Visiting Baku is always a good break from life at site, and more often than not, more than a little surreal. This last trip just about took the cake, though. All of my year’s YD and CED volunteers came to Baku Thursday for our Early Service Training, an in-service training conference. It was weird, first of all, to see all the YDs again after four months. Some I’ve seen here and there over that time, but never at the same time. Peace Corps put us up in a hotel somewhat near to the Peace Corps office (though not as close as the map they gave us made it seem). Soft beds, normal-sized pillows, and a proper shower with good water pressure that never ran out of hot water. If that ain’t surreal, I don’t know what is.
The conference lasted all day Friday. While a nice chance to catch up and hear about others’ work, we were all glad when the day ended. We were finally free to take advantage of Baku, something we hadn’t been allowed to do during the weekend since March due to the occurrence of protests against the government in downtown Baku. And so we had another strange experience, eating Indian and Chinese food, relaxing at bars, being out at night. At the Chinese restaurant, we even had some fun with the karaoke machine.
The next day, I made arrangements for Easter. I would go, along with a few other volunteers, to a church service. I decided instead of paying for another night in Baku, which would cost money, to stay in Xirdalan with Rashad, my former LCF. He was working all day, so we spent the day wandering Baku, and happened upon a gelato shop, and a hidden ping pong/games den. Through the back of a shop, in a large former theatre, Narnia Ping Pong (our name) caters to those who want to play ping pong, air hockey, pool and some video games. A mural of the Marlboro man adorns one wall, and another wall bears an image of Samson breaking free of the pillars. We encountered an 80-year old man who beat everyone who played against him.
And so we come to Easter. I slipped out of Rashad’s house shortly after he’d gone off to work, and headed off, one bus ride and one five-stop metro ride, to meet the others at a bus stop near McDonald’s.
The church, Baku International Fellowship, is not itself a church, but meets in the auditorium of the Baku International School. This was the time that tipped the weekend over the edge. To enter the grounds, we had to pass through a security checkpoint, and upon entering the lobby, where there was coffee(!), I was stunned. Everywehre I looked, foreigners. Speaking English. I was happy to be at the service, even though it wasn’t entirely what I was hoping for. The music was a bit more in the contemporary music vein for my taste, though they did the Hallelujah chorus to end the service, and the sermon used a Powerpoint presentation, which seems off to me. There was nothing wrong with the service, just not always to my tastes or ideas of what church and Easter should usually be. (I made up for some of it by making Easter eggs when I got back to Ismayilli.)
Being at the school reminded me intensely and immediately of my time at Jakarta International School in Indonesia. My life now is very different from the life I led in Indonesia. The people at the church often did not know Azeri, and some had not traveled much in the regions. They shopped at supermarkets with foods imported from Europe and America. They live in modern buildings with air conditioning and central/good heating, with showers and washing machines, and indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets. This was the life I led in Indonesia for the most part. My school there offered opportunities to travel to the islands of Indonesia, to see and experience and learn about the cultures. But we didn’t live there. It was separate. We always had our comfortable homes in Jakarta to go back to in the end.
Is one lifestyle better than the other? Does one group help people and lead to better change than the other? Now that I’ve lived on both sides of the expat aid worker spectrum, I can’t help wondering. It is obvious that our lives are different, that life in Baku is very different from life in the regions. Knowing Baku is different from knowing Azerbaijan, but knowing the regions is also different from knowing Azerbaijan. The anthropologist in me believes it is important to learn the language to know a people, and to live amongst them. It’s in fact hard not to think that I know better than they do because of where I live and how I live. But is this really the best way to cause the change we say we want to inspire? Or is it better to work with the governments to enact that change in policy which will lead to new teaching supplies and techniques, new agricultural equipment, and so on? Probably, both are needed to make the world a better place. The grassroots and the governmental aide working together. But we don’t speak to each other about our work. They don’t ask for our opinions, and we don’t seek them out for help. Why is that? Why is there so little connection between the organizations? Is there some ideological rationale, or is this just the way it is? These questions are truly worth asking to determine whether or not we can actually change things, whether what we do here is worth doing. I just don't have the answers yet.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Being a Grown-Up: Cooking
Staring at the beginning of April, I began cooking for myself. It has not always been easy. Cooking three meals a day—three full meals with enough calories, nutrients, and vitamins—is difficult, I’ve found. For a while, my refrigerator was out of commission and I had to use my host family’s fridge or hope things wouldn’t go bad too quickly. This was mostly okay since it has been cold outside more often than not. Knowing it wouldn’t last, however, I buckled down and spent the money on a new power stabilizer. So now I have cold milk, frozen chicken, and spinach that doesn’t go bad in two days.
The downside to the cold climate that has been so persistent through the last month is that it means everyone’s using the gas for heat and cooking. I’ve had a couple cooking failures due to low gas. My first attempt at fried rice ended up in dried out rice because the heat took so long to cook everything.
I’ve had some successes as well. I splurged and bought the vegetables needed to cook a proper Mexican food feast. The required vegetables won’t be cheap for another month or so. But I wanted my fajitas, so I did it. And oh, was it worth it. I made refried beans the night before, then fajitas with chicken, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, sour cream, cheese and lavash (basically tortillas).
I’ve gotten pretty good also at potatoes (though trying to make French fries was downright painful), noodles, lentils, and mixing all of the above together when need be. I also had success making rice and beans. It took awhile to get the protein levels up, but I’ve started buying sausage and chicken, so I’ve got something besides lentils now.
Thank goodness spring is coming, or I’d be in trouble. I worry about getting enough fruits and vegetables, and oranges are still expensive, but everything’s getting better. I’ve started to see eggplant, tomatoes and bell peppers. I’ve heard other places have seen strawberries, too. Winter will be painful, but for now, food is getting more exciting, more varied, and more delicious. I just need to learn how to cook an eggplant now.
The downside to the cold climate that has been so persistent through the last month is that it means everyone’s using the gas for heat and cooking. I’ve had a couple cooking failures due to low gas. My first attempt at fried rice ended up in dried out rice because the heat took so long to cook everything.
I’ve had some successes as well. I splurged and bought the vegetables needed to cook a proper Mexican food feast. The required vegetables won’t be cheap for another month or so. But I wanted my fajitas, so I did it. And oh, was it worth it. I made refried beans the night before, then fajitas with chicken, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, sour cream, cheese and lavash (basically tortillas).
I’ve gotten pretty good also at potatoes (though trying to make French fries was downright painful), noodles, lentils, and mixing all of the above together when need be. I also had success making rice and beans. It took awhile to get the protein levels up, but I’ve started buying sausage and chicken, so I’ve got something besides lentils now.
Thank goodness spring is coming, or I’d be in trouble. I worry about getting enough fruits and vegetables, and oranges are still expensive, but everything’s getting better. I’ve started to see eggplant, tomatoes and bell peppers. I’ve heard other places have seen strawberries, too. Winter will be painful, but for now, food is getting more exciting, more varied, and more delicious. I just need to learn how to cook an eggplant now.
Getting Through With Laughs and News. Mostly Laughs, Though.
The life of a Peace Corps volunteer is not an easy one. I have been fortunate enough to have regular free Internet access, which has helped with contact with the outside world. But sometimes just having contact isn’t enough, and I must turn to certain websites for the pick me ups necessary to get through the day. As that comes off sound worse than it is, I think I should get on straight to the main website in question: Stuff Expat Aid Workers Like.
The website lays out the numerous common preoccupations, obsessions and preferences of Expat Aid Workers, a group I’ve had a considerable amount of experience with, whilst living in Indonesia, and now as an Expat Aid Worker in my own right.
Highlights of the site, which are particularly accurate and amusing include:
Planning air travel—because as much as we enjoy our work, it’s exciting to think about getting a break
Bad English—We know our Azeri is bad, but we still get a kick out of humorously mistranslated sentences.
Facebook—How else could we show off the work we’re doing in the exotic places we’re doing it in?
Hot showers—Heavenly. I loved returning to long hot showers of the non-bucket variety while in Scotland.
Pets—We’re lonely. Pets love us no matter what, as long as we feed them.
Blending in—I want nothing more than to blend in most days. But, I’ll always be a thin, blonde white guy. I need to find an exotic long lost culture of pale white folks. Where’s Atlantis when you need it?
Jargon—We stole this one from the army. Peace Corrps (PC) discussions are full of acronyms and technical terms
Personal Drama—What else do we have to talk about? Long live gossip, and the emotional roller coaster ride!
The other site worth sharing is Eurasia News. This is the best site I’ve found for Azerbaijan-related news. It also covers the news for other countries in the area, most interestingly the neighbor commonly known as Kansas. Honestly, this is the site I use to find out about what’s going on in the country around me. The television news is run by the government, and my Azeri isn’t good enough to read one of the opposition newspapers. So I turn to this website.
One final thing that helps get me through is my amusement with the Azeri obsessions with certain celebrities. My students love Shakira and Michael Jackson. For the registration form for Writing Olympics, we asked what the students’ special talents were. One student wrote: “I can dance as Shakira.” The best obsession I’ve noticed is with Robertino Noretti/Loretti, an Italian opera singer.
Another good obsession is with cross-dressing. Homosexuality might still be off-limits, but boy do Azeris get a kick out of cross-dressing. A while ago, I watched the Big Momma’s House series on Azeri TV. They loved it. Easy to understand physical comedy and a guy in a fat suit, dress, and wig. What else do you need?
The website lays out the numerous common preoccupations, obsessions and preferences of Expat Aid Workers, a group I’ve had a considerable amount of experience with, whilst living in Indonesia, and now as an Expat Aid Worker in my own right.
Highlights of the site, which are particularly accurate and amusing include:
Planning air travel—because as much as we enjoy our work, it’s exciting to think about getting a break
Bad English—We know our Azeri is bad, but we still get a kick out of humorously mistranslated sentences.
Facebook—How else could we show off the work we’re doing in the exotic places we’re doing it in?
Hot showers—Heavenly. I loved returning to long hot showers of the non-bucket variety while in Scotland.
Pets—We’re lonely. Pets love us no matter what, as long as we feed them.
Blending in—I want nothing more than to blend in most days. But, I’ll always be a thin, blonde white guy. I need to find an exotic long lost culture of pale white folks. Where’s Atlantis when you need it?
Jargon—We stole this one from the army. Peace Corrps (PC) discussions are full of acronyms and technical terms
Personal Drama—What else do we have to talk about? Long live gossip, and the emotional roller coaster ride!
The other site worth sharing is Eurasia News. This is the best site I’ve found for Azerbaijan-related news. It also covers the news for other countries in the area, most interestingly the neighbor commonly known as Kansas. Honestly, this is the site I use to find out about what’s going on in the country around me. The television news is run by the government, and my Azeri isn’t good enough to read one of the opposition newspapers. So I turn to this website.
One final thing that helps get me through is my amusement with the Azeri obsessions with certain celebrities. My students love Shakira and Michael Jackson. For the registration form for Writing Olympics, we asked what the students’ special talents were. One student wrote: “I can dance as Shakira.” The best obsession I’ve noticed is with Robertino Noretti/Loretti, an Italian opera singer.
Another good obsession is with cross-dressing. Homosexuality might still be off-limits, but boy do Azeris get a kick out of cross-dressing. A while ago, I watched the Big Momma’s House series on Azeri TV. They loved it. Easy to understand physical comedy and a guy in a fat suit, dress, and wig. What else do you need?
Monday, April 4, 2011
To the Market
I've begun cooking for myself. On Sunday, my host mother took me to the bazaar in town. Now, I've been to the bazaar a number of times, but it was still important to her that she go with me, partly to ensure I get the right prices for things, partly I'm sure because she doubted whether I could tell a good potato from a cumquat. It was actually nice having her there to point me to her usual sellers. The bazaar is a mess on Sundays, as people from all around the region set up shop in a large courtyard/parking lot area. It's packed with people selling their fruits and vegetables on tarps, or out of the trunk of their car, or on the hood of their car, while some bring small wooden tables to set up. The usuals pay for a booth under a hanger, but that's not where the good deals are, I would learn.
Another thing I learned is that Azeri potatoes are better than Pakistani potatoes. My host mother went up and down the rows of vendors, asking where their potatoes were from, and time and time again they would answer Pakistan, knowing full well that that meant she would pass them by. Finally we found Azeri potatoes, and I am now the proud owner of 2 kilos of them.
I also bought:
Cilantro
Spinach
Lentils
Rice
Spaghetti
Eggs
Garlic
Salt and Pepper
Dish Soap and Scrubber
Laundry Detergent
My own teapot
Olive Oil
Butter
If you know any good recipes, I am all ears. My first real meal was fried rice, which turned out well considering there was almost no gas for the flame. It got cold again here, and the gas was being used by people most of the day. Come back, spring weather!
Another thing I learned is that Azeri potatoes are better than Pakistani potatoes. My host mother went up and down the rows of vendors, asking where their potatoes were from, and time and time again they would answer Pakistan, knowing full well that that meant she would pass them by. Finally we found Azeri potatoes, and I am now the proud owner of 2 kilos of them.
I also bought:
Cilantro
Spinach
Lentils
Rice
Spaghetti
Eggs
Garlic
Salt and Pepper
Dish Soap and Scrubber
Laundry Detergent
My own teapot
Olive Oil
Butter
If you know any good recipes, I am all ears. My first real meal was fried rice, which turned out well considering there was almost no gas for the flame. It got cold again here, and the gas was being used by people most of the day. Come back, spring weather!
Friday, April 1, 2011
Goodbye Childhood
Another day, another step in the transition to adulthood. Today, I deleted my hotmail account.
On the surface not a big deal--I haven't really used that account since before college. It was replaced by my college email and then by my gmail account. But the hotmail account was a tie to my past. First created in Indonesia, using my JIS ID number, it gave me a tie to an important part of my life. It is sad, in a way, the way the email became a dumping ground for spam emails and newsletters I wanted to sign up for for one free giveaway--a free song download or something along those lines. And now that it is gone completely, something I feel I had to do to stop the spread of some perceived virus, does that mean my past is gone? No, it doesn't, it means only that I am not the person who created the email account. The boy who sat at a computer in Jakarta is not gone, but merely a part of the developing man who has had many experiences since then, and will continue to have experiences for hopefully many years to come.
The account was deleted because, when I checked it today, which I do periodically because my grandparents for some reason still send emails to that account even though I have told them countless times not to send things to it, that I have a new email, that I don't check it frequently...when I checked it today, I found an email to myself and a number of rejected senders emails. I didn't remember sending anything to myself, but not ruling it out because sometimes hotmail works faster than gmail on slow computers here, I opened the email. The only thing inside was a link. Guessing it might be a virus (and never knowing whether just opening the email activates the virus or clicking on the link) I quickly close and delete the email and then assuming that the virus did the typical virus thing and emailed itself to everyone in my contact list, prepared an email to everyone I could think of. Fortunately, I feel like this won't be a major issue, as many people no longer use or check the emails they did 10 years ago. But some emails are still on the books, and to those people I sent warning letters.
And then I decided it was best, in case this should happen again somehow, that I should delete my account. Actually, before I had completely committed to that plan of action, I deleted all of my contacts. It was amusing and a bit sad to see how few people from the contact list I still kept in touch with. Besides my family, who I do still talk to of course, there were people from Boy Scouts, from Indonesia, from high school. What happened to those people I wonder. Where are they now? What are they doing and are they happy? What would they think of me being here in Azerbaijan as a Peace Corps volunteer? Would they even remember me? I don't really remember all of them. Some were one-time emails, for a school project, or for camping trip preparation. Some were friends, some of them very good friends, people I thought I would stay in contact with for the rest of my life. And in all but a few exceptions, I’ve lost track of them. By the time we found each other again on Facebook, as I have with some people, it was mostly too late for a real friendship to be rekindled. I am happy with my life, with the friends I have, and do not believe I would change the course of my life, but I cannot help but wonder how my life would have been altered if I were still in contact with master_monkey or jclark01. Wherever they are, whoever they are, I hope they remember me as fondly as I remember them, and hope they too are becoming the adults they want to be, the adults that seemed so far off when we knew each other.
On the surface not a big deal--I haven't really used that account since before college. It was replaced by my college email and then by my gmail account. But the hotmail account was a tie to my past. First created in Indonesia, using my JIS ID number, it gave me a tie to an important part of my life. It is sad, in a way, the way the email became a dumping ground for spam emails and newsletters I wanted to sign up for for one free giveaway--a free song download or something along those lines. And now that it is gone completely, something I feel I had to do to stop the spread of some perceived virus, does that mean my past is gone? No, it doesn't, it means only that I am not the person who created the email account. The boy who sat at a computer in Jakarta is not gone, but merely a part of the developing man who has had many experiences since then, and will continue to have experiences for hopefully many years to come.
The account was deleted because, when I checked it today, which I do periodically because my grandparents for some reason still send emails to that account even though I have told them countless times not to send things to it, that I have a new email, that I don't check it frequently...when I checked it today, I found an email to myself and a number of rejected senders emails. I didn't remember sending anything to myself, but not ruling it out because sometimes hotmail works faster than gmail on slow computers here, I opened the email. The only thing inside was a link. Guessing it might be a virus (and never knowing whether just opening the email activates the virus or clicking on the link) I quickly close and delete the email and then assuming that the virus did the typical virus thing and emailed itself to everyone in my contact list, prepared an email to everyone I could think of. Fortunately, I feel like this won't be a major issue, as many people no longer use or check the emails they did 10 years ago. But some emails are still on the books, and to those people I sent warning letters.
And then I decided it was best, in case this should happen again somehow, that I should delete my account. Actually, before I had completely committed to that plan of action, I deleted all of my contacts. It was amusing and a bit sad to see how few people from the contact list I still kept in touch with. Besides my family, who I do still talk to of course, there were people from Boy Scouts, from Indonesia, from high school. What happened to those people I wonder. Where are they now? What are they doing and are they happy? What would they think of me being here in Azerbaijan as a Peace Corps volunteer? Would they even remember me? I don't really remember all of them. Some were one-time emails, for a school project, or for camping trip preparation. Some were friends, some of them very good friends, people I thought I would stay in contact with for the rest of my life. And in all but a few exceptions, I’ve lost track of them. By the time we found each other again on Facebook, as I have with some people, it was mostly too late for a real friendship to be rekindled. I am happy with my life, with the friends I have, and do not believe I would change the course of my life, but I cannot help but wonder how my life would have been altered if I were still in contact with master_monkey or jclark01. Wherever they are, whoever they are, I hope they remember me as fondly as I remember them, and hope they too are becoming the adults they want to be, the adults that seemed so far off when we knew each other.
Monday, March 28, 2011
There's Something There That Wasn't There Before. Or: Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
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.
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.
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.
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