This happened some time ago, but I feel worth writing about because of the realization it spurred. Now, my host father does not work, and has not worked for some time, so it seems that the family relies heavily on the pension he gets from the government and the rent that the family gets from volunteers and renters. This is not a lot of money, and I understand they would be worried as the deadline for our required host family living neared. I have looked at the available apartments in Ismayilli, and ended up rejecting them for a number of reasons, including the price.
Before this decision had been finalized, a man who would be working on a construction job here in town for some time approached my host father about renting the room next to mine. I arrived home for lunch to my host father’s declaration that I would have a neighbor. I had a bit of a panic attack. I felt safe at this house, safe enough that I didn’t really feel the need to lock my door when I left. Having a strange man that Peace Corps had not checked out beforehand (it is policy that Peace Corps meet the people living in the house before a volunteer move in) understandably shook this confidence. Was this even allowed by Peace Corps? I made some frantic phone calls to my program manager and the housing manager, but with no concrete reply.
And then it turned out not to matter. For some reason or another, my father came to me later that day and asked me if having a neighbor made me uncomfortable. I debated lying and just agreeing to the situation to make things easy, but in the end told him that, yes, having a stranger living in the room next to mine did make me uncomfortable. And with that, my host father decided the man would be asked to move out the next day.
It is very easy to get cynical about people who need money, to expect money to be the only motivator. But when people surprise you, when they show that they care more about the relationship, is such a reassuring feeling. I have never doubted my host father’s caring nature; he has always seemed and demonstrated that he wants to make me feel welcome in his home. But, when I finally did hear from Azeri staff and friends about the issue, it did not seem odd to them that a room would rented out like this. And so it is also nice to see that some ideals, some relationships, and the ideals that go along with them, are universal, over-lapping. In seeking me out to insure I was comfortable, my host father showed that he truly thought of me as a family member, something I am deeply grateful for. And something that I hope to be able to reciprocate as my time here continues.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Novruz, A Spring Tale
Christmas has come and gone. Well, sort of the Azeri equivalent. Novruz is anticipated in the way Christmas is, and contains elements that are both reminiscent of Halloween and Easter. At its heart, it is a celebration of Spring, the death of winter. It actually starts four weeks in advance, with each Tuesday before Novruz being celebrated as symbolic of each of the four elements, fire, water, wind, and earth, awakening from their winter sleep. The holiday is a time of eating, family, and joviality, somewhat in contrast to the other holidays we’ve experienced so far in Azerbaijan (namely several days memorializing martyrs and violence). Novruz is not just an Azeri holiday, but stems from the Zoroastrian tradition, though no longer religious. In the present day it is a cultural celebration, taking place across the region, in Georgia, Iraq, Iran, Uzbekistan, and Albania to name a few.
My Novruz celebration began here when I returned to Ismayilli with my two host brothers and Amy, a previous volunteer who lived with my host family and now works in Baku. When we returned to Ismayilli, it was a very different place from when I left. Spring had sprung, the sun was out, colored eggs where all around, and the semani had grown tall in the house. Semani is wheat, and is grown in small pots in time for the holiday. My reunion with my host family, who welcomed me back with wide smiles and open arms, was a perfect way to kick off the holiday.
For lunch the next day (I was allowed to sleep later than I have since coming to Ismayilli, and had fun explaining what jet lag was when I finally awoke), we had the common feast food of kebab. My host mother took charge, orchestrating and monitoring the cooking of the chicken and instructing my host father on how to prepare the food.
I must preface the evening’s events with this note. A section of our house is rented to a few students from a nearby village studying at a local practical university. Right, so that evening, Amy and I escorted my host mother to their village, Rushan, to guest with one of the student’s family. I was a little nervous about this, as I really have not done much guesting, an uncommon feat for volunteers, but was glad Amy was along as her Azeri is much better than mine (understandable after living and working on and off for seven years in the country).
When we got to the house in Rushan, my host mother set up talking with the adults, and the students were instructed to entertain Amy and I by driving us around. Leaving the house and the town of Ismayilli was kind of a big deal for my host mother, so we went along with the students as they took us wherever nearby they could think of, including to a hilltop where people have bonfires during the summer and a Kansan graveyard, still more or less standing after the Kansans have gone back to Kansas. We returned in time for dinner, kebab again, and then the real festivities began. One of the main traditions of Novruz is to build a bonfire (the fire being one of the key connections to the Zoroastrian past of the holiday), which people then jump over three times. The point is to commit one’s troubles and problems to the flames to be consumed. In practice, it’s a lot of fun, though exceedingly hard to get a decent photo of in the dark. We also took part in a practice, usually for children, which reminds me of trick or treating. Children go around to neighbor houses and leave their hats on the stoop or right inside the door, knock and then hide. The owners of the house then fill the hat with candies and treats. After all that, it was getting pretty late, and we sat wondering whether we would be able to get back to Ismayilli that night—all the taxi drivers in the village were drunk or didn’t want to drive all the way there and back. Finally, a ride was arranged and we were able to sleep in our own beds.
Oh, one more fun tradition is for kids to think of a question about the future, and then listen in on a conversation. If what they overhear is positive, their question is answered positively, and vice versa. Sometimes parents and relatives, knowing someone is dropping eaves, will say ridiculous or confusing things to mess with the not-so-secret listeners.
The next day, the relatives arrived. My host father’s brother’s family and my host mother’s sister and her daughter arrived from Baku. We young people were assigned the task of setting up the fire for that night, and we let Bozdar off his tether to play. We ended up playing a small three-on-three game of Ultimate Frisbee, ending in a tie. While the family went to a nearby cemetery to pay their respects, Amy and I visited an English teacher with whom Amy had worked as a volunteer. This was a great opportunity to meet a nice woman and make a contact with a good English teacher.
After a dinner of plov (rice pilaf), another common party or special occasion meal, interrupted briefly by a large group of little kids with their hats (who definitely missed the point of hiding as they giggled noisily while we filled their hats), we headed out to the yard, for another fire. This one was a monster, and took a long time to die down enough for safe jumping.
So that was Novruz. The guests are now gone, the house is quiet again, and classes start up again at school on Monday. Novruz was a fun holiday, maybe not one with too much of a hidden meaning or message, but the coming of spring is exciting to be sure. After going nearly a month without seeing the sun, the spring is definitely something to celebrate.
My Novruz celebration began here when I returned to Ismayilli with my two host brothers and Amy, a previous volunteer who lived with my host family and now works in Baku. When we returned to Ismayilli, it was a very different place from when I left. Spring had sprung, the sun was out, colored eggs where all around, and the semani had grown tall in the house. Semani is wheat, and is grown in small pots in time for the holiday. My reunion with my host family, who welcomed me back with wide smiles and open arms, was a perfect way to kick off the holiday.
For lunch the next day (I was allowed to sleep later than I have since coming to Ismayilli, and had fun explaining what jet lag was when I finally awoke), we had the common feast food of kebab. My host mother took charge, orchestrating and monitoring the cooking of the chicken and instructing my host father on how to prepare the food.
I must preface the evening’s events with this note. A section of our house is rented to a few students from a nearby village studying at a local practical university. Right, so that evening, Amy and I escorted my host mother to their village, Rushan, to guest with one of the student’s family. I was a little nervous about this, as I really have not done much guesting, an uncommon feat for volunteers, but was glad Amy was along as her Azeri is much better than mine (understandable after living and working on and off for seven years in the country).
When we got to the house in Rushan, my host mother set up talking with the adults, and the students were instructed to entertain Amy and I by driving us around. Leaving the house and the town of Ismayilli was kind of a big deal for my host mother, so we went along with the students as they took us wherever nearby they could think of, including to a hilltop where people have bonfires during the summer and a Kansan graveyard, still more or less standing after the Kansans have gone back to Kansas. We returned in time for dinner, kebab again, and then the real festivities began. One of the main traditions of Novruz is to build a bonfire (the fire being one of the key connections to the Zoroastrian past of the holiday), which people then jump over three times. The point is to commit one’s troubles and problems to the flames to be consumed. In practice, it’s a lot of fun, though exceedingly hard to get a decent photo of in the dark. We also took part in a practice, usually for children, which reminds me of trick or treating. Children go around to neighbor houses and leave their hats on the stoop or right inside the door, knock and then hide. The owners of the house then fill the hat with candies and treats. After all that, it was getting pretty late, and we sat wondering whether we would be able to get back to Ismayilli that night—all the taxi drivers in the village were drunk or didn’t want to drive all the way there and back. Finally, a ride was arranged and we were able to sleep in our own beds.
Oh, one more fun tradition is for kids to think of a question about the future, and then listen in on a conversation. If what they overhear is positive, their question is answered positively, and vice versa. Sometimes parents and relatives, knowing someone is dropping eaves, will say ridiculous or confusing things to mess with the not-so-secret listeners.
The next day, the relatives arrived. My host father’s brother’s family and my host mother’s sister and her daughter arrived from Baku. We young people were assigned the task of setting up the fire for that night, and we let Bozdar off his tether to play. We ended up playing a small three-on-three game of Ultimate Frisbee, ending in a tie. While the family went to a nearby cemetery to pay their respects, Amy and I visited an English teacher with whom Amy had worked as a volunteer. This was a great opportunity to meet a nice woman and make a contact with a good English teacher.
After a dinner of plov (rice pilaf), another common party or special occasion meal, interrupted briefly by a large group of little kids with their hats (who definitely missed the point of hiding as they giggled noisily while we filled their hats), we headed out to the yard, for another fire. This one was a monster, and took a long time to die down enough for safe jumping.
So that was Novruz. The guests are now gone, the house is quiet again, and classes start up again at school on Monday. Novruz was a fun holiday, maybe not one with too much of a hidden meaning or message, but the coming of spring is exciting to be sure. After going nearly a month without seeing the sun, the spring is definitely something to celebrate.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
On Leaving, Being Away, And Coming Back
Peace Corps requires that for the first 90 days after we are sworn in as volunteers we do not leave the country. That time period passed recently, and I was able to take advantage of that by taking a trip to Scotland. Up until I was sitting on that plane as it sped up for lift off, I wasn’t sure I was really going. And then a liberating feeling hit me: I was leaving.
This feeling was not a result of any distaste for Azerbaijan, or for my work as a volunteer. But this was a break I needed. I was worried up until I took off. The day before, due to threatened protests against the government, Peace Corps sent out an email saying volunteers could only go to Baku in non-vital situations. At the same time, I discovered my PST host family would be leaving town for the weekend, so I would not be able to stay there. I scrambled, and everything worked out. I was allowed to go to Baku, and I was able to stay with my PST language teacher’s family. The language teacher, my LCF, was then kind enough to even take me to the airport, via bus, subway, and finally by a taxi that he was able to get for super cheap because I hid and the driver didn’t realize a foreigner would be on board.
As the plane landed in London-Heathrow, and I disembarked, I was shocked by the English writing everywhere. No upside down ‘e’s. This was madness. I eventually made it through a biometric scanner and customs to my terminal, where I found myself choosing between two (TWO!) bars. I knew the first money I wanted to spend would be on a good beer. I had just found that it is not possible to exchange Azeri manats in England, so I felt a drink was reasonable. While waiting at the bar to order, a Scottish man standing next to me struck up a conversation about what I was drinking and when I explained I wanted something dark because I’d been in Azerbaijan, where there are only mass-produced lagers. It turned out he had been on my flight, and he invited me to sit with him and his colleague. We had a great conversation about Scotland, Azerbaijan and Baku, and along the way he got properly pissed, and was kind enough to buy me a beer.
Scotland itself was a wonderful break, rejuvenating for my energy levels, for my relationship with my girlfriend, and my attitude towards my work. The two of us, stayed in an apartment in the West End of Glasgow, where we were able to cook for ourselves. Italian food, chicken tikka masala, fish tacos, and buffalo wings. Fast metros, cathedrals, department stores, museums and art galleries. Good food, good beer, good friendly people. We also spent a day visiting the Isle of Great Cumbrae, which was nearly empty because we were there out of season, but managed to find a single open restaurant where we were able to cross fish and chips off our food list. Caroline had spent time there when she was 8 on a CTY marine biology program. It was exciting seeing the realization of familiarity wash over her face as we entered a classroom. "It smells exactly the same," she gasped. Another day was spent in Edinburgh, where we explored the Edinburgh castle, and the Glasgow underground. The underground, it turns out, is not the hell on earth it was advertized as, but possibly haunted street/allies which were at one point built over for the city chambers.
As relieving, wonderful, and exhilarating as the trip was, I still had a bit of a panic as I left. The first evening around midnight as I struggled to negotiate a taxi from the airport, I questioned briefly why I had returned. The next morning was much easier, and I chalked up my doubts to exhaustion from travel and the understandable depression of leaving a more familiar culture. I’m back in Ismayilli now, the place which is by now basically my home. It is warm now, spring is coming, and so it almost feels like everything has changed. But my room, the house, and the town seem the same. Even though I gave my host mother permission to sweep my room while I was gone, it seemed untouched. Nothing has changed, everything has changed, and I’m ready to get going on classes. Now I just have to wait till after Novruz.
This feeling was not a result of any distaste for Azerbaijan, or for my work as a volunteer. But this was a break I needed. I was worried up until I took off. The day before, due to threatened protests against the government, Peace Corps sent out an email saying volunteers could only go to Baku in non-vital situations. At the same time, I discovered my PST host family would be leaving town for the weekend, so I would not be able to stay there. I scrambled, and everything worked out. I was allowed to go to Baku, and I was able to stay with my PST language teacher’s family. The language teacher, my LCF, was then kind enough to even take me to the airport, via bus, subway, and finally by a taxi that he was able to get for super cheap because I hid and the driver didn’t realize a foreigner would be on board.
As the plane landed in London-Heathrow, and I disembarked, I was shocked by the English writing everywhere. No upside down ‘e’s. This was madness. I eventually made it through a biometric scanner and customs to my terminal, where I found myself choosing between two (TWO!) bars. I knew the first money I wanted to spend would be on a good beer. I had just found that it is not possible to exchange Azeri manats in England, so I felt a drink was reasonable. While waiting at the bar to order, a Scottish man standing next to me struck up a conversation about what I was drinking and when I explained I wanted something dark because I’d been in Azerbaijan, where there are only mass-produced lagers. It turned out he had been on my flight, and he invited me to sit with him and his colleague. We had a great conversation about Scotland, Azerbaijan and Baku, and along the way he got properly pissed, and was kind enough to buy me a beer.
Scotland itself was a wonderful break, rejuvenating for my energy levels, for my relationship with my girlfriend, and my attitude towards my work. The two of us, stayed in an apartment in the West End of Glasgow, where we were able to cook for ourselves. Italian food, chicken tikka masala, fish tacos, and buffalo wings. Fast metros, cathedrals, department stores, museums and art galleries. Good food, good beer, good friendly people. We also spent a day visiting the Isle of Great Cumbrae, which was nearly empty because we were there out of season, but managed to find a single open restaurant where we were able to cross fish and chips off our food list. Caroline had spent time there when she was 8 on a CTY marine biology program. It was exciting seeing the realization of familiarity wash over her face as we entered a classroom. "It smells exactly the same," she gasped. Another day was spent in Edinburgh, where we explored the Edinburgh castle, and the Glasgow underground. The underground, it turns out, is not the hell on earth it was advertized as, but possibly haunted street/allies which were at one point built over for the city chambers.
As relieving, wonderful, and exhilarating as the trip was, I still had a bit of a panic as I left. The first evening around midnight as I struggled to negotiate a taxi from the airport, I questioned briefly why I had returned. The next morning was much easier, and I chalked up my doubts to exhaustion from travel and the understandable depression of leaving a more familiar culture. I’m back in Ismayilli now, the place which is by now basically my home. It is warm now, spring is coming, and so it almost feels like everything has changed. But my room, the house, and the town seem the same. Even though I gave my host mother permission to sweep my room while I was gone, it seemed untouched. Nothing has changed, everything has changed, and I’m ready to get going on classes. Now I just have to wait till after Novruz.
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Sun Is Shining In The Sky
This weekend I saw the sun and blue sky for the first time in just about a month. Azerbaijan has been toying with me for weeks, teasing me about spring coming, and then snowing again the next day (or even later the same day). But this weekend, the snow was melting, the sun was shining and I was able to take my long underwear off.
On Sunday I actually was able to sit out on the porch and read in the sun. Every now and them my host parents would come out and check and see if I wanted another layer on so I wouldn't get sick (I was also sitting on the ground (GASP!)).
It’s not uncommon for it to snow during Novruz, so who knows if this will last (I may even eat these words between the time I write them and the time I post them).
On Sunday I actually was able to sit out on the porch and read in the sun. Every now and them my host parents would come out and check and see if I wanted another layer on so I wouldn't get sick (I was also sitting on the ground (GASP!)).
It’s not uncommon for it to snow during Novruz, so who knows if this will last (I may even eat these words between the time I write them and the time I post them).
50th Anniversary Part II
After a check in visit from my program manager, a periodic visit all PCVs receive, my school director got excited about holding an assembly to celebrate Peace Corps, as well as tying in the coming Novruz and Women’s Day holidays. It was decided that students would perform dances and sing songs about Novruz and Women’s Day, and after a failed attempt to encourage skit-writing, my students decided to give short presentations on several topics, including Azerbaijan, Novruz, Women’s Day, and England/the World. I was also asked to get in on the action, speaking about Peace Corps.
The day was generally a success. It started with two kids MC-ing, and gave short presentations on Azerbaijan and “My Dreamworld.” Then it was my turn to speak about Peace Corps. One of the teachers, Humay, was kind enough to translate. I spoke briefly about Peace Corps and its 50th anniversary, and then ended by encouraging all the students and teachers to come to me with their ideas. I don’t know if they really understood the message, but time will tell. Afterwards, I introduced my students for their presentations.
The only downside was that two of my student groups dropped out. This was partly my fault, as they didn’t have as much time to prepare. Due to weather there was a few days of poor attendance, which made planning harder.
The kids took a little encouragement to really project their voices, and we weren’t quite there on volume, but the kids wrote their own words and I helped with the translations, but they seemed to enjoy the applause afterwards. They were just as excited that I brought my camera, and wanted tons of pictures of them performing.
A group of elementary age students performed a Novruz dance, which almost was derailed when the CD player stopped. A student singing from the side of the stage saved the moment. The show must go on!
The Pictures are:
1. Me talking about Peace Corps.
2. Group 1: Women's Day
3. Group 2: Novruz
4. Children's dance saved by offstage singing.
The day was generally a success. It started with two kids MC-ing, and gave short presentations on Azerbaijan and “My Dreamworld.” Then it was my turn to speak about Peace Corps. One of the teachers, Humay, was kind enough to translate. I spoke briefly about Peace Corps and its 50th anniversary, and then ended by encouraging all the students and teachers to come to me with their ideas. I don’t know if they really understood the message, but time will tell. Afterwards, I introduced my students for their presentations.
The only downside was that two of my student groups dropped out. This was partly my fault, as they didn’t have as much time to prepare. Due to weather there was a few days of poor attendance, which made planning harder.
The kids took a little encouragement to really project their voices, and we weren’t quite there on volume, but the kids wrote their own words and I helped with the translations, but they seemed to enjoy the applause afterwards. They were just as excited that I brought my camera, and wanted tons of pictures of them performing.
A group of elementary age students performed a Novruz dance, which almost was derailed when the CD player stopped. A student singing from the side of the stage saved the moment. The show must go on!
The Pictures are:
1. Me talking about Peace Corps.
2. Group 1: Women's Day
3. Group 2: Novruz
4. Children's dance saved by offstage singing.
Friday, March 4, 2011
My 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps
Fifty years ago this month (the first of the month to be precise), John F. Kennedy followed up on his speech at the University of Michigan during his campaign by signing an executive order forming the Peace Corps. Now, more than 200,000 volunteers have served in 193 countries. This is an often exasperating and exhausting job, but it has been said that this is “the hardest job you’ll ever love.” Even with all the frustrations I have faced and will face, this is an important and impressive legacy that I am fortunate to be a part of. The Peace Corps experience in Azerbaijan is considerably different from other Peace Corps posts. I have ready access to Internet, but the idea of volunteerism and the goals of Peace Corps are more foreign to people here, as opposed to sites in places such as Africa, where volunteerism has had a long history. This is something that in fact led me to accept the post, knowing that as a part of a young program, I would be building on a new concept and spreading ideas about volunteering that are important to me.
I’ve got to say that my 50th anniversary showcased all the highs and lows of Peace Corps service. Frustration over mixed messages about meeting time, frustration over language barriers, success with a language group game, a package from home, dinner with my host family, and the celebration of Chershemba leading up to Novruz (see previous post for information).
The celebration in Ismayilli is ongoing, as on Friday, my school will hold an assembly, celebrating Peace Corps, Novruz, and March 8th, National Women’s Day. The students are planning to read poems, perform songs, give short presentations, and dance, and I’ll speak briefly about Peace Corps.
I also happened to choose to watch several episodes from the first season of How I Met Your Mother. In two of the episodes, Peace Corps got a call out, and in another, Azerbaijan was referenced. In one, the Neil Patrick Harris character, Barney, uses the Peace Corps as a way to pick up a woman at a wedding reception, saying he’s leaving the next day, and relying on the perceived nobility of the Peace Corps. “You know, some people say the Peace Corps is the most noble thing a person can do, and to those people, I say ‘Is it?’ And usually they say, ‘Yes, it is.’” The woman he’s hitting on makes the fatal flaw of saying “I wish there was something I could to,” to which Barney smarmily replies “Oh, Tanya, I’m so glad you said that.”
In another, it is revealed that Barney, before becoming the womanizer he is at the time of the show, was once a romantic hippie, who planned on joining the Peace Corps and going to Nicaragua (which he pronounced Neecaragooa, attempting to be as culturally correct as possible before even entering the country—see the Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like blog for more on this phenomenon). When the girl leaves him for a suit, Barney turns himself into just that sort of man, the Barney we the viewers know and love (and love to hate).
Finally, in a little throwaway line, Marshall (played by Jason Segel), on how he and his fiancé manage to book their dream wedding location, says “It’s on like the former Soviet Republic of Azerbaijan.” Not sure what’s so on about Azerbaijan (or what was on at the time the episode aired—2005), but I appreciated the reference.
So that was my March 1. To whoever on the HIMYM writing staff who either did Peace Corps, or is drawn to it in someway, thank you, you certainly added a nice touch to my day.
I’ve got to say that my 50th anniversary showcased all the highs and lows of Peace Corps service. Frustration over mixed messages about meeting time, frustration over language barriers, success with a language group game, a package from home, dinner with my host family, and the celebration of Chershemba leading up to Novruz (see previous post for information).
The celebration in Ismayilli is ongoing, as on Friday, my school will hold an assembly, celebrating Peace Corps, Novruz, and March 8th, National Women’s Day. The students are planning to read poems, perform songs, give short presentations, and dance, and I’ll speak briefly about Peace Corps.
I also happened to choose to watch several episodes from the first season of How I Met Your Mother. In two of the episodes, Peace Corps got a call out, and in another, Azerbaijan was referenced. In one, the Neil Patrick Harris character, Barney, uses the Peace Corps as a way to pick up a woman at a wedding reception, saying he’s leaving the next day, and relying on the perceived nobility of the Peace Corps. “You know, some people say the Peace Corps is the most noble thing a person can do, and to those people, I say ‘Is it?’ And usually they say, ‘Yes, it is.’” The woman he’s hitting on makes the fatal flaw of saying “I wish there was something I could to,” to which Barney smarmily replies “Oh, Tanya, I’m so glad you said that.”
In another, it is revealed that Barney, before becoming the womanizer he is at the time of the show, was once a romantic hippie, who planned on joining the Peace Corps and going to Nicaragua (which he pronounced Neecaragooa, attempting to be as culturally correct as possible before even entering the country—see the Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like blog for more on this phenomenon). When the girl leaves him for a suit, Barney turns himself into just that sort of man, the Barney we the viewers know and love (and love to hate).
Finally, in a little throwaway line, Marshall (played by Jason Segel), on how he and his fiancé manage to book their dream wedding location, says “It’s on like the former Soviet Republic of Azerbaijan.” Not sure what’s so on about Azerbaijan (or what was on at the time the episode aired—2005), but I appreciated the reference.
So that was my March 1. To whoever on the HIMYM writing staff who either did Peace Corps, or is drawn to it in someway, thank you, you certainly added a nice touch to my day.
Novruz is Coming
Novruz is coming. The goose is getting fat. Well, no, it’s not, but every few nights, my host brother goes out into the yard with the family rifle to see if there are any geese flying migrating overhead. Besides, who has geese? Turkeys, chicken, ducks, that’s normal, but geese? Crazy talk.
Novruz is the biggest holiday in Azerbaijan, a celebration of the end of winter and the coming spring. Novruz is a secular holiday, though it has roots in the Zoroastrian tradition, and variations on Novruz are also celebrated in a number of coutnries in the region, including Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Georgia, Bulgaria, and Albania.
The four Tuesdays leading up to Novruz, which will be March 20-22, are called Chershemba, and each symbolizes one of the four elements (water, fire, wind, and earth) awakening from winter. It is common to light candles during dinner and build a fire outside. The last two Tuesdays my host brother has lit two torches and stuck them in the ground. We stand outside and watch them burn. The first Tuesday, there was still some snow on the ground, so we had a snowball fight and made a snowman. For dinner both nights, my host mother made plov. Plov is generally reserved for special occasions such as visiting relatives and holidays.
Novruz itself is a large, multi-day holiday, and schools will get about 10 days off. One of the staples of Novruz is the building of a large bonfire, and people jump over the fire while making wishes. Children carry their hats around to their neighbors and leave them inside the door. They return later to find their hat filled with treats and candies, a practice that reminds me of a sort of mash up of Santa Claus and Halloween. They also ask questions and then eavesdrop on the adults and it is believed that the first thing they hear will answer their question.
Novruz is also a time for family. My other host brother will be coming in from Baku, as well as the previous volunteer who lived with this family. Many families also take time to remember those who have passed away. Last Tuesday, our neighbors honored their father who died a year ago. My host parents spent a large part of the day at their house, as he was a friend of theirs.
Novruz is the biggest holiday in Azerbaijan, a celebration of the end of winter and the coming spring. Novruz is a secular holiday, though it has roots in the Zoroastrian tradition, and variations on Novruz are also celebrated in a number of coutnries in the region, including Afghanistan, Iran, Iraq, Georgia, Bulgaria, and Albania.
The four Tuesdays leading up to Novruz, which will be March 20-22, are called Chershemba, and each symbolizes one of the four elements (water, fire, wind, and earth) awakening from winter. It is common to light candles during dinner and build a fire outside. The last two Tuesdays my host brother has lit two torches and stuck them in the ground. We stand outside and watch them burn. The first Tuesday, there was still some snow on the ground, so we had a snowball fight and made a snowman. For dinner both nights, my host mother made plov. Plov is generally reserved for special occasions such as visiting relatives and holidays.
Novruz itself is a large, multi-day holiday, and schools will get about 10 days off. One of the staples of Novruz is the building of a large bonfire, and people jump over the fire while making wishes. Children carry their hats around to their neighbors and leave them inside the door. They return later to find their hat filled with treats and candies, a practice that reminds me of a sort of mash up of Santa Claus and Halloween. They also ask questions and then eavesdrop on the adults and it is believed that the first thing they hear will answer their question.
Novruz is also a time for family. My other host brother will be coming in from Baku, as well as the previous volunteer who lived with this family. Many families also take time to remember those who have passed away. Last Tuesday, our neighbors honored their father who died a year ago. My host parents spent a large part of the day at their house, as he was a friend of theirs.
Valentine's Day Package (This Post is a bit Delayed)
I was surprised to find a package for me at the post office the other day, when I went to mail a letter. It turned out to be a largely Valentine’s Day package from my grandparents, which included some amazing homemade cookies but also Valentine’s Day hearts. I have spent the last two days trying to explain Valentine’s Day to my students, so this could not have come at a better time. It was difficult to explain that Valentine’s Day is no longer a Christian holiday, but anyone can celebrate it. Then getting into love and hearts is something that they really need something tangible to understand.
I shared some of the hearts with my host family the night they came. At first my family just ate the hearts, until I explained that part of the point of them was reading the messages on them. And so they set about trying to interpret the messages on the hearts, while I provided explanations when necessary. My host mother poured some into the sugar bowl. After awhile, we began paying attention to other things, and my host mother stood up to reach into the sugar bowl and popped something into her mouth. She noticed that I had looked up, and smiling, quickly reassured me that it was a piece of sugar she had taken, not a candy she had neglected to read.
Those candy hearts are kind of hard to explain sometimes. It’s difficult to know what translates and what doesn’t, metaphorically. “Be my world.” The use of “2” for “to” and “4” for “for.” To understand the latter, the person has to know some English. Understanding the former requires the same metaphors to exist in both cultures, and that’s harder to know. When I gave hearts to my conversation club kids, they of course wanted to know what the hearts meant. They giggled for the one’s about kissing, and probably wondered why someone would want another to “jump 4” them. Frankly, I wonder about that and I speak English.
I shared some of the hearts with my host family the night they came. At first my family just ate the hearts, until I explained that part of the point of them was reading the messages on them. And so they set about trying to interpret the messages on the hearts, while I provided explanations when necessary. My host mother poured some into the sugar bowl. After awhile, we began paying attention to other things, and my host mother stood up to reach into the sugar bowl and popped something into her mouth. She noticed that I had looked up, and smiling, quickly reassured me that it was a piece of sugar she had taken, not a candy she had neglected to read.
Those candy hearts are kind of hard to explain sometimes. It’s difficult to know what translates and what doesn’t, metaphorically. “Be my world.” The use of “2” for “to” and “4” for “for.” To understand the latter, the person has to know some English. Understanding the former requires the same metaphors to exist in both cultures, and that’s harder to know. When I gave hearts to my conversation club kids, they of course wanted to know what the hearts meant. They giggled for the one’s about kissing, and probably wondered why someone would want another to “jump 4” them. Frankly, I wonder about that and I speak English.
Friday, February 11, 2011
How I Came to Eat Xash
My family tricked me. Seriously, I saw it coming, I knew it was happening, and they still tricked me. I have eaten xash.
Here’s how it happened. I first knew something might happen at breakfast, when my host father asked if I had eaten xash before. I could have sworn I’d already talked to them about this, and noted my distaste. Xash, for those who don’t know, is essentially boiled cow head meat. Sometimes you get the whole head, sometimes meat from the head. In Xirdalan, I had been served xash for dinner one evening; straight fatty meat in broth that brought to mind Hot Ham Soup from Arrested Development. In a pot nearby, the bones of the cow’s skull still stewed. After a few sips of the broth, I begged off and was given scrambled eggs or something equally non-threatening.
So he asked, and again I said that I didn’t like the stuff, and the conversation shifted. The hair on the back of my neck straightened a bit, but I let it go. Lunch was a normal meal that day, and I came home from classes and waited for dinner. I sat down and my bowl was already at my place. My father and brother had already started eating, so I “nush olsoon”-ed them and started eating. I knew it was a meat stew of some sort, and could tell immediately that it was a fatty meat, but not too much more fatty than other soups I’ve had. A couple bites in, I looked up and noticed them looking at me. My host mother asked if I liked what I was eating, so of course I said yes. An aside: there’s not much gray area in Azerbaijani, or at least not in my personal language skills, so I’m usually stuck with “I like it, it’s good” or “I don’t like it, it’s bad.” They started grinning and my host father then asked me if I knew what I was eating. “It’s xash, isn’t it,” I said in English.
All they needed to know was that I’d said the word xash.
Here’s how it happened. I first knew something might happen at breakfast, when my host father asked if I had eaten xash before. I could have sworn I’d already talked to them about this, and noted my distaste. Xash, for those who don’t know, is essentially boiled cow head meat. Sometimes you get the whole head, sometimes meat from the head. In Xirdalan, I had been served xash for dinner one evening; straight fatty meat in broth that brought to mind Hot Ham Soup from Arrested Development. In a pot nearby, the bones of the cow’s skull still stewed. After a few sips of the broth, I begged off and was given scrambled eggs or something equally non-threatening.
So he asked, and again I said that I didn’t like the stuff, and the conversation shifted. The hair on the back of my neck straightened a bit, but I let it go. Lunch was a normal meal that day, and I came home from classes and waited for dinner. I sat down and my bowl was already at my place. My father and brother had already started eating, so I “nush olsoon”-ed them and started eating. I knew it was a meat stew of some sort, and could tell immediately that it was a fatty meat, but not too much more fatty than other soups I’ve had. A couple bites in, I looked up and noticed them looking at me. My host mother asked if I liked what I was eating, so of course I said yes. An aside: there’s not much gray area in Azerbaijani, or at least not in my personal language skills, so I’m usually stuck with “I like it, it’s good” or “I don’t like it, it’s bad.” They started grinning and my host father then asked me if I knew what I was eating. “It’s xash, isn’t it,” I said in English.
All they needed to know was that I’d said the word xash.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Countdown to Football
Now that I’ve recovered a bit (read: slept), I can write about my journey to watch this year’s Super Bowl. When the Ravens lost to the Steelers, I knew that if the Steelers made it, I’d have to watch just to ensure a loss for Big Ben. And so I began attempting to figure out where we would be able to watch. Baku was the front-runner for a while, but in the end, several volunteers were able to organize a viewing at the Hotel Ramada in the city of Ganja.
Getting to Ganja was no simple feat, but compared to some of the other traveling here I’ve undertaken, was fairly smooth sailing. By that I mean, there is a direct bus from Ismayilli to Ganja. It just took a long time to make it, with repeated stops; to deliver goods to people and stores, to wait for passengers, to allow the driver to have smoke breaks. But we made it. We left at 8am and arrived around 12:30 or 1 pm.
15 Hours to Go
Ganja is the second-largest city in Azerbaijan, with a population of about 300,000. We walked towards the city center, where we would meet several other volunteers for lunch. The city seemed nice, clean, developed. At times the buildings reminded me of a small Pennsylvania or Maryland town, like Frederick or Hanover. Big enough to have buses but small enough for walking if need be. The streets were lined with stores and sidewalks were everywhere completed and even. We ate at the Elegance restaurant, where they served enjoyable pizza, with real-ish cheese, and had pictures on the wall of the world’s largest baklava, made in Ganja last year.
Afterwards we wandered around the city, including stopping in one of the parks, which featured swings, a small county fair-style roller coaster and a Viking ship with park benches with seat belts. Perhaps the best 60 qepik I’ve spent: bumper cars. We all piled in and proceeded to ram into each other violently, probably scared the bejeezus out of a small boy unfortunate to be bumper car-ing with us (Azeris apparently don’t bump their bumper cars as much as we do).
We soon ran out of things to do in the city, but were fortunately saved by a call from a volunteer living in Ganja, about meeting at the Mangara Restaurant (Cave), where we met also a State Department worker in the city, and were joined by several other newly arrived volunteers. The restaurant was in the basement of a building, and in keeping with the cave theme, featured stone mosaics of animals on the walls, such as a bear fighting a lion.
12 Hours to Go
We stopped at a small market en route to the State Dept worker’s home, where we would be allowed to kill time until a 7pm meeting about the softball league that PC leads in Azerbaijan. We managed to pass the time through napping, snacking, Taboo, and Pictionary.
7 Hours to Go
Finally it came time to leave for the Hotel for our softball meeting. We split up, some of our group staying at the house for a bit to go to dinner, the rest to softball. I stopped as we dressed to talk to a friend, and when I turned around, the guys going to softball had left without me, and to top it off, one of them had made off wearing my shoes. Several minutes of confusion occurred, in which I looked at the shoes several times (a pointless repetition as there were really only about six pairs of shoes in the entryway). I then squeezed my feet into the thief’s shoes (admittedly similar designs, though my shoes were a full size larger) and followed the directions I was given to reach the hotel. A walk and a bus ride later, on the other side of the city, I was reunited with my fellow volunteers, and my shoes.
The meeting went well, and hopefully (inshallah) we will be starting a softball team here in Ismayilli this spring.
6 Hours to Go
The meeting over, the real waiting game began. We were allowed to stay at the Hotel Ramada’s restaurant (really the bar, but they claimed to have six sandwiches on the menu, all of which turned out to be smaller than my hand). Many of us therefore elected to seek food elsewhere, and so we embarked on an excursion to a nearby store for snacks and drinks.
One of the few seemingly universal traits of volunteers seems to be a love of games. Cards, board games, physical games, you name it, we love it, and in many cases, have brought it with us. One of our favorites is called Bananagrams, and is a more fast-paced, competitive Scabble. Another is the likewise lively Ninja, which requires people to move in single steady movements attempting to slap each other’s hands, and always seemingly ends up with someone rolling on the ground.
Some people spent the time napping, others reading, others eating and talking, but somehow finally the time passed. A few volunteers set up a spread for the game and collected small entrance fees, with escalating winnings for each quarter.
1 Hour to Go
After some worry that we’d have to watch the game in Turkish, our tech-savy volunteers figured out how to project the game onto the wall. We would be able to see the commercials, we thought excitedly. Just as the wait was creeping up on me and I was considering a brief nap, we were called in to watch Obama’s interview with Bill O’Reilly. We sure got some good laughs out of that, even at 2 in the morning.
And then it was time for the pregame show. The talking heads called for Green Bay to win, and that seemed also to be the way our group was leaning. The Steelers fans in attendance, several volunteers from Pittsburgh itself, were respectably dedicated to their team, wearing jerseys, hats, and waving their Terrible Towels. Made me wish they’d add a commercial where they showed not just armed forces but Peace Corps volunteers or similar volunteer organizations around the world watching the game.
When Lea Michele came on to sing America the Beautiful, we hit on the idea that a Glee halftime show would be absolutely amazing, and when Christina Aguillera sang to wrong words to The Star Spangled Banner, we all turned to each other at the same time, asking “That wasn’t right, was it?”
First Half
The game began with the Steelers fans at full volume, the Packers fans matching them all the way. But by halftime, it was clear one side was taking control, and the Steelers fans were on the edges of their seats, or sometimes curled on the floor. The major disappointment was the lack of commercials. Our feed was non-stop announcements for Fox Sports. The same set of commercials over and over again, for football, golf, and basketball. It was maddening, knowing that potentially brilliant commercials were being aired on the other side of the planet and we couldn’t see them. I have since watched these commercials, and while none were what I would call brilliant, there were some decent ones in the bunch. An irony while trying to watch the commercials: NFL's website made me watch an ad before they would show me the ads. Laying it on a little thick I think.
Halftime
I missed the halftime show, and boy, am I glad. I don’t normally like the Black Eyed Peas, and heard that it was all around a horrible performance, if you can call it that. I was distracted by a phone call from home and saved from the pain. The petition for Glee Halftime Show 2011 begins now.
Second Half
The second half rejuvenated their energy, and it got wonderfully competitive as Big Ben nearly led the Steelers back. Those of us who supported the Packers grimaced whenever Number 87 would drop the ball, and cheer that he’d redeemed himself when he caught the next for a big gain or a touchdown. When the final second ticked off, there were cheers, hugs and handshakes. We spilled out into the lobby, which had been empty save for the volunteers all night, and the top floors of the hotel still unlit (only the bottom four floors or show were lit).
Return Journey
It was dark when we left at 7am, the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon. We took taxis back to the SD’s home where a number of people crashed to take naps before their buses home. I had to grab my bag and go straight to the bus station, and almost jogged part of the way as the clock ticked down to 8am, when it was supposed to leave. I needn’t have worried, of course, as we sat at the station for another half an hour waiting for it to fill up.
Out of sheer exhaustion I slept fitfully in the bus, but was repeatedly awakened for short stops and deliveries. Fortunately though, we didn’t take any long breaks and we were much quicker back to Ismayilli. As I entered my front gate, my program director called and told me about a woman that I should meet with if I wanted about a young business leaders program that will be taking place in Ismayilli. The catch was, I had to be at the school in a half an hour, because she was getting ready to go to Ganja, to meet with volunteers there. Is that irony? I’m not sure, but in my sleep-deprived state, I couldn’t help chuckling at the whole thing.
Finally, I was able to return home, change into my sweat pants, and nap. As soon as dinner was over, I retreated to my room and with the lights still on and music playing, fell asleep.
Getting to Ganja was no simple feat, but compared to some of the other traveling here I’ve undertaken, was fairly smooth sailing. By that I mean, there is a direct bus from Ismayilli to Ganja. It just took a long time to make it, with repeated stops; to deliver goods to people and stores, to wait for passengers, to allow the driver to have smoke breaks. But we made it. We left at 8am and arrived around 12:30 or 1 pm.
15 Hours to Go
Ganja is the second-largest city in Azerbaijan, with a population of about 300,000. We walked towards the city center, where we would meet several other volunteers for lunch. The city seemed nice, clean, developed. At times the buildings reminded me of a small Pennsylvania or Maryland town, like Frederick or Hanover. Big enough to have buses but small enough for walking if need be. The streets were lined with stores and sidewalks were everywhere completed and even. We ate at the Elegance restaurant, where they served enjoyable pizza, with real-ish cheese, and had pictures on the wall of the world’s largest baklava, made in Ganja last year.
Afterwards we wandered around the city, including stopping in one of the parks, which featured swings, a small county fair-style roller coaster and a Viking ship with park benches with seat belts. Perhaps the best 60 qepik I’ve spent: bumper cars. We all piled in and proceeded to ram into each other violently, probably scared the bejeezus out of a small boy unfortunate to be bumper car-ing with us (Azeris apparently don’t bump their bumper cars as much as we do).
We soon ran out of things to do in the city, but were fortunately saved by a call from a volunteer living in Ganja, about meeting at the Mangara Restaurant (Cave), where we met also a State Department worker in the city, and were joined by several other newly arrived volunteers. The restaurant was in the basement of a building, and in keeping with the cave theme, featured stone mosaics of animals on the walls, such as a bear fighting a lion.
12 Hours to Go
We stopped at a small market en route to the State Dept worker’s home, where we would be allowed to kill time until a 7pm meeting about the softball league that PC leads in Azerbaijan. We managed to pass the time through napping, snacking, Taboo, and Pictionary.
7 Hours to Go
Finally it came time to leave for the Hotel for our softball meeting. We split up, some of our group staying at the house for a bit to go to dinner, the rest to softball. I stopped as we dressed to talk to a friend, and when I turned around, the guys going to softball had left without me, and to top it off, one of them had made off wearing my shoes. Several minutes of confusion occurred, in which I looked at the shoes several times (a pointless repetition as there were really only about six pairs of shoes in the entryway). I then squeezed my feet into the thief’s shoes (admittedly similar designs, though my shoes were a full size larger) and followed the directions I was given to reach the hotel. A walk and a bus ride later, on the other side of the city, I was reunited with my fellow volunteers, and my shoes.
The meeting went well, and hopefully (inshallah) we will be starting a softball team here in Ismayilli this spring.
6 Hours to Go
The meeting over, the real waiting game began. We were allowed to stay at the Hotel Ramada’s restaurant (really the bar, but they claimed to have six sandwiches on the menu, all of which turned out to be smaller than my hand). Many of us therefore elected to seek food elsewhere, and so we embarked on an excursion to a nearby store for snacks and drinks.
One of the few seemingly universal traits of volunteers seems to be a love of games. Cards, board games, physical games, you name it, we love it, and in many cases, have brought it with us. One of our favorites is called Bananagrams, and is a more fast-paced, competitive Scabble. Another is the likewise lively Ninja, which requires people to move in single steady movements attempting to slap each other’s hands, and always seemingly ends up with someone rolling on the ground.
Some people spent the time napping, others reading, others eating and talking, but somehow finally the time passed. A few volunteers set up a spread for the game and collected small entrance fees, with escalating winnings for each quarter.
1 Hour to Go
After some worry that we’d have to watch the game in Turkish, our tech-savy volunteers figured out how to project the game onto the wall. We would be able to see the commercials, we thought excitedly. Just as the wait was creeping up on me and I was considering a brief nap, we were called in to watch Obama’s interview with Bill O’Reilly. We sure got some good laughs out of that, even at 2 in the morning.
And then it was time for the pregame show. The talking heads called for Green Bay to win, and that seemed also to be the way our group was leaning. The Steelers fans in attendance, several volunteers from Pittsburgh itself, were respectably dedicated to their team, wearing jerseys, hats, and waving their Terrible Towels. Made me wish they’d add a commercial where they showed not just armed forces but Peace Corps volunteers or similar volunteer organizations around the world watching the game.
When Lea Michele came on to sing America the Beautiful, we hit on the idea that a Glee halftime show would be absolutely amazing, and when Christina Aguillera sang to wrong words to The Star Spangled Banner, we all turned to each other at the same time, asking “That wasn’t right, was it?”
First Half
The game began with the Steelers fans at full volume, the Packers fans matching them all the way. But by halftime, it was clear one side was taking control, and the Steelers fans were on the edges of their seats, or sometimes curled on the floor. The major disappointment was the lack of commercials. Our feed was non-stop announcements for Fox Sports. The same set of commercials over and over again, for football, golf, and basketball. It was maddening, knowing that potentially brilliant commercials were being aired on the other side of the planet and we couldn’t see them. I have since watched these commercials, and while none were what I would call brilliant, there were some decent ones in the bunch. An irony while trying to watch the commercials: NFL's website made me watch an ad before they would show me the ads. Laying it on a little thick I think.
Halftime
I missed the halftime show, and boy, am I glad. I don’t normally like the Black Eyed Peas, and heard that it was all around a horrible performance, if you can call it that. I was distracted by a phone call from home and saved from the pain. The petition for Glee Halftime Show 2011 begins now.
Second Half
The second half rejuvenated their energy, and it got wonderfully competitive as Big Ben nearly led the Steelers back. Those of us who supported the Packers grimaced whenever Number 87 would drop the ball, and cheer that he’d redeemed himself when he caught the next for a big gain or a touchdown. When the final second ticked off, there were cheers, hugs and handshakes. We spilled out into the lobby, which had been empty save for the volunteers all night, and the top floors of the hotel still unlit (only the bottom four floors or show were lit).
Return Journey
It was dark when we left at 7am, the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon. We took taxis back to the SD’s home where a number of people crashed to take naps before their buses home. I had to grab my bag and go straight to the bus station, and almost jogged part of the way as the clock ticked down to 8am, when it was supposed to leave. I needn’t have worried, of course, as we sat at the station for another half an hour waiting for it to fill up.
Out of sheer exhaustion I slept fitfully in the bus, but was repeatedly awakened for short stops and deliveries. Fortunately though, we didn’t take any long breaks and we were much quicker back to Ismayilli. As I entered my front gate, my program director called and told me about a woman that I should meet with if I wanted about a young business leaders program that will be taking place in Ismayilli. The catch was, I had to be at the school in a half an hour, because she was getting ready to go to Ganja, to meet with volunteers there. Is that irony? I’m not sure, but in my sleep-deprived state, I couldn’t help chuckling at the whole thing.
Finally, I was able to return home, change into my sweat pants, and nap. As soon as dinner was over, I retreated to my room and with the lights still on and music playing, fell asleep.
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