I’ve been feeling pretty UN-y lately. That’s United Nations-y. I’ve mentioned that this summer the US ambassador visited our boys’ summer camp, ABLE (as well as the girls’ GLOW camp), but since then I’ve had several other ambassadorial run-ins. In a way, spotting and meetings ambassadors is kind of like celebrity spotting or Pokemon catching here. Gotta catch ‘em all! Six down, 48 to go!
Here in Ismayilli, there’s a new vocational school, at which my sitemate and I have worked off and on with English teachers, that trains students to be hotel staff, chefs, waiters and (soon) tourism workers. For about six months, a group of expats, lead onsite by a Dutch man named Alexander, has been helping the school in the development of their curriculum. Recently, their contract ran out, and they prepared to depart, making as many preparations to ensure that the work they had implemented would be sustained after their departure. In the midst of all this, it was decided by the powers that be that they would also conduct a conference to showcase the new curriculum and progress the school has made. They had a week to organize this. This is not abnormal for Azerbaijan.
At the conference, many local education leaders were present, as well as the ambassador from the European Union delegation to Azerbaijan, Roland Kobia. The conference seemed to be a success, and was assisted by the fact that they had a man instantly translating via earphones. After the conference, there was naturally a tea session, and I had a chance to speak briefly with the ambassador. Most amusingly, after I explained my work and the goals of Peace Corps, he noted how he wished France had more programs like that to spread the French language around the world. (Interestingly, French is a common language being taught in schools here and my school’s French teacher was actually disappointed I had studied Spanish instead of French in school.)
The ambassador encounters didn't stop there. Every year, before school begins, the rayon holds a large education celebration, honoring the best teachers and students of the rayon. My counterpart was in the past honored as one of the best teachers, a huge honor, one for which some teachers becomes an obsession. At this ceremony, which seemed to be attended by all of Ismayilli, packing the entire central park area, and watched over by a statue of Heydar Aliyev, the Japanese, Turkish, Russian, Belarussian, and Latvian ambassadors all gave speeches, mostly in Russian, clearly just to thwart my understanding (and not, you know, because that’s their native language and is widely understood here). Most amusingly, while they called up the winning students, who each received a new flat-screen TV, a new telephone, and what may have been a DVD player (almost made me want to be a student), fanfare-style sound clips were played on the sound system, almost always stolen from US television or the Olympics, and often playing over the speakers. On a related note, the Pirates of the Caribbean movie theme music is the theme song for one of the news programs here.
After the announcements, a singer from Baku emerged on stage through the haze of several smoke machines. This, apparently, is one of the best singers in all of Azerbaijan, Nazperi Dostaliyera. An oboe/keyboard/accordion/drum group accompanied her. Their blaring solos (the only acceptable volume for live music is “feel-it-in-the-very-core-of-your-soul loud”) reminded why I am not an oboe fan (sorry to all my oboe-loving readers). Meanwhile, a brilliant laser show danced across the square, while kids danced and ran around. Even though the ambassadors had long since disappeared, it was one of those perfect end-of-summer nights.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
The Long National Nightmare is Over!
That's right, you can rest easy once more. Our days of cowering in the corner and not wanting to open the door for fear of a stranger entering the house is at an end.
Yes, our washing machine has been returned to us. I no longer have to wash my clothes by hand. No more stiff shirts and jeans because I couldn't get the soap all the way out. There can be miracles when you believe.
Yes, our washing machine has been returned to us. I no longer have to wash my clothes by hand. No more stiff shirts and jeans because I couldn't get the soap all the way out. There can be miracles when you believe.
Summer's Going Going Gone
Where did summer go? I ask myself this as we enter our fourth straight day of clouds and rain here in Ismayilli. After two months of virtually no clouds or rain, the last few weeks have been filled with both.
It's amazing to me how similar the end of summer here feels compared to the end of summer back home. Now, I love summer. I'm good at summer. I close my eyes and remember running around Summerhill pool with our group of swim team friends, which we dubbed the Summer Hill Mafia. Later, I was a lifeguard all through high school and college, working at the neighborhood pool, and then at a summer camp where I guarded OUR lake and taught canoeing and (not)fun-yaking, a sort of open kayak. Even though we had fun complaining about the bossy patrons, savored every last thunderstorm, and wanted to push certain campers off a high ledge at times, those summers were bliss, and as a result, summer is automatically a special season for me.
But now summer is over. Random cold days with clouds recall to my mind days when we would wear sweats by the pool and pray that we wouldn't have to get up in the lifeguard chair, somehow always foiled by the one boy trying to eek out as much pool time as he could before school started again. The familiar feeling that everyone has left for college has been replaced by the loss of visitors, from the US and from other rayons. This weekend, Alexander, a Danish man working through British Councils at the vocational school in town will leave, making Ismayilli just a little bit emptier. They've all done some good work there, and hopefully we'll be able to build on the foundations which he started.
With the coming school year brings a move for me. Today I vacated my summer room and made the long trek through the house to my winter and spring room and kitchen. Soon, the students who rent the summer room will be back from the village, ready to start their school year here in Ismayilli (where they are able to get a better education). I came to Azerbaijan with two bags and a carry-one. I don't know where all this stuff came from, let me tell you. It's like everything had babies while I wasn't looking.
It's not all bad, of course. September means the chance to implement new clubs and ideas that my students last spring suggested and I couldn't get up and running during the summer. It also means that in one month, 40 new volunteers will be arriving in Baku to undergo training. The application process to help out during PST has begun. There's even a chance that come December, we'll be getting a new volunteer here in Ismayilli, though I'm going to try not to jinx it and will henceforth assume it won't happen.
Summer's ending always feels like the end of an era to me. It doesn't get any bigger than summer for me, with summer camps, grand adventures and expeditions, and close friends. If and when I enter the real world and have a job that involves working year-round, I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but there will always be a part of me that will miss the power of doing nothing while doing something that only summer can allow. I'm tempted to segue now into an examination of what it means to grow up, but this piece has gone on for awhile now, and the Peter Pan in me is telling me to go play with Bucky outside while we still can.
It's amazing to me how similar the end of summer here feels compared to the end of summer back home. Now, I love summer. I'm good at summer. I close my eyes and remember running around Summerhill pool with our group of swim team friends, which we dubbed the Summer Hill Mafia. Later, I was a lifeguard all through high school and college, working at the neighborhood pool, and then at a summer camp where I guarded OUR lake and taught canoeing and (not)fun-yaking, a sort of open kayak. Even though we had fun complaining about the bossy patrons, savored every last thunderstorm, and wanted to push certain campers off a high ledge at times, those summers were bliss, and as a result, summer is automatically a special season for me.
But now summer is over. Random cold days with clouds recall to my mind days when we would wear sweats by the pool and pray that we wouldn't have to get up in the lifeguard chair, somehow always foiled by the one boy trying to eek out as much pool time as he could before school started again. The familiar feeling that everyone has left for college has been replaced by the loss of visitors, from the US and from other rayons. This weekend, Alexander, a Danish man working through British Councils at the vocational school in town will leave, making Ismayilli just a little bit emptier. They've all done some good work there, and hopefully we'll be able to build on the foundations which he started.
With the coming school year brings a move for me. Today I vacated my summer room and made the long trek through the house to my winter and spring room and kitchen. Soon, the students who rent the summer room will be back from the village, ready to start their school year here in Ismayilli (where they are able to get a better education). I came to Azerbaijan with two bags and a carry-one. I don't know where all this stuff came from, let me tell you. It's like everything had babies while I wasn't looking.
It's not all bad, of course. September means the chance to implement new clubs and ideas that my students last spring suggested and I couldn't get up and running during the summer. It also means that in one month, 40 new volunteers will be arriving in Baku to undergo training. The application process to help out during PST has begun. There's even a chance that come December, we'll be getting a new volunteer here in Ismayilli, though I'm going to try not to jinx it and will henceforth assume it won't happen.
Summer's ending always feels like the end of an era to me. It doesn't get any bigger than summer for me, with summer camps, grand adventures and expeditions, and close friends. If and when I enter the real world and have a job that involves working year-round, I'm sure I'll enjoy it, but there will always be a part of me that will miss the power of doing nothing while doing something that only summer can allow. I'm tempted to segue now into an examination of what it means to grow up, but this piece has gone on for awhile now, and the Peter Pan in me is telling me to go play with Bucky outside while we still can.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Spoiled Rotten
I’ll admit it, as difficult as Peace Corps and life here can be, I have been spoiled in many ways during the last 10 months I’ve been here in Azerbaijan. The most obvious signs of this were made apparent to me again recently when my host brother left for America, and our washing machine broke.
Let’s start with the latter. Our washing machine broke somehow, and had to be sent to Baku to be repaired. In the meantime, I had to suck it up, after several weeks of being out of town and not having time, to do my wash by hand. This takes FOREVER when you save up as much washing as I had. I had to do three rounds—whites, darks, and blacks/pants. First the soaking an agitating in soapy water. Then, rinsing, and rinsing again and again, until the soap was out. And finally, hanging them out to dry on the line. All this out in the yard, hunched over the tub, stirring and squeezing and wringing and aching. I definitely didn’t do a great job, especially as the water was running lower, and there are still a couple shirts stiff as cardboard. This whole by hand thing is not ideal, even though I know it’s the standard washing method for PCVs worldwide. Here’s what makes me even more spoiled: both of my host families so far have had washing machines. This past week was my first time washing by hand. And the irony of the situation: after a month straight of sun, barely a cloud in sight, just when I finish my laundry, two (and counting) days of clouds and rain.
Now, the former, my lost host brother. He left last week for America as a part of the MUSKIE program. He’ll be studying journalism and mass communication at Kent State University for the next two years, depriving me of a great resource. You see, he was fluent in English, having been a translator for several years. Now, I have to understand everything that’s said to me by myself! Oh woe is me! And unlike the washing machine situation, this one won’t get any better. My only recourse is to get better at Azeri!
The horror. The horror.
Let’s start with the latter. Our washing machine broke somehow, and had to be sent to Baku to be repaired. In the meantime, I had to suck it up, after several weeks of being out of town and not having time, to do my wash by hand. This takes FOREVER when you save up as much washing as I had. I had to do three rounds—whites, darks, and blacks/pants. First the soaking an agitating in soapy water. Then, rinsing, and rinsing again and again, until the soap was out. And finally, hanging them out to dry on the line. All this out in the yard, hunched over the tub, stirring and squeezing and wringing and aching. I definitely didn’t do a great job, especially as the water was running lower, and there are still a couple shirts stiff as cardboard. This whole by hand thing is not ideal, even though I know it’s the standard washing method for PCVs worldwide. Here’s what makes me even more spoiled: both of my host families so far have had washing machines. This past week was my first time washing by hand. And the irony of the situation: after a month straight of sun, barely a cloud in sight, just when I finish my laundry, two (and counting) days of clouds and rain.
Now, the former, my lost host brother. He left last week for America as a part of the MUSKIE program. He’ll be studying journalism and mass communication at Kent State University for the next two years, depriving me of a great resource. You see, he was fluent in English, having been a translator for several years. Now, I have to understand everything that’s said to me by myself! Oh woe is me! And unlike the washing machine situation, this one won’t get any better. My only recourse is to get better at Azeri!
The horror. The horror.
Mees Veesits Oz-erbaijan
When people from home visit, you want the trip to be perfect. When it’s your girlfriend and you’re celebrating your second anniversary, that desire is at least double, if not more. I was even more stressed because the day before Caroline was set to visit, I was at ABLE, finishing up the camp and bringing the boys home. I rushed home, discovered that our washing machine was broken, decided that washing laundry would take too long by hand, and double-checked that the hotel room was reserved. The day she was to arrive, I bused in to Baku, checked in to the hotel, turned on the air conditioning, and waited until the evening.
Getting to the airport is always an adventure. As usual, I took the metro from the Old City to the stop closest to the airport. I found my way out of the maze on the right side of the highway this time, and started looking for a bus. I asked for clarification, and was directed to a bus that was pulling away, forcing me to chase it down. By this time I was checking my clock regularly, watching the time tick down to the plane’s landing. Naturally, the bus did not actually go to the airport (this being Baku), and once more I was deposited on the wrong side of the highway from the airport, and had to walk in to the airport, as cars zoomed by and security guards gave me confused looks.
Finally, after what always seems like eons of watching the wrong people come out of the baggage claim area, Caroline emerged. By the time we made it back to the hotel, this time by taxi, Caroline was exhausted from her trip. The next day we set out to wander around Baku, particularly the Old City, but were stymied by the heat and humidity of Baku, so after several hours, and a delicious brunch, we retreated back to our hotel and the A/C.
That evening we went out to celebrate the two years, choosing an Indian restaurant as sushi, our first date, was not feasible. Stepping into the restaurant was like stepping out of Azerbaijan and into a whole new world for the whole meal. Plus, we updated our anniversary tradition—ethnic food. We returned to the hotel to discover that the A/C we so desperately were craving had stopped cooling. After much fiddling and playing with the remote, we resigned ourselves to a sweaty night, only to discover part way through the night that all the cooler had needed was a bit of a break.
The heat would plague us throughout the trip, and sadly limited what was comfortable to do during the day. We spent the majority of the trip in and around Ismayilli, my site, which Caroline can now pronounce perfectly (not a criticism of before, but a fault of my typing with a keyboard that does not include an “I” without the dot). Caroline had her share of culture shock, which was to be expected. It’s hard to get used to the staring and some of the gender differences, especially when it’s so hot on top of everything.
The time in Ismayilli went smoothly, and was relaxing and quiet. We had several meals with my host family, including a plov meal, being a special event (Caroline’s arrival), and kebabs, as well as a spaghetti and tomato sauce meal that Caroline cooked (with some help from me, mostly accolades and cheering). Caroline also took the initiative and cooked stuffed chicken and scalloped potatoes. It may be like camping sometimes, but you can eat delicious food even when you go camping (I recall my father winning a pie-making contest while camping on an island in the Florida Keys, for instance).
We ventured out of Ismayilli city to visit two villages. The first, Lahic, is the go-to tourist village, which I’ve discussed in previous posts. A new discovery, though, is that the village was the filming location for a recent movie, Absurdistan. So if you’ve got Netflix, give it an order and see what Azerbaijan villages are like (maybe, I haven’t seen the movie yet).
We also visited the Shato Monolit, or Chateau Monolith, Ismayilli’s winery. Ismayilli rayon, in particular the Ivanovka village, was once home to a large winery during the Soviet era named after the village, but the production moved west towards Ganja while keeping the now misleading name. Visiting the winery was like finding an oasis of style in the middle of nowhere. I don’t mean this as an insult; it’s just that the roads near the winery are typical dirt village roads. And then bam! There’s a garden and a pool and beautiful green grape vines and large steel fermentation tanks. We’d stumbled out of Ivanovka and into Napa Valley. The wine wasn't fantastic, but the rose was good, at least according to someone who doesn’t drink many roses. Paul Giammatti might disagree.
A plan to travel to Nabran fell through (most regrettably, since that’s where the swanky beach resorts are, and I know that the pirate ship pool I saw would be amazing) due to heat and sickness, but resulted in a relaxing few days holed up in an air-conditioned hotel room and eating delicious Baku restaurant food.
Perhaps not the most exciting trip, but it was definitely a big trip. I was touched that Caroline would visit, that she would travel to the other side of the world, braving airplanes (not her favorite mode of transportation), an entirely new culture, and spending quite a chunk of money to get here. It meant a lot to me that she would come and see the place that I live and is so important to me now. To share that with someone, as I’ve been fortunate enough to do twice now this summer, is a great feeling, even if we didn’t do everything we thought we would.
Getting to the airport is always an adventure. As usual, I took the metro from the Old City to the stop closest to the airport. I found my way out of the maze on the right side of the highway this time, and started looking for a bus. I asked for clarification, and was directed to a bus that was pulling away, forcing me to chase it down. By this time I was checking my clock regularly, watching the time tick down to the plane’s landing. Naturally, the bus did not actually go to the airport (this being Baku), and once more I was deposited on the wrong side of the highway from the airport, and had to walk in to the airport, as cars zoomed by and security guards gave me confused looks.
Finally, after what always seems like eons of watching the wrong people come out of the baggage claim area, Caroline emerged. By the time we made it back to the hotel, this time by taxi, Caroline was exhausted from her trip. The next day we set out to wander around Baku, particularly the Old City, but were stymied by the heat and humidity of Baku, so after several hours, and a delicious brunch, we retreated back to our hotel and the A/C.
That evening we went out to celebrate the two years, choosing an Indian restaurant as sushi, our first date, was not feasible. Stepping into the restaurant was like stepping out of Azerbaijan and into a whole new world for the whole meal. Plus, we updated our anniversary tradition—ethnic food. We returned to the hotel to discover that the A/C we so desperately were craving had stopped cooling. After much fiddling and playing with the remote, we resigned ourselves to a sweaty night, only to discover part way through the night that all the cooler had needed was a bit of a break.
The heat would plague us throughout the trip, and sadly limited what was comfortable to do during the day. We spent the majority of the trip in and around Ismayilli, my site, which Caroline can now pronounce perfectly (not a criticism of before, but a fault of my typing with a keyboard that does not include an “I” without the dot). Caroline had her share of culture shock, which was to be expected. It’s hard to get used to the staring and some of the gender differences, especially when it’s so hot on top of everything.
The time in Ismayilli went smoothly, and was relaxing and quiet. We had several meals with my host family, including a plov meal, being a special event (Caroline’s arrival), and kebabs, as well as a spaghetti and tomato sauce meal that Caroline cooked (with some help from me, mostly accolades and cheering). Caroline also took the initiative and cooked stuffed chicken and scalloped potatoes. It may be like camping sometimes, but you can eat delicious food even when you go camping (I recall my father winning a pie-making contest while camping on an island in the Florida Keys, for instance).
We ventured out of Ismayilli city to visit two villages. The first, Lahic, is the go-to tourist village, which I’ve discussed in previous posts. A new discovery, though, is that the village was the filming location for a recent movie, Absurdistan. So if you’ve got Netflix, give it an order and see what Azerbaijan villages are like (maybe, I haven’t seen the movie yet).
We also visited the Shato Monolit, or Chateau Monolith, Ismayilli’s winery. Ismayilli rayon, in particular the Ivanovka village, was once home to a large winery during the Soviet era named after the village, but the production moved west towards Ganja while keeping the now misleading name. Visiting the winery was like finding an oasis of style in the middle of nowhere. I don’t mean this as an insult; it’s just that the roads near the winery are typical dirt village roads. And then bam! There’s a garden and a pool and beautiful green grape vines and large steel fermentation tanks. We’d stumbled out of Ivanovka and into Napa Valley. The wine wasn't fantastic, but the rose was good, at least according to someone who doesn’t drink many roses. Paul Giammatti might disagree.
A plan to travel to Nabran fell through (most regrettably, since that’s where the swanky beach resorts are, and I know that the pirate ship pool I saw would be amazing) due to heat and sickness, but resulted in a relaxing few days holed up in an air-conditioned hotel room and eating delicious Baku restaurant food.
Perhaps not the most exciting trip, but it was definitely a big trip. I was touched that Caroline would visit, that she would travel to the other side of the world, braving airplanes (not her favorite mode of transportation), an entirely new culture, and spending quite a chunk of money to get here. It meant a lot to me that she would come and see the place that I live and is so important to me now. To share that with someone, as I’ve been fortunate enough to do twice now this summer, is a great feeling, even if we didn’t do everything we thought we would.
Summer Camp Week 2: ABLE
The camp at which we held ABLE, Sahil Istrahat Merkezi (Sahil Rest Center), sits on the shore of a large lake, with several rowboats which customers can rent for several hours. Across the way from the camp is a beach area and further around, a large house, rumored to belong to the president or some other high government official. At night, the entire shore in front of the home would light up.
We arrived around noon, and the boys were sorted into their teams, and their rooms. We mixed the boys up so they were forced to interact with boys from different rayons. After we ate and got settled, the boys had to work together to choose a team leader, name, cheer, and symbol. We ended up with the Red Dragons, White Lightning, the 12 Winners, and Fireland Gang. During all of this, I and another PCV, Drew, were hard at work setting up a scavenger hunt that would lead the kids around the camp and then to the bonfire for the evening. At the bonfire, all the kids wrote something they didn’t think they could do, and then threw it in the fire. Afterwards, the musically inclined PCVs busted out the guitars for some rockin’.
The next day was my baby, the challenge course. I had worked for a few summers at a summer camp that specialized in outdoor activities and team building. The highlight was always the challenge rope course, and when I found out that ABLE’s challenge course guy had left, I jumped at the chance. To prepare for the course, I scoured my old camp handbook for potential activities. We ended up with 10 activities including trust falls, a Spider’s Web, Nuclear Waste (renamed Caspian Clean-up), the human knot, and a Lava Walk, among others. A PCV manned every station, enabling me to float around, running interference, supporting and taking pictures.
One of the highlights, for campers and counselors alike, was going camping. Each night we took a group of 16 boys out to a field near the camp, taught them how to set up tents, and built a campfire, for s’mores, and more importantly for the camping experience, scary stories. The s’mores went over well, the stories decidedly less so. By the end the boys had talked to each other enough so they knew it was coming, but every night the boys still jumped several feet in the air when the “murderer” came stumbling out of the dark at the end of the story.
Another highlight was swimming. Some of the boys were nervous, having never learned to swim, but the swim area we set up was shallow, and not an issue in the end. This was truly a return to summer life for me. There are times during the school year, when I am trying to plan conversation clubs that the kids will actually learn from when I don’t feel particularly qualified to be here. But at this camp, particularly when running the challenge course and when lifeguarding, that I felt truly comfortable. Lifeguarding, and the particular persona that the job entails, came back to me in a flash. There truly is power in that whistle.
Every day we kept the kids busy. If the kid isn’t tired for a week afterwards, the camp’s not doing its job. Every morning started with morning exercises—wheelbarrow races and stretching and the like, and then, for the boys that hadn’t followed the rules, punishment: push ups, sprints, and other pain-inducing exercises administered by Jake, who seemed to be having almost too much fun with it. We had local guest speakers come in every day, talking on such topics as project management, social engagement, human rights, gender, conflict management. The FLEX/UGrad alumni who served as camp counselors and translators each ran sessions on volunteerism, community, teamwork and leadership. On top of that, we played football (American), ultimate Frisbee, and capture the flag. The final full day was marked by a counselors vs. campers game. In short, they got the camp experience, and then some.
Switching it up a little bit was a visit on the last day by the new Peace Corps Country Director, and the US Ambassador. Both were welcomed happily, and the Ambassador spoke well to the boys, and challenged them to use what they had learned and to be open minded as they move into the future.
One of the greatest parts of the camp was working with the Azeri FLEX/UGrad alumni. These students are all people who spent a year or more in the US studying at an American high school or college, and have impeccable English. More importantly, they really get it. That ambiguous, hard to grasp “it,” which, as much as we preach certain ideas to our students, remain decidedly theoretical. But these students have seen those ideas which are so simple to us: creative, critical thinking, volunteerism, teamwork and fair leadership. They are more important than us, and the more students in Azerbaijan like them, the better work we’re doing. The more work they take on, and the less we’re involved, the better. The strange realization is that the sign that we’re doing a good job is that we do less work. In requiring the students to plan and complete a community project upon their return from camp, they’re going in the right direction. It just takes baby steps.
We arrived around noon, and the boys were sorted into their teams, and their rooms. We mixed the boys up so they were forced to interact with boys from different rayons. After we ate and got settled, the boys had to work together to choose a team leader, name, cheer, and symbol. We ended up with the Red Dragons, White Lightning, the 12 Winners, and Fireland Gang. During all of this, I and another PCV, Drew, were hard at work setting up a scavenger hunt that would lead the kids around the camp and then to the bonfire for the evening. At the bonfire, all the kids wrote something they didn’t think they could do, and then threw it in the fire. Afterwards, the musically inclined PCVs busted out the guitars for some rockin’.
The next day was my baby, the challenge course. I had worked for a few summers at a summer camp that specialized in outdoor activities and team building. The highlight was always the challenge rope course, and when I found out that ABLE’s challenge course guy had left, I jumped at the chance. To prepare for the course, I scoured my old camp handbook for potential activities. We ended up with 10 activities including trust falls, a Spider’s Web, Nuclear Waste (renamed Caspian Clean-up), the human knot, and a Lava Walk, among others. A PCV manned every station, enabling me to float around, running interference, supporting and taking pictures.
One of the highlights, for campers and counselors alike, was going camping. Each night we took a group of 16 boys out to a field near the camp, taught them how to set up tents, and built a campfire, for s’mores, and more importantly for the camping experience, scary stories. The s’mores went over well, the stories decidedly less so. By the end the boys had talked to each other enough so they knew it was coming, but every night the boys still jumped several feet in the air when the “murderer” came stumbling out of the dark at the end of the story.
Another highlight was swimming. Some of the boys were nervous, having never learned to swim, but the swim area we set up was shallow, and not an issue in the end. This was truly a return to summer life for me. There are times during the school year, when I am trying to plan conversation clubs that the kids will actually learn from when I don’t feel particularly qualified to be here. But at this camp, particularly when running the challenge course and when lifeguarding, that I felt truly comfortable. Lifeguarding, and the particular persona that the job entails, came back to me in a flash. There truly is power in that whistle.
Every day we kept the kids busy. If the kid isn’t tired for a week afterwards, the camp’s not doing its job. Every morning started with morning exercises—wheelbarrow races and stretching and the like, and then, for the boys that hadn’t followed the rules, punishment: push ups, sprints, and other pain-inducing exercises administered by Jake, who seemed to be having almost too much fun with it. We had local guest speakers come in every day, talking on such topics as project management, social engagement, human rights, gender, conflict management. The FLEX/UGrad alumni who served as camp counselors and translators each ran sessions on volunteerism, community, teamwork and leadership. On top of that, we played football (American), ultimate Frisbee, and capture the flag. The final full day was marked by a counselors vs. campers game. In short, they got the camp experience, and then some.
Switching it up a little bit was a visit on the last day by the new Peace Corps Country Director, and the US Ambassador. Both were welcomed happily, and the Ambassador spoke well to the boys, and challenged them to use what they had learned and to be open minded as they move into the future.
One of the greatest parts of the camp was working with the Azeri FLEX/UGrad alumni. These students are all people who spent a year or more in the US studying at an American high school or college, and have impeccable English. More importantly, they really get it. That ambiguous, hard to grasp “it,” which, as much as we preach certain ideas to our students, remain decidedly theoretical. But these students have seen those ideas which are so simple to us: creative, critical thinking, volunteerism, teamwork and fair leadership. They are more important than us, and the more students in Azerbaijan like them, the better work we’re doing. The more work they take on, and the less we’re involved, the better. The strange realization is that the sign that we’re doing a good job is that we do less work. In requiring the students to plan and complete a community project upon their return from camp, they’re going in the right direction. It just takes baby steps.
Summer Camp Part 1: TOT and Sheki
There have been times when I haven’t been sure I’m particularly qualified for the work I’m supposed to do here. Other PCVs have worked with at-risk children or been teachers or helped with NGOs in the United States or abroad. Me? I’ve worked a couple summers as a lifeguard at a summer camp. Only the last year was I trained to be a counselor. So when summer comes rolling around, I finally feel like I’m doing what I was nominated to do with Peace Corps. The moment I heard about ABLE, the Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience, during PST, I knew I wanted to be involved. ABLE is a weeklong summer camp for boys from all over the country, in which we work with Azeri counterparts, invite Azeri guest speakers, and of course, play tons of games with the boys.
Looking for a hiking trail with Khayal and Elvin
For Christmas, I went to Kurdamir, and met Todd, one of the leaders of the camp this year, and we talked about ways I could be involved in the camp. Then, at New Year’s, we had a meeting for all the volunteers interested in helping with the camp. I signed up to run the challenge course, and to work on site selection and organizing supplies. As summer neared, I got a call asking if I would like to help with the training of trainers session. The TOT is intended to help prepare the Azeri counterparts, usually a group of FLEX alums, for their presentations on topics such as volunteerism, leadership and community involvement. For TOT, we spent a couple days at the rest area where the camp would be, and was a great opportunity to figure out exactly what we needed.
With the Bravehearts on the group hike.
After TOT, I went to Sheki, a larger town several hours north of Ismayilli, to help out with their summer camp. A three-week camp for Sheki students organized by PCVs, our week’s theme was Life Skills. All of the visiting volunteers, mostly TEFLs aside for myself, were assigned to be team counselors, aided by an Azeri student who spoke English. I ended up with Red Team, which had decided to call themselves the Bravehearts. The camp was well organized, a half day of camp each day, with games and team-building activities, such as human pyramid, hiking, blanket volleyball, relay races, and human knot, as well as lessons about nutrition and FLEX. We ended the camp with an egg drop contest, and kids had time to wrap up their eggs in surprisingly complex and impressive padding.
With only one day off between Sheki Camp and ABLE, we rushed back to Ismayilli to finalize packing and supplies. I also had to wrangle the boys that would be attending from Ismayilli. We were supposed to have three boys come, but one of the boys disappeared (presumably to the village with his family) and was out of contact. So with two boys, we set off for camp, a grueling 35 minutes away.
For Christmas, I went to Kurdamir, and met Todd, one of the leaders of the camp this year, and we talked about ways I could be involved in the camp. Then, at New Year’s, we had a meeting for all the volunteers interested in helping with the camp. I signed up to run the challenge course, and to work on site selection and organizing supplies. As summer neared, I got a call asking if I would like to help with the training of trainers session. The TOT is intended to help prepare the Azeri counterparts, usually a group of FLEX alums, for their presentations on topics such as volunteerism, leadership and community involvement. For TOT, we spent a couple days at the rest area where the camp would be, and was a great opportunity to figure out exactly what we needed.
After TOT, I went to Sheki, a larger town several hours north of Ismayilli, to help out with their summer camp. A three-week camp for Sheki students organized by PCVs, our week’s theme was Life Skills. All of the visiting volunteers, mostly TEFLs aside for myself, were assigned to be team counselors, aided by an Azeri student who spoke English. I ended up with Red Team, which had decided to call themselves the Bravehearts. The camp was well organized, a half day of camp each day, with games and team-building activities, such as human pyramid, hiking, blanket volleyball, relay races, and human knot, as well as lessons about nutrition and FLEX. We ended the camp with an egg drop contest, and kids had time to wrap up their eggs in surprisingly complex and impressive padding.
With only one day off between Sheki Camp and ABLE, we rushed back to Ismayilli to finalize packing and supplies. I also had to wrangle the boys that would be attending from Ismayilli. We were supposed to have three boys come, but one of the boys disappeared (presumably to the village with his family) and was out of contact. So with two boys, we set off for camp, a grueling 35 minutes away.
A Hiking We Will Go
I wrote this back in June, or maybe early July.
Part of my summer program has been a hiking club. It has not been easy. The first day was fantastic. A huge amount of kids showed up, coinciding nicely with my family’s visit. It wasn’t much of a hike, but the kids seemed to have fun, and we ended up in the town park, visited our small history museum, and got to see a meteorite. The next day, after I got back from Istanbul, was almost unattended. In several other attempts, the attendance continued to jump and drop.
I’m not sure why the attendance varies so much, whether it’s poor communication, summer heat, or summer vacation. Regardless, when it came time for yet another attempt, I was a little nervous. On this morning, three twelve year old boys showed up, one of whom I’d never met. Determined to actually do something with the kids, I piled them into a taxi with their water and food, and set out for the nearby village Talistan. Above Talistan in the hills are some ruins of Javanshir castle/fortress.
The boys were a little nervous that I was working off of the travel book and asking for directions from people, but they had fun as we got higher into the hills. Along the way, they found fruit trees ready for the picking, wandering animals, and a river crisscrossing our path.
We finally reached the base of the hill where the fortress was. From the trail we could see the remains of one of the walls. And so we began to trudge up the hill, which quickly turned into a steep, treacherous, slippery half-trail. About halfway up, the kids decided they were too scared to continue (by popular vote), and we backed down the hill carefully, sometimes standing, sometimes sliding. Looking back, we were so close to the hill, but in hindsight that path was not something to be trifled with.
After stopping for a picnic lunch, during which the boys were insistent on sharing their sandwiches with me, we came back to the river, where the boys decided they wanted to go swimming. After stripping to their underwear, the standard swimsuit here, they set to building a dam for bathing. As I sat watching them and reading through my Azerbaijan book for other hikes, I was transported back to a reservoir in Maryland, where I went several times with my friend, David, our families, and our dogs. I can still vividly remember building dams in the river while the dogs ran around us. One summer after coming back from Indonesia, we were still testing each other, and decided to go and stand out in the middle of the freezing river, to see who would budge first. We quickly found that we were both so stubborn neither would give in. And so we knew we were still friends.
As we neared Talistan, the boys began planning our next hiking club. They asked over and over who would be allowed to go and petitioned that it could just be them so they could go swimming more without being embarrassed in from of older boys or (gasp!) girls. I’ll take excitement about going out again as a sign of success. People don’t do enough hiking or exercise here, in my opinion, especially considering that there is so much beautiful nature in which to hike, and that Azeris pride themselves on the natural beauty of the country. The next step is trying to incite the kids to go hiking without me being the reason they go. Fortunately, I’ve got a couple more months of summer.
Part of my summer program has been a hiking club. It has not been easy. The first day was fantastic. A huge amount of kids showed up, coinciding nicely with my family’s visit. It wasn’t much of a hike, but the kids seemed to have fun, and we ended up in the town park, visited our small history museum, and got to see a meteorite. The next day, after I got back from Istanbul, was almost unattended. In several other attempts, the attendance continued to jump and drop.
I’m not sure why the attendance varies so much, whether it’s poor communication, summer heat, or summer vacation. Regardless, when it came time for yet another attempt, I was a little nervous. On this morning, three twelve year old boys showed up, one of whom I’d never met. Determined to actually do something with the kids, I piled them into a taxi with their water and food, and set out for the nearby village Talistan. Above Talistan in the hills are some ruins of Javanshir castle/fortress.
The boys were a little nervous that I was working off of the travel book and asking for directions from people, but they had fun as we got higher into the hills. Along the way, they found fruit trees ready for the picking, wandering animals, and a river crisscrossing our path.
We finally reached the base of the hill where the fortress was. From the trail we could see the remains of one of the walls. And so we began to trudge up the hill, which quickly turned into a steep, treacherous, slippery half-trail. About halfway up, the kids decided they were too scared to continue (by popular vote), and we backed down the hill carefully, sometimes standing, sometimes sliding. Looking back, we were so close to the hill, but in hindsight that path was not something to be trifled with.
After stopping for a picnic lunch, during which the boys were insistent on sharing their sandwiches with me, we came back to the river, where the boys decided they wanted to go swimming. After stripping to their underwear, the standard swimsuit here, they set to building a dam for bathing. As I sat watching them and reading through my Azerbaijan book for other hikes, I was transported back to a reservoir in Maryland, where I went several times with my friend, David, our families, and our dogs. I can still vividly remember building dams in the river while the dogs ran around us. One summer after coming back from Indonesia, we were still testing each other, and decided to go and stand out in the middle of the freezing river, to see who would budge first. We quickly found that we were both so stubborn neither would give in. And so we knew we were still friends.
As we neared Talistan, the boys began planning our next hiking club. They asked over and over who would be allowed to go and petitioned that it could just be them so they could go swimming more without being embarrassed in from of older boys or (gasp!) girls. I’ll take excitement about going out again as a sign of success. People don’t do enough hiking or exercise here, in my opinion, especially considering that there is so much beautiful nature in which to hike, and that Azeris pride themselves on the natural beauty of the country. The next step is trying to incite the kids to go hiking without me being the reason they go. Fortunately, I’ve got a couple more months of summer.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Zarafat: Humor in Azerbaijan
One of the most interesting aspects of growing accustomed to a culture is learning about their sense of humor. One of the first things I learned about Azeri humor was from watching American movies dubbed into Azerbaijani and shown on television. This is what I learned: Azeris love slapstick physical comedy. After I arrived at site, my host family would watch TV during meals and teatime, and often we would watch whatever movie was on. They showed the entire Home Alone series. My family all laughed uproariously. They also loved the Big Momma’s House series. In addition to the easy to translate cross-culturally physical humor, it also includes men dressed in drag, which Azeris seem to love.
Some humor doesn’t translate, however. There’s not a lot of surreal humor here. One of my sitemates showed some episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia to his host brother. He repeatedly had to explain why the jokes were funny. Granted, the particular humor of the show is not funny to all American, either.
Sarcasm also doesn’t work much here either. Volunteers often have to follow up a sarcastic comment with the note that they had just told a joke.
Logic humor is the most popular verbal humor here. There’s a character in this region, a sort of analogue to Aesop, but crossed with Amelia Bedelia: Nasrettin Hoja (or Nasreddin Hoca). My host father enjoys telling his stories, which always elicit a laugh.
His favorite story seems to be this: One day Hoja went to the market to buy clothes. First he tested a pair of trousers. He didn't like the trousers and he gave back them to the shopkeeper. Then he tried a robe which had same price as the trousers. Hoja was pleased with the robe and he left the shop. Before he climbed on the donkey to ride home he stopped by the shopkeeper. “You didn't pay for the robe,” says the shopkeeper. “But I gave you the trousers instead of the robe, didn’t I?” replied Hoja. “Yes, but you didn't pay for the trousers, either!” said the shopkeeper.
“But I didn't buy the trousers,” replied Hoja. “I am not so stupid to pay for something which I newer bought.”
My students in particular love to hear about the little language lessons I’ve picked up over the months. I shared this story with my students: I was asking my host brother about the fee I pay at the post office when I get a package. He said that I should ask the postal worker for a recipit, the word for which in Azeri is “qabz” (rhymes with “grabs”). When I tried to pronounce it, it camed out more like qa-beez. Seymur quickly corrected me, saying that I should not say that word, as it means “constipated.” It took awhile to get class back on track after that story.
Two other humorous notes. The first comes from the I Don’t Think You’re Making the Point You Think You Are Department. From eurasianet.org:
“Eurovision in Düsseldorf cost 46 million euros [about $65.6 million], while some bridges or roads built in Azerbaijan cost more,” boasted DJ Fateh, a popular DJ at Baku’s MediaFM radio station. http://www.eurasianet.org/node/63509
The second bit needs a small preface. Azerbaijan does not get along well with its neighbor, Armenia (for more information, see the book Black Garden). To avoid conflict and argument with people in our community over the topic, PCVs have given Armenia a codename: Kansas (because Azerbaijan is Oz).
Okay, so June 26 was Army Day here, commemorating the formation of the modern Azerbaijan army. In our recent staff mailing letter, it was noted that “Azerbaijan's Armed Forces have a training cooperation partnership with the Oklahoma Army National Guard. (Note: As a point of trivia, the Armenian Armed Forces have a training cooperation with the Kansas National Guard).“
In the words of my comedist (a new religion, the basic tenant of which is that God is not just all-knowing and all-powerful, but also all-funny) philosophy professor: Live, laugh, and love.
Some humor doesn’t translate, however. There’s not a lot of surreal humor here. One of my sitemates showed some episodes of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia to his host brother. He repeatedly had to explain why the jokes were funny. Granted, the particular humor of the show is not funny to all American, either.
Sarcasm also doesn’t work much here either. Volunteers often have to follow up a sarcastic comment with the note that they had just told a joke.
Logic humor is the most popular verbal humor here. There’s a character in this region, a sort of analogue to Aesop, but crossed with Amelia Bedelia: Nasrettin Hoja (or Nasreddin Hoca). My host father enjoys telling his stories, which always elicit a laugh.
His favorite story seems to be this: One day Hoja went to the market to buy clothes. First he tested a pair of trousers. He didn't like the trousers and he gave back them to the shopkeeper. Then he tried a robe which had same price as the trousers. Hoja was pleased with the robe and he left the shop. Before he climbed on the donkey to ride home he stopped by the shopkeeper. “You didn't pay for the robe,” says the shopkeeper. “But I gave you the trousers instead of the robe, didn’t I?” replied Hoja. “Yes, but you didn't pay for the trousers, either!” said the shopkeeper.
“But I didn't buy the trousers,” replied Hoja. “I am not so stupid to pay for something which I newer bought.”
My students in particular love to hear about the little language lessons I’ve picked up over the months. I shared this story with my students: I was asking my host brother about the fee I pay at the post office when I get a package. He said that I should ask the postal worker for a recipit, the word for which in Azeri is “qabz” (rhymes with “grabs”). When I tried to pronounce it, it camed out more like qa-beez. Seymur quickly corrected me, saying that I should not say that word, as it means “constipated.” It took awhile to get class back on track after that story.
Two other humorous notes. The first comes from the I Don’t Think You’re Making the Point You Think You Are Department. From eurasianet.org:
“Eurovision in Düsseldorf cost 46 million euros [about $65.6 million], while some bridges or roads built in Azerbaijan cost more,” boasted DJ Fateh, a popular DJ at Baku’s MediaFM radio station. http://www.eurasianet.org/node/63509
The second bit needs a small preface. Azerbaijan does not get along well with its neighbor, Armenia (for more information, see the book Black Garden). To avoid conflict and argument with people in our community over the topic, PCVs have given Armenia a codename: Kansas (because Azerbaijan is Oz).
Okay, so June 26 was Army Day here, commemorating the formation of the modern Azerbaijan army. In our recent staff mailing letter, it was noted that “Azerbaijan's Armed Forces have a training cooperation partnership with the Oklahoma Army National Guard. (Note: As a point of trivia, the Armenian Armed Forces have a training cooperation with the Kansas National Guard).“
In the words of my comedist (a new religion, the basic tenant of which is that God is not just all-knowing and all-powerful, but also all-funny) philosophy professor: Live, laugh, and love.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Cultural Moments
It’s easy, once one develops a routine, to forget the ways that two cultures are different. It becomes easy to get lost in the way things are and forget how different things are. Every now and then, though, I have moments where I have to stop and remember that people here really are from a different cultural background. I had one of those moments while my family was here.
(Granted, it's very easy also to get bogged down in the little, frustrating differences that get in the way of projects and daily life, but that's a subject for another blog.)
Back-story: my host family has been buying baby chicks for awhile this spring, in order to raise them for eggs and meat for the fall and winter. Eggs and meat are both expensive here in Ismayilli, and prices have risen considerably even in the short time I’ve been here.
The day that my family decided to go to Lahic, my host mother complained about how their dog would eat the eggs and the cat would attack and kill the chicks. She talked about taking the animals to Lahic. I thought she was joking. But when the taxi came, my host father brought around the dog and my host mother carried the cat. Both were placed in burlap sacks and put in the trunk. They explained to the driver, and to me, that they animals were to be released near villages along the road. They reassured me that the animals would be okay, and would get food.
Of course, the sight of animals in sacks was a bit shocking. But this is where the different cultures realization kicked in. And these moments are what Peace Corps is about. It’s not just about finding and building on the similarities between cultures but also sharing and accepting the differences.
It is strange to most of the world the way we treat animals. To many Americans, they are part of the family. But to many cultures, animals, even pets, are just animals. To my host family, the dog and cat were interfering and threatening their livelihood. They need the chickens to survive the winter, to afford food. If they’re being killed and eaten, the offending animals are threats. Bozdar was always kept on a short leash, and was pretty miserable, so really, being let free is for the best. Both animals were released near villages, so they’ll be able to find food and possibly new homes.
It is easy to get caught up in the initial response, that what my host parents did was wrong and cruel. And then rationality and anthropology kick in. They made their decision carefully, and for reasons that made sense to them. They had to do what they had to do. They do indeed come from a different cultural background. They are Azeri. That’s not necessarily righter or wronger than being from America; that’s the way they are.
(Granted, it's very easy also to get bogged down in the little, frustrating differences that get in the way of projects and daily life, but that's a subject for another blog.)
Back-story: my host family has been buying baby chicks for awhile this spring, in order to raise them for eggs and meat for the fall and winter. Eggs and meat are both expensive here in Ismayilli, and prices have risen considerably even in the short time I’ve been here.
The day that my family decided to go to Lahic, my host mother complained about how their dog would eat the eggs and the cat would attack and kill the chicks. She talked about taking the animals to Lahic. I thought she was joking. But when the taxi came, my host father brought around the dog and my host mother carried the cat. Both were placed in burlap sacks and put in the trunk. They explained to the driver, and to me, that they animals were to be released near villages along the road. They reassured me that the animals would be okay, and would get food.
Of course, the sight of animals in sacks was a bit shocking. But this is where the different cultures realization kicked in. And these moments are what Peace Corps is about. It’s not just about finding and building on the similarities between cultures but also sharing and accepting the differences.
It is strange to most of the world the way we treat animals. To many Americans, they are part of the family. But to many cultures, animals, even pets, are just animals. To my host family, the dog and cat were interfering and threatening their livelihood. They need the chickens to survive the winter, to afford food. If they’re being killed and eaten, the offending animals are threats. Bozdar was always kept on a short leash, and was pretty miserable, so really, being let free is for the best. Both animals were released near villages, so they’ll be able to find food and possibly new homes.
It is easy to get caught up in the initial response, that what my host parents did was wrong and cruel. And then rationality and anthropology kick in. They made their decision carefully, and for reasons that made sense to them. They had to do what they had to do. They do indeed come from a different cultural background. They are Azeri. That’s not necessarily righter or wronger than being from America; that’s the way they are.
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