What Kind of Years Have They Been

I write this as an RPCV.  That's weird to say, much less to think about.  Twenty six months ago, I arrived in Baku, Azerbaijan, without any real idea of what the next two years of my life would be like.  These past two years have exceded, smashed and otherwise baffled any and all attempts at forming expectations.  Two years are hard to predict (as long as you're not Nate Silver), and these past two years have certainly been filled with the unexpected.  There have been tears and frustration, but also cheers and celebration.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.  During our exit interviews, most everyone is asked by the country director what we would do differently in our service.  I could not think of a single thing.  Sure, there were parts of my service that were difficult, there were times when I wanted to run off screaming and never come back or rip off the head of the next person that crossed my path.  But all of the difficult experiences of the past two years (never mind the past twenty five years of my life) were a specific, informative, and important part of my service, without which I would be a different person now.  And so I take it all.  The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful.

My service ended in an emotional place, as do most peoples'.  Saying goodbye is never easy, of course.  Peace Corps phases us out over the course of a month, with five people leaving three or four days each week.  In my life, I have been the person that leaves and the person that is left, and while both are difficult, I will take leaving every time.  I was in the third week of COSes and while I knew and was happy for the people, many of whom were my closest friends, it became increasingly lonely in Ismayilli without them in country.  I found myself reaching for my cell phone to call or send a message and realizing that they couldn't receive it.

But of course, eventually, I was also the one who was leaving.  Saying goodbye to my school was relatively easy, as the week preceding my departure was autumn break, and there were no classes.  Before the break, my school director and some teachers organized a small party and bought a cake, which was both figuratively and literally sweet.  I finally got around to purchasing the apple tree saplings that we decided to plant at school after the students won the Earth Week art contest.  The logistics of that purchase and delivery to school was enough to ease the departure a bit.

Much harder was the process of saying goodbye to my host family (and my puppy).  I still vividly remember arriving in Ismayilli and meeting my host father at the park near my home, wondering who this strange man was, and trying to find my place in their home over the next few months.  Now, two years later, I feel like a member of their family, their third son (and fourth child, counting a former PCV that lived with them as well). As a present, I gave them an electronic photo album with a flash drive of all the pictures I've taken of the family from my service.    We then spent the evening looking through the pictures, remembering each event that we shared.

A few days before I left Ismayilli, I celebrated my birthday.  I have now been fortunate to have had three birthdays in Azerbaijan, each one special in its own way.  The first fell during PST, and the other volunteers from Xirdalan all came over and they cooked a fantastic spaghetti meal that we had been craving since we arrived.  My second was a small dinner (well, small in number of people, large in amount of food) with my host parents, and my host mother baked me a fantastic cake.  This third time was also with the host family, and my host brother made a special trip out to Ismayilli to share it with me.  The day after my birthday, a number of the boys from the Ismayilli softball team stopped by to wish me well, and one of them surprised me with a framed photo collage of pictures he'd copied from Facebook of the team.

As it is Thanksgiving, and while I sit alone in a hostel in Istanbul, I know that I have been fortunate in my life.  I would not have completed my Peace Corps service without the friends and family I have found in this country, nor those back home who I still love and am excited to see again in just a few weeks.  I am immensely thankful for you all.   Happy Thanksgiving and Cox Sag Olun.

Two Years

Two years ago today, September 22, I met 62 other people, people fresh out of college, people who had left the job market after a number of years, people who had retired, people who were about to step into the unknown.  We came together in a hotel in Philadelphia, said goodbye to our loved ones, filled out some paperwork, and the next day, boarded a bus which took us to New York City to fly to Azerbaijan, a country of almost 9 million Muslims.  Two years ago, we circled each other warily, trying to determine who these people with whom we had volunteered to spend the next 27 months of our lives were.  It seems like a lifetime ago.  It seems like yesterday.

I know I wrote something similar last year at this time.   This year, I write this in the wake of a series of protests that have swept the Muslim world, reacting to an atrocious video that depicts the worst, most degrading and insulting stereotypes and misconceptions about Islam that anyone could possibly have made.  I know, I’ve watched the video twice.  My host family asked me to translate it.  I sat in front of the computer screen, unable to comprehend what I was watching.  In part, this was due to the fact that, in addition to being an offensive and degrading, it’s a horribly made movie with almost no thread connecting scene to scene.  It’s bad in every possible sense of the word.

I didn’t start writing today to review the film.  I wanted to write because on this date, I celebrate living in a Muslim country.  Azerbaijan is not a perfect country, and its people are not perfect.  Of course they’re not, no one is.  But it is important to remember that while some people who practice Islam have killed and are killing throughout the world, they do not represent the entire faith.  I hope the images of people from Libya have reached the American media, images of men, women and children holding signs apologizing and condemning those that turned to violence in the wake of the attacks.  These Muslims honored and celebrated the work of Chris Stevens, the ambassador to Libya, and a former Peace Corps Volunteer. 

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/13/libyan-peace-rally-slams-terrorism-offers-apology-for-attack_n_1881798.html

For two years, I have had the pleasure to live amongst some of the kindest and most welcoming people I have ever met.  The two families I have lived with while serving here in Azerbaijan, particularly my family in Ismayilli, have treated me as one of their sons.  When I am ill, they take care of me.  When I am happy, they celebrate my achievements.  When I am frustrated, they listen while I vent.  When it is my birthday, they baked me a cake, and made me a birthday dinner.  They shared their holidays, their ideas, their beliefs, their lives, with me.  The generosity they have shown myself and other Peace Corps volunteers who have visited is the greatest thing I will miss when I return.  They make me happy to have guests, they make me proud for people to know I live with them.

I have had the fortune to live in two predominantly Muslim countries in my life.  For nearly four years, my family lived in Jakarta, Indonesia.  We were there when the World Trade Center was attacked.  And while security at our school increased, and some of our friends moved home, we never felt as if we were in danger.  Our neighborhood was not the area where a large number of expats lived.  It was our families, our Dutch neighbors, and Indonesians, all centered around the local mosque.  Our neighbors came to us, and told us that we never had to worry; they would watch out for us. 

These countries do no represent the entire Muslim world, just as the United States does not represent all of the West, or all of Christendom.  But here I am, having lived through six years in two different Muslim countries, and I have never felt safer as an American than I have in these homes.  For over a quarter of my life, I have lived with caring and thoughtful people.  These years have been some of the most memorable and formative moments of my life, and to the people, the families, the Muslims, that have been a part of my life, I thank you.

UPDATE: Word has hit the media that protests have started in Baku, though the police halted them and many who were involved in any violence have been taken to jail.  The fact that protests have begun here in no way changes how I feel about my time here, nor does it change any of my feelings about safety here in Ismayilli.

Let's Stomp on Some Wool

Winter’s coming!  Not tomorrow or anything, but the time has come to really start getting ready.  My host mother has been pickling tomatoes and garlic, bottling juice, and putting other foods away for the winter.  Even as school begins again, I have been drafted into the preparations.  Two weeks ago, with a bucket in hand, I went out into the yard to collect hazelnuts.  My family has about 10 hazelnut trees in the yard.  To get all the nuts, I had to go around to each tree, and shake it as hard as I could, then gather up all the nuts that had fallen on the ground.

They also have a bunch of apple trees around the yard, and when it came time to climb up the ladder to get the high up apples, guess who got the call.  My host father set the ladder and I slowly climbed as high as I could.  With his guidance, I reached all around, plucking ripe apples and passing them on down to him.  I was maybe only six feet up, but those branches were not the sturdiest things in the world and there were probably some close calls.  That would have been a fun call to the PC Medical Officer on duty. “Hello, Nate, how are you?”  “Me?  Oh, I’m fine, except, well, I just fell out of a tree.”

A few days ago, it became time to re-stuff the mattresses, blankets and pillows with wool.  So my host mother came home from the bazaar with bags and bags of wool.  This is wool that she carefully compared and evaluated before buying.  She knows her wool.  But the wool isn’t ready right away.  It’s dirty, and has stuff in it from the sheep hanging out in the pasture and rolling in who knows what.  So we have to clean the wool.  This involves soaking the wool in wash bins, and stomping on it like grapes for wine.  This became my job, and after getting over the initial cold-water shock, it was a lot of fun. 

While I was stomping, we had some great conversations about doing this sort of work at home versus leaving it to factories versus artificial materials.  Does it really make a difference?  In a country such as Azerbaijan, where infrastructure is hazy, than it certainly does matter, and I understand completely why people do this sort of work at home.  I’d grow my own food and make my own mattresses, too.  And I genuinely think that a bit more of this would do the US some good as well.  It’s become so easy to just drive over to Walmart or Target to get whatever we need (in bulk!), we forget some of the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment and knowledge of a job done well with quality goods that comes from house work.  Sometimes I get tired of the amount of work that hast to be done around here just to get by, but at the end of the day, there’s something to this way of life.  Slow food movements and the like are definitely more attractive now.  With that, here’s a picture of me stomping on wool.  

Road to COS: Tests are Testing

I got back from Baku yesterday after taking care of several items on a growing checklist of things I have to do before I COS in late November.  This trip, I was able to knock out my COS doctor and dentist appointments and then the final language performance test (LPI).

I’m not a huge fan of visits to the doctor or dentist in the US.  Call it a masculine shortcoming, a lingering distrust stemming from a childhood dentist with large hands, whatever.  Our physicals and dental check ups at MSC (mid-service conference) were less than thorough though, so I wanted to make sure I got myself all checked out this time around.  This meant giving quite a number of samples of various sorts to the doctor.  The dentist went well, though it was decidedly painful, thanks to a certain electric scraping tool that was very unpleasant.  No cavities, so that’s something.

The LPI is a 20-minute conversation to assess our Azerbaijani language abilities after two years.  This is our third testing, the first at the end of training, and the second during MSC.  It’s one of those things that shouldn’t be stressful—after all, we are all able to operate in our communities and get anything we want there—but puts everyone on edge anyway.  There’s something about being graded and ranked that raises people’s hackles, a mixture of wanting to do well and be graded highly and to demonstrate that we’re not stupid, that we actually do know how to do whatever task we’re being graded on.

All the LPIs are recorded, so that the entire language staff can listen and assess.  If anything, I find that to be the most stressful part of the experience.  I’ve just spoken for twenty minutes, and have to wait another few weeks while the staff finds an opportune moment to listen and assess.  At that point, it’s all about the words, and the rest of the conversation goes out the window.  To me, the “um’s,” “uh’s,” and stammers are suddenly more noticeable.  Of course, it's always worse in the anticipation of the thing, and the actual LPI went quickly, and hopefully, well.  I'm currently waiting to hear back about the results, so we shall see.

After all that time spent being prodded and poked, physically and mentally, there was only one way to make up for it all: Baku food.  That’s what it all comes back to in Baku, and it was especially nice since there were a number of other PCVs in Baku for their own tests.  Burgers at Shamrock, funnel cake doughnuts, and a brand new pizza/health spa that opened up around the corner from the PC office.  

A Little Toy Story

I was tricked.  I came home from grocery shopping for dinner and my host father called me over.  “Do you want to go to a wedding [in Azerbaijani, a wedding is called a toy]?” he asked.  Weddings are a big deal here.  Food, dancing, drinking, loud live music.  One of the main cultural interactions PCVs have is wedding attendance.  Other PCVs have been invited to dozens of weddings.  I’ve gone to two.  One I was invited to, and the other I tagged along with my host mother.  So when my host father asked, I was a little excited.  I wanted to compare to my other wedding experiences.  So I said yes, definitely.  “Will you bring this money with you when you go?” my host father asked.  Drat, I knew then I’d be going alone.  And then he handed me the invitation.  It wasn’t actually a wedding, it was what is called a Kichik toy (kee-cheek), or “little wedding,” and is actually a large celebration commemorating the circumcision of a young boy. 

Circumcisions here are not performed at birth, but as in a number of Muslim countries, occurs when the boy is slightly older, usually, it seems around 6-8 years old.  I’ve heard of some host families that will wait to have one party for two brothers to save money, which can sometimes result in one boy being a young teenager at the time.  Yikes.

The party was a little awkward at first.  It wasn’t too strange that I would go alone, as I know the lucky youth’s father, a friend of my host family and a regular taxi driver.  He drove my family to Sheki during their visit last summer.  But besides him, I knew no one, and arrived at the party while he was running a quick errand.  So I stood awkwardly for a few moments until someone came over and ushered me to a chair.  There were about a dozen tables set up on the porch and yard with food and drinks set out to eat until the main course was prepared.  A man with a large camera floated around the party, filming everything from people talking to eating and sipping their soda to dancing and singing.  I sat with a group mostly made up of older men.  After learning about my work, they welcomed me and thanked me for working in Ismayilli, and as is tradition at parties and celebrations here, libations ensued.  And then some more. 

Like most weddings, this “little wedding” featured a live guitarist and singer.  Guitar music is interesting here, as they play largely just the two higher strings and ignore the other three.  During the main course, the singers performed and in between songs handed over the microphone to various guests to give toasts.  Most toasts say the same thing, thanking the host, congratulating him, and wishing them a good life or fortune.  At the past wedding, I was one of many in the hall.  This was at a home, and had a much smaller attendance.  I stood out a bit more, and as a result, I was urged repeatedly to give a toast.  When I gave in, they made sure the camera got in nice and close.  Thank you Mr. Seville.  I did the best I could and there was applause and I was ushered with the rest of the table onto the dance floor, which as people finished eating, had been cleared of some of the nearby tables.

Eventually, the others at my table got up to leave, and I took the opportunity to slip out as well.  Before leaving, I said a final goodbye to the host and his son.  The boy was nervous, but I have a suspicion that was more due to the large number of strange people (especially the weird white guy with blonde hair) that were hanging around his house than any expectations for what was about to happen to him in a few hours.  I’ve heard some stories about reusing kitchen scissors for the deed, and my heart goes out to them.  From others, though, I have heard that it doesn’t hurt that much, and that they just enjoyed the attention and pampering.   Either way, I’m glad that I don’t have to deal with the issue.  This is one tradition that I don’t intend to bring back with me from Azerbaijan.  Novruz, samovar tea, fresh fruits and vegetables from home gardens, I’ll keep all of those.  But “little weddings” can stay here.

Summer's Gone in Ismayilli

Yes, summer’s officially over, both physically and metaphorically, here in Ismayilli.  The last few days have been rainy and cold.  It’s officially September.  Summer’s over.

But the larger summer, the one that meant that worries about the future were still far away, is over, too.  The AZ8s (and two extended AZ7s) just returned from our Close of Service (COS) conference.  The conference was held at a water park/hotel on the northern coast of the Absheron peninsula, north of Baku, and on the Caspian Sea shore.  We spent just about all our possible free time going down water slides in definitely unsafe numbers (we got a 23 person centipede once, but even we acknowledged there were some health risks there), and dancing and swimming in the sea.  I can now check off swimming in the Caspian off my pre-COS bucket list.  There were also some sessions about post-COS medical issues and how to readjust to life back in the US, and probably some other stuff, too, but we were too excited to get back out on the slides.

The conference was also the last time we would all be together.  After this, we’ll see the PCVs nearby, or the ones we’re closest with, but there are a large number of PCVs we won’t see again.  Even the PCVs who are nearby here, the realization becomes more and more concrete, will be a bit further away in the US.  We’re going from a country the size of Maine to the entire USA. 

Back from COS and now that it’s September, November doesn’t seem that far away any more.  As long as it was August, November was still ages away.  August is summer, and November is almost December.  Ages and ages.  But now it’s September, and COS is right around the corner.  It’s time to actually plan and think about and act on plans for what happens next, whether it be graduate school or work, or something else entirely.  Applications need to be filled out, letters of recommendation need to be requested, and statements of purpose need to be written. 

There are plenty of PC paperwork and administrative work to be done.  It is a government organization, after all.  Doctor and dentist appointments have to be made.  A final language assessment, and interviews with our program managers and country director.  We have to write final reports on our projects, sites and organizations.  And find time to get in to Baku to return the PC-owned sleeping bags, water filters, and dictionaries.

On top of all those plans, we all have to decide how to wrap up and end our services in a meaningful and satisfactory way, both for ourselves and our communities.  Two months of school isn’t enough for another big project or a club to have full progression.  But there’s still plenty to do.  At the end of the school year, I ran a week long Earth Week celebration, with each day’s activities based on a different theme (I helped different teachers lead each day).  The week was planned by the PCV Environmental Committee, and culminated in an art contest.  Our students won, by creating a robot statue out of recycled bottles and cartons, a 30 manat grant for another environmental project.  So that will be one of my goals during the next few months. 

I have slowly been organizing my classroom into a resource room for the school, and finishing that will be another goal.  The walls are now covered with posters and maps from National Geographic (thanks to a wonderful grandparental contribution), and the room is slowly becoming stocked with books, magazines and arts and crafts supplies.

Finally, baseball continues!  Ismayilli had a very strong spring/summer season.  After renaming ourselves the Dragons and making team shirts from a homemade cardboard stencil, the boys have won all of their in-conference games and only lost two games total.  The boys are getting pretty big for their britches, but are extremely excited at the prospect of an overnight championship tournament in Baku in early November.

One of the things I’m most looking forward to is not work-related.  One of the last nights I’ll be in Ismayilli will be for my birthday, which I’ll get to share with my host family one last time.  Seems like a pretty good way to cap off two years.

Host Families

Recently, Peace Corps in Azerbaijan has been enacting a new practice during the site location process.  When an organization applies to host a PCV, they also include a list of potential host families for the PCV.  The Housing Coordinator then visits these families, to ascertain whether the conditions are appropriate for PCVs.  A reminder: PCVs live with host families during their training (the first four months in country), and then must stay with a host family for the first four months at their sites.  After that time, they are welcome to continue living with a host family under a new contract, or find alternative, independent housing.  At that stage, finding a place to live is on the PCV, but for the first eight months, we rely on the wisdom and judgment of the Housing Coordinator. 

Recently, PCVs have been invited to these meetings with prospective host families.  Our housing coordinator arrived around 10 and we went first to School #2, actually for my first time, and wow was it a surprisingly nice school.  Not that my school is bad or anything, but my school is #3.  This was #2.  At the school, we met a man and woman who knew which families were being considered for host families.  The first was a bit far from the school, away from the paved roads.  With shortcuts, it’d probably be quicker than if you followed the road, but it was still a bit off the beaten track.  The family there seemed nice, and had two young children who were shy and adorable. 

The second family was closer to the school and seemed phenomenal.  They were friendly and open, and had a large yard.  The prospective host mother was a teacher, which is nice because it give a PCV someone who understands the issues they’re going through at work.  Many host families write that they would only be interested in having a female PCV.  This is largely due to expectations of American men based on what people have seen on television and movies.  In reaction, they have unrealistic expectations of how men would act and treat others, and as result are hesitant to allow one to live with them.  One of the Housing Coordinator’s jobs is to convince people to consider a male PCV.  I hope that having me along on the visits helped.  I don’t think I’m particularly scary or threatening, and hopefully seeing what a male PCV looks and acts like helped ease their reservations.  In any event, they agreed to consider hosting a male, at least for the time being.  

The third family lived in a small apartment, and were concerned with cleanliness, a common issue for people here, who do spend a considerable amount of time keeping their homes clean.  They were kind, and their main drawback was the size of their apartment.  The last family had a daughter who was an English teacher at another school, which could be great for a PCV, and had a huge yard and garden.  

Not all of these families are perfect, but all could be strong hosts for future PCVs.  There are pros and cons to each and every family, and in big way, it is up to the PCV and family to work together to make the most of the situation.  A 10 minute visit when subtitles and details are lost to me isn't enough to know for sure how they'll react to a strange person living in their homes for four months.  Fortunately, hearing the Housing Coordinator's thoughts on each family at the end of the day, I feel he will make a good choice.

Visiting these other families caused me to reflect some on my own host family.  I was extremely fortunate to be placed with this family.  I remember when I first arrived, the trepidation and awkwardness I felt was extremely strong.  My host father met us in the park nearby, and we came to the house.  He showed me to my room and left me to unpack and come to lunch.  But, over time, and especially now that I see the potential new families, I know I was lucky that they had had volunteers before, one male and one female, so they knew some of what to expect.  They have two sons, one a few years older, one a few months younger, both of whom have been present in Ismayilli for significant periods of my service.  This has made up for Ismayilli being a smaller site with, at present, only one other PCV.  It’s given me a friend to spend time with.  My host parents are generous and considerate, giving me space, but also willing to share experiences.  I have my own kitchen year round, but am regularly invited to eat with them and drink tea with them in the evenings.  They’re interested in my stories, and share plenty of their own stories, thoughts, and jokes.  My American family visited last summer, and they enjoy meeting any other PCVs that come to stay from across Azerbaijan.  We recently crammed three guests into my room for a Lahic visit, and were all invited to tea from the samovar. 

Seeing these new families that are possibly about to embark on a journey similar to the one we have gone through the past two years, it has become even more meaningful that I was placed here.  If one were the type to believe in such things, and at times, I am, it must have been fate.

Patriotism and the Olympics

There are two times that are sure to raise my patriotic hackles.  One is living abroad, and another is the Olympics.  When I live in the US, it is easy to find fault and see the errors in the system.  The education system, the economy, the constant election cycle, drivers, artificial foods, etc etc etc.  But then I move abroad, and suddenly those issues are further away, less important, and generally, America looks pretty good next to a large part of the world.  I remember always that it has its problems—problems that are not going away any time soon—but maybe it’s a sign of our attention spans and the human mind that it’s the problems in front of us that seem the most important.

The other time when my patriotism runs rampant is during the Olympics.  I love the Olympics.  Summer or winter.  Doesn't matter.  I love that they show sports you wouldn't normally see on TV.  Luge, curling, skiing, and bobsled in the winter.  Track and field, swimming, diving, gymnastics, canoeing, wrestling, triathlon and pentathlon in the summer.  The Olympics are awesome.

Sure, I like it when the underdog wins a medal for the first time (Go Albania, Kiribati, Swaziland!).  This year, I’m especially happy for my host country, Azerbaijan, as they send their largest number of athletes to the games.  In particular, their wrestling team is making waves, at least on the commercial circuit, in their Febreze ads.  No wrestling medals yet, but Azerbaijan has won a bronze in weighlifting.

There are exceptions—I will just about always root against the US basketball team, because it always seems to be made up of the biggest stars, not the best team players.  Granted, I know this can apply to other sports and players. 

When it comes down to it, though, when the runners/swimmers/rowers/archers/gymnsts/you name it are coming down the stretch or entering the finals, I will root for the US.  Red, white and blue, all the way!  Oh, say can you see!  U-S-A!  U-S-A!

Keeping My Head in the Game

As I wrote in a previous post, ABLE was the main focus of my service for quite some time.  We all put a lot of energy and attention into the camp in order to insure that it took place and went smoothly.  This attention, along with our absences from our sites at the middle of the summer caused other programs and projects to suffer some inevitable neglect.  It is very easy for kids to drift away if a program is not active consistently.  So, now that ABLE is over, I find myself in a vacuum of sorts.  I have recovered from the exhaustion that immediately followed the end of camp, but now what?  School is still out, and the doors are locked for summer. 

I find myself taking time for myself, perhaps more than I should.  I have spent time researching and planning for my return to the United States in a few months.  November 21 is coming faster and faster.  A moment ago, it was the beginning of summer, and now it is August.  At the end of the month, we will have our COS (Close of Service) Conference, the last time our AZ8 group will all be together.  There, we will discuss some of the issues I find myself facing now, such as what to do with the remaining time we have, how to wrap up our service in a meaningful way (for ourselves and for our community), and what we need to do before we leave (doctor’s appointments, language tests, etc). 

In preparation for my return, I hope to take the GRE sometime this fall, which means study and planning.  I haven’t taken a math course since high school, so I’m a bit rusty in some areas.  Gettysburg required a quantitative reasoning class, which I fulfilled with Logic.  The ideas and practices of algebra and geometry are locked in my brain somewhere, but uncovering and revitalizing them has been a challenge.

The more abundant free time I find myself with now has provided me with the opportunity to pursue something that has been lacking in my life here—exercise.  This wouldn’t have happened without the timely return of my host brother, Orxan.  With his enthusiasm and encouragement, we have begun going to the local Olympic complex swimming pool three mornings a week.  At night, we go to the park for ping-pong and beer, and usually attract a bit of a crowd, though I'm hardly the best of players.  Truly the sport of champions.  It’s in the Olympics, after all!

Of course, I have to work.  It’s just that right now, in the heart of the YD season, I feel as if there’s not much to do.  I’ve lost my students for the most part, though there are small groups that meet with me for conversation and English help.  I’ve been helping a local friend as he attempt to apply to graduate school in the US, proofing his statement of purpose.  In the meantime, I wait, and look forward to school coming back.  Most YDs are at their best in the summers, and until ABLE ended, I was one of them.  But as a YD at a school, I find myself in the position of many TEFL volunteers, without a work home.  It is this lack of an organization that makes it even more important that I plan for the near future.  I’m beginning to feel my last chance to leave an impression on my school, teachers, and students, and I hope not to waste it.  It’s still summer, but the end is coming.  

Are You ABLE?

Forgive me, this is a long one.

The last few months—really the past year, but more so the last few months—have been dedicated primarily to one project: ABLE, the Azerbaijan Boys Leadership Experience Camp.  It hasn’t been just myself, of course.  ABLE is planned and run by a group of Peace Corps and Azerbaijani volunteers.  Without each and every one of us, the camp would not have been possible.  Not everyone could attend the camp, as opposed to last year when there was more than enough money, and to the PCVs that were involved and played a vital role in the planning, but sacrificed their spots at camp for others, I thank you. 

Last year, I was only peripherally involved during the planning stages of camp, becoming more involved in June at Training of Trainers and then at camp in July.  I kind of lucked into it, since I went to Christmas at the home of one of the AZ7s leading the camp.  The rest sort of followed from there, and while at camp, we AZ8s gathered to create a plan for the next year. 

The past year of planning the camp has not been easy, but has been valuable experience for all of us.  For the past several years, a large portion of the project has been funded by a single organization, and when it came time to hear back, we were shocked to find that instead of a deduction as we suspected might happen, we were turned down outright.  As a result, we had to seek alternative funding from local and international sources.  In the end, we were not able to fund the camp to the same price we were accustomed to, but after lowering the number of students to 33 and finding a cheaper site, as well as requiring Peace Corps Volunteers to pay for some of their meals, we were able to fund the camp.  Of course, there was some wonderful drama at the end about whether the money would arrive in time; we had all the money we needed by the end of camp.

I had the pleasure of attending camp all week this year as one of the leaders.  As soon as I returned from Greece, I turned around and rushed off to the Training of Trainers, a two night conference at the camp site at which we prepared the Azeri counterparts to be leaders at the camp and conduct the lessons of the camp on topics such as teamwork, community, leadership and volunteerism.  Four days later, camp began.  The first day was spent getting to know each other, and the boys were split into four teams, which they named the Black Eagles, the Grey Wolves, the Last ALBEGA (referring to Alpha-Beta-Gamma Rays) and the Best Crazies.  They also designed emblems and wrote team cheers.

Each full day of camp this year was built around a theme.  Day 2 (first full day): Leadership.  We started with one of the (to me) more interesting new activities we added this year.  We split the boys into three groups, and assigned each group a governmental model (democracy, anarchy and dictatorship), and under that system, they had to build a bridge out of paper, cardboard, and tape.  We were a little worried that the dictatorship group would be the best, thus invalidating our argument that democracy is best, but it worked out all right, if not perfectly.  Actually the dictatorship group was my favorite, as the smallest boy at camp was chosen to be dictator, and he promptly had everyone bow down to him. 

Later, we broke the camp into two and sent two groups on Nature Scavenger Hunts and two to do Team Building Challenge Activities.  The boys had a lot of fun with the Trust Falls, and were definitely challenged by the 3-D Spider Web.

The only downside to the camp so far came as one of the boys was particularly homesick.  A really interesting boy who is particularly interested in technology, this boy’s homesickness would be a recurring issue at camp, though when we started including him in filming and photography, and by the end of camp, he was smiling more and more.

Day 3: Environment

Today started off rough, with rain pouring into the early afternoon.  We were able to plan around it and use the pavilion and sheltered tables for activities, though.  This proved to be a big day.  We painted t-shirts, using stencils and spray paint for each team.  The boys then styled their new shirts and wore then throughout the week. 

Today was pretty much the day of the Guest Speakers.  First up were the Ganja Green Bicycles Club and Environment Clubs.  These were the two most highly reviewed speakers, and they had the boys interested and active through the talk.  Almost unanimously the favorite guest, they were even better than last year. 

That would have been enough for any day, but they were topped that evening when Adam Sterling, the Charges d’Affairs of the US Embassy visited with Farah Xan, an embassy employee.  Together, they spoke about gender and human rights issues, drawing on personal experience to explain their views.  Sterling, for instance, explained how he grew up in a home with a strong female role model, which has helped him prepare for his current line of work where he is working for a strong woman, Hilary Clinton.

After dinner, Mr. Sterling, an avid Mets fan, played wiffleball with the boys.  Despite some unlucky at bats, he seemed to have a good time, and was active in the field.

Day 4: Human Rights

This was one of the hardest days for the boys.  Today was the day we handicapped them.  For both breakfast and lunch, we blindfolded or tied the hands of half the boys, while the other half had to assist them in eating.  Many of the boys did not take to this easily and resisted to the point where they refused to eat.  Others found it more interesting or fun, and tried getting into feeling for their glass and silverware.  When we finally allowed them to take the blindfolds off at the end, there was a huge gasp of relief.

That night, though, was the biggest event of camp.  Not the most informative or educational, but definitely the most fun.  At Training of Trainers, we devised an elaborate nighttime challenge run, based on the scenario that the boys had crashed on an alien planet and had to find a way back home.  Along the way, they had to complete challenges while being attacked by PCVs wielding water balloons.  We were a little worried the boys would be scared (last year’s campfire ghost stories resulted in some long nights), but they all came back to the starting point with huge grins and shouted explanations of what they did and how they did everything.

Day 5: Health

Somehow the boys were still waking up before us today.  Their bodies are just different at that age, I guess.  We were mostly all zombies this morning, with large portions of coffee to get us going. 

 One of the normal highlights for PCVs, Capture the Flag, backfired a bit.  I mean that we didn't dominate the boys the way we normally do.  How disappointing!  This isn't just a big deal us, but the boys are also often big fans.  We start by having the kids play against each other and then pit them against us, forcing them to use more strategy.  Our surprise attack failed this year when they saw it coming and beat us to the flag, winning out by their larger numbers.

Really the best part of the day wasn’t until the evening, when we had our annual end of camp talent show.  This year, each team had to perform together, and were judged by a combination of PCV and Azeri leader judges.  They channeled their inner Simon’s and Paula’s and the boys got a huge kick out of their antics.  In the end we also got in on the act.  We had planned to do a human pyramid, but a group of boys beat us to it, so we felt we had to one up them.  So, we made the human pyramid…while singing the US National Anthem.  I talked my way into being the top (thank you PC Azerbaijan for helping me be the lightest!), so I can only imagine how the guys at the bottom got through to the last few lines.  But we all made it through!  USA! USA!  The evening ended in chants of USA, Azerbaijan, and ABLE. 

Maybe there’s something to this 33 boys thing.  Maybe 50 kids are too many.  I do know that more so than last year, the boys came up to me and told me they didn’t want to go home.  They wanted camp to go on and on.  That’s how camp should end.  That’s how I know we did a good job.  It’s how I know that even if we didn’t get to each and every one of the boys (and you can’t get to them all), we started the ball rolling for most of them, put new ideas in their heads, and made a difference in their lives.  That’s what ABLE is, and what it will be even after Peace Corps leaves.

Going on Vacation, and Program Superiority Complex

We’re playing a bit of catch up in the blogosphere these days, as I’m finally able to cover what has happened in the last month or so.  Since the end of the school year, at the end of May, my life has been focused primarily on one project, ABLE, which I’ll discuss more in a few posts.  Thrown into the middle of the planning and preparation stage was a wonderful trip to Greece, at the end of June.  I first had to make my way to Tbilisi, Georgia for my flight.  This involved a series of bus rides that cost me double the normal rate because of the large suitcase I had with me.  This was a necessity since I had filled the suitcase with winter clothes that I (hopefully) will not need this year and was sending back to the US via girlfriend courier. 

After spending the day lounging in Tbilisi parks and eating delicious cheesy bread, I made it to the airport.  While waiting for my flight, a small group of westerners sat down near me.  Naturally, I found myself eavesdropping (Whoa!  English!), and after we discovered each other formally, it came out that they were part of a program similar to Peace Corps’ TEFL program.  The volunteers I met were preparing to go home at the end of their service.  As we talked, and I learned more about their program, I found myself fighting internally with something I have dubbed “Program Superiority Complex.”  This is the kneejerk reaction amongst expatriate aid workers that their program is better organized, more intense, more challenging and more beneficial than someone else’s.  This complex exists despite what we know rationally, such as that our program has more than its share of faults.  “Your program is ONLY 9 months long?  And you’ve been home twice?  We eat 9 months for breakfast!”  “You didn’t learn Georgian?” “How do you not know the others in your group and confused me for a volunteer from your program?” “You had a hard time with your host family wanting to see your things?  HA!  The stories I could tell!” 

These thoughts are not ones I’m proud of, and I’m sure that the volunteers I met at the airport worked hard, tried their best, and were qualified and successful volunteers in their communities.  In fact, one of the cool things about the program was that it wasn’t just American volunteers.  But I had them all the same.  That’s the Program Superiority Complex for you.

After I left Georgia. I found myself in Athens, Greece.  The next day I found myself once more on a plane, this time flying to Santorini, a beautiful island in the Cyclades Islands.  We stayed in a beautiful house built into the cliff, overlooking the caldera.  I would wake up early in the morning, and sit out on the balcony while everything was absolutely silent, with just birds and the distant cruise ships moving, just the water lapping at the shore.  After a few nights in Santorini, we returned and before we had time to settle, we were off once more, this time to visit Meteora, the famous monasteries perched on cliff faces, which for centuries could only be accessed by rope ladder.  We stayed in a mountain town nearby, completely un-touristy, home to some absolutely delicious cheese (I brought back my one souvenir from here—a ½ kilogram of cheese).  Finally, we made our way back to our apartment outside of Athens, and made several day trips into the capital.  Soon enough, though, it was time to leave, but first I had a day-long layover in Munich to look forward to.  With nary a question at the airport, I exited the building and found myself on my way to Munich.  Was it that easy?  Had I missed an important step somewhere in there?  Would they let me back in?  But, after a day eating pork knuckle, drinking delicious beer, wandering a park larger than New York City’s and exploring a tauntingly delicious famer’s market (artichoke, avocado, AVOCADO!).

I found my way back to Georgia, arriving at the airport at 3am.  Three hours later, I left the airport and began my trek back to Ismayilli, which would take almost exactly 12 hours.  Not bad considering the distance, but way to long to be traveling on Azeri buses.  I had to be back in that time, though, because the next day, I’d be on the road again.  While I was on vacation, a part of me was not, a part of me was checking email regularly, because there was one thing on the horizon, a camp called ABLE.  But that’s a story for another post.

Sunset at Santorini, where it's impossible to take a bad photo

Meteora monastery

Mmmm Pork Knuckle

Crackerjacks and Big League Chew

Growing up, my favorite sport in the world was baseball.  I watched it, I collected baseball cards, I played it in little league.  I was not by any means good.  I wasn’t bad, but I had the normal children’s problems—I wasn’t particularly coordinated and was afraid of getting hit by the ball, especially by a pop up.   But I loved the game, and would assemble and reorganize my baseball cards, creating lineups and rosters, which I would then act out by pitching against a wall by our driveway.  

One of the most flat out fun times I’ve had a volunteer here has been when I’ve been working with the Ismayilli softball team.  This has been the second year we’ve played, so by now some of the boys have a strong handle on the game and can now explain the rules and positions to new boys.  The fine details are still elusive, of course, but that’s to be expected.  This year, my host brother, Orxan, when not in Baku, has helped as an assistant coach.   He has been a huge help, both on and off the field.  I downloaded Game 6 of last year’s World Series to show the boys.  Orxan was a huge help in explaining the calls, the finer rules, the announcing.  We didn’t make it all the way through the game, but we did have popcorn and I think they learned a few things.

This year, the boys have really built on the skills they struggled with last year, and have, after changing the team name to the Dragons, become one of the best teams in the league.  When they play well and as a team, they’re on fire.  They’ve also done a great job of learning from the playing styles and techniques of other teams. 

Part of the fun was that in anticipation of the big tournament in Baku this spring, we made our own t-shirts.  I spent several hours designing and cutting out the stencils we then used to spray paint the shirts.  I led the painting by myself, so the paint kind of got away from me, and we ended up with spray painted gloves, bats, balls, and trees.  I was able to put a hold on everything before they got around to the building.

We played four tournaments in the spring, including one we hosted here in Ismayilli, at the Olympic Complex.  And, while we don’t really keep track, or announce winners at the end of each tournament (“Everyone wins,” etc etc), we won the majority of the games.  You can imagine this has done wonders for the boys’ egos.  The spring season is over now, but will pick up again in September.  Until then, we just have to wait and watch the professionals and hope the Orioles don't collapse too quickly.  It's been nice being part of a winning team here, and it's keeping me going until the Orioles can get their stuff together.

Challenged Expectations

When I came into Peace Corps, I tried to learn as much about Azerbaijan without building up expectations. I knew that any expectations I formed would be wrong one way or another, and I wanted to keep myself open to the experiences I would encounter. Recently however, I have learned more about one thing I never expected to know. My dog became pregnant and gave birth to puppies. If I had been assigned to a PC country such as Mongolia or somewhere in Africa, being around birthing animals seems like it would have been more likely. And certainly, we have our share of animals wandering around the yard—ducks, turkeys, and chickens. Every year my host family buys several dozen chicks to raise, for eggs and meat. There are geese out on the street. But serving as a dog midwife was a surprise. Sure, we could have prevented it, but we were slow to find a doctor who would perform the operation, and slower to talk about how we would pay for it (only 40 manat), and by the time we had a plan of sorts, the damage had been done. Instead, we watched Miri swell. Shortly after we were sure she had become pregnant I did some research on dog birth. But then all we could do was wait. We took bets on what day and how many puppies would blossom. The general verdict was the beginning of June. Miri had other plans. May 27 I invited the Ismayilli baseball team to my house to watch a game on my computer (Game 6 of the 2011 World Series, Rangers at Cardinals as it happened). They met Miri and joined in the guessing on how many puppies would come in the next few weeks. Several remarked they wanted to see the puppies when they finally came. That night, Miri began pacing and panting, waking me around 2am. After a frantic call from Caroline, who came to my rescue by reading to me about dog birth online, Miri seemed to settle back down and we both went to sleep. In the morning, there were no puppies, and I worried that something had gone wrong. To clear my mind, I went to the bazaar for food, and when I came back Miri was sitting in her box in my room, a panicked look on her face, and a puppy on the way. Jet-black, except for small bits of white on its paws and chest, the puppy took after Miri’s parents (and possibly its father, though there are two suspects for that honor). That first puppy was a shock for both of us, but after realizing that the puppy was alive and well, and Miri had seen to its first bath, we breathed sighs of relief. Through the course of the day, four other puppies followed, totaling three males and two females. Almost three weeks later, the puppies have started to open their eyes and take their first real steps. Future homes have been found for most of them, though they have to stay with us until the end of July, staying close to their mother. I have spent the past few weeks, in addition to my other work, researching puppy raising techniques, knowledge and relaying this to my host family. Truly, a learning experience from an unexpected source. Woof.

Eurovision: Light Your Fire

Well, that was fast. Eurovision has come and gone. In a way, it feels like a bit of a letdown. Azerbaijan has been planning for this event for a year, ever since they won last year’s competition. Massive construction has been underway in the capital, including a brand new performance center just for the event. I have yet to see the full results of the work, but from traveling in Baku for the past year, I can tell you it was extensive. All this work, all this anticipation, and in one week, it’s all over. Several PCVs went into Baku for the competition, but for most of us, travel was restricted because of how crazy and busy Baku would be. For those who don’t know, and before coming here, I was one of you, Eurovision is like an annual international American Idol. Each country has one entry, whether it is a group or individual artist. The countries then vote on their favorite performances (apparently, it can get political, with countries that are generally friends voting for each other and countries that are generally at odds saving their votes for others) and a winner is anointed. There are two semi-final performance nights, and ten qualifiers based on online or phone voting move onto the final night, along with the “Big Five” and the host country. (Thanks for help on that, Wikipedia!) The Big Five are what you’d expect probably—France, Spain, UK, Italy, Germany. In the end, Sweden came away with the win, and will be the host of next year’s competition. My personal favorite, Russia, came in second. Russia’s entry was a group of small, old babushkas, definitely not the norm for this competition, which is filled with young men and women belting out pop music and dancing enthusiastically around the stage. Their performance was also unique or at least rare for their more cultural-sounding song. Most songs are typical international pop, with lyrics in English and little to differentiate between each country. Turkey had a little cultural feel to their song as well. Even Azerbaijan, which came in fourth, had a little traditional singing in the background, the wavering voice that is common in the mugam style. I have a personal award to give out, for best name. There really was no contest, because Englebert Humperdinck from the UK stole this from everyone. Clearly not the best singer/performer (UK came in 25 out of the 26 finalists), but easily the best name I’ve heard in years. Let that sink in for a minute. Englerbert. Humperdinck. Being here in Azerbaijan over the past year has been an interesting experience. Watching the competition to select the Azeri representative, crashed by two PCVs performing as the Caspian Dreamers, was a lot of fun. Seeing Baku and Azerbaijan try to prepare to play a larger part on the world stage in particular has been interesting. Azerbaijan is not a perfect country, nor is any, and they’ve struggled to determine what face they will show to the world. And fielding questions about why America does not participate or follow Eurovision has been fun though somewhat repetitive (think about what continent America is on…). But now, with the event over and done, and the visitors leaving the country, how will Azerbaijan maintain its newfound fame? That is the question.

Strike Up the Band, It's Wedding Season: Or, My First Azeri Wedding

Here in Azerbaijan, there are a number of cultural traditions, holidays, etc. that are sort of the must-do, bucket list things that you have to do while living in Azerbaijan. Jump over a fire at Novruz. Eat xash with vodka early in the morning. Go guesting. But perhaps the top of the list is to go to a wedding. My fellow PCVs have been going to weddings almost since we got off the plane. But for me, the invitations never came. I never really knew anyone who was going to get married. Not that that always seems to matter. People have been known to be invited off the street. But not me. What was wrong with me? I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me! And yet, the wedding invites remained elusive. Until now. A teacher at my school was planning on getting married. I’d heard about his engagement, and I’d made up my mind that I was going to get an invitation. The two of us have a running joke where he asks me if I can take him to America, and I ask him if he can fit in a bag (he’s not a tall man). A month before his wedding, I was sitting in our school cafeteria over tea, and the others at the table were questioning me about wedding traditions in America. He jokingly asked me what I would give him for his wedding. After some laughter—I’m a guest after all, and wasn’t actually being required to bring a gift—I told him I’d bring him a suitcase. Uproarious laughter. The week before the actual event, invitations were passed around the school, all around me and under my nose. A couple teachers asked me if I was going, and when I said I hadn’t received an invitation, they immediately called the teacher and made sure I would be getting an invite. The next day it was there. I was going to a wedding! But wait, at the same time, my host family was invited to a neighbor’s wedding and they were taking me. The catch, it was on the same day, at the same time, on different sides of town. Since I didn’t really know the groom at my host family’s wedding, I decided I’d go to that wedding for an hour, and then go to the other wedding. We arrived at the wedding hall (most weddings in Azerbaijan are held in special party and wedding halls called Shadliq Saray, or Joyful Palace), and the doors were still closed. We loitered for a few minutes until everyone was allowed in, and we all rushed to find open seats. At the tables already were cold starters and bottles of juice, soda, and vodka and beer. As we waited, staff members hovered around, filming constantly, pouring drinks and slyly removing the alcohol from the tables where women were seated. Around the walls were large televisions, on which the night’s events were constantly broadcast. The lights went low and on the far side of the room, a garage door opened, and a shining white car rolled in, lights flashing. Out climbed the new couple, and the staff blasted confetti into the air with leaf blowers. There was a bubble machine! I left shortly after the couple took their place at a table overlooking the hall (and managing to spill Fanta on my pants—can’t take me anywhere). I stopped off at home to change pants and then caught a cab to the second wedding. The second I walked in, I was dragged onto the dance floor to show off my totally awesome Azeri dance moves. This means lots of arms in the air like airplane wings, feet kicks, and a sense of rhythm. The music was pretty much constant, with a live band playing tar, saz, drums, and alternated between fast-paced dance music and fast-paced non-dance music. In between the dancing, there was eating. Plate after plate of kebab, and the others at my table kept sending food and drinks whenever the waiters passed. Immediately after I put down my fork, I’d be rushed back onto the dance floor. This was what I’d been waiting a year and a half for, and despite my stomach cramping up it was worth it. Azeri wedding parties are no small matter. They often stretch on into the night, lasting five, six hours or more. This is at a shadliq saray, mind you. When weddings are held at home or in the village, they can last all night. The longest I’ve heard of was a two-day affair, lasting 14 hours or so each day. Frankly, I would have been more impressed if it had been two days straight, but still, not too shabby. I left the wedding around 10pm, and it was still going strong. A number of people had slipped out, first being sure to get their commemorative photo with the bride and groom. About an hour after I got home, I heard my host family return. We had fun talking about our comparative experiences and learning more about wedding traditions and practices, but shortly after I collapsed into bed. Dancing Azeri-style takes a lot of energy.

Playing 20 Questions

Whenever we travel here in Azerbaijan, we tend to stand out. I know that may not come as a surprise to any of you, but there it is. A bunch of foreigners stick out like sore thumbs. Because of this, we’re often questioned about who we are, where we’re from, what we do, etc. Usually it’s friendly and comes from curiosity, and we’re more than happy to field these questions. Sometimes, though, it turns into some sort of difficult and complicated game of 20 Questions. I don’t mean to say that the questioning becomes confrontational. I mean that sometimes, when folks learn that we’re from the US, they decide to pump us for as much information as they can. I’m periodically asked about prices for goods, so they can compare with what they pay here. How much is a liter of petrol? A loaf of bread? A kilo of potatoes? Sometimes I know the answers, but a lot of the time, I have to guess. How many kilometers between Washington, DC and New York City? Wish I could tell you. How much for a batch of cilantro at the market? Well, in America we don’t really shop at markets…oh, you’ve lost interest, sorry. Generally, when I don’t know the food answers, it’s chalked up to the fact that I’m a man and therefore probably don’t do the shopping. Of course, this isn’t the case, but it’s what fits into many people’s perspective here. Or, they try to show off the knowledge they remember from their school days. Usually this means they ask about museums, holidays, or traditions they’ve heard about or read about. Other times it’s questions about history or random facts about the US or England (often it’s England since the textbooks here focus on England more than America). Occasionally I’ve been asked about the date of American independence or how many rooms are in the British Museum. Other times, I get asked about the differences between British and American English. I generally go for the lift/elevator, lorry/truck, color/colour explanations. These examples are always met with thoughtful nods. In a way, I feel like these questions are not just meant to help people here learn and compare with their own lives. Sometimes, though, I feel like I’m being tested to see if I am who I say I am. I’m proving I’m American (or English when the difference isn’t entirely understood). I recently visited an older student who lives in a village outside Ismayilli. He invited his neighbor over to meet me, and after dinner, he invited us to tea at his home, where he surprised his parents with me. I felt a bit awkward, as they were clearly not expecting guests, though I appreciated being treated like just another friend of their son’s. Their son explained this was because they didn’t believe I was really American or that there was really an American in their home.

Out Here in the Fields

Ismayilli was recently visited our (“our,” because both the volunteers here are from Youth Development) program manager. This will be her first visit to Ismayilli after taking the job earlier this year. All program managers in Peace Corps Azerbaijan visit the volunteers periodically. We’ve been visited once before as part of these periodic checks and once during a special camp my sitemate was leading with her organization. The first visit was about the same time last year, but still while we were in our mandatory host family time, so part of the visit was also to check in and see how we were getting along with our host families. We were also still in the process of getting situated with our host organizations. A lot has changed since then. I don’t know how it is in other PC countries. I don’t even know the details of other programs here, but more or less, we’re left alone to do the work of Peace Corps out here in Ismayilli. The only times I’m really contact or am contacted by PC and my program manager is when there’s trouble or sometime important is coming up (like a conference). And without commenting on whether or not that’s anyone falling down on the job, I gotta say that I like this independence. I’m sure it’s different for other people. People who want to talk more to their program managers for that extra support or inspiration, a push in the right direction, can and do talk more often. But I like being on my own here, setting my own schedule, judging my own work. There have been times when I’ve needed that kick in the rear, especially during the winter months, when it’s hard to get out of bed and go to work. But by and large, I am self-analytical and self-critical enough most days to judge when I’m doing enough, when I should be doing more (or less) and what I can do to do a better job. I’m definitely not always perfect, but mostly things have seemed to work out all right. One thing I know for sure is that readjusting to life in the US is going to take some time, and this is just one more area that will call for some adapting. Working with direct supervision, and really any kind of work with other people will be a shock to the system. Partly, I figure this is because most of my work experience has been pretty individualistic. Lifeguarding is by nature a solitary task as one sits above people playing and splashing, only communicating when necessary. Spending a summer outside by a lake in the woods was also pretty isolated. Maybe I should go be a fire lookout next? Spend the summer months alone in a tower looking out over acres of woods. Sounds better than sitting in a cubicle.

Azerbaijan's 15 Minutes in the Reality Show Spotlight

Several months ago, we received news that an American reality show would be coming to Azerbaijan. Speculation flurried and it quickly became the worst kept secret in Baku: The Amazing Race was on its way. Several volunteers and Azeri counterparts interviewed to help the production as aids and interpreters, and while most begged off due to the time commitment, a couple went ahead with helping. That was all we heard for awhile.

Last week, the episode that was filmed in Azerbaijan aired. It’s funny how seeing a bunch of American stereotypes running around the streets of Baku, past familiar sites and landmarks, can be revealing about a culture and absolutely wrong at the same time.

The Amazing Race people dashed out of the airport I’ve gotten to know all too well waiting for guests and out into the London-style taxis that have appeared recently in the capital. Sure, they were missing out on the joy of Ladas, but they made the smarter choice as the London taxis have meters. And they noted the primary trait of all taxi drivers here, they drive like they’re on the Autobahn or in Indy. Perfect for a bunch of people in a contest called The Amazing Race.

The taxi took them to the Atesgarh Temple, the temple with the perpetual flames due to natural gas, though they didn’t mention this on the show. When the contestants arrived, they were bombarded with traditional music and dancing, which was completely in line with my experiences. And just like us when we first arrived at the hotel a year and a half ago, the racers joined in awkwardly at first, but soon were laughing and enjoying themselves.

The contestants had two choices in their contest in the country: search a car filled to the brim (literally) with apples, or wipe down a man who has bathed in oil. One of these I am all too familiar with, the other was as new to me as it was to the contestants. Every Sunday at the market I see cars filled with fruits and vegetables. The trunks lined with plastic tarps, the passenger seats removed for more storage space. In the contest, the racers had to search through a car of apples to find one apple with a ribbon on it. I do not envy them that. They also quickly noticed the fact that they were being stared at as they rooted through the cars. This is a common and at times infuriating aspect of the culture here, and can cause major fishbowl-itis, though I can’t blame people for watching some crazy Americans sitting in a car trunk looking for one apple among many.

The second task, in which a man has bathed in oil for health reasoning, was new to me. It must be a thing for people living nearer to the Caspian, because out here in Ismayilli, there’s just enough oil and gas to cook and heat our homes, if that. The fact that the men the contestants were washing down were hairy as all get out wasn’t too surprising, though.

Finally, the contestants had to find their way to a carpet store in the old part of Baku (which is called Icheri Sheher, not Old Town, thank you very much) and then the boulevard along the Caspian Sea (which the show called Esplanade, which I have never heard anyone call it, to us it’s just Bulvar), to meet the host. Here the taxi drivers reared their stereotypical head again, when one taxi driver stopped on the side of the road, seemingly to ask for directions, though given that they were just around the corner from their destination, I’d guess it was more likely he was seeking out a toilet or some cigarettes.

Watching the show was in many ways like watching our service in an hour, or at least our times in Baku. I recognized familiar places, normal Azeris in the background, and customs and ideas that I’ve grown to know well. While I think I would do pretty well on a show like The Amazing Race, I’m glad I’ve had the opportunity to spend time in the countries I’ve visited, to get to know the culture better and become more comfortable. While there was much that was familiar to me in the show, I doubt the contestants were able to think of too much else than what they had to do next. Sure it’s a contest, but Ferris Bueller had some choice words for the kind of life they were living.