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.