (despite the rain and leaky tents)
-Evaluation Meeting in Sheki at the Sheki Saray Hotel
-Multiple Lahic trips (with PCVs, family, girlfriend, more PCVs)
-ABLE camp in Qabala, Training of Trainers at the campsite in advance
-Halloween in Barda
-Thanksgiving in Baku
Favorite Projects:
-ABLE
-Sheki Sumemr Camp
-Softball
-FLEX Preparation (Despite temporary failure)
-(Pending) Theater Club
-(Pending) Mural Exchange Program with Japanese School
Favorite New Hobby:
-Watercolor Painting
-Cooking (at least during the summer)
Saddest Moment:
-Burying a puppy
Happiest Moments:
-Weekends in Tezekend with sitemates escaping from daily life, but not the cold
-Playing with a new puppy (slightly less happy—serving as her chew toy)
-Welcoming my family, my girlfriend to Azerbaijan and to Ismayilli, and exploring Istanbul
-A student coming back from summer camp determined to try to apply for FLEX
-Justifying playing Christmas music early because of snow in early November
-Eating homemade birthday cake made by my host mother
Funniest Moments:
-Coaxing a stray dog into the cabin of the other PCVs during ABLE
-Being pelted with water balloons in the middle of the night in retaliation
-Having a dog that likes to perch on my shoulders like a mountain goat
-Speaking to my host brother about college life in America from Azerbaijan
Monday, December 19, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Twenty Years Ago Today
Two decades ago, the Soviet Union was dissolved by a group of people in Belarus. Azerbaijan had declared independence several months earlier, but even today, the ties with Russia are important to many Azeris. In fact, they hold very powerful memories of the time period Azerbaijan spent as a member of the USSR. Many yearn for the days when employment was higher, and life was better.
An expert on the region, Thomas de Waal, who wrote a strong book on the topic of the conflict that has frozen Azerbaijan's politics for a number of years (in fact since before the fall of the Soviet Union), has recently weighed in on the progress the Caucasus countries have made in these past twenty years. It has not been an easy twenty years, but progress has been made in some ways, and setbacks have come in other areas.
Here's Thomas de Waal's article:
http://carnegieendowment.org/2011/11/27/south-caucasus-almost-grown-up-at-20/7tqy
In another interview, he also makes a wonderful analysis of The Butter Battle Book, by Dr Seuss, comparing it to the Caucasian conflict. It's on page 2 of the link.
http://thebrowser.com/interviews/thomas-de-waal-on-conflict-caucasus?page=1
An expert on the region, Thomas de Waal, who wrote a strong book on the topic of the conflict that has frozen Azerbaijan's politics for a number of years (in fact since before the fall of the Soviet Union), has recently weighed in on the progress the Caucasus countries have made in these past twenty years. It has not been an easy twenty years, but progress has been made in some ways, and setbacks have come in other areas.
Here's Thomas de Waal's article:
http://carnegieendowment.org/2011/11/27/south-caucasus-almost-grown-up-at-20/7tqy
In another interview, he also makes a wonderful analysis of The Butter Battle Book, by Dr Seuss, comparing it to the Caucasian conflict. It's on page 2 of the link.
http://thebrowser.com/interviews/thomas-de-waal-on-conflict-caucasus?page=1
One Year In
September marked the anniversary of our arrival in Azerbaijan, but this week I’ll have been in Ismayilli for one year. I’m going to try and keep this from becoming one of those “so much has changed, so little has changed” posts, but it’s worth noting that a lot has changed in the past year, while at the same time, it feels like no time has passed at all. One of my site mates has moved on, and is currently traveling the world before he eventually returns home. The new group of volunteers, the AZ9s, has finished their training and is preparing to move to their permanent sites (a huge congratulations to all of the AZ9s for surviving PST!). Things are changing. For many of us who have been in the country for a year, this is a time when we are evaluating what we have done, what we have learned, what we have accomplished. It’s very easy to get discouraged, and I’m no exception to that rule. There are days when things feel like they are dragging, that the students or teachers we work with haven’t learned anything; that everything is failing. But there are days here and there when someone surprises us, and our time here is justified; we are vindicated.
So here I am, closer to coming home than to arriving, and moving closer with every day. I'm closer to people than I was, and have been fortunate to form some very strong bonds with my host family, and a number of teachers, students, and other members of the community.
A part of me has to fight off the feeling that I have to do something to make my time here worthwhile. Write a grant, conduct some huge project, build something. That’s not for everyone, though my school periodically asks me what project I will conduct, what I will do for my permanent project. To be a success, I don’t need to leave a new school room or resource center, or have brought water to my village, as some volunteers in other countries do. I'm still not sure exactly what success is, though I know it must different for everyone, even for two volunteers in the same community.
I’m not sure what my plans are for the next year. I will wrap up the theater clubs I’m doing at school with a performance at the end of December, before I travel home for the first time, for Christmas and New Years. An aside—I feel like it was a long time in between arriving at site and Christmas, but of course it wasn’t, it won’t feel that way this year. There was just so much to take in and get used to in the three weeks between site arrival and Christmas that it felt like eons.
When I return from America, I will start several new clubs, though what their themes will be I haven’t decided yet. Health? Arts and crafts? Poetry writing? Sky’s the limit! I know that I will continue the work I have done outside of school, including an English club for teachers, and a TOEFL test preparation session. On top of that, I will continue to plan and work on the ABLE summer camp for next summer. I have a pile of books that I intend to read, DVDs to watch, and music to listen to, all of which I have postponed as I become distracted with new discoveries. I have a puppy to take care of, who needs attention and play, and something besides my fingers to chew on.
I hope to travel more in the country, to the north, to the south, to the east, to the west. There’s still a lot of Azerbaijan I haven’t seen yet, and even though Ismayilli’s a bit of a black hole, I should be able to find my way eventually. There’ll be a few more trips to Baku for Peace Corps conferences. I hope also to travel more outside of the country. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to this part of the world, so I’d love to check out our neighboring countries—really this means Georgia, as our other neighbors are Iran, Russia, the Caspian Sea, and the country that must not be named.
Beyond that, the next year is an open book. Here we go. Forgive all the I's in this post. It is after all, about me, or I.
So here I am, closer to coming home than to arriving, and moving closer with every day. I'm closer to people than I was, and have been fortunate to form some very strong bonds with my host family, and a number of teachers, students, and other members of the community.
A part of me has to fight off the feeling that I have to do something to make my time here worthwhile. Write a grant, conduct some huge project, build something. That’s not for everyone, though my school periodically asks me what project I will conduct, what I will do for my permanent project. To be a success, I don’t need to leave a new school room or resource center, or have brought water to my village, as some volunteers in other countries do. I'm still not sure exactly what success is, though I know it must different for everyone, even for two volunteers in the same community.
I’m not sure what my plans are for the next year. I will wrap up the theater clubs I’m doing at school with a performance at the end of December, before I travel home for the first time, for Christmas and New Years. An aside—I feel like it was a long time in between arriving at site and Christmas, but of course it wasn’t, it won’t feel that way this year. There was just so much to take in and get used to in the three weeks between site arrival and Christmas that it felt like eons.
When I return from America, I will start several new clubs, though what their themes will be I haven’t decided yet. Health? Arts and crafts? Poetry writing? Sky’s the limit! I know that I will continue the work I have done outside of school, including an English club for teachers, and a TOEFL test preparation session. On top of that, I will continue to plan and work on the ABLE summer camp for next summer. I have a pile of books that I intend to read, DVDs to watch, and music to listen to, all of which I have postponed as I become distracted with new discoveries. I have a puppy to take care of, who needs attention and play, and something besides my fingers to chew on.
I hope to travel more in the country, to the north, to the south, to the east, to the west. There’s still a lot of Azerbaijan I haven’t seen yet, and even though Ismayilli’s a bit of a black hole, I should be able to find my way eventually. There’ll be a few more trips to Baku for Peace Corps conferences. I hope also to travel more outside of the country. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it back to this part of the world, so I’d love to check out our neighboring countries—really this means Georgia, as our other neighbors are Iran, Russia, the Caspian Sea, and the country that must not be named.
Beyond that, the next year is an open book. Here we go. Forgive all the I's in this post. It is after all, about me, or I.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Goodbye November, Hello December
November drags to a close and I could not be happier. It’s been a pretty great month, all around, but as I sit here writing this, I am wrapped in blankets, wearing my long underwear once again. We made it though the first large snow, and gas levels rose, and my room was warm again. We got hit again, on Thanksgiving, which almost made it so I couldn’t get to Baku for our weekend Thanksgiving celebration.
The dinner, hosted at the charges d’affair (the second-in-command at the embassy)’s house, was absolutely. The cooking staff made us five huge turkeys, and we provided the rest. There were multiple gravies, mashed potatoes, rolls, stuffings, and tons of pies, cookies, and delicious desserts. After the meal, we had a talent show, though thankfully, participation was not mandatory (ha! Thankfully! Pun not intended when I started the sentence, but left in intentionally). Highlights included humorous excerpts from one volunteer’s diary from when she was 12, a ukulele song, and an original song about Azerbaijan to the tune of “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” Finally, we left our poor hosts alone, so they could have their house back to themselves, free from the rampant horde that is the volunteer community.
We spent the weekend hosted at the homes of embassy staff. I ended up staying with a family that had lived in Indonesia several years after my family did. They had two great children, who I and the other volunteer staying there had fun playing with. Their son and I in particular had a good time playing Star Wars, which sent me back to my own childhood obsession with the films. He was also a great help when it came time to bake my contribution to the Turkey Day feast, pomegranate and chocolate chip cookies. All in all, we were completely pampered, with heat, with hot showers, with mattresses, with delicious food—including homemade pizza, good wine, coffee. A huge thank you to them for opening up their homes to us.
Returning to Ismayilli was considerably easier than leaving, though I found that once again the gas was low, and snow and ice still covering the ground. Once more I find myself counting down until the gas will be turned up. December 5th. While I understand that it is strange for it to be this cold so early, it seems strange to me that the gas cannot be raised as needed, especially in a country that is making billions on gas and oil. But, there’s nothing I can do about it, so I will curl up with my puppy, read a book, and wait till December 5th arrives.
Speaking of books, another reason I’m looking forward to the end of the month is the end of NaNoWriMo. I guess this could be considered a successful failure. A failure, because I didn’t reach 50,000 words, the goal of NaNo writers. A success, I suppose, because I wrote something. I reached 25,552 words, just over halfway, and I content to be done with it. Writing every day is unsurprisingly difficult, and took a lot of motivation, reminding me of my great skills of procrastination and distraction, which I was unable to completely conquer, though I had some days of 3,000 words or more.
I don’t know if I will ever pick up the story again. Not because the story isn’t one that I like, but it was one that I never got particularly inspired by. When inspiration hits, the words flow out onto the paper, but when I force myself to write, as I did this past month, writing becomes a chore, not a pleasure.
The dinner, hosted at the charges d’affair (the second-in-command at the embassy)’s house, was absolutely. The cooking staff made us five huge turkeys, and we provided the rest. There were multiple gravies, mashed potatoes, rolls, stuffings, and tons of pies, cookies, and delicious desserts. After the meal, we had a talent show, though thankfully, participation was not mandatory (ha! Thankfully! Pun not intended when I started the sentence, but left in intentionally). Highlights included humorous excerpts from one volunteer’s diary from when she was 12, a ukulele song, and an original song about Azerbaijan to the tune of “We Didn’t Start the Fire.” Finally, we left our poor hosts alone, so they could have their house back to themselves, free from the rampant horde that is the volunteer community.
We spent the weekend hosted at the homes of embassy staff. I ended up staying with a family that had lived in Indonesia several years after my family did. They had two great children, who I and the other volunteer staying there had fun playing with. Their son and I in particular had a good time playing Star Wars, which sent me back to my own childhood obsession with the films. He was also a great help when it came time to bake my contribution to the Turkey Day feast, pomegranate and chocolate chip cookies. All in all, we were completely pampered, with heat, with hot showers, with mattresses, with delicious food—including homemade pizza, good wine, coffee. A huge thank you to them for opening up their homes to us.
Returning to Ismayilli was considerably easier than leaving, though I found that once again the gas was low, and snow and ice still covering the ground. Once more I find myself counting down until the gas will be turned up. December 5th. While I understand that it is strange for it to be this cold so early, it seems strange to me that the gas cannot be raised as needed, especially in a country that is making billions on gas and oil. But, there’s nothing I can do about it, so I will curl up with my puppy, read a book, and wait till December 5th arrives.
Speaking of books, another reason I’m looking forward to the end of the month is the end of NaNoWriMo. I guess this could be considered a successful failure. A failure, because I didn’t reach 50,000 words, the goal of NaNo writers. A success, I suppose, because I wrote something. I reached 25,552 words, just over halfway, and I content to be done with it. Writing every day is unsurprisingly difficult, and took a lot of motivation, reminding me of my great skills of procrastination and distraction, which I was unable to completely conquer, though I had some days of 3,000 words or more.
I don’t know if I will ever pick up the story again. Not because the story isn’t one that I like, but it was one that I never got particularly inspired by. When inspiration hits, the words flow out onto the paper, but when I force myself to write, as I did this past month, writing becomes a chore, not a pleasure.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Holidays, Goodbyes, and Snow
In the last few weeks, life here has changed pretty drastically. First, my site mate was medically evacuated, due to ongoing stomach issues. She has until early December to recover or she won’t be able to return. I have all the faith in her and her determination to return, though I am of course worried she won’t be healthy in time, and we’ve heard horror stories about people who were screwed by bureaucracy.
Shortly after she left on short notice, we learned that Ismayilli would not be receiving a new volunteer from the new group. This wasn’t entirely a surprise, but was definitely a bit disappointing. On top of that, my other site mate, a member of the group ahead of me, is finishing his service. So Ismayilli stands to get a bit lonelier.
Lifting my spirits, my host mother celebrated my birthday by baking a wonderful cake, with Hershey’s chocolate icing, and a special pumpkin plov dinner, which my site mate shared on one of his last nights in town. The one benefit of his departure is that I have come into some inheritance, mostly consisting of some great food packets and cooking supplies, as well as an electric blanket, which comes in handy on the days when gas is low. I’d rather continue to have a site mate, of course, but a water heater and better cooking utensils ain’t too shabby neither.
Right after my former site mate left for medical leave, we got a huge storm, which certainly took me by surprise. A foot and a half of snow, which knocked down many of the power lines along my road, since the trees still hadn’t lost many of their leaves. Winter was here, whether we liked it or not. Altogether, the power was out for about five days. While it was difficult with the sun setting so quickly, I got some good reading done. My host brother, Orxan, visited at the time, because it coincided with the Qurban holiday, otherwise known as Eid al-Ada. This holiday commemorates when Abraham nearly sacrificed his son, Isaac. It’s typical for wealthier families to sacrifice an animal—a turkey, a sheep, a cow, depending on their wealth—and donate the meat to those in need. As far as I could tell, my family did not donate any food, but we did sacrifice a turkey for plov, which was quite tasty. I’ve been watching the turkeys grow (and in some cases, helping to give them food and medicine), from tiny chicks to large ugly birds, practically asking to get eaten—they’re not always the friendliest of birds, though positively welcoming next to geese. Having Orxan here was nice, since I see far too little of him, and also because he had to clear the snow off the roofs instead of me. That’ll change when we get more snow later on.
The time off for Qurban was followed up the next week by fall break, meaning we only had school on Friday, and due to cold, no one showed up to clubs. Instead, a couple friends visited, so they could check out Lahic, the nearby mountain village. Once they learned my birthday was coming, they treated me to dinner one night, and also showed me how to make some homemade chocolate fondue. Who says Peace Corps has to be all suffering?
Shortly after she left on short notice, we learned that Ismayilli would not be receiving a new volunteer from the new group. This wasn’t entirely a surprise, but was definitely a bit disappointing. On top of that, my other site mate, a member of the group ahead of me, is finishing his service. So Ismayilli stands to get a bit lonelier.
Lifting my spirits, my host mother celebrated my birthday by baking a wonderful cake, with Hershey’s chocolate icing, and a special pumpkin plov dinner, which my site mate shared on one of his last nights in town. The one benefit of his departure is that I have come into some inheritance, mostly consisting of some great food packets and cooking supplies, as well as an electric blanket, which comes in handy on the days when gas is low. I’d rather continue to have a site mate, of course, but a water heater and better cooking utensils ain’t too shabby neither.
Right after my former site mate left for medical leave, we got a huge storm, which certainly took me by surprise. A foot and a half of snow, which knocked down many of the power lines along my road, since the trees still hadn’t lost many of their leaves. Winter was here, whether we liked it or not. Altogether, the power was out for about five days. While it was difficult with the sun setting so quickly, I got some good reading done. My host brother, Orxan, visited at the time, because it coincided with the Qurban holiday, otherwise known as Eid al-Ada. This holiday commemorates when Abraham nearly sacrificed his son, Isaac. It’s typical for wealthier families to sacrifice an animal—a turkey, a sheep, a cow, depending on their wealth—and donate the meat to those in need. As far as I could tell, my family did not donate any food, but we did sacrifice a turkey for plov, which was quite tasty. I’ve been watching the turkeys grow (and in some cases, helping to give them food and medicine), from tiny chicks to large ugly birds, practically asking to get eaten—they’re not always the friendliest of birds, though positively welcoming next to geese. Having Orxan here was nice, since I see far too little of him, and also because he had to clear the snow off the roofs instead of me. That’ll change when we get more snow later on.
The time off for Qurban was followed up the next week by fall break, meaning we only had school on Friday, and due to cold, no one showed up to clubs. Instead, a couple friends visited, so they could check out Lahic, the nearby mountain village. Once they learned my birthday was coming, they treated me to dinner one night, and also showed me how to make some homemade chocolate fondue. Who says Peace Corps has to be all suffering?
Sunday, November 6, 2011
NaNo Update
One of the simultaneously most encouraging and depressing things about writing for NaNoWriMo and keeping the website updated on my progress is that it has a page with a lovely little progress bar, and as you add more words, the bar is filled in more and more. Below that, are stats concerning your writing progress. This includes my average words per day, words remaining, words per day to finish on time, and the worst figure, "At this Rate, You Will Finish By," which currently depressingly reads December 27th, 2011. To top this off is a bar/line graph which shows how many words I've written every day, compared to the target words per day to meet the goal.
What this page and the figures don't show is that I restarted my essay a couple days in, and had reached over 2,000 words before throwing in the towel on that story. So really, NaNo, I've written 7,000 words...which is still 3,000 short of where I should be. Patooie. Is it too soon to start looking for excuses? Like the fact that we've been treating a sick puppy?
No, it is not the time for excuses, because we're entering the best part of the month, Qurban Bayram, or Eid al-Ada, meaning no school Monday or Tuesday, and Flag Day on Wednesday, and next week there's only school on Friday the 18th thanks to autumn break. So plenty of time to catch up. Plenty of time to get those taunting graphs to start looking a little friendlier.
What this page and the figures don't show is that I restarted my essay a couple days in, and had reached over 2,000 words before throwing in the towel on that story. So really, NaNo, I've written 7,000 words...which is still 3,000 short of where I should be. Patooie. Is it too soon to start looking for excuses? Like the fact that we've been treating a sick puppy?
No, it is not the time for excuses, because we're entering the best part of the month, Qurban Bayram, or Eid al-Ada, meaning no school Monday or Tuesday, and Flag Day on Wednesday, and next week there's only school on Friday the 18th thanks to autumn break. So plenty of time to catch up. Plenty of time to get those taunting graphs to start looking a little friendlier.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
NaNoWriMo
This coming month, I will attempt to embark on a quest. The quest of National Novel Writing Month, NaNoWriMo. I will have 30 days to write 50,000 words. Hopefully I won't go crazy in the process trying to juggle Peace Corps responsibilities, clubs, reading, and general personal life at the same time. This should also be interesting because I recently took a small chunk out of my left pointer finger and consequently am typing this with nine fingers. Maybe that's my novel! No, no it isn't.
Why am I doing this? For fun, mostly, and to see if I can. Also, one of the easy to fall back on uses of time in Peace Corps in watching movies and TV shows. I know it wouldn't seem that way, but with Internet in the house, and portable hard drives being shared all over the place, the PC life can be overwhelming with media. Hopefully, writing a full length novel and posting it online (irony noted), I'll be able to make myself take a bit of a break.
So, let the words begin! The game is a-word! Insert your writing pun here.
Why am I doing this? For fun, mostly, and to see if I can. Also, one of the easy to fall back on uses of time in Peace Corps in watching movies and TV shows. I know it wouldn't seem that way, but with Internet in the house, and portable hard drives being shared all over the place, the PC life can be overwhelming with media. Hopefully, writing a full length novel and posting it online (irony noted), I'll be able to make myself take a bit of a break.
So, let the words begin! The game is a-word! Insert your writing pun here.
Losing a Friend
This past week, my host family's puppy, Bucky (short for Buckingham, from The Three Musketeers) passed away. This was a sudden passing, which started at the end of the week before, when Bucky stopped eating, and anything that was forcibly given would come right back up. We were baffled, and the local vet was only able to diagnose it as dog "plague." I'm translating, but it's either dog plague or dog pestilence, according to my dictionary, and neither option is particularly informative as a diagnosis. Our main theory is that he ate something that effectively was poisonous to his system, and we were unable to get him to a proper vet in time. By the time when we realized he really needed it, I think he would have required an IV and blood work, which we could not have afforded.
Still, Bucky was my baby. Against my host family's reservations he was even known to sleep inside. Pause for gasp. I've been fortunate in my pet ownership that my family's dogs have all been long-lived. Our first dog, Beauregard, lived until I was in elementary school, and our next dog, Maggie, died when I was abroad in India. Now we have Lucy. Our other pets have not lasted as long, including some fish that made the mistake of living in elementary school me's bedroom when I and my friends enjoyed jumping on beds while playing catch. My mom still remembers the water gushing out onto the carpet floor.
I was expecting my host parents to take a more traditionally non-Western attitude towards animals, that they are animals and should be treated as such, not as family members. But my host mother was very upset at the loss, and mourned him over tea that night. My host father helped my dig the grave, and though he made a point of saying that animals don't get funerals, I think he realized he might have been a bit insensitive to how I was feeling, because later that evening, he came to me explaining that you do not have to treat animals that way, or wish them to heaven, because God automatically absolves them (the same goes for kids, apparently). I knew he cared because he clearly looked up both "absolve" and "sin." Thank you, Ata.
Thank you, Bucky, for making my life happy for the five months you were a part of it. Maybe you chewed on my fingers too much, but I will miss you. You were a great little buddy. I hope that in whatever dog heaven you're in, you're happy.
Still, Bucky was my baby. Against my host family's reservations he was even known to sleep inside. Pause for gasp. I've been fortunate in my pet ownership that my family's dogs have all been long-lived. Our first dog, Beauregard, lived until I was in elementary school, and our next dog, Maggie, died when I was abroad in India. Now we have Lucy. Our other pets have not lasted as long, including some fish that made the mistake of living in elementary school me's bedroom when I and my friends enjoyed jumping on beds while playing catch. My mom still remembers the water gushing out onto the carpet floor.
I was expecting my host parents to take a more traditionally non-Western attitude towards animals, that they are animals and should be treated as such, not as family members. But my host mother was very upset at the loss, and mourned him over tea that night. My host father helped my dig the grave, and though he made a point of saying that animals don't get funerals, I think he realized he might have been a bit insensitive to how I was feeling, because later that evening, he came to me explaining that you do not have to treat animals that way, or wish them to heaven, because God automatically absolves them (the same goes for kids, apparently). I knew he cared because he clearly looked up both "absolve" and "sin." Thank you, Ata.
Thank you, Bucky, for making my life happy for the five months you were a part of it. Maybe you chewed on my fingers too much, but I will miss you. You were a great little buddy. I hope that in whatever dog heaven you're in, you're happy.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Tigers at the Bat
The Ismayilli Tigers spilled out of the bus yesterday evening, tired but happy. They had just returned from their first full tournament as a team.
We left for Kurdamir at 8:30 that morning, and managed to survive one of the bumpiest roads around, a road so bad only one driver was willing to take us, with a couple stops for kids to make mad dashes to the nearest ditch. Along the way, as we would pass herds of sheep and goats, kids would call out the names they knew in English, and ask about words they didn't. At the same time, the driver of course had the radio blaring. Once we hit the main highway, things evened out and I was able to read a little, collecting myself before we arrived.
The Kurdamir stadium lies to the south of the main roundabout, where we had played (American) football Christmas Day. The kids hid behind the bleachers to change clothing, and then came out ready to play.
Our first game was against Xachmaz (a town in the northeast of the country, near the Caspian Sea). The Tigers batted first, driving in four runs, almost reaching the mercy rule (five run per inning limit). Still a little rusty in the field, they let three runs the first inning. This was especially impressive since they were pitching themselves for the first time, something I had not prepared them for, but surprised them with as the other teams were planning to pitch. Trial by fire in the Land of Fire.
In the second inning, both teams hit the mercy rule switch, and in the final inning, Xachmaz managed to pull ahead. The Tigers had one last chance to retake the lead, but the game ended on a rule misunderstanding--one boy hit a pop up that was caught for an out, and then threw to the bases that the Ismayilli boys had abdicated before they could return. Final score: 12-11
The second game was a pitcher's duel against Goychay, our nearest team, though this was our first match. This was the height of their fielding for the day, and the game ended at 4-3. Again, they almost staged a comeback, but a pop up ended the game once more.
Finally, the Tigers took on the Goranboy team (from the west, near Mingachavir), which has recently had to start over basically from scratch with very few old-overs from previous years. They were the only team to have girls on the team, at least as far as I saw, something I hope will become a larger trend across the country. The boys’ bats came alive, driving in 10 runs to Goranboy’s four. This was a huge win for them, after the two disappointing losses, and there was much rejoicing.
Sadly, we never played the home Kurdamir team, a team made up entirely of IDPs, or Internally Displaced Persons, a special project focus for Todd in forming the team. Not so sadly, we also missed out on playing the Bilasuvar team, which has managed to thoroughly beat all the teams they’ve faced. They’re an intense team that could teach our kids a lot, they’re just not ready for that lesson just yet.
The only major hitch came when two boys on the team got into a skuffle, after one made some joke at the other’s expense. The tussle resulted in bloody noses, and a one game suspension courtesy of yours truly. Today at practice, it led to some questions about what happens when there are fights in the major leagues (they’ve been checking out youtube, I’m guessing), and will continue to discussions about teamwork and respect.
Huge thanks go out to Todd and Sarah, the Kurdamir volunteers, for hosting us, as well as to the team captains of all the other teams, and to the boys and girls from throughout the country who came out with their game faces on and their bats and gloves at the ready. We’ve got one more definite tournament, in two weeks in Baku, and until then, we’ve got our work cut out for us.
We left for Kurdamir at 8:30 that morning, and managed to survive one of the bumpiest roads around, a road so bad only one driver was willing to take us, with a couple stops for kids to make mad dashes to the nearest ditch. Along the way, as we would pass herds of sheep and goats, kids would call out the names they knew in English, and ask about words they didn't. At the same time, the driver of course had the radio blaring. Once we hit the main highway, things evened out and I was able to read a little, collecting myself before we arrived.
The Kurdamir stadium lies to the south of the main roundabout, where we had played (American) football Christmas Day. The kids hid behind the bleachers to change clothing, and then came out ready to play.
Our first game was against Xachmaz (a town in the northeast of the country, near the Caspian Sea). The Tigers batted first, driving in four runs, almost reaching the mercy rule (five run per inning limit). Still a little rusty in the field, they let three runs the first inning. This was especially impressive since they were pitching themselves for the first time, something I had not prepared them for, but surprised them with as the other teams were planning to pitch. Trial by fire in the Land of Fire.
In the second inning, both teams hit the mercy rule switch, and in the final inning, Xachmaz managed to pull ahead. The Tigers had one last chance to retake the lead, but the game ended on a rule misunderstanding--one boy hit a pop up that was caught for an out, and then threw to the bases that the Ismayilli boys had abdicated before they could return. Final score: 12-11
The second game was a pitcher's duel against Goychay, our nearest team, though this was our first match. This was the height of their fielding for the day, and the game ended at 4-3. Again, they almost staged a comeback, but a pop up ended the game once more.
Finally, the Tigers took on the Goranboy team (from the west, near Mingachavir), which has recently had to start over basically from scratch with very few old-overs from previous years. They were the only team to have girls on the team, at least as far as I saw, something I hope will become a larger trend across the country. The boys’ bats came alive, driving in 10 runs to Goranboy’s four. This was a huge win for them, after the two disappointing losses, and there was much rejoicing.
Sadly, we never played the home Kurdamir team, a team made up entirely of IDPs, or Internally Displaced Persons, a special project focus for Todd in forming the team. Not so sadly, we also missed out on playing the Bilasuvar team, which has managed to thoroughly beat all the teams they’ve faced. They’re an intense team that could teach our kids a lot, they’re just not ready for that lesson just yet.
The only major hitch came when two boys on the team got into a skuffle, after one made some joke at the other’s expense. The tussle resulted in bloody noses, and a one game suspension courtesy of yours truly. Today at practice, it led to some questions about what happens when there are fights in the major leagues (they’ve been checking out youtube, I’m guessing), and will continue to discussions about teamwork and respect.
Huge thanks go out to Todd and Sarah, the Kurdamir volunteers, for hosting us, as well as to the team captains of all the other teams, and to the boys and girls from throughout the country who came out with their game faces on and their bats and gloves at the ready. We’ve got one more definite tournament, in two weeks in Baku, and until then, we’ve got our work cut out for us.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
One Day, One Year, Ten Years, Fifty
This month marked four milestones.
September 24, 2011. The day the new group of Peace Corps Volunteers arrives in Baku. Their journey begins now, as they land in a strange new world. Who will these new people be? All we know about them, and all they know about us and about Azerbiajan is what they’ve read online, on Facebook, and in the Peace Corps electronic media. Now it’s real.
September 23, 2011. The one-year anniversary of my group’s departure from Philadelphia. A year ago, we spent the night in a hotel in Philadelphia, and said our painful goodbyes. We met each other for the very first time, and sat through our first of what would be many Peace Corps conferences. Buses carried us to New York, and we flew, through Germany, to our new homes.
We were all strangers then, unsure of each other, and of ourselves. Since then, we’ve lost people. Some right away, some were surprises, some foreseeable. They are missed, because even though they are gone now, they were and are part of our group identity.
And we’ve gained people. Not new volunteers (until now), but we’ve gained new staff members, new connections, and new friends.
I remember the first salty cheeses, the first plov (though we didn’t know to call it that then), the first PCVs I met at the hotel. Meeting our LCFs for the first time. We spent week in that hotel, only able to glimpse this new land over a wall and beyond a highway, before we were dropped at our host families’, completely unaware who would be dropped next. I remember the months of dolma sandwiches, the months of four-hour-a-day language lessons, mostly filled with venting and talking about certain movements inappropriate for polite conversation.
The past year has been a strange one. I’ve lived with two wonderful but very different families in two very different towns. Met some great kids. Met some real stinkers, too (I’m looking at you, snowball throwing brats). I’ve had wildly happy and fulfilling days, and other days when I wanted no one to talk to me or else I would snap. They say the highs are higher and the lows lower, and darn it, they mean it.
September 11, 2011. Ten years ago, you know what happened. Our generation’s JFK’s assassination: the event when everyone knows where they were. I had just gotten home from Boy Scouts. It was nighttime, which I enjoy telling people, since they’re always confused for a moment. It was nighttime, because we were in Jakarta, Indonesia. Ten years later, I am once more on the other side of the world (only nine hours difference in stead of 12 this time!). It is nighttime again. Ten years is a nice round number, but have ten years given us closure on the events of 9/11? I don’t feel particularly safer, or for that matter, in any more danger. I did not know anyone who died in those attacks. Instead, the attack that struck closer to home was a bombing at a nightclub on the island of Bali, in Indonesia in 2002. I flew out of the Bali airport the morning before the attack, and a teacher from the school I attended, JIS, was killed in the attack. That attack wasn’t targeting Americans, but Australians. But I still remember, instead of watching the memorial concert in New York (the soundtrack to which I do own), sitting in our school auditorium listening to John Lennon’s “Imagine,” and watching a montage of the lost teacher’s life.
September 22, 2011. Fifty years ago, Congress authorized JFK’s Executive Order 10924 which he had issued in March. It’s strange to realize that I wouldn’t be here without that event that happened twenty-six years before I was born. I would not have heard about Peace Corps from my parents, who both served, and would not be here in Azerbaijan myself.
Without a speech 50 years ago at a college on the campaign trail, the other milestones, milestones that have drastically influenced my life and where I am today, would not have happened. There would not be a group of PCVs preparing to return home, another gearing up for their second year in country, and another group starting out on a brand new journey in Azerbaijan. Without that speech, there wouldn't have been over 200,000 volunteers worldwide. Hooray for JFK encouraging all us draft dodgers and idealist hippies to go out into the world to try something new.
September 24, 2011. The day the new group of Peace Corps Volunteers arrives in Baku. Their journey begins now, as they land in a strange new world. Who will these new people be? All we know about them, and all they know about us and about Azerbiajan is what they’ve read online, on Facebook, and in the Peace Corps electronic media. Now it’s real.
September 23, 2011. The one-year anniversary of my group’s departure from Philadelphia. A year ago, we spent the night in a hotel in Philadelphia, and said our painful goodbyes. We met each other for the very first time, and sat through our first of what would be many Peace Corps conferences. Buses carried us to New York, and we flew, through Germany, to our new homes.
We were all strangers then, unsure of each other, and of ourselves. Since then, we’ve lost people. Some right away, some were surprises, some foreseeable. They are missed, because even though they are gone now, they were and are part of our group identity.
And we’ve gained people. Not new volunteers (until now), but we’ve gained new staff members, new connections, and new friends.
I remember the first salty cheeses, the first plov (though we didn’t know to call it that then), the first PCVs I met at the hotel. Meeting our LCFs for the first time. We spent week in that hotel, only able to glimpse this new land over a wall and beyond a highway, before we were dropped at our host families’, completely unaware who would be dropped next. I remember the months of dolma sandwiches, the months of four-hour-a-day language lessons, mostly filled with venting and talking about certain movements inappropriate for polite conversation.
The past year has been a strange one. I’ve lived with two wonderful but very different families in two very different towns. Met some great kids. Met some real stinkers, too (I’m looking at you, snowball throwing brats). I’ve had wildly happy and fulfilling days, and other days when I wanted no one to talk to me or else I would snap. They say the highs are higher and the lows lower, and darn it, they mean it.
September 11, 2011. Ten years ago, you know what happened. Our generation’s JFK’s assassination: the event when everyone knows where they were. I had just gotten home from Boy Scouts. It was nighttime, which I enjoy telling people, since they’re always confused for a moment. It was nighttime, because we were in Jakarta, Indonesia. Ten years later, I am once more on the other side of the world (only nine hours difference in stead of 12 this time!). It is nighttime again. Ten years is a nice round number, but have ten years given us closure on the events of 9/11? I don’t feel particularly safer, or for that matter, in any more danger. I did not know anyone who died in those attacks. Instead, the attack that struck closer to home was a bombing at a nightclub on the island of Bali, in Indonesia in 2002. I flew out of the Bali airport the morning before the attack, and a teacher from the school I attended, JIS, was killed in the attack. That attack wasn’t targeting Americans, but Australians. But I still remember, instead of watching the memorial concert in New York (the soundtrack to which I do own), sitting in our school auditorium listening to John Lennon’s “Imagine,” and watching a montage of the lost teacher’s life.
September 22, 2011. Fifty years ago, Congress authorized JFK’s Executive Order 10924 which he had issued in March. It’s strange to realize that I wouldn’t be here without that event that happened twenty-six years before I was born. I would not have heard about Peace Corps from my parents, who both served, and would not be here in Azerbaijan myself.
Without a speech 50 years ago at a college on the campaign trail, the other milestones, milestones that have drastically influenced my life and where I am today, would not have happened. There would not be a group of PCVs preparing to return home, another gearing up for their second year in country, and another group starting out on a brand new journey in Azerbaijan. Without that speech, there wouldn't have been over 200,000 volunteers worldwide. Hooray for JFK encouraging all us draft dodgers and idealist hippies to go out into the world to try something new.
Buy Me Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks!
First of all, it was nice to have a reason to root for the Orioles in October. That doesn't happen too often. I remember being at Camden Yards the last time the Orioles were in the postseason, over ten years ago. This year they got to play spoiler, a role that I feel like they've kind of been playing off and on for a number of years, particularly when they play against the Red Sox. Kind of wish I had been home to watch that last game. It'd be nice if Robert Andino stuck around for a little while.
On to real business. The PC-coached Azerbaijan Softball League season kicked off last weekend with a tournament right here in Ismayilli. Planning came right down to the wire, as I received what I thought was permission to host the tournament at our Olympic Complex, but was called a couple nights beforehand and told that the complex now had a contract with some soccer club that was paying to host the tournament there. A scramble for a new site revealed the possibility of having it at Ismayilli's village school, which is basically part of the town at this point. But wait! They're filming some movie there, and there are tanks on the field! At least that's what a teacher at school said. As I started to walk home, disappointed that we'd be stuck using my school's slanted, overgrown field, I realized we hadn't actually called the school to check in on this, and even if they were making a movie there, it'd be pretty darn cool to see a tank. I walked across town, and wouldn't you know it, there was no tank. The field was empty. A brief meeting with the school director later, and we were in.
Another potential setback, up until the beginning of that week, we'd only had two kids showing up for softball practice. Suddenly, with school and my announcements about practice getting around, attendance spiked! Six kids came the practice before the tournament. We were almost at a full team!
Tournament day rolled around, and the weather looked great. Nine boys showed up, giving us a real team, even though three had never played before. Two teams were coming, one of which, Bilasuvar, had to leave town at 5:30 am to make it in time. The other, Oguz, was coming from a good bit shorter, and arrived in time to have a small instructional scrimmage against my boys to help them finetune their skills and understanding of the game. This was the first time they'd really played a game, but everyone was impressed with how fast they picked up on the game. It's helped that one of the boys attended ABLE, where we played a couple games.
The main match was between Oguz and Bilasuvar, who have both been playing longer than our team, but the Ismayilli Tigers did play a couple games against Oguz's village players. They almost won, too. At the end of the first game, the score was 11-10. We lost a few kids after that, so our second game we had some substitutes from Oguz.
Since the tournament, attendance has continued to rise at practices, despite a couple days of bad weather, and the shortening of the day. I'm very hopeful for the tournament in Kurdamir we are scheduled to participate in on October 9th, and in Baku at the end of the month.
Huge thank you's and shout outs go to Oguz's PCVs, Kevin, Drew, Colin, and Lilly, who all came and helped run the tournament, and were great teachers for the Ismayilli boys, as well as to Bilasuvar's James and Gio, for making the long trek out here from the south.
Go Ismayilli Tigers! Ismayilli Pelengler!
On to real business. The PC-coached Azerbaijan Softball League season kicked off last weekend with a tournament right here in Ismayilli. Planning came right down to the wire, as I received what I thought was permission to host the tournament at our Olympic Complex, but was called a couple nights beforehand and told that the complex now had a contract with some soccer club that was paying to host the tournament there. A scramble for a new site revealed the possibility of having it at Ismayilli's village school, which is basically part of the town at this point. But wait! They're filming some movie there, and there are tanks on the field! At least that's what a teacher at school said. As I started to walk home, disappointed that we'd be stuck using my school's slanted, overgrown field, I realized we hadn't actually called the school to check in on this, and even if they were making a movie there, it'd be pretty darn cool to see a tank. I walked across town, and wouldn't you know it, there was no tank. The field was empty. A brief meeting with the school director later, and we were in.
Another potential setback, up until the beginning of that week, we'd only had two kids showing up for softball practice. Suddenly, with school and my announcements about practice getting around, attendance spiked! Six kids came the practice before the tournament. We were almost at a full team!
Tournament day rolled around, and the weather looked great. Nine boys showed up, giving us a real team, even though three had never played before. Two teams were coming, one of which, Bilasuvar, had to leave town at 5:30 am to make it in time. The other, Oguz, was coming from a good bit shorter, and arrived in time to have a small instructional scrimmage against my boys to help them finetune their skills and understanding of the game. This was the first time they'd really played a game, but everyone was impressed with how fast they picked up on the game. It's helped that one of the boys attended ABLE, where we played a couple games.
The main match was between Oguz and Bilasuvar, who have both been playing longer than our team, but the Ismayilli Tigers did play a couple games against Oguz's village players. They almost won, too. At the end of the first game, the score was 11-10. We lost a few kids after that, so our second game we had some substitutes from Oguz.
Since the tournament, attendance has continued to rise at practices, despite a couple days of bad weather, and the shortening of the day. I'm very hopeful for the tournament in Kurdamir we are scheduled to participate in on October 9th, and in Baku at the end of the month.
Huge thank you's and shout outs go to Oguz's PCVs, Kevin, Drew, Colin, and Lilly, who all came and helped run the tournament, and were great teachers for the Ismayilli boys, as well as to Bilasuvar's James and Gio, for making the long trek out here from the south.
Go Ismayilli Tigers! Ismayilli Pelengler!
Thursday, September 15, 2011
First Day of School: Welcome to the Mad House
On a happier note than my previous blog, today was the first day of school. Wait, I said happier, right?
The day was fairly uneventful, in terms of work, but it was fun to see the kids again. I've felt a little rudderless without the school open, as in the hecticness of the summer, lost track of a bunch of the kids I had worked with last school year. Something to remember for next summer.
We had an assembly outside the school doors and then a little girl got to ring the first bell, and the kids rushed inside. From that point on it was basically chaos. You see, the teachers don't have their schedules yet. And they don't know when they will. The first few days are basically made up of meeting in small groups with the vice principals, trading shifts and classes around. So it'll be a few days (weeks? months? Who knows?) until their classes are really settled.
In the meantime, I spent today decorating my classroom. I made posters for the ABCs, with sample words for each word and a few sounds in English (TH, CH, PH, SH). I also put up several maps and posters I got from the National Geographic magazines I received in the mail recently. Several teachers came in to admire the work, wonder why Peace Corps didn't provide me with ABC visuals, and prove that almost all of my drawings are more or less understandable (the fox one is a little pig-like, I'll be the first to admit).
I also went around to a few classes talking about the mural exchange program I'm running with my counterpart this year, and make more plugs for baseball. Maybe one day we'll have enough kids for a team. Until then, I'll be singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" to myself.
The day was fairly uneventful, in terms of work, but it was fun to see the kids again. I've felt a little rudderless without the school open, as in the hecticness of the summer, lost track of a bunch of the kids I had worked with last school year. Something to remember for next summer.
We had an assembly outside the school doors and then a little girl got to ring the first bell, and the kids rushed inside. From that point on it was basically chaos. You see, the teachers don't have their schedules yet. And they don't know when they will. The first few days are basically made up of meeting in small groups with the vice principals, trading shifts and classes around. So it'll be a few days (weeks? months? Who knows?) until their classes are really settled.
In the meantime, I spent today decorating my classroom. I made posters for the ABCs, with sample words for each word and a few sounds in English (TH, CH, PH, SH). I also put up several maps and posters I got from the National Geographic magazines I received in the mail recently. Several teachers came in to admire the work, wonder why Peace Corps didn't provide me with ABC visuals, and prove that almost all of my drawings are more or less understandable (the fox one is a little pig-like, I'll be the first to admit).
I also went around to a few classes talking about the mural exchange program I'm running with my counterpart this year, and make more plugs for baseball. Maybe one day we'll have enough kids for a team. Until then, I'll be singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" to myself.
The Lost Symbol: A Book Rantview
I what must have been a combination of self-hatred and completeism neurosis acting up, I recently picked up Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol. I knew what I was getting into, or thought I did, but figured, hey, it's in DC, why not see what crazy stupid plot he can come up with there.
It took 38 pages for me to get angry with Dan Brown. I ignored the clunky writing (Langdon at one point thinks "The other man I don't want to disappoint."), the exposition (and I'm not talking about the information dumps, I mean the exposition about the characters) which made me want to yell about showing not telling, and the odd exactitude about certain details (Langdon rides in a "Falcon 2000EX corporate jet," because most of Brown's readers know what that is).
On page 38, I hit this gem, as Langdon remembers a lecture he gave to his students at HARVARD about Occult Symbols. One student claims that Masons are a strange religion, and Langdon challenges the students to put it to the religion ABC test. "Religions assure salvation; religions believe in a precise theology; and religions convert nonbelievers."
At this point the anthropologist in me wanted to throw the book at the wall across the room, stomp on it and bury it in as deep a hole as I could find.
A: "Religions assure salvation." This is the closest he comes, and it makes sense, I suppose. If you do what the religion says, then good things will happen to you. But not all religions include the ideal of salvation, in the heavenly sense.
B: "Religions believe in a precise theology." In fact many do not, and this one I can actually remember concrete examples for. A tribal group in Borneo decided in order to obtain the right to vote they would claim to be Hindu, one of the government-recognized religions. In order to qualify, they had to codify their religion, and in doing so, they actually ended up becoming less religious and practiced their own religion to a much lesser amount. In this case, developing the precise theology that Langdon claims is required lost the group their religion.
C:"Religions convert nonbelievers." No. NO. NO NO NO. The drive to convert others to their religion is obviously a prominent one, and it is said that wars are fought over land and religion. But in reality, there are two main conversion-oriented religions, Christianity and Islam. Hindus and Sikhs and Jews have conversion, but they are tied very much to one's ethnicity and heritage. You are born a Hindu or you are not. Religions that have branched off of these religions, such as Mormonism, have taken up the imperative to convert, but of the hundreds of religions in the world, really only a few are driven to convert others.
If one wanted a better definition of religion, one could turn to Clifford Geertz. His theory: religion is "(1) a system of symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations in men by (3) formulating conceptions of a general order of existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic" (Geertz 1966).
Fun fact. Geertz's theory is broad. So broad in fact, that it can be applied to things that are not typically thought of as religions, such as baseball team fandom. Knowing this, he actually argued against his own definition, by saying that it was impossible to make such a definition because religion itself is so broad.
Get your ABC's out of here, Dan Brown. Also, learn to write books, not movie outlines.
It took 38 pages for me to get angry with Dan Brown. I ignored the clunky writing (Langdon at one point thinks "The other man I don't want to disappoint."), the exposition (and I'm not talking about the information dumps, I mean the exposition about the characters) which made me want to yell about showing not telling, and the odd exactitude about certain details (Langdon rides in a "Falcon 2000EX corporate jet," because most of Brown's readers know what that is).
On page 38, I hit this gem, as Langdon remembers a lecture he gave to his students at HARVARD about Occult Symbols. One student claims that Masons are a strange religion, and Langdon challenges the students to put it to the religion ABC test. "Religions assure salvation; religions believe in a precise theology; and religions convert nonbelievers."
At this point the anthropologist in me wanted to throw the book at the wall across the room, stomp on it and bury it in as deep a hole as I could find.
A: "Religions assure salvation." This is the closest he comes, and it makes sense, I suppose. If you do what the religion says, then good things will happen to you. But not all religions include the ideal of salvation, in the heavenly sense.
B: "Religions believe in a precise theology." In fact many do not, and this one I can actually remember concrete examples for. A tribal group in Borneo decided in order to obtain the right to vote they would claim to be Hindu, one of the government-recognized religions. In order to qualify, they had to codify their religion, and in doing so, they actually ended up becoming less religious and practiced their own religion to a much lesser amount. In this case, developing the precise theology that Langdon claims is required lost the group their religion.
C:"Religions convert nonbelievers." No. NO. NO NO NO. The drive to convert others to their religion is obviously a prominent one, and it is said that wars are fought over land and religion. But in reality, there are two main conversion-oriented religions, Christianity and Islam. Hindus and Sikhs and Jews have conversion, but they are tied very much to one's ethnicity and heritage. You are born a Hindu or you are not. Religions that have branched off of these religions, such as Mormonism, have taken up the imperative to convert, but of the hundreds of religions in the world, really only a few are driven to convert others.
If one wanted a better definition of religion, one could turn to Clifford Geertz. His theory: religion is "(1) a system of symbols which acts to (2) establish powerful, pervasive, and long-lasting moods and motivations in men by (3) formulating conceptions of a general order of existence and (4) clothing these conceptions with such an aura of factuality that (5) the moods and motivations seem uniquely realistic" (Geertz 1966).
Fun fact. Geertz's theory is broad. So broad in fact, that it can be applied to things that are not typically thought of as religions, such as baseball team fandom. Knowing this, he actually argued against his own definition, by saying that it was impossible to make such a definition because religion itself is so broad.
Get your ABC's out of here, Dan Brown. Also, learn to write books, not movie outlines.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Sick...I Mean Ill
One year in, and I’m ill for the first time (can't say sick, since in Azerbaijani, that's a swear word). Sure, my stomach’s been upset several times, one way or another, but this was the first fever I’ve had since coming to Azerbaijan. That’s a pretty good record, if I do say so myself. Though I’m not sure what the cause was, but it seems to have only been a 24-hour bug. My host parents were very sweet about checking in to make sure I was recovering, and even though they insisted on some home remedies, it was nothing like the banka cups other volunteers have encountered. Banka cups are small glass cups that are suctioned to someone’s back after a small fire is lit under them to get rid of the oxygen. Instead, they gave me a glass of sumac mixed into hot water. Ugh. They also had me tied two cloths around my stomach to keep it warm. That was about the extent of the “weird foreign cures.”
After I recovered, and went to school to meet with my school director, one teacher suggested that perhaps I had gotten ill because I had sweated and then drank water. Love it. Along those lines, since I was ill, my host mother has been vigilant about ensuring I’m not sitting anywhere cold, at least not without a cushion, so that my stomach doesn’t relapse. I may complain and argue and fight her every step of the way, but it’s nice to know she cares.
After I recovered, and went to school to meet with my school director, one teacher suggested that perhaps I had gotten ill because I had sweated and then drank water. Love it. Along those lines, since I was ill, my host mother has been vigilant about ensuring I’m not sitting anywhere cold, at least not without a cushion, so that my stomach doesn’t relapse. I may complain and argue and fight her every step of the way, but it’s nice to know she cares.
A Couple Things that Have Made Me Smile Recently
Teaching my Host Parents to Use the Internet
Since we got an Internet line installed at home after my host brother moved to the US to study for his master’s degree, it has fallen to me to teach my host parents how to use Skype and email and most recently, Facebook. It’s wonderful seeing their faces light up when their son shows up on Skype and they get to talk to him. They come running. I spent about a half hour showing my host mother how to call and receive a Skype call and then practice calling and receiving calls from my computer to their home computer. It’s also great to watch them read every line of their Facebook news feeds, click from person to person via photos and links. It also makes me happy that my parents have always been more technologically savvy, and I have been spared having to teach them this stuff, though having to teach it in Azeri is a challenge unto itself (I’ve had to turn click into an Azerbaijani verb—“clickmek—clickerem, clickersen, cickersiz, etc.”).
Softball
Even though we don’t have enough kids together for a team yet (this is not great news since we’re hosting a tournament in two weeks), I’ve been having a great time with the kids that do come. One of them, Ibrahim, has a pretty good sense of the rules already, having played a couple short games during our ABLE camp, and has recently taken it on himself to start coming up with team name ideas. His ideas have ranged from the intentionally intimidating (Dragons, Wolves, etc.) to the humorous (Bees, Flowers) to the attempts at being representative of Ismayilli (which invariably center around nature (Mosquitoes, Mountains, Apples, Waterfalls).
Since we got an Internet line installed at home after my host brother moved to the US to study for his master’s degree, it has fallen to me to teach my host parents how to use Skype and email and most recently, Facebook. It’s wonderful seeing their faces light up when their son shows up on Skype and they get to talk to him. They come running. I spent about a half hour showing my host mother how to call and receive a Skype call and then practice calling and receiving calls from my computer to their home computer. It’s also great to watch them read every line of their Facebook news feeds, click from person to person via photos and links. It also makes me happy that my parents have always been more technologically savvy, and I have been spared having to teach them this stuff, though having to teach it in Azeri is a challenge unto itself (I’ve had to turn click into an Azerbaijani verb—“clickmek—clickerem, clickersen, cickersiz, etc.”).
Softball
Even though we don’t have enough kids together for a team yet (this is not great news since we’re hosting a tournament in two weeks), I’ve been having a great time with the kids that do come. One of them, Ibrahim, has a pretty good sense of the rules already, having played a couple short games during our ABLE camp, and has recently taken it on himself to start coming up with team name ideas. His ideas have ranged from the intentionally intimidating (Dragons, Wolves, etc.) to the humorous (Bees, Flowers) to the attempts at being representative of Ismayilli (which invariably center around nature (Mosquitoes, Mountains, Apples, Waterfalls).
More School Conferences and Pondering
School’s about to start, so it must be conference time! Last week, the rayon’s teachers and staff met at the Youth Center auditorium in Ismayilli’s Heydar Aliyev Park. I hoped to sit in the back (or at least the middle) and observe, especially since I am not strictly speaking a teacher, and because I knew the event would be in Azerbaijani, but no sooner had my counterpart and I selected seats in a reasonable location than we were ushered straight to front and center. Had this been a rock concert, I would have been thrilled. I know they mostly mean well with this sort of thing, but I always worry that they’re also in some way using me, showing me off, reminding their superiors that they have an American working with them. I guess that’s part of Peace Corps, but it’s not one of my favorite aspects.
The conference was fairly interesting, reviewing the current state of education in Ismayilli, and the progress the schools are making. The only downside came in that when reporting the numbers, they only considered the straight numbers. I know that sounds strange, but when you’re comparing a school with 122 students and see that 96 graduated against a school with 50 students and 48 graduated, it doesn’t make sense to come to the conclusion that the former is necessarily better because more graduated. In some cases, percentages are also important.
The head of the department spent a period of time showing the schools that have been recently been built and are being built to replace older, smaller schools, particularly in local villages. Watching the small dilapidated school houses flashed by, replaced by their huge imposing uniform brethren, I was reminded of how different my Peace Corps experience must be compared to volunteers in other countries—in small villages in the mountains of South America, or on an island in the South Pacific. Here I sit, with Internet access in my house, electricity almost every hour of every day (storms and periodic scheduled outages notwithstanding), with running water and gas for cooking. This is the Peace Corps, but it’s not the Peace Corps I expected, or that imagined growing up. I love that Peace Corps must be different for me than it is in Mozambique and China and Belize and Honduras, but at the same time, we have many experiences, goals, ideas in common, across the world and across generations. That’s a pretty cool feeling, one the idealist in me loves.
The conference was fairly interesting, reviewing the current state of education in Ismayilli, and the progress the schools are making. The only downside came in that when reporting the numbers, they only considered the straight numbers. I know that sounds strange, but when you’re comparing a school with 122 students and see that 96 graduated against a school with 50 students and 48 graduated, it doesn’t make sense to come to the conclusion that the former is necessarily better because more graduated. In some cases, percentages are also important.
The head of the department spent a period of time showing the schools that have been recently been built and are being built to replace older, smaller schools, particularly in local villages. Watching the small dilapidated school houses flashed by, replaced by their huge imposing uniform brethren, I was reminded of how different my Peace Corps experience must be compared to volunteers in other countries—in small villages in the mountains of South America, or on an island in the South Pacific. Here I sit, with Internet access in my house, electricity almost every hour of every day (storms and periodic scheduled outages notwithstanding), with running water and gas for cooking. This is the Peace Corps, but it’s not the Peace Corps I expected, or that imagined growing up. I love that Peace Corps must be different for me than it is in Mozambique and China and Belize and Honduras, but at the same time, we have many experiences, goals, ideas in common, across the world and across generations. That’s a pretty cool feeling, one the idealist in me loves.
I've Got That UN Feeling
I’ve been feeling pretty UN-y lately. That’s United Nations-y. I’ve mentioned that this summer the US ambassador visited our boys’ summer camp, ABLE (as well as the girls’ GLOW camp), but since then I’ve had several other ambassadorial run-ins. In a way, spotting and meetings ambassadors is kind of like celebrity spotting or Pokemon catching here. Gotta catch ‘em all! Six down, 48 to go!
Here in Ismayilli, there’s a new vocational school, at which my sitemate and I have worked off and on with English teachers, that trains students to be hotel staff, chefs, waiters and (soon) tourism workers. For about six months, a group of expats, lead onsite by a Dutch man named Alexander, has been helping the school in the development of their curriculum. Recently, their contract ran out, and they prepared to depart, making as many preparations to ensure that the work they had implemented would be sustained after their departure. In the midst of all this, it was decided by the powers that be that they would also conduct a conference to showcase the new curriculum and progress the school has made. They had a week to organize this. This is not abnormal for Azerbaijan.
At the conference, many local education leaders were present, as well as the ambassador from the European Union delegation to Azerbaijan, Roland Kobia. The conference seemed to be a success, and was assisted by the fact that they had a man instantly translating via earphones. After the conference, there was naturally a tea session, and I had a chance to speak briefly with the ambassador. Most amusingly, after I explained my work and the goals of Peace Corps, he noted how he wished France had more programs like that to spread the French language around the world. (Interestingly, French is a common language being taught in schools here and my school’s French teacher was actually disappointed I had studied Spanish instead of French in school.)
The ambassador encounters didn't stop there. Every year, before school begins, the rayon holds a large education celebration, honoring the best teachers and students of the rayon. My counterpart was in the past honored as one of the best teachers, a huge honor, one for which some teachers becomes an obsession. At this ceremony, which seemed to be attended by all of Ismayilli, packing the entire central park area, and watched over by a statue of Heydar Aliyev, the Japanese, Turkish, Russian, Belarussian, and Latvian ambassadors all gave speeches, mostly in Russian, clearly just to thwart my understanding (and not, you know, because that’s their native language and is widely understood here). Most amusingly, while they called up the winning students, who each received a new flat-screen TV, a new telephone, and what may have been a DVD player (almost made me want to be a student), fanfare-style sound clips were played on the sound system, almost always stolen from US television or the Olympics, and often playing over the speakers. On a related note, the Pirates of the Caribbean movie theme music is the theme song for one of the news programs here.
After the announcements, a singer from Baku emerged on stage through the haze of several smoke machines. This, apparently, is one of the best singers in all of Azerbaijan, Nazperi Dostaliyera. An oboe/keyboard/accordion/drum group accompanied her. Their blaring solos (the only acceptable volume for live music is “feel-it-in-the-very-core-of-your-soul loud”) reminded why I am not an oboe fan (sorry to all my oboe-loving readers). Meanwhile, a brilliant laser show danced across the square, while kids danced and ran around. Even though the ambassadors had long since disappeared, it was one of those perfect end-of-summer nights.
Here in Ismayilli, there’s a new vocational school, at which my sitemate and I have worked off and on with English teachers, that trains students to be hotel staff, chefs, waiters and (soon) tourism workers. For about six months, a group of expats, lead onsite by a Dutch man named Alexander, has been helping the school in the development of their curriculum. Recently, their contract ran out, and they prepared to depart, making as many preparations to ensure that the work they had implemented would be sustained after their departure. In the midst of all this, it was decided by the powers that be that they would also conduct a conference to showcase the new curriculum and progress the school has made. They had a week to organize this. This is not abnormal for Azerbaijan.
At the conference, many local education leaders were present, as well as the ambassador from the European Union delegation to Azerbaijan, Roland Kobia. The conference seemed to be a success, and was assisted by the fact that they had a man instantly translating via earphones. After the conference, there was naturally a tea session, and I had a chance to speak briefly with the ambassador. Most amusingly, after I explained my work and the goals of Peace Corps, he noted how he wished France had more programs like that to spread the French language around the world. (Interestingly, French is a common language being taught in schools here and my school’s French teacher was actually disappointed I had studied Spanish instead of French in school.)
The ambassador encounters didn't stop there. Every year, before school begins, the rayon holds a large education celebration, honoring the best teachers and students of the rayon. My counterpart was in the past honored as one of the best teachers, a huge honor, one for which some teachers becomes an obsession. At this ceremony, which seemed to be attended by all of Ismayilli, packing the entire central park area, and watched over by a statue of Heydar Aliyev, the Japanese, Turkish, Russian, Belarussian, and Latvian ambassadors all gave speeches, mostly in Russian, clearly just to thwart my understanding (and not, you know, because that’s their native language and is widely understood here). Most amusingly, while they called up the winning students, who each received a new flat-screen TV, a new telephone, and what may have been a DVD player (almost made me want to be a student), fanfare-style sound clips were played on the sound system, almost always stolen from US television or the Olympics, and often playing over the speakers. On a related note, the Pirates of the Caribbean movie theme music is the theme song for one of the news programs here.
After the announcements, a singer from Baku emerged on stage through the haze of several smoke machines. This, apparently, is one of the best singers in all of Azerbaijan, Nazperi Dostaliyera. An oboe/keyboard/accordion/drum group accompanied her. Their blaring solos (the only acceptable volume for live music is “feel-it-in-the-very-core-of-your-soul loud”) reminded why I am not an oboe fan (sorry to all my oboe-loving readers). Meanwhile, a brilliant laser show danced across the square, while kids danced and ran around. Even though the ambassadors had long since disappeared, it was one of those perfect end-of-summer nights.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
The Long National Nightmare is Over!
That's right, you can rest easy once more. Our days of cowering in the corner and not wanting to open the door for fear of a stranger entering the house is at an end.
Yes, our washing machine has been returned to us. I no longer have to wash my clothes by hand. No more stiff shirts and jeans because I couldn't get the soap all the way out. There can be miracles when you believe.
Yes, our washing machine has been returned to us. I no longer have to wash my clothes by hand. No more stiff shirts and jeans because I couldn't get the soap all the way out. There can be miracles when you believe.
Summer's Going Going Gone
Where did summer go? I ask myself this as we enter our fourth straight day of clouds and rain here in Ismayilli. After two months of virtually no clouds or rain, the last few weeks have been filled with both.
It's amazing to me how similar the end of summer here feels compared to the end of summer back home. Now, I love summer. I'm good at summer. I close my eyes and remember running around Summerhill pool with our group of swim team friends, which we dubbed the Summer Hill Mafia. Later, I was a lifeguard all through high school and college, working at the neighborhood pool, and then at a summer camp where I guarded OUR lake and taught canoeing and (not)fun-yaking, a sort of open kayak. Even though we had fun complaining about the bossy patrons, savored every last thunderstorm, and wanted to push certain campers off a high ledge at times, those summers were bliss, and as a result, summer is automatically a special season for me.
But now summer is over. Random cold days with clouds recall to my mind days when we would wear sweats by the pool and pray that we wouldn't have to get up in the lifeguard chair, somehow always foiled by the one boy trying to eek out as much pool time as he could before school started again. The familiar feeling that everyone has left for college has been replaced by the loss of visitors, from the US and from other rayons. This weekend, Alexander, a Danish man working through British Councils at the vocational school in town will leave, making Ismayilli just a little bit emptier. They've all done some good work there, and hopefully we'll be able to build on the foundations which he started.
With the coming school year brings a move for me. Today I vacated my summer room and made the long trek through the house to my winter and spring room and kitchen. Soon, the students who rent the summer room will be back from the village, ready to start their school year here in Ismayilli (where they are able to get a better education). I came to Azerbaijan with two bags and a carry-one. I don't know where all this stuff came from, let me tell you. It's like everything had babies while I wasn't looking.
It's not all bad, of course. September means the chance to implement new clubs and ideas that my students last spring suggested and I couldn't get up and running during the summer. It also means that in one month, 40 new volunteers will be arriving in Baku to undergo training. The application process to help out during PST has begun. There's even a chance that come December, we'll be getting a new volunteer here in Ismayilli, though I'm going to try not to jinx it and will henceforth assume it won't happen.
Summer's ending always feels like the end of an era to me. It doesn't get any bigger than summer for me, with summer camps, grand adventures and expeditions, and close friends. If and when I enter the real world and have a job that involves working year-round, I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but there will always be a part of me that will miss the power of doing nothing while doing something that only summer can allow. I'm tempted to segue now into an examination of what it means to grow up, but this piece has gone on for awhile now, and the Peter Pan in me is telling me to go play with Bucky outside while we still can.
It's amazing to me how similar the end of summer here feels compared to the end of summer back home. Now, I love summer. I'm good at summer. I close my eyes and remember running around Summerhill pool with our group of swim team friends, which we dubbed the Summer Hill Mafia. Later, I was a lifeguard all through high school and college, working at the neighborhood pool, and then at a summer camp where I guarded OUR lake and taught canoeing and (not)fun-yaking, a sort of open kayak. Even though we had fun complaining about the bossy patrons, savored every last thunderstorm, and wanted to push certain campers off a high ledge at times, those summers were bliss, and as a result, summer is automatically a special season for me.
But now summer is over. Random cold days with clouds recall to my mind days when we would wear sweats by the pool and pray that we wouldn't have to get up in the lifeguard chair, somehow always foiled by the one boy trying to eek out as much pool time as he could before school started again. The familiar feeling that everyone has left for college has been replaced by the loss of visitors, from the US and from other rayons. This weekend, Alexander, a Danish man working through British Councils at the vocational school in town will leave, making Ismayilli just a little bit emptier. They've all done some good work there, and hopefully we'll be able to build on the foundations which he started.
With the coming school year brings a move for me. Today I vacated my summer room and made the long trek through the house to my winter and spring room and kitchen. Soon, the students who rent the summer room will be back from the village, ready to start their school year here in Ismayilli (where they are able to get a better education). I came to Azerbaijan with two bags and a carry-one. I don't know where all this stuff came from, let me tell you. It's like everything had babies while I wasn't looking.
It's not all bad, of course. September means the chance to implement new clubs and ideas that my students last spring suggested and I couldn't get up and running during the summer. It also means that in one month, 40 new volunteers will be arriving in Baku to undergo training. The application process to help out during PST has begun. There's even a chance that come December, we'll be getting a new volunteer here in Ismayilli, though I'm going to try not to jinx it and will henceforth assume it won't happen.
Summer's ending always feels like the end of an era to me. It doesn't get any bigger than summer for me, with summer camps, grand adventures and expeditions, and close friends. If and when I enter the real world and have a job that involves working year-round, I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but there will always be a part of me that will miss the power of doing nothing while doing something that only summer can allow. I'm tempted to segue now into an examination of what it means to grow up, but this piece has gone on for awhile now, and the Peter Pan in me is telling me to go play with Bucky outside while we still can.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Spoiled Rotten
I’ll admit it, as difficult as Peace Corps and life here can be, I have been spoiled in many ways during the last 10 months I’ve been here in Azerbaijan. The most obvious signs of this were made apparent to me again recently when my host brother left for America, and our washing machine broke.
Let’s start with the latter. Our washing machine broke somehow, and had to be sent to Baku to be repaired. In the meantime, I had to suck it up, after several weeks of being out of town and not having time, to do my wash by hand. This takes FOREVER when you save up as much washing as I had. I had to do three rounds—whites, darks, and blacks/pants. First the soaking an agitating in soapy water. Then, rinsing, and rinsing again and again, until the soap was out. And finally, hanging them out to dry on the line. All this out in the yard, hunched over the tub, stirring and squeezing and wringing and aching. I definitely didn’t do a great job, especially as the water was running lower, and there are still a couple shirts stiff as cardboard. This whole by hand thing is not ideal, even though I know it’s the standard washing method for PCVs worldwide. Here’s what makes me even more spoiled: both of my host families so far have had washing machines. This past week was my first time washing by hand. And the irony of the situation: after a month straight of sun, barely a cloud in sight, just when I finish my laundry, two (and counting) days of clouds and rain.
Now, the former, my lost host brother. He left last week for America as a part of the MUSKIE program. He’ll be studying journalism and mass communication at Kent State University for the next two years, depriving me of a great resource. You see, he was fluent in English, having been a translator for several years. Now, I have to understand everything that’s said to me by myself! Oh woe is me! And unlike the washing machine situation, this one won’t get any better. My only recourse is to get better at Azeri!
The horror. The horror.
Let’s start with the latter. Our washing machine broke somehow, and had to be sent to Baku to be repaired. In the meantime, I had to suck it up, after several weeks of being out of town and not having time, to do my wash by hand. This takes FOREVER when you save up as much washing as I had. I had to do three rounds—whites, darks, and blacks/pants. First the soaking an agitating in soapy water. Then, rinsing, and rinsing again and again, until the soap was out. And finally, hanging them out to dry on the line. All this out in the yard, hunched over the tub, stirring and squeezing and wringing and aching. I definitely didn’t do a great job, especially as the water was running lower, and there are still a couple shirts stiff as cardboard. This whole by hand thing is not ideal, even though I know it’s the standard washing method for PCVs worldwide. Here’s what makes me even more spoiled: both of my host families so far have had washing machines. This past week was my first time washing by hand. And the irony of the situation: after a month straight of sun, barely a cloud in sight, just when I finish my laundry, two (and counting) days of clouds and rain.
Now, the former, my lost host brother. He left last week for America as a part of the MUSKIE program. He’ll be studying journalism and mass communication at Kent State University for the next two years, depriving me of a great resource. You see, he was fluent in English, having been a translator for several years. Now, I have to understand everything that’s said to me by myself! Oh woe is me! And unlike the washing machine situation, this one won’t get any better. My only recourse is to get better at Azeri!
The horror. The horror.
Mees Veesits Oz-erbaijan
When people from home visit, you want the trip to be perfect. When it’s your girlfriend and you’re celebrating your second anniversary, that desire is at least double, if not more. I was even more stressed because the day before Caroline was set to visit, I was at ABLE, finishing up the camp and bringing the boys home. I rushed home, discovered that our washing machine was broken, decided that washing laundry would take too long by hand, and double-checked that the hotel room was reserved. The day she was to arrive, I bused in to Baku, checked in to the hotel, turned on the air conditioning, and waited until the evening.
Getting to the airport is always an adventure. As usual, I took the metro from the Old City to the stop closest to the airport. I found my way out of the maze on the right side of the highway this time, and started looking for a bus. I asked for clarification, and was directed to a bus that was pulling away, forcing me to chase it down. By this time I was checking my clock regularly, watching the time tick down to the plane’s landing. Naturally, the bus did not actually go to the airport (this being Baku), and once more I was deposited on the wrong side of the highway from the airport, and had to walk in to the airport, as cars zoomed by and security guards gave me confused looks.
Finally, after what always seems like eons of watching the wrong people come out of the baggage claim area, Caroline emerged. By the time we made it back to the hotel, this time by taxi, Caroline was exhausted from her trip. The next day we set out to wander around Baku, particularly the Old City, but were stymied by the heat and humidity of Baku, so after several hours, and a delicious brunch, we retreated back to our hotel and the A/C.
That evening we went out to celebrate the two years, choosing an Indian restaurant as sushi, our first date, was not feasible. Stepping into the restaurant was like stepping out of Azerbaijan and into a whole new world for the whole meal. Plus, we updated our anniversary tradition—ethnic food. We returned to the hotel to discover that the A/C we so desperately were craving had stopped cooling. After much fiddling and playing with the remote, we resigned ourselves to a sweaty night, only to discover part way through the night that all the cooler had needed was a bit of a break.
The heat would plague us throughout the trip, and sadly limited what was comfortable to do during the day. We spent the majority of the trip in and around Ismayilli, my site, which Caroline can now pronounce perfectly (not a criticism of before, but a fault of my typing with a keyboard that does not include an “I” without the dot). Caroline had her share of culture shock, which was to be expected. It’s hard to get used to the staring and some of the gender differences, especially when it’s so hot on top of everything.
The time in Ismayilli went smoothly, and was relaxing and quiet. We had several meals with my host family, including a plov meal, being a special event (Caroline’s arrival), and kebabs, as well as a spaghetti and tomato sauce meal that Caroline cooked (with some help from me, mostly accolades and cheering). Caroline also took the initiative and cooked stuffed chicken and scalloped potatoes. It may be like camping sometimes, but you can eat delicious food even when you go camping (I recall my father winning a pie-making contest while camping on an island in the Florida Keys, for instance).
We ventured out of Ismayilli city to visit two villages. The first, Lahic, is the go-to tourist village, which I’ve discussed in previous posts. A new discovery, though, is that the village was the filming location for a recent movie, Absurdistan. So if you’ve got Netflix, give it an order and see what Azerbaijan villages are like (maybe, I haven’t seen the movie yet).
We also visited the Shato Monolit, or Chateau Monolith, Ismayilli’s winery. Ismayilli rayon, in particular the Ivanovka village, was once home to a large winery during the Soviet era named after the village, but the production moved west towards Ganja while keeping the now misleading name. Visiting the winery was like finding an oasis of style in the middle of nowhere. I don’t mean this as an insult; it’s just that the roads near the winery are typical dirt village roads. And then bam! There’s a garden and a pool and beautiful green grape vines and large steel fermentation tanks. We’d stumbled out of Ivanovka and into Napa Valley. The wine wasn't fantastic, but the rose was good, at least according to someone who doesn’t drink many roses. Paul Giammatti might disagree.
A plan to travel to Nabran fell through (most regrettably, since that’s where the swanky beach resorts are, and I know that the pirate ship pool I saw would be amazing) due to heat and sickness, but resulted in a relaxing few days holed up in an air-conditioned hotel room and eating delicious Baku restaurant food.
Perhaps not the most exciting trip, but it was definitely a big trip. I was touched that Caroline would visit, that she would travel to the other side of the world, braving airplanes (not her favorite mode of transportation), an entirely new culture, and spending quite a chunk of money to get here. It meant a lot to me that she would come and see the place that I live and is so important to me now. To share that with someone, as I’ve been fortunate enough to do twice now this summer, is a great feeling, even if we didn’t do everything we thought we would.
Getting to the airport is always an adventure. As usual, I took the metro from the Old City to the stop closest to the airport. I found my way out of the maze on the right side of the highway this time, and started looking for a bus. I asked for clarification, and was directed to a bus that was pulling away, forcing me to chase it down. By this time I was checking my clock regularly, watching the time tick down to the plane’s landing. Naturally, the bus did not actually go to the airport (this being Baku), and once more I was deposited on the wrong side of the highway from the airport, and had to walk in to the airport, as cars zoomed by and security guards gave me confused looks.
Finally, after what always seems like eons of watching the wrong people come out of the baggage claim area, Caroline emerged. By the time we made it back to the hotel, this time by taxi, Caroline was exhausted from her trip. The next day we set out to wander around Baku, particularly the Old City, but were stymied by the heat and humidity of Baku, so after several hours, and a delicious brunch, we retreated back to our hotel and the A/C.
That evening we went out to celebrate the two years, choosing an Indian restaurant as sushi, our first date, was not feasible. Stepping into the restaurant was like stepping out of Azerbaijan and into a whole new world for the whole meal. Plus, we updated our anniversary tradition—ethnic food. We returned to the hotel to discover that the A/C we so desperately were craving had stopped cooling. After much fiddling and playing with the remote, we resigned ourselves to a sweaty night, only to discover part way through the night that all the cooler had needed was a bit of a break.
The heat would plague us throughout the trip, and sadly limited what was comfortable to do during the day. We spent the majority of the trip in and around Ismayilli, my site, which Caroline can now pronounce perfectly (not a criticism of before, but a fault of my typing with a keyboard that does not include an “I” without the dot). Caroline had her share of culture shock, which was to be expected. It’s hard to get used to the staring and some of the gender differences, especially when it’s so hot on top of everything.
The time in Ismayilli went smoothly, and was relaxing and quiet. We had several meals with my host family, including a plov meal, being a special event (Caroline’s arrival), and kebabs, as well as a spaghetti and tomato sauce meal that Caroline cooked (with some help from me, mostly accolades and cheering). Caroline also took the initiative and cooked stuffed chicken and scalloped potatoes. It may be like camping sometimes, but you can eat delicious food even when you go camping (I recall my father winning a pie-making contest while camping on an island in the Florida Keys, for instance).
We ventured out of Ismayilli city to visit two villages. The first, Lahic, is the go-to tourist village, which I’ve discussed in previous posts. A new discovery, though, is that the village was the filming location for a recent movie, Absurdistan. So if you’ve got Netflix, give it an order and see what Azerbaijan villages are like (maybe, I haven’t seen the movie yet).
We also visited the Shato Monolit, or Chateau Monolith, Ismayilli’s winery. Ismayilli rayon, in particular the Ivanovka village, was once home to a large winery during the Soviet era named after the village, but the production moved west towards Ganja while keeping the now misleading name. Visiting the winery was like finding an oasis of style in the middle of nowhere. I don’t mean this as an insult; it’s just that the roads near the winery are typical dirt village roads. And then bam! There’s a garden and a pool and beautiful green grape vines and large steel fermentation tanks. We’d stumbled out of Ivanovka and into Napa Valley. The wine wasn't fantastic, but the rose was good, at least according to someone who doesn’t drink many roses. Paul Giammatti might disagree.
A plan to travel to Nabran fell through (most regrettably, since that’s where the swanky beach resorts are, and I know that the pirate ship pool I saw would be amazing) due to heat and sickness, but resulted in a relaxing few days holed up in an air-conditioned hotel room and eating delicious Baku restaurant food.
Perhaps not the most exciting trip, but it was definitely a big trip. I was touched that Caroline would visit, that she would travel to the other side of the world, braving airplanes (not her favorite mode of transportation), an entirely new culture, and spending quite a chunk of money to get here. It meant a lot to me that she would come and see the place that I live and is so important to me now. To share that with someone, as I’ve been fortunate enough to do twice now this summer, is a great feeling, even if we didn’t do everything we thought we would.
Summer Camp Week 2: ABLE
The camp at which we held ABLE, Sahil Istrahat Merkezi (Sahil Rest Center), sits on the shore of a large lake, with several rowboats which customers can rent for several hours. Across the way from the camp is a beach area and further around, a large house, rumored to belong to the president or some other high government official. At night, the entire shore in front of the home would light up.
We arrived around noon, and the boys were sorted into their teams, and their rooms. We mixed the boys up so they were forced to interact with boys from different rayons. After we ate and got settled, the boys had to work together to choose a team leader, name, cheer, and symbol. We ended up with the Red Dragons, White Lightning, the 12 Winners, and Fireland Gang. During all of this, I and another PCV, Drew, were hard at work setting up a scavenger hunt that would lead the kids around the camp and then to the bonfire for the evening. At the bonfire, all the kids wrote something they didn’t think they could do, and then threw it in the fire. Afterwards, the musically inclined PCVs busted out the guitars for some rockin’.
The next day was my baby, the challenge course. I had worked for a few summers at a summer camp that specialized in outdoor activities and team building. The highlight was always the challenge rope course, and when I found out that ABLE’s challenge course guy had left, I jumped at the chance. To prepare for the course, I scoured my old camp handbook for potential activities. We ended up with 10 activities including trust falls, a Spider’s Web, Nuclear Waste (renamed Caspian Clean-up), the human knot, and a Lava Walk, among others. A PCV manned every station, enabling me to float around, running interference, supporting and taking pictures.
One of the highlights, for campers and counselors alike, was going camping. Each night we took a group of 16 boys out to a field near the camp, taught them how to set up tents, and built a campfire, for s’mores, and more importantly for the camping experience, scary stories. The s’mores went over well, the stories decidedly less so. By the end the boys had talked to each other enough so they knew it was coming, but every night the boys still jumped several feet in the air when the “murderer” came stumbling out of the dark at the end of the story.
Another highlight was swimming. Some of the boys were nervous, having never learned to swim, but the swim area we set up was shallow, and not an issue in the end. This was truly a return to summer life for me. There are times during the school year, when I am trying to plan conversation clubs that the kids will actually learn from when I don’t feel particularly qualified to be here. But at this camp, particularly when running the challenge course and when lifeguarding, that I felt truly comfortable. Lifeguarding, and the particular persona that the job entails, came back to me in a flash. There truly is power in that whistle.
Every day we kept the kids busy. If the kid isn’t tired for a week afterwards, the camp’s not doing its job. Every morning started with morning exercises—wheelbarrow races and stretching and the like, and then, for the boys that hadn’t followed the rules, punishment: push ups, sprints, and other pain-inducing exercises administered by Jake, who seemed to be having almost too much fun with it. We had local guest speakers come in every day, talking on such topics as project management, social engagement, human rights, gender, conflict management. The FLEX/UGrad alumni who served as camp counselors and translators each ran sessions on volunteerism, community, teamwork and leadership. On top of that, we played football (American), ultimate Frisbee, and capture the flag. The final full day was marked by a counselors vs. campers game. In short, they got the camp experience, and then some.
Switching it up a little bit was a visit on the last day by the new Peace Corps Country Director, and the US Ambassador. Both were welcomed happily, and the Ambassador spoke well to the boys, and challenged them to use what they had learned and to be open minded as they move into the future.
One of the greatest parts of the camp was working with the Azeri FLEX/UGrad alumni. These students are all people who spent a year or more in the US studying at an American high school or college, and have impeccable English. More importantly, they really get it. That ambiguous, hard to grasp “it,” which, as much as we preach certain ideas to our students, remain decidedly theoretical. But these students have seen those ideas which are so simple to us: creative, critical thinking, volunteerism, teamwork and fair leadership. They are more important than us, and the more students in Azerbaijan like them, the better work we’re doing. The more work they take on, and the less we’re involved, the better. The strange realization is that the sign that we’re doing a good job is that we do less work. In requiring the students to plan and complete a community project upon their return from camp, they’re going in the right direction. It just takes baby steps.
We arrived around noon, and the boys were sorted into their teams, and their rooms. We mixed the boys up so they were forced to interact with boys from different rayons. After we ate and got settled, the boys had to work together to choose a team leader, name, cheer, and symbol. We ended up with the Red Dragons, White Lightning, the 12 Winners, and Fireland Gang. During all of this, I and another PCV, Drew, were hard at work setting up a scavenger hunt that would lead the kids around the camp and then to the bonfire for the evening. At the bonfire, all the kids wrote something they didn’t think they could do, and then threw it in the fire. Afterwards, the musically inclined PCVs busted out the guitars for some rockin’.
The next day was my baby, the challenge course. I had worked for a few summers at a summer camp that specialized in outdoor activities and team building. The highlight was always the challenge rope course, and when I found out that ABLE’s challenge course guy had left, I jumped at the chance. To prepare for the course, I scoured my old camp handbook for potential activities. We ended up with 10 activities including trust falls, a Spider’s Web, Nuclear Waste (renamed Caspian Clean-up), the human knot, and a Lava Walk, among others. A PCV manned every station, enabling me to float around, running interference, supporting and taking pictures.
One of the highlights, for campers and counselors alike, was going camping. Each night we took a group of 16 boys out to a field near the camp, taught them how to set up tents, and built a campfire, for s’mores, and more importantly for the camping experience, scary stories. The s’mores went over well, the stories decidedly less so. By the end the boys had talked to each other enough so they knew it was coming, but every night the boys still jumped several feet in the air when the “murderer” came stumbling out of the dark at the end of the story.
Another highlight was swimming. Some of the boys were nervous, having never learned to swim, but the swim area we set up was shallow, and not an issue in the end. This was truly a return to summer life for me. There are times during the school year, when I am trying to plan conversation clubs that the kids will actually learn from when I don’t feel particularly qualified to be here. But at this camp, particularly when running the challenge course and when lifeguarding, that I felt truly comfortable. Lifeguarding, and the particular persona that the job entails, came back to me in a flash. There truly is power in that whistle.
Every day we kept the kids busy. If the kid isn’t tired for a week afterwards, the camp’s not doing its job. Every morning started with morning exercises—wheelbarrow races and stretching and the like, and then, for the boys that hadn’t followed the rules, punishment: push ups, sprints, and other pain-inducing exercises administered by Jake, who seemed to be having almost too much fun with it. We had local guest speakers come in every day, talking on such topics as project management, social engagement, human rights, gender, conflict management. The FLEX/UGrad alumni who served as camp counselors and translators each ran sessions on volunteerism, community, teamwork and leadership. On top of that, we played football (American), ultimate Frisbee, and capture the flag. The final full day was marked by a counselors vs. campers game. In short, they got the camp experience, and then some.
Switching it up a little bit was a visit on the last day by the new Peace Corps Country Director, and the US Ambassador. Both were welcomed happily, and the Ambassador spoke well to the boys, and challenged them to use what they had learned and to be open minded as they move into the future.
One of the greatest parts of the camp was working with the Azeri FLEX/UGrad alumni. These students are all people who spent a year or more in the US studying at an American high school or college, and have impeccable English. More importantly, they really get it. That ambiguous, hard to grasp “it,” which, as much as we preach certain ideas to our students, remain decidedly theoretical. But these students have seen those ideas which are so simple to us: creative, critical thinking, volunteerism, teamwork and fair leadership. They are more important than us, and the more students in Azerbaijan like them, the better work we’re doing. The more work they take on, and the less we’re involved, the better. The strange realization is that the sign that we’re doing a good job is that we do less work. In requiring the students to plan and complete a community project upon their return from camp, they’re going in the right direction. It just takes baby steps.
Summer Camp Part 1: TOT and Sheki
There have been times when I haven’t been sure I’m particularly qualified for the work I’m supposed to do here. Other PCVs have worked with at-risk children or been teachers or helped with NGOs in the United States or abroad. Me? I’ve worked a couple summers as a lifeguard at a summer camp. Only the last year was I trained to be a counselor. So when summer comes rolling around, I finally feel like I’m doing what I was nominated to do with Peace Corps. The moment I heard about ABLE, the Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience, during PST, I knew I wanted to be involved. ABLE is a weeklong summer camp for boys from all over the country, in which we work with Azeri counterparts, invite Azeri guest speakers, and of course, play tons of games with the boys.
Looking for a hiking trail with Khayal and Elvin
For Christmas, I went to Kurdamir, and met Todd, one of the leaders of the camp this year, and we talked about ways I could be involved in the camp. Then, at New Year’s, we had a meeting for all the volunteers interested in helping with the camp. I signed up to run the challenge course, and to work on site selection and organizing supplies. As summer neared, I got a call asking if I would like to help with the training of trainers session. The TOT is intended to help prepare the Azeri counterparts, usually a group of FLEX alums, for their presentations on topics such as volunteerism, leadership and community involvement. For TOT, we spent a couple days at the rest area where the camp would be, and was a great opportunity to figure out exactly what we needed.
With the Bravehearts on the group hike.
After TOT, I went to Sheki, a larger town several hours north of Ismayilli, to help out with their summer camp. A three-week camp for Sheki students organized by PCVs, our week’s theme was Life Skills. All of the visiting volunteers, mostly TEFLs aside for myself, were assigned to be team counselors, aided by an Azeri student who spoke English. I ended up with Red Team, which had decided to call themselves the Bravehearts. The camp was well organized, a half day of camp each day, with games and team-building activities, such as human pyramid, hiking, blanket volleyball, relay races, and human knot, as well as lessons about nutrition and FLEX. We ended the camp with an egg drop contest, and kids had time to wrap up their eggs in surprisingly complex and impressive padding.
With only one day off between Sheki Camp and ABLE, we rushed back to Ismayilli to finalize packing and supplies. I also had to wrangle the boys that would be attending from Ismayilli. We were supposed to have three boys come, but one of the boys disappeared (presumably to the village with his family) and was out of contact. So with two boys, we set off for camp, a grueling 35 minutes away.
For Christmas, I went to Kurdamir, and met Todd, one of the leaders of the camp this year, and we talked about ways I could be involved in the camp. Then, at New Year’s, we had a meeting for all the volunteers interested in helping with the camp. I signed up to run the challenge course, and to work on site selection and organizing supplies. As summer neared, I got a call asking if I would like to help with the training of trainers session. The TOT is intended to help prepare the Azeri counterparts, usually a group of FLEX alums, for their presentations on topics such as volunteerism, leadership and community involvement. For TOT, we spent a couple days at the rest area where the camp would be, and was a great opportunity to figure out exactly what we needed.
After TOT, I went to Sheki, a larger town several hours north of Ismayilli, to help out with their summer camp. A three-week camp for Sheki students organized by PCVs, our week’s theme was Life Skills. All of the visiting volunteers, mostly TEFLs aside for myself, were assigned to be team counselors, aided by an Azeri student who spoke English. I ended up with Red Team, which had decided to call themselves the Bravehearts. The camp was well organized, a half day of camp each day, with games and team-building activities, such as human pyramid, hiking, blanket volleyball, relay races, and human knot, as well as lessons about nutrition and FLEX. We ended the camp with an egg drop contest, and kids had time to wrap up their eggs in surprisingly complex and impressive padding.
With only one day off between Sheki Camp and ABLE, we rushed back to Ismayilli to finalize packing and supplies. I also had to wrangle the boys that would be attending from Ismayilli. We were supposed to have three boys come, but one of the boys disappeared (presumably to the village with his family) and was out of contact. So with two boys, we set off for camp, a grueling 35 minutes away.
A Hiking We Will Go
I wrote this back in June, or maybe early July.
Part of my summer program has been a hiking club. It has not been easy. The first day was fantastic. A huge amount of kids showed up, coinciding nicely with my family’s visit. It wasn’t much of a hike, but the kids seemed to have fun, and we ended up in the town park, visited our small history museum, and got to see a meteorite. The next day, after I got back from Istanbul, was almost unattended. In several other attempts, the attendance continued to jump and drop.
I’m not sure why the attendance varies so much, whether it’s poor communication, summer heat, or summer vacation. Regardless, when it came time for yet another attempt, I was a little nervous. On this morning, three twelve year old boys showed up, one of whom I’d never met. Determined to actually do something with the kids, I piled them into a taxi with their water and food, and set out for the nearby village Talistan. Above Talistan in the hills are some ruins of Javanshir castle/fortress.
The boys were a little nervous that I was working off of the travel book and asking for directions from people, but they had fun as we got higher into the hills. Along the way, they found fruit trees ready for the picking, wandering animals, and a river crisscrossing our path.
We finally reached the base of the hill where the fortress was. From the trail we could see the remains of one of the walls. And so we began to trudge up the hill, which quickly turned into a steep, treacherous, slippery half-trail. About halfway up, the kids decided they were too scared to continue (by popular vote), and we backed down the hill carefully, sometimes standing, sometimes sliding. Looking back, we were so close to the hill, but in hindsight that path was not something to be trifled with.
After stopping for a picnic lunch, during which the boys were insistent on sharing their sandwiches with me, we came back to the river, where the boys decided they wanted to go swimming. After stripping to their underwear, the standard swimsuit here, they set to building a dam for bathing. As I sat watching them and reading through my Azerbaijan book for other hikes, I was transported back to a reservoir in Maryland, where I went several times with my friend, David, our families, and our dogs. I can still vividly remember building dams in the river while the dogs ran around us. One summer after coming back from Indonesia, we were still testing each other, and decided to go and stand out in the middle of the freezing river, to see who would budge first. We quickly found that we were both so stubborn neither would give in. And so we knew we were still friends.
As we neared Talistan, the boys began planning our next hiking club. They asked over and over who would be allowed to go and petitioned that it could just be them so they could go swimming more without being embarrassed in from of older boys or (gasp!) girls. I’ll take excitement about going out again as a sign of success. People don’t do enough hiking or exercise here, in my opinion, especially considering that there is so much beautiful nature in which to hike, and that Azeris pride themselves on the natural beauty of the country. The next step is trying to incite the kids to go hiking without me being the reason they go. Fortunately, I’ve got a couple more months of summer.
Part of my summer program has been a hiking club. It has not been easy. The first day was fantastic. A huge amount of kids showed up, coinciding nicely with my family’s visit. It wasn’t much of a hike, but the kids seemed to have fun, and we ended up in the town park, visited our small history museum, and got to see a meteorite. The next day, after I got back from Istanbul, was almost unattended. In several other attempts, the attendance continued to jump and drop.
I’m not sure why the attendance varies so much, whether it’s poor communication, summer heat, or summer vacation. Regardless, when it came time for yet another attempt, I was a little nervous. On this morning, three twelve year old boys showed up, one of whom I’d never met. Determined to actually do something with the kids, I piled them into a taxi with their water and food, and set out for the nearby village Talistan. Above Talistan in the hills are some ruins of Javanshir castle/fortress.
The boys were a little nervous that I was working off of the travel book and asking for directions from people, but they had fun as we got higher into the hills. Along the way, they found fruit trees ready for the picking, wandering animals, and a river crisscrossing our path.
We finally reached the base of the hill where the fortress was. From the trail we could see the remains of one of the walls. And so we began to trudge up the hill, which quickly turned into a steep, treacherous, slippery half-trail. About halfway up, the kids decided they were too scared to continue (by popular vote), and we backed down the hill carefully, sometimes standing, sometimes sliding. Looking back, we were so close to the hill, but in hindsight that path was not something to be trifled with.
After stopping for a picnic lunch, during which the boys were insistent on sharing their sandwiches with me, we came back to the river, where the boys decided they wanted to go swimming. After stripping to their underwear, the standard swimsuit here, they set to building a dam for bathing. As I sat watching them and reading through my Azerbaijan book for other hikes, I was transported back to a reservoir in Maryland, where I went several times with my friend, David, our families, and our dogs. I can still vividly remember building dams in the river while the dogs ran around us. One summer after coming back from Indonesia, we were still testing each other, and decided to go and stand out in the middle of the freezing river, to see who would budge first. We quickly found that we were both so stubborn neither would give in. And so we knew we were still friends.
As we neared Talistan, the boys began planning our next hiking club. They asked over and over who would be allowed to go and petitioned that it could just be them so they could go swimming more without being embarrassed in from of older boys or (gasp!) girls. I’ll take excitement about going out again as a sign of success. People don’t do enough hiking or exercise here, in my opinion, especially considering that there is so much beautiful nature in which to hike, and that Azeris pride themselves on the natural beauty of the country. The next step is trying to incite the kids to go hiking without me being the reason they go. Fortunately, I’ve got a couple more months of summer.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Zarafat: Humor in Azerbaijan
One of the most interesting aspects of growing accustomed to a culture is learning about their sense of humor. One of the first things I learned about Azeri humor was from watching American movies dubbed into Azerbaijani and shown on television. This is what I learned: Azeris love slapstick physical comedy. After I arrived at site, my host family would watch TV during meals and teatime, and often we would watch whatever movie was on. They showed the entire Home Alone series. My family all laughed uproariously. They also loved the Big Momma’s House series. In addition to the easy to translate cross-culturally physical humor, it also includes men dressed in drag, which Azeris seem to love.
Some humor doesn’t translate, however. There’s not a lot of surreal humor here. One of my sitemates showed some episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia to his host brother. He repeatedly had to explain why the jokes were funny. Granted, the particular humor of the show is not funny to all American, either.
Sarcasm also doesn’t work much here either. Volunteers often have to follow up a sarcastic comment with the note that they had just told a joke.
Logic humor is the most popular verbal humor here. There’s a character in this region, a sort of analogue to Aesop, but crossed with Amelia Bedelia: Nasrettin Hoja (or Nasreddin Hoca). My host father enjoys telling his stories, which always elicit a laugh.
His favorite story seems to be this: One day Hoja went to the market to buy clothes. First he tested a pair of trousers. He didn't like the trousers and he gave back them to the shopkeeper. Then he tried a robe which had same price as the trousers. Hoja was pleased with the robe and he left the shop. Before he climbed on the donkey to ride home he stopped by the shopkeeper. “You didn't pay for the robe,” says the shopkeeper. “But I gave you the trousers instead of the robe, didn’t I?” replied Hoja. “Yes, but you didn't pay for the trousers, either!” said the shopkeeper.
“But I didn't buy the trousers,” replied Hoja. “I am not so stupid to pay for something which I newer bought.”
My students in particular love to hear about the little language lessons I’ve picked up over the months. I shared this story with my students: I was asking my host brother about the fee I pay at the post office when I get a package. He said that I should ask the postal worker for a recipit, the word for which in Azeri is “qabz” (rhymes with “grabs”). When I tried to pronounce it, it camed out more like qa-beez. Seymur quickly corrected me, saying that I should not say that word, as it means “constipated.” It took awhile to get class back on track after that story.
Two other humorous notes. The first comes from the I Don’t Think You’re Making the Point You Think You Are Department. From eurasianet.org:
“Eurovision in Düsseldorf cost 46 million euros [about $65.6 million], while some bridges or roads built in Azerbaijan cost more,” boasted DJ Fateh, a popular DJ at Baku’s MediaFM radio station. http://www.eurasianet.org/node/63509
The second bit needs a small preface. Azerbaijan does not get along well with its neighbor, Armenia (for more information, see the book Black Garden). To avoid conflict and argument with people in our community over the topic, PCVs have given Armenia a codename: Kansas (because Azerbaijan is Oz).
Okay, so June 26 was Army Day here, commemorating the formation of the modern Azerbaijan army. In our recent staff mailing letter, it was noted that “Azerbaijan's Armed Forces have a training cooperation partnership with the Oklahoma Army National Guard. (Note: As a point of trivia, the Armenian Armed Forces have a training cooperation with the Kansas National Guard).“
In the words of my comedist (a new religion, the basic tenant of which is that God is not just all-knowing and all-powerful, but also all-funny) philosophy professor: Live, laugh, and love.
Some humor doesn’t translate, however. There’s not a lot of surreal humor here. One of my sitemates showed some episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia to his host brother. He repeatedly had to explain why the jokes were funny. Granted, the particular humor of the show is not funny to all American, either.
Sarcasm also doesn’t work much here either. Volunteers often have to follow up a sarcastic comment with the note that they had just told a joke.
Logic humor is the most popular verbal humor here. There’s a character in this region, a sort of analogue to Aesop, but crossed with Amelia Bedelia: Nasrettin Hoja (or Nasreddin Hoca). My host father enjoys telling his stories, which always elicit a laugh.
His favorite story seems to be this: One day Hoja went to the market to buy clothes. First he tested a pair of trousers. He didn't like the trousers and he gave back them to the shopkeeper. Then he tried a robe which had same price as the trousers. Hoja was pleased with the robe and he left the shop. Before he climbed on the donkey to ride home he stopped by the shopkeeper. “You didn't pay for the robe,” says the shopkeeper. “But I gave you the trousers instead of the robe, didn’t I?” replied Hoja. “Yes, but you didn't pay for the trousers, either!” said the shopkeeper.
“But I didn't buy the trousers,” replied Hoja. “I am not so stupid to pay for something which I newer bought.”
My students in particular love to hear about the little language lessons I’ve picked up over the months. I shared this story with my students: I was asking my host brother about the fee I pay at the post office when I get a package. He said that I should ask the postal worker for a recipit, the word for which in Azeri is “qabz” (rhymes with “grabs”). When I tried to pronounce it, it camed out more like qa-beez. Seymur quickly corrected me, saying that I should not say that word, as it means “constipated.” It took awhile to get class back on track after that story.
Two other humorous notes. The first comes from the I Don’t Think You’re Making the Point You Think You Are Department. From eurasianet.org:
“Eurovision in Düsseldorf cost 46 million euros [about $65.6 million], while some bridges or roads built in Azerbaijan cost more,” boasted DJ Fateh, a popular DJ at Baku’s MediaFM radio station. http://www.eurasianet.org/node/63509
The second bit needs a small preface. Azerbaijan does not get along well with its neighbor, Armenia (for more information, see the book Black Garden). To avoid conflict and argument with people in our community over the topic, PCVs have given Armenia a codename: Kansas (because Azerbaijan is Oz).
Okay, so June 26 was Army Day here, commemorating the formation of the modern Azerbaijan army. In our recent staff mailing letter, it was noted that “Azerbaijan's Armed Forces have a training cooperation partnership with the Oklahoma Army National Guard. (Note: As a point of trivia, the Armenian Armed Forces have a training cooperation with the Kansas National Guard).“
In the words of my comedist (a new religion, the basic tenant of which is that God is not just all-knowing and all-powerful, but also all-funny) philosophy professor: Live, laugh, and love.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Cultural Moments
It’s easy, once one develops a routine, to forget the ways that two cultures are different. It becomes easy to get lost in the way things are and forget how different things are. Every now and then, though, I have moments where I have to stop and remember that people here really are from a different cultural background. I had one of those moments while my family was here.
(Granted, it's very easy also to get bogged down in the little, frustrating differences that get in the way of projects and daily life, but that's a subject for another blog.)
Back-story: my host family has been buying baby chicks for awhile this spring, in order to raise them for eggs and meat for the fall and winter. Eggs and meat are both expensive here in Ismayilli, and prices have risen considerably even in the short time I’ve been here.
The day that my family decided to go to Lahic, my host mother complained about how their dog would eat the eggs and the cat would attack and kill the chicks. She talked about taking the animals to Lahic. I thought she was joking. But when the taxi came, my host father brought around the dog and my host mother carried the cat. Both were placed in burlap sacks and put in the trunk. They explained to the driver, and to me, that they animals were to be released near villages along the road. They reassured me that the animals would be okay, and would get food.
Of course, the sight of animals in sacks was a bit shocking. But this is where the different cultures realization kicked in. And these moments are what Peace Corps is about. It’s not just about finding and building on the similarities between cultures but also sharing and accepting the differences.
It is strange to most of the world the way we treat animals. To many Americans, they are part of the family. But to many cultures, animals, even pets, are just animals. To my host family, the dog and cat were interfering and threatening their livelihood. They need the chickens to survive the winter, to afford food. If they’re being killed and eaten, the offending animals are threats. Bozdar was always kept on a short leash, and was pretty miserable, so really, being let free is for the best. Both animals were released near villages, so they’ll be able to find food and possibly new homes.
It is easy to get caught up in the initial response, that what my host parents did was wrong and cruel. And then rationality and anthropology kick in. They made their decision carefully, and for reasons that made sense to them. They had to do what they had to do. They do indeed come from a different cultural background. They are Azeri. That’s not necessarily righter or wronger than being from America; that’s the way they are.
(Granted, it's very easy also to get bogged down in the little, frustrating differences that get in the way of projects and daily life, but that's a subject for another blog.)
Back-story: my host family has been buying baby chicks for awhile this spring, in order to raise them for eggs and meat for the fall and winter. Eggs and meat are both expensive here in Ismayilli, and prices have risen considerably even in the short time I’ve been here.
The day that my family decided to go to Lahic, my host mother complained about how their dog would eat the eggs and the cat would attack and kill the chicks. She talked about taking the animals to Lahic. I thought she was joking. But when the taxi came, my host father brought around the dog and my host mother carried the cat. Both were placed in burlap sacks and put in the trunk. They explained to the driver, and to me, that they animals were to be released near villages along the road. They reassured me that the animals would be okay, and would get food.
Of course, the sight of animals in sacks was a bit shocking. But this is where the different cultures realization kicked in. And these moments are what Peace Corps is about. It’s not just about finding and building on the similarities between cultures but also sharing and accepting the differences.
It is strange to most of the world the way we treat animals. To many Americans, they are part of the family. But to many cultures, animals, even pets, are just animals. To my host family, the dog and cat were interfering and threatening their livelihood. They need the chickens to survive the winter, to afford food. If they’re being killed and eaten, the offending animals are threats. Bozdar was always kept on a short leash, and was pretty miserable, so really, being let free is for the best. Both animals were released near villages, so they’ll be able to find food and possibly new homes.
It is easy to get caught up in the initial response, that what my host parents did was wrong and cruel. And then rationality and anthropology kick in. They made their decision carefully, and for reasons that made sense to them. They had to do what they had to do. They do indeed come from a different cultural background. They are Azeri. That’s not necessarily righter or wronger than being from America; that’s the way they are.
The Storeys Visit Oz-erbaijan Part 3: Istanbul
Without the trip to Istanbul, having my parents visit and leave so quickly would have been pretty tough. But the trip gave us more time together, time during which I could relax and recharge after the week of translating and organizing everything. In Istanbul, I left the planning to my family, while I played lots of Angry Birds.
Our hotel was just about next door to the Blue Mosque (Sultanahmet Mosque), with a rooftop terrace that also allowed us to see the roof of Hagia Sophia peeking over the neighbr’s roof. Seeing these monumental buildings so close was almost like seeing the Taj Mahal in person, having to suppress a feeling of disbelief that such things are real. Hagia Sophia is 1,500 years old. That’s almost incomprehensible. It’s been a church, a mosque, and is now a museum.
Istanbul is more of a crossroads than Baku, and people there are more accustomed to foreigners. There were tourists everywhere, from huge tour buses from cruise ships to backpackers staying at hostels and everything in between. I heard French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, German, Turkish, and English. Store vendors would call to people to come to their shops, which quickly became tiring, but would result in some pretty funny comments. “You look like a potential carpet buyer.” And when turned down: “You break my heart. But I still love you!”
On Tuesday my family left, and I waved them off as the taxi pulled away. I was sad for them to leave of course, but had planned a long night of enjoying high speed Internet, Mexican food, and hot showers. But when I returned from dinner, the power had gone out in our block. “Only one hour,” the guy at the desk said. But it never came back. I ended up with a candle in my room that night and had to pack by crawling around on all fours to make sure I had everything that morning.
Travel was chaos throughout the trip. On the way to Istanbul, we hit a snag when it turned out the travel company my dad used booked me a week ahead of our actual flight date. We also discovered that when I booked my return flight, I had booked it for a month too late. So when I got to the Istanbul airport to fly back to Baku, I had to pay a penalty to move the flight reservation. To get back to Ismayilli, I had to take a bus from the airport to the metro station, and take the metro to a location near Peace Corps’ office and walk to the office (I decided against the two bus option). From there I had to take a city bus to the bus station, and a minibus back to Ismayilli. But now I’m back. I start up clubs again, hiking and playing baseball, and hopefully a few others in the pipeline.
Our hotel was just about next door to the Blue Mosque (Sultanahmet Mosque), with a rooftop terrace that also allowed us to see the roof of Hagia Sophia peeking over the neighbr’s roof. Seeing these monumental buildings so close was almost like seeing the Taj Mahal in person, having to suppress a feeling of disbelief that such things are real. Hagia Sophia is 1,500 years old. That’s almost incomprehensible. It’s been a church, a mosque, and is now a museum.
Istanbul is more of a crossroads than Baku, and people there are more accustomed to foreigners. There were tourists everywhere, from huge tour buses from cruise ships to backpackers staying at hostels and everything in between. I heard French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, German, Turkish, and English. Store vendors would call to people to come to their shops, which quickly became tiring, but would result in some pretty funny comments. “You look like a potential carpet buyer.” And when turned down: “You break my heart. But I still love you!”
On Tuesday my family left, and I waved them off as the taxi pulled away. I was sad for them to leave of course, but had planned a long night of enjoying high speed Internet, Mexican food, and hot showers. But when I returned from dinner, the power had gone out in our block. “Only one hour,” the guy at the desk said. But it never came back. I ended up with a candle in my room that night and had to pack by crawling around on all fours to make sure I had everything that morning.
Travel was chaos throughout the trip. On the way to Istanbul, we hit a snag when it turned out the travel company my dad used booked me a week ahead of our actual flight date. We also discovered that when I booked my return flight, I had booked it for a month too late. So when I got to the Istanbul airport to fly back to Baku, I had to pay a penalty to move the flight reservation. To get back to Ismayilli, I had to take a bus from the airport to the metro station, and take the metro to a location near Peace Corps’ office and walk to the office (I decided against the two bus option). From there I had to take a city bus to the bus station, and a minibus back to Ismayilli. But now I’m back. I start up clubs again, hiking and playing baseball, and hopefully a few others in the pipeline.
The Storeys Visit Oz-erbaijan Part 2: Ismayilli, Lahic, Sheki
Visiting my host family was the most nerve-wracking part of the trip. I wasn’t so much worried about how the two families would get on, but more about what we’d do and how much talking I’d have to do. The trip turned out to be both exhausting and exhilarating, proof for myself that my language was better than I often give myself credit for.
The first day was probably the busiest in terms of translating, and it wasn’t till we got to Istanbul that my mind really got to rest. Some brief respites came with visits from my sitemates, who helped give a tour of Ismayilli, and a neighbor English teacher. Still, my families had a lot to say to one another, and basically only me to do the saying. My host father has some English, and he quickly dubbed my sister Santa Elena, and gave her a nice book of traditional Azeri designs, writing a sweet dedication on the front page. My host mother welcomed us with a great lunch of plov and fresh veggies from the garden she had made for the occasion.
The next day we spent in Ismayilli, visiting my school and attending some of the clubs I do. My main counterpart, Humay, met us at the school, though it turned out the school director was in Baku. We joined my students for our hiking club, walking out to the big park and visiting the history museum there (where they have a real chunk of meteorite!) and Ismayilli’s Heydar Aliyev Museum. It was really fun for me to see how my students acted in these museums, truly rapt with attention, absorbing intently everything they saw.
During the day we had our big meal of the visit—sheep kebab. The reason this was a big deal was because it meant buying a sheep for the meal. And then having it killed, skinned, cut up, and then cooked on the grill. My family elected not to be present for most of this, so I had to be the messenger, running back and forth between host family and butcher and American family. When it came time to eat though, they were there.
That evening we went to baseball practice, which I run with my sitemate, Allie. It was so nice to have a couple other people giving the kids attention and encouragement. Once we’ve got enough equipment—which I’ve been told has finally arrived—we should really start having a lot of fun.
And so we come to the travel portion of my family’s visit. On Wednesday we went to Lahij, a small mountain town, and Thursday we went to Sheki, a larger historical town.
The night before Lahij, it had rained heavily, so we were worried that the road washed away. This is not an exaggeration. Well, the road was still there, so we went. Sheki was an easier, albeit longer, drive. Amusingly, the road to Sheki is good until you hit Qabala, where the president is rumored to have a home, and afterwards, the road gets bumpier and the light posts disappear. A might suspicious, methinks.
These two days made for fun days of exploration, not just for my family, but also for me. This was my first time in Sheki, and I got to play tour guide in Lahij.
The final night in Ismayilli, my host mother cooked some wonderful dolma, of the sort that is stuffed peppers, tomatoes, and eggplant. We were called away to meet my school director at the central park, but when we got back, we spent a while talking with my family, a nice, relaxing end to the trip. Sitting outside in the garden, amongst the flowers, under the stars.
The next morning we said a sweet goodbye. My host mother threw a glassful of water after our taxi (just the water, not the glass) as a sign of good luck.
I never doubted that my family would want to visit, and I have been fortunate that I have known they love me and are proud of me. I know that if I had chosen to do something besides Peace Corps, they would still have been proud of me. But their visit meant a lot to me, and having them see my clubs, school, and community was refreshing and encouraging.
The first day was probably the busiest in terms of translating, and it wasn’t till we got to Istanbul that my mind really got to rest. Some brief respites came with visits from my sitemates, who helped give a tour of Ismayilli, and a neighbor English teacher. Still, my families had a lot to say to one another, and basically only me to do the saying. My host father has some English, and he quickly dubbed my sister Santa Elena, and gave her a nice book of traditional Azeri designs, writing a sweet dedication on the front page. My host mother welcomed us with a great lunch of plov and fresh veggies from the garden she had made for the occasion.
The next day we spent in Ismayilli, visiting my school and attending some of the clubs I do. My main counterpart, Humay, met us at the school, though it turned out the school director was in Baku. We joined my students for our hiking club, walking out to the big park and visiting the history museum there (where they have a real chunk of meteorite!) and Ismayilli’s Heydar Aliyev Museum. It was really fun for me to see how my students acted in these museums, truly rapt with attention, absorbing intently everything they saw.
During the day we had our big meal of the visit—sheep kebab. The reason this was a big deal was because it meant buying a sheep for the meal. And then having it killed, skinned, cut up, and then cooked on the grill. My family elected not to be present for most of this, so I had to be the messenger, running back and forth between host family and butcher and American family. When it came time to eat though, they were there.
That evening we went to baseball practice, which I run with my sitemate, Allie. It was so nice to have a couple other people giving the kids attention and encouragement. Once we’ve got enough equipment—which I’ve been told has finally arrived—we should really start having a lot of fun.
And so we come to the travel portion of my family’s visit. On Wednesday we went to Lahij, a small mountain town, and Thursday we went to Sheki, a larger historical town.
The night before Lahij, it had rained heavily, so we were worried that the road washed away. This is not an exaggeration. Well, the road was still there, so we went. Sheki was an easier, albeit longer, drive. Amusingly, the road to Sheki is good until you hit Qabala, where the president is rumored to have a home, and afterwards, the road gets bumpier and the light posts disappear. A might suspicious, methinks.
These two days made for fun days of exploration, not just for my family, but also for me. This was my first time in Sheki, and I got to play tour guide in Lahij.
The final night in Ismayilli, my host mother cooked some wonderful dolma, of the sort that is stuffed peppers, tomatoes, and eggplant. We were called away to meet my school director at the central park, but when we got back, we spent a while talking with my family, a nice, relaxing end to the trip. Sitting outside in the garden, amongst the flowers, under the stars.
The next morning we said a sweet goodbye. My host mother threw a glassful of water after our taxi (just the water, not the glass) as a sign of good luck.
I never doubted that my family would want to visit, and I have been fortunate that I have known they love me and are proud of me. I know that if I had chosen to do something besides Peace Corps, they would still have been proud of me. But their visit meant a lot to me, and having them see my clubs, school, and community was refreshing and encouraging.
The Storeys Visit Oz-erbaijan Part 1: Baku
I’m back at site after what feels like forever and nothing. My family came for a week and then we went to Istanbul for five days. The experience of wandering the old section of Istanbul, of standing in front of the Hagia Sophia, and the long journey back, make it feel like I haven’t been to Ismayilli in months. At the same time, though, it feels as if I never left, and my family’s visit and our time in Istanbul are part of a long night’s sleep from which I have just woke from. But I have the memories, and more assuredly, the photos we took and the shirt I bought while there. I have food that my family brought in a suitcase filled to the brim. So they must have visited and we must have gone to Istanbul.
Before I could see my family, I had to wait through a two-day counterpart conference for the YDs. Now, that feels like it was ages ago. I can complain a lot about what we cover in these conferences is just repeating what we’ve heard and talked about (sometimes ad naeuseum), but after these conferences, I do always walk away with a renewed motivation for projects I could do. I enjoy hearing what others are doing, and thinking about how those projects could be done at my site. Some, I have brought to Ismayilli, some I’ll have to wait to do when school starts back up (I am now without an organization since the school is locked at the end of the month). I was also happy with how my counterpart reacted and understood the conference. She’s an older teacher, but probably the best English teacher in the rayon, and has known a number of volunteers over the years. Maybe not the best choice in regards to sustainability, but someone who I knew would understand and appreciate the ideas from the conference.
So I made it through the conference, and the morning came to meet my parents and sister. I took my bag to our hotel—early, as it turns out, and was unable to check in. Definitely flustered the kid at the desk, who told me he was new. Sorry, kiddo. Then I took the subway to the station nearest the airport, and went in search of a bus. The bus I found that said it went to the airport ended up stopping at the end of the long road to the airport, and I was forced to cross the highway, hopping the meridian on the way, and walk the rest of the way. The security at the airport had no problem with this. A couple funny stares, but that was it. I brought a book with me, which came in handy. I had a minor freak out at the beginning because my family’s flight wasn’t on the Big Board. The only flight from Istanbul was in five hours. “I’m going to need another book,” I thought, before realizing that there were two waiting areas for flights, and I had to go next door. It still felt like an interminable wait, but finally, they emerged from customs.
We checked to make sure we were real, got some money changed, and I got to show off my dazzling Azeri haggling over a taxi. They were satisfactorily impressed with Baku’s construction as we went, and immediately loved to Old City (Icheri Sheher) architecture. After being allowed to check in, freshening up, and checking out the Suitcase of Wonder (complete with New Yorkers, honey, Pop-Tarts, and Frosted Mini-Wheats—it’s really all about the food), we headed out to wander around the city. By that I mean, we went to get gelato, with a tour of the city on the way. For dinner that night, we met with my younger host brother, Orxan, and went to the Karavansari, a restaurant in one of the old centers where traveling caravans would stay. There was even traditional music and a man who stood on swords and nails and spat fire (not so traditional).
The next day we climbed the Maiden’s Tower and visited the Peace Corps office, where my family got to meet a bunch of volunteers. My parents enjoyed comparing to the offices when they were volunteers. Amidst the tourist must sees and wanderings through the Old City area, we also got Lebanese food and more gelato. That night’s dinner was at a German restaurant called simply, The Brewery, which is Azerbaijan’s only microbrewery. My LCF, Rashad, joined us and lied his pants off saying nice things about me. Bless him.
That was our time in Baku. It was two days of wonderful eating. It reminded me a little of when they would visit during college, and we’d go out to eat at the nice places that I couldn’t afford. The next morning, thanks to help from my older host brother, Seymur, we were off to Ismayilli.
Before I could see my family, I had to wait through a two-day counterpart conference for the YDs. Now, that feels like it was ages ago. I can complain a lot about what we cover in these conferences is just repeating what we’ve heard and talked about (sometimes ad naeuseum), but after these conferences, I do always walk away with a renewed motivation for projects I could do. I enjoy hearing what others are doing, and thinking about how those projects could be done at my site. Some, I have brought to Ismayilli, some I’ll have to wait to do when school starts back up (I am now without an organization since the school is locked at the end of the month). I was also happy with how my counterpart reacted and understood the conference. She’s an older teacher, but probably the best English teacher in the rayon, and has known a number of volunteers over the years. Maybe not the best choice in regards to sustainability, but someone who I knew would understand and appreciate the ideas from the conference.
So I made it through the conference, and the morning came to meet my parents and sister. I took my bag to our hotel—early, as it turns out, and was unable to check in. Definitely flustered the kid at the desk, who told me he was new. Sorry, kiddo. Then I took the subway to the station nearest the airport, and went in search of a bus. The bus I found that said it went to the airport ended up stopping at the end of the long road to the airport, and I was forced to cross the highway, hopping the meridian on the way, and walk the rest of the way. The security at the airport had no problem with this. A couple funny stares, but that was it. I brought a book with me, which came in handy. I had a minor freak out at the beginning because my family’s flight wasn’t on the Big Board. The only flight from Istanbul was in five hours. “I’m going to need another book,” I thought, before realizing that there were two waiting areas for flights, and I had to go next door. It still felt like an interminable wait, but finally, they emerged from customs.
We checked to make sure we were real, got some money changed, and I got to show off my dazzling Azeri haggling over a taxi. They were satisfactorily impressed with Baku’s construction as we went, and immediately loved to Old City (Icheri Sheher) architecture. After being allowed to check in, freshening up, and checking out the Suitcase of Wonder (complete with New Yorkers, honey, Pop-Tarts, and Frosted Mini-Wheats—it’s really all about the food), we headed out to wander around the city. By that I mean, we went to get gelato, with a tour of the city on the way. For dinner that night, we met with my younger host brother, Orxan, and went to the Karavansari, a restaurant in one of the old centers where traveling caravans would stay. There was even traditional music and a man who stood on swords and nails and spat fire (not so traditional).
The next day we climbed the Maiden’s Tower and visited the Peace Corps office, where my family got to meet a bunch of volunteers. My parents enjoyed comparing to the offices when they were volunteers. Amidst the tourist must sees and wanderings through the Old City area, we also got Lebanese food and more gelato. That night’s dinner was at a German restaurant called simply, The Brewery, which is Azerbaijan’s only microbrewery. My LCF, Rashad, joined us and lied his pants off saying nice things about me. Bless him.
That was our time in Baku. It was two days of wonderful eating. It reminded me a little of when they would visit during college, and we’d go out to eat at the nice places that I couldn’t afford. The next morning, thanks to help from my older host brother, Seymur, we were off to Ismayilli.
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