What Kind of Years Have They Been

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Years

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let's Stomp on Some Wool

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

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

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

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

Road to COS: Tests are Testing

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

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

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

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

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

A Little Toy Story

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

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

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

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

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

Summer's Gone in Ismayilli

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Host Families

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patriotism and the Olympics

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

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

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

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

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

Keeping My Head in the Game

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

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

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

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

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

Are You ABLE?

Forgive me, this is a long one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 3: Environment

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

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

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

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

Day 4: Human Rights

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

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

Day 5: Health

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

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

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

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