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.
Friday, June 24, 2011
The Storeys Visit Oz-erbaijan Part 3: Istanbul
Without the trip to Istanbul, having my parents visit and leave so quickly would have been pretty tough. But the trip gave us more time together, time during which I could relax and recharge after the week of translating and organizing everything. In Istanbul, I left the planning to my family, while I played lots of Angry Birds.
Our hotel was just about next door to the Blue Mosque (Sultanahmet Mosque), with a rooftop terrace that also allowed us to see the roof of Hagia Sophia peeking over the neighbr’s roof. Seeing these monumental buildings so close was almost like seeing the Taj Mahal in person, having to suppress a feeling of disbelief that such things are real. Hagia Sophia is 1,500 years old. That’s almost incomprehensible. It’s been a church, a mosque, and is now a museum.
Istanbul is more of a crossroads than Baku, and people there are more accustomed to foreigners. There were tourists everywhere, from huge tour buses from cruise ships to backpackers staying at hostels and everything in between. I heard French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, German, Turkish, and English. Store vendors would call to people to come to their shops, which quickly became tiring, but would result in some pretty funny comments. “You look like a potential carpet buyer.” And when turned down: “You break my heart. But I still love you!”
On Tuesday my family left, and I waved them off as the taxi pulled away. I was sad for them to leave of course, but had planned a long night of enjoying high speed Internet, Mexican food, and hot showers. But when I returned from dinner, the power had gone out in our block. “Only one hour,” the guy at the desk said. But it never came back. I ended up with a candle in my room that night and had to pack by crawling around on all fours to make sure I had everything that morning.
Travel was chaos throughout the trip. On the way to Istanbul, we hit a snag when it turned out the travel company my dad used booked me a week ahead of our actual flight date. We also discovered that when I booked my return flight, I had booked it for a month too late. So when I got to the Istanbul airport to fly back to Baku, I had to pay a penalty to move the flight reservation. To get back to Ismayilli, I had to take a bus from the airport to the metro station, and take the metro to a location near Peace Corps’ office and walk to the office (I decided against the two bus option). From there I had to take a city bus to the bus station, and a minibus back to Ismayilli. But now I’m back. I start up clubs again, hiking and playing baseball, and hopefully a few others in the pipeline.
Our hotel was just about next door to the Blue Mosque (Sultanahmet Mosque), with a rooftop terrace that also allowed us to see the roof of Hagia Sophia peeking over the neighbr’s roof. Seeing these monumental buildings so close was almost like seeing the Taj Mahal in person, having to suppress a feeling of disbelief that such things are real. Hagia Sophia is 1,500 years old. That’s almost incomprehensible. It’s been a church, a mosque, and is now a museum.
Istanbul is more of a crossroads than Baku, and people there are more accustomed to foreigners. There were tourists everywhere, from huge tour buses from cruise ships to backpackers staying at hostels and everything in between. I heard French, Spanish, Korean, Japanese, Chinese, German, Turkish, and English. Store vendors would call to people to come to their shops, which quickly became tiring, but would result in some pretty funny comments. “You look like a potential carpet buyer.” And when turned down: “You break my heart. But I still love you!”
On Tuesday my family left, and I waved them off as the taxi pulled away. I was sad for them to leave of course, but had planned a long night of enjoying high speed Internet, Mexican food, and hot showers. But when I returned from dinner, the power had gone out in our block. “Only one hour,” the guy at the desk said. But it never came back. I ended up with a candle in my room that night and had to pack by crawling around on all fours to make sure I had everything that morning.
Travel was chaos throughout the trip. On the way to Istanbul, we hit a snag when it turned out the travel company my dad used booked me a week ahead of our actual flight date. We also discovered that when I booked my return flight, I had booked it for a month too late. So when I got to the Istanbul airport to fly back to Baku, I had to pay a penalty to move the flight reservation. To get back to Ismayilli, I had to take a bus from the airport to the metro station, and take the metro to a location near Peace Corps’ office and walk to the office (I decided against the two bus option). From there I had to take a city bus to the bus station, and a minibus back to Ismayilli. But now I’m back. I start up clubs again, hiking and playing baseball, and hopefully a few others in the pipeline.
The Storeys Visit Oz-erbaijan Part 2: Ismayilli, Lahic, Sheki
Visiting my host family was the most nerve-wracking part of the trip. I wasn’t so much worried about how the two families would get on, but more about what we’d do and how much talking I’d have to do. The trip turned out to be both exhausting and exhilarating, proof for myself that my language was better than I often give myself credit for.
The first day was probably the busiest in terms of translating, and it wasn’t till we got to Istanbul that my mind really got to rest. Some brief respites came with visits from my sitemates, who helped give a tour of Ismayilli, and a neighbor English teacher. Still, my families had a lot to say to one another, and basically only me to do the saying. My host father has some English, and he quickly dubbed my sister Santa Elena, and gave her a nice book of traditional Azeri designs, writing a sweet dedication on the front page. My host mother welcomed us with a great lunch of plov and fresh veggies from the garden she had made for the occasion.
The next day we spent in Ismayilli, visiting my school and attending some of the clubs I do. My main counterpart, Humay, met us at the school, though it turned out the school director was in Baku. We joined my students for our hiking club, walking out to the big park and visiting the history museum there (where they have a real chunk of meteorite!) and Ismayilli’s Heydar Aliyev Museum. It was really fun for me to see how my students acted in these museums, truly rapt with attention, absorbing intently everything they saw.
During the day we had our big meal of the visit—sheep kebab. The reason this was a big deal was because it meant buying a sheep for the meal. And then having it killed, skinned, cut up, and then cooked on the grill. My family elected not to be present for most of this, so I had to be the messenger, running back and forth between host family and butcher and American family. When it came time to eat though, they were there.
That evening we went to baseball practice, which I run with my sitemate, Allie. It was so nice to have a couple other people giving the kids attention and encouragement. Once we’ve got enough equipment—which I’ve been told has finally arrived—we should really start having a lot of fun.
And so we come to the travel portion of my family’s visit. On Wednesday we went to Lahij, a small mountain town, and Thursday we went to Sheki, a larger historical town.
The night before Lahij, it had rained heavily, so we were worried that the road washed away. This is not an exaggeration. Well, the road was still there, so we went. Sheki was an easier, albeit longer, drive. Amusingly, the road to Sheki is good until you hit Qabala, where the president is rumored to have a home, and afterwards, the road gets bumpier and the light posts disappear. A might suspicious, methinks.
These two days made for fun days of exploration, not just for my family, but also for me. This was my first time in Sheki, and I got to play tour guide in Lahij.
The final night in Ismayilli, my host mother cooked some wonderful dolma, of the sort that is stuffed peppers, tomatoes, and eggplant. We were called away to meet my school director at the central park, but when we got back, we spent a while talking with my family, a nice, relaxing end to the trip. Sitting outside in the garden, amongst the flowers, under the stars.
The next morning we said a sweet goodbye. My host mother threw a glassful of water after our taxi (just the water, not the glass) as a sign of good luck.
I never doubted that my family would want to visit, and I have been fortunate that I have known they love me and are proud of me. I know that if I had chosen to do something besides Peace Corps, they would still have been proud of me. But their visit meant a lot to me, and having them see my clubs, school, and community was refreshing and encouraging.
The first day was probably the busiest in terms of translating, and it wasn’t till we got to Istanbul that my mind really got to rest. Some brief respites came with visits from my sitemates, who helped give a tour of Ismayilli, and a neighbor English teacher. Still, my families had a lot to say to one another, and basically only me to do the saying. My host father has some English, and he quickly dubbed my sister Santa Elena, and gave her a nice book of traditional Azeri designs, writing a sweet dedication on the front page. My host mother welcomed us with a great lunch of plov and fresh veggies from the garden she had made for the occasion.
The next day we spent in Ismayilli, visiting my school and attending some of the clubs I do. My main counterpart, Humay, met us at the school, though it turned out the school director was in Baku. We joined my students for our hiking club, walking out to the big park and visiting the history museum there (where they have a real chunk of meteorite!) and Ismayilli’s Heydar Aliyev Museum. It was really fun for me to see how my students acted in these museums, truly rapt with attention, absorbing intently everything they saw.
During the day we had our big meal of the visit—sheep kebab. The reason this was a big deal was because it meant buying a sheep for the meal. And then having it killed, skinned, cut up, and then cooked on the grill. My family elected not to be present for most of this, so I had to be the messenger, running back and forth between host family and butcher and American family. When it came time to eat though, they were there.
That evening we went to baseball practice, which I run with my sitemate, Allie. It was so nice to have a couple other people giving the kids attention and encouragement. Once we’ve got enough equipment—which I’ve been told has finally arrived—we should really start having a lot of fun.
And so we come to the travel portion of my family’s visit. On Wednesday we went to Lahij, a small mountain town, and Thursday we went to Sheki, a larger historical town.
The night before Lahij, it had rained heavily, so we were worried that the road washed away. This is not an exaggeration. Well, the road was still there, so we went. Sheki was an easier, albeit longer, drive. Amusingly, the road to Sheki is good until you hit Qabala, where the president is rumored to have a home, and afterwards, the road gets bumpier and the light posts disappear. A might suspicious, methinks.
These two days made for fun days of exploration, not just for my family, but also for me. This was my first time in Sheki, and I got to play tour guide in Lahij.
The final night in Ismayilli, my host mother cooked some wonderful dolma, of the sort that is stuffed peppers, tomatoes, and eggplant. We were called away to meet my school director at the central park, but when we got back, we spent a while talking with my family, a nice, relaxing end to the trip. Sitting outside in the garden, amongst the flowers, under the stars.
The next morning we said a sweet goodbye. My host mother threw a glassful of water after our taxi (just the water, not the glass) as a sign of good luck.
I never doubted that my family would want to visit, and I have been fortunate that I have known they love me and are proud of me. I know that if I had chosen to do something besides Peace Corps, they would still have been proud of me. But their visit meant a lot to me, and having them see my clubs, school, and community was refreshing and encouraging.
The Storeys Visit Oz-erbaijan Part 1: Baku
I’m back at site after what feels like forever and nothing. My family came for a week and then we went to Istanbul for five days. The experience of wandering the old section of Istanbul, of standing in front of the Hagia Sophia, and the long journey back, make it feel like I haven’t been to Ismayilli in months. At the same time, though, it feels as if I never left, and my family’s visit and our time in Istanbul are part of a long night’s sleep from which I have just woke from. But I have the memories, and more assuredly, the photos we took and the shirt I bought while there. I have food that my family brought in a suitcase filled to the brim. So they must have visited and we must have gone to Istanbul.
Before I could see my family, I had to wait through a two-day counterpart conference for the YDs. Now, that feels like it was ages ago. I can complain a lot about what we cover in these conferences is just repeating what we’ve heard and talked about (sometimes ad naeuseum), but after these conferences, I do always walk away with a renewed motivation for projects I could do. I enjoy hearing what others are doing, and thinking about how those projects could be done at my site. Some, I have brought to Ismayilli, some I’ll have to wait to do when school starts back up (I am now without an organization since the school is locked at the end of the month). I was also happy with how my counterpart reacted and understood the conference. She’s an older teacher, but probably the best English teacher in the rayon, and has known a number of volunteers over the years. Maybe not the best choice in regards to sustainability, but someone who I knew would understand and appreciate the ideas from the conference.
So I made it through the conference, and the morning came to meet my parents and sister. I took my bag to our hotel—early, as it turns out, and was unable to check in. Definitely flustered the kid at the desk, who told me he was new. Sorry, kiddo. Then I took the subway to the station nearest the airport, and went in search of a bus. The bus I found that said it went to the airport ended up stopping at the end of the long road to the airport, and I was forced to cross the highway, hopping the meridian on the way, and walk the rest of the way. The security at the airport had no problem with this. A couple funny stares, but that was it. I brought a book with me, which came in handy. I had a minor freak out at the beginning because my family’s flight wasn’t on the Big Board. The only flight from Istanbul was in five hours. “I’m going to need another book,” I thought, before realizing that there were two waiting areas for flights, and I had to go next door. It still felt like an interminable wait, but finally, they emerged from customs.
We checked to make sure we were real, got some money changed, and I got to show off my dazzling Azeri haggling over a taxi. They were satisfactorily impressed with Baku’s construction as we went, and immediately loved to Old City (Icheri Sheher) architecture. After being allowed to check in, freshening up, and checking out the Suitcase of Wonder (complete with New Yorkers, honey, Pop-Tarts, and Frosted Mini-Wheats—it’s really all about the food), we headed out to wander around the city. By that I mean, we went to get gelato, with a tour of the city on the way. For dinner that night, we met with my younger host brother, Orxan, and went to the Karavansari, a restaurant in one of the old centers where traveling caravans would stay. There was even traditional music and a man who stood on swords and nails and spat fire (not so traditional).
The next day we climbed the Maiden’s Tower and visited the Peace Corps office, where my family got to meet a bunch of volunteers. My parents enjoyed comparing to the offices when they were volunteers. Amidst the tourist must sees and wanderings through the Old City area, we also got Lebanese food and more gelato. That night’s dinner was at a German restaurant called simply, The Brewery, which is Azerbaijan’s only microbrewery. My LCF, Rashad, joined us and lied his pants off saying nice things about me. Bless him.
That was our time in Baku. It was two days of wonderful eating. It reminded me a little of when they would visit during college, and we’d go out to eat at the nice places that I couldn’t afford. The next morning, thanks to help from my older host brother, Seymur, we were off to Ismayilli.
Before I could see my family, I had to wait through a two-day counterpart conference for the YDs. Now, that feels like it was ages ago. I can complain a lot about what we cover in these conferences is just repeating what we’ve heard and talked about (sometimes ad naeuseum), but after these conferences, I do always walk away with a renewed motivation for projects I could do. I enjoy hearing what others are doing, and thinking about how those projects could be done at my site. Some, I have brought to Ismayilli, some I’ll have to wait to do when school starts back up (I am now without an organization since the school is locked at the end of the month). I was also happy with how my counterpart reacted and understood the conference. She’s an older teacher, but probably the best English teacher in the rayon, and has known a number of volunteers over the years. Maybe not the best choice in regards to sustainability, but someone who I knew would understand and appreciate the ideas from the conference.
So I made it through the conference, and the morning came to meet my parents and sister. I took my bag to our hotel—early, as it turns out, and was unable to check in. Definitely flustered the kid at the desk, who told me he was new. Sorry, kiddo. Then I took the subway to the station nearest the airport, and went in search of a bus. The bus I found that said it went to the airport ended up stopping at the end of the long road to the airport, and I was forced to cross the highway, hopping the meridian on the way, and walk the rest of the way. The security at the airport had no problem with this. A couple funny stares, but that was it. I brought a book with me, which came in handy. I had a minor freak out at the beginning because my family’s flight wasn’t on the Big Board. The only flight from Istanbul was in five hours. “I’m going to need another book,” I thought, before realizing that there were two waiting areas for flights, and I had to go next door. It still felt like an interminable wait, but finally, they emerged from customs.
We checked to make sure we were real, got some money changed, and I got to show off my dazzling Azeri haggling over a taxi. They were satisfactorily impressed with Baku’s construction as we went, and immediately loved to Old City (Icheri Sheher) architecture. After being allowed to check in, freshening up, and checking out the Suitcase of Wonder (complete with New Yorkers, honey, Pop-Tarts, and Frosted Mini-Wheats—it’s really all about the food), we headed out to wander around the city. By that I mean, we went to get gelato, with a tour of the city on the way. For dinner that night, we met with my younger host brother, Orxan, and went to the Karavansari, a restaurant in one of the old centers where traveling caravans would stay. There was even traditional music and a man who stood on swords and nails and spat fire (not so traditional).
The next day we climbed the Maiden’s Tower and visited the Peace Corps office, where my family got to meet a bunch of volunteers. My parents enjoyed comparing to the offices when they were volunteers. Amidst the tourist must sees and wanderings through the Old City area, we also got Lebanese food and more gelato. That night’s dinner was at a German restaurant called simply, The Brewery, which is Azerbaijan’s only microbrewery. My LCF, Rashad, joined us and lied his pants off saying nice things about me. Bless him.
That was our time in Baku. It was two days of wonderful eating. It reminded me a little of when they would visit during college, and we’d go out to eat at the nice places that I couldn’t afford. The next morning, thanks to help from my older host brother, Seymur, we were off to Ismayilli.
What I've Learned So Far
School has ended! Cue the Alice Cooper. On top of that, I have now been at site for over six months. It must be reflection time! Not to get sentimental on you all, but here’s some of the things I’ve learned over the last six months of running conversation clubs and living and working in Ismayilli.
1. I need to plan lessons more. I think my classes have been well run for the most part, and the students who come have been enthusiastic, but there have been classes that have been pretty hectic over the last few months. Next fall I need to make myself build more constructive and involved lessons to really teach and strengthen my club lessons.
2. When I do English conversation clubs, I need to have smaller clubs. Part of why the clubs were so hectic was because there were too many kids. It would be a lot easier to get a smaller group of kids active.
3. Assemblies here are both wonderful and frustrating. At the English night assembly I attended, the students performed wonderful songs and short plays they had learned in English, but the audience spent the time talking to each other, talking on the phone, and coming and going. For every song, the keyboard player played the same rhythm, always overwhelming the kids’ singing, and never at the same rhythm as the song.
4. Cooking for myself every meal is wonderful. Especially as spring and summer arrive, more and more fruits and vegetables are available and absolutely delicious. It’s really a lot of fun figuring out how to cook different foods for the first time.
5. Cooking for myself every meal is hard. Even harder: cleaning dishes after every meal.
6. It’s easy to spend a lot of food splurges. I’m looking at you, 10 manat jar of honey which I ate way too quickly. I’m looking at you, Baku. Foul temptress.
7. Bucket showers in a building not connected to the house is nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be when I arrived. The stove heats the whole room. And now that it’s summer we’re using a normal showerhead, which is only difficult when lighting the gas heater with a long piece of newspaper.
8. It’s all in how you present an idea. My director has initially rejected several ideas I had, or tried to limit the projects, but with a little creative explanation of the goals of the projects and how it can benefit the school, he’s quick to get on board.
9. There are more important things than teaching English. Or going to America. As I’ve been here, my priorities have changed. I don’t want to just be an English teacher, I want my students to act on their ideas and dreams. There are days when I could really care less if they learned English. Of course English is important for some of those dreams, but not all.
10. I do need to work towards a more permanent, lasting, and sustainable project. I’ve been putting it off because of worries about whether the project was being suggested for the right reasons or if it was a “show off what the PCV gave us” idea. After the counterpart conference, I think the sustainable ideas are more clearly known to my organization.
Bonus Thing I’ll Have to Learn: I’m going to have to be creative this summer to keep students interested and involved because after the end of June, my school’s going to be locked, and I won’t have a place for clubs. Word of mouth will have its work cut out for it.
1. I need to plan lessons more. I think my classes have been well run for the most part, and the students who come have been enthusiastic, but there have been classes that have been pretty hectic over the last few months. Next fall I need to make myself build more constructive and involved lessons to really teach and strengthen my club lessons.
2. When I do English conversation clubs, I need to have smaller clubs. Part of why the clubs were so hectic was because there were too many kids. It would be a lot easier to get a smaller group of kids active.
3. Assemblies here are both wonderful and frustrating. At the English night assembly I attended, the students performed wonderful songs and short plays they had learned in English, but the audience spent the time talking to each other, talking on the phone, and coming and going. For every song, the keyboard player played the same rhythm, always overwhelming the kids’ singing, and never at the same rhythm as the song.
4. Cooking for myself every meal is wonderful. Especially as spring and summer arrive, more and more fruits and vegetables are available and absolutely delicious. It’s really a lot of fun figuring out how to cook different foods for the first time.
5. Cooking for myself every meal is hard. Even harder: cleaning dishes after every meal.
6. It’s easy to spend a lot of food splurges. I’m looking at you, 10 manat jar of honey which I ate way too quickly. I’m looking at you, Baku. Foul temptress.
7. Bucket showers in a building not connected to the house is nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be when I arrived. The stove heats the whole room. And now that it’s summer we’re using a normal showerhead, which is only difficult when lighting the gas heater with a long piece of newspaper.
8. It’s all in how you present an idea. My director has initially rejected several ideas I had, or tried to limit the projects, but with a little creative explanation of the goals of the projects and how it can benefit the school, he’s quick to get on board.
9. There are more important things than teaching English. Or going to America. As I’ve been here, my priorities have changed. I don’t want to just be an English teacher, I want my students to act on their ideas and dreams. There are days when I could really care less if they learned English. Of course English is important for some of those dreams, but not all.
10. I do need to work towards a more permanent, lasting, and sustainable project. I’ve been putting it off because of worries about whether the project was being suggested for the right reasons or if it was a “show off what the PCV gave us” idea. After the counterpart conference, I think the sustainable ideas are more clearly known to my organization.
Bonus Thing I’ll Have to Learn: I’m going to have to be creative this summer to keep students interested and involved because after the end of June, my school’s going to be locked, and I won’t have a place for clubs. Word of mouth will have its work cut out for it.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thunderstorms and Lahij
Lately we’ve been having the most fantastic thunderstorms here in Ismayilli; thunderstorms that rattle the windows, shake the foundations of the house, thunderstorms that you can feel in your bones. Thunderstorms that seem more at home in the South Pacific during the monsoon season. It also hailed the other day.
In other shower news, we've started using our summer shower, which means no more bucket baths! Still have to light something to get hot water, but now we've got a real shower head and pretty decent pressure if you time it right (mostly mornings). My host family says they shower pretty much every day during the summer. Music to my ears.
And now for something you'll really like.
Last weekend, we went to Lahij (spelled here Lahic, because c’s are j’s here), a very old, small town near Ismayilli, that is a popular tourist visit during the summer and utterly cut off from the world during the winter. The reason being that the way one gets to Lahij is a windy, bumpy, unpaved road that creeps around the mountains of a river valley. During the winter, and in fact, any day with bad rain, the road becomes perilous (the fact that drivers hug the edge doesn’t help much either).
The day we set out looked like it would be one of these days. When I told my host mother we were going, she made us watch the weather report for about half an hour. Finally, she gave up and let us go. She was baffled by our decision to go, in part because we weren’t going guesting there; we were just going.
The road was exactly what we’d be warned. It keeps you on the edge of your seat, in fact quite literally as we bumped along the way. But as we climbed northward, the clouds dissipated and we could see the mountains betwixt we drove; towering mountains, with steep cliffs, sometimes due to dynamiting for the road.
Lahij is not much. It is basically one main road, a historical museum that was once a mosque, a communal hamam (shower/bath house) because they have only recently gotten running water, with no real hotel, no gas, and only two restaurants, one of which is a dark chayxana (tea place). What Lahij is, though, is relaxing. The streets are paved with river stones, and mostly too small for cars to pass. It is surrounded by beautiful green mountains and looks down on a once mighty river which sadly due to dams placed upriver has become distinctly diminished. Along the main road are a number of copper workers, for which Lahij is historically known, and stores with sheep wool hats, rugs, and coats. It reminded me of Colonial Williamsburg without the historical plaques on the buildings.
When we arrived we were escorted to the museum by one of the men who was on the marshrutka with us. There we encountered a group of government workers from Ismayilli who knew us all by name (eerie) and an impressively helpful and knowledgeable tourism office (helps to actually have something tourists come to see).
After the museum, we wandered down the main road towards the restaurant and village school on the other side. Un-amusing, we were not allowed to go into the school, which is just about the only school in Azerbaijan with murals on the walls, but amusingly, it turns out that the old woman who guards the school would also block the volunteer who worked there for two years from entering, until the school director would remind her that it was alright for him to come inside. Can’t imagine that was fun in February.
Lunch was kebab and fresh tomatoes and cheese, with sugary pear juice washing it all down. We sat on the top of a hill overlooking the river, covered by a green shade. By the time I got home, I was still filled with a lovely feeling of relaxation, which, try as it might, the bus ride home was unable to dislodge.
In other shower news, we've started using our summer shower, which means no more bucket baths! Still have to light something to get hot water, but now we've got a real shower head and pretty decent pressure if you time it right (mostly mornings). My host family says they shower pretty much every day during the summer. Music to my ears.
And now for something you'll really like.
Last weekend, we went to Lahij (spelled here Lahic, because c’s are j’s here), a very old, small town near Ismayilli, that is a popular tourist visit during the summer and utterly cut off from the world during the winter. The reason being that the way one gets to Lahij is a windy, bumpy, unpaved road that creeps around the mountains of a river valley. During the winter, and in fact, any day with bad rain, the road becomes perilous (the fact that drivers hug the edge doesn’t help much either).
The day we set out looked like it would be one of these days. When I told my host mother we were going, she made us watch the weather report for about half an hour. Finally, she gave up and let us go. She was baffled by our decision to go, in part because we weren’t going guesting there; we were just going.
The road was exactly what we’d be warned. It keeps you on the edge of your seat, in fact quite literally as we bumped along the way. But as we climbed northward, the clouds dissipated and we could see the mountains betwixt we drove; towering mountains, with steep cliffs, sometimes due to dynamiting for the road.
Lahij is not much. It is basically one main road, a historical museum that was once a mosque, a communal hamam (shower/bath house) because they have only recently gotten running water, with no real hotel, no gas, and only two restaurants, one of which is a dark chayxana (tea place). What Lahij is, though, is relaxing. The streets are paved with river stones, and mostly too small for cars to pass. It is surrounded by beautiful green mountains and looks down on a once mighty river which sadly due to dams placed upriver has become distinctly diminished. Along the main road are a number of copper workers, for which Lahij is historically known, and stores with sheep wool hats, rugs, and coats. It reminded me of Colonial Williamsburg without the historical plaques on the buildings.
When we arrived we were escorted to the museum by one of the men who was on the marshrutka with us. There we encountered a group of government workers from Ismayilli who knew us all by name (eerie) and an impressively helpful and knowledgeable tourism office (helps to actually have something tourists come to see).
After the museum, we wandered down the main road towards the restaurant and village school on the other side. Un-amusing, we were not allowed to go into the school, which is just about the only school in Azerbaijan with murals on the walls, but amusingly, it turns out that the old woman who guards the school would also block the volunteer who worked there for two years from entering, until the school director would remind her that it was alright for him to come inside. Can’t imagine that was fun in February.
Lunch was kebab and fresh tomatoes and cheese, with sugary pear juice washing it all down. We sat on the top of a hill overlooking the river, covered by a green shade. By the time I got home, I was still filled with a lovely feeling of relaxation, which, try as it might, the bus ride home was unable to dislodge.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Eurovision: Mubarak Azerbaijan!
The big news here in Az is that the country won this year's Eurovision Song Competition. For those who don't know (by which I mean pretty much all Americans, or everyone who reads my blog), Eurovision is a continent-wide American Idol-like competition that has been around since the 1950s, and is responsible for unleashing ABBA on the world, never to be the same again.
The winning duo from Azerbaijan, who won with a momentous 221 points, Ell and Nikko, sang their song "Running Scared." Since the win, a number of my students have asked me what it means to "run scared," to which I pantomime running and screaming. They think I'd be a good actor.
But back to Ell and Nikko, whose real names are Eldar and Nigar. They dominated the finals, and the second place country, Italy, only received 185 points.
According to overthinkingit.com, Azerbaijan is a powerhouse in Eurovision, despite is geographic flexibility ("The song was written by the same team that composed “Drip Drop,” Azerbaijan’s entry last year, which placed fifth overall. (The year before that, Azerbaijan placed third. As it turns out, they are a perennial Eurovision powerhouse.) This song is definitely going to make the finals..."). I never know where to say Azerbaijan is. It's not Europe, but it's not Asia, and it's not the Middle East. Where in the world is Azerbaijan? (Should be sung to the tune of a certain TV game show/video game.)
So, without any further ado, for your listening and viewing pleasure, here is the toast of Azerbaijan, Ell and Nikko, singing "Running Scared."
Now that Azerbaijan has won, they face the daunting task of hosting next year's contest. I can't wait to see how into the contest people here will be then.
The winning duo from Azerbaijan, who won with a momentous 221 points, Ell and Nikko, sang their song "Running Scared." Since the win, a number of my students have asked me what it means to "run scared," to which I pantomime running and screaming. They think I'd be a good actor.
But back to Ell and Nikko, whose real names are Eldar and Nigar. They dominated the finals, and the second place country, Italy, only received 185 points.
According to overthinkingit.com, Azerbaijan is a powerhouse in Eurovision, despite is geographic flexibility ("The song was written by the same team that composed “Drip Drop,” Azerbaijan’s entry last year, which placed fifth overall. (The year before that, Azerbaijan placed third. As it turns out, they are a perennial Eurovision powerhouse.) This song is definitely going to make the finals..."). I never know where to say Azerbaijan is. It's not Europe, but it's not Asia, and it's not the Middle East. Where in the world is Azerbaijan? (Should be sung to the tune of a certain TV game show/video game.)
So, without any further ado, for your listening and viewing pleasure, here is the toast of Azerbaijan, Ell and Nikko, singing "Running Scared."
Now that Azerbaijan has won, they face the daunting task of hosting next year's contest. I can't wait to see how into the contest people here will be then.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Ambassador Comes to Town
This past week, the new ambassador to Azerbaijan, Matthew Bryza, spent three days traveling through the rayons (regions) for the first time, visiting Peace Corps sites, as an introduction to Azerbaijan and a celebration of Peace Corps’ 50th anniversary. His first visit was to Ismayilli, and then on to Oguz, Sheki, Mingachevir, Ganja, and Dashkeshan (for those of you with a map, that’s all over the country).
After learning of the visit during our Early Service Training Conference, where we received a very broad outline of the trip (basically what I have just given you), we began planning for real. Amy, the first volunteer in Ismayilli and who till lives and works in Baku, would be in charge of planning the Ismayilli visit. Azerbaijan is a top-down bureaucracy, so it was necessary to alert each national office and regional office about the visit. On top of that, there would also be an entourage of Azeri reporters along for the ride, and the events that were to be planned had to also cater to the media and their interests.
For a while, the embassy said they did not want assemblies or speeches (I don’t particularly blame them for this, of course), but would not say what they did want. We knew they were planning a visit to the ExCom, the executive power governing body for each region, and a visit to my sitemate’s organization, a new organization that helps disabled children and their families. Eventually, they agreed to a visit to the biggest school in Ismayilli to showcase the past accomplishments inspired by volunteers and the future plans with us current volunteers. My students and the director were a bit bothered that he was not going to our school, but when the details of the visit were made more clear, they understood.
To show the broad influence of Peace Corps in Ismayilli, Amy coordinated a panel of speakers including English teachers from School Number 1, who worked with two volunteers, my counterpart, who has worked with several volunteers, two computer teachers, and my host brother who has just been accepted to the Muskie program, through which he will study at the University of Utah for two years. We invited representatives from every school and organization in the Ismayilli region that has hosted a volunteer in the past eight years.
The entire event would be MC-d by a student who met Amy when she was in fifth grade and is now about to graduate from high school. As her aspiration is to be a journalist, she acted as an interviewer exploring the influence of Peace Corps in the community. My students and I would be the grand finale, and two students were chosen (by popular vote by the other club members) to read the letters they had recently written to their American pen pals (“pen friends” to most Azeris).
The night before the event, we met with all the speakers to go over what they would say and to stress that they would only have a minute or two to say it in. Now, people here love assemblies, and there is a protocol to what is said. It took a bit of convincing that they should dispense with the formalities and go straight to the main ideas, given the length of the event. It was rewarding, however, to realize just how much their lives had been touched by their experiences with volunteers and how excited they were to talk about it.
The morning of the visit it was raining, and after way to long agonizing over what to wear (I blame color blindness), I trudged up the road to my school. Most of the students were there early, but we had a minor panic when one of the readers did not, and a search party was dispersed. Stretched out along the road, we made our way to School Number 1. Throughout the walk and the lead up to the event, my students continually asked me questions about the event, showing how nervous they were to possibly be on TV. One of the readers asked me several times if the news crews were going to ask him about his letter.
Ambassador Bryza was about a half hour late getting to Ismayilli, due to intense fog in the mountains along the road. When word came that he was on his way, we went out to the front yard to greet him. A few small children were there to give the ambassador flower bouquets.
The event went smoothly, though several teachers did go on for longer than expected. Everyone, including myself, spoke in Azeri, for the media, and Ambassador Bryza had an assistant translating for him. I was nervous about speaking in Azeri (it’s hard to sneakily practice a speech when you’re up on stage), but everyone was complimentary afterwards, and I don’t think I butchered it too much. My host brother told me only one word was difficult to understand, and in the video replay, it doesn’t seem like I “um”-ed as much as I thought I did on stage.
My students nervously climbed up to the stage for their readings, but I was proud of how well behaved they were. The ambassador rose and spoke to the audience afterwards, and then it was time for cake and photographs. He posed for several photos with my students, who weren’t quite sure what to think at first, with the camera bulbs flashing, but warmed up to it. They wanted to get their photos taken with a woman who was a former FLEX student, but were too nervous to ask her themselves, and had me approach her about getting their picture.
The entire time, the media milled about, filming random parts of the event, and afterwards approached me for a short interview (thankfully in English). I don’t know when the event will show up on TV, but they said they’d edit it to make me look good. The message of the event hopefully planted ideas in my students about goals for the future. The importance of trying new things, of working hard, of striving to meet one’s goals. These are the ideas I really want to share and spread at my school. These are ideas that are more important than having new computers to show off or simple test scores, or learning English just to go to America.
After learning of the visit during our Early Service Training Conference, where we received a very broad outline of the trip (basically what I have just given you), we began planning for real. Amy, the first volunteer in Ismayilli and who till lives and works in Baku, would be in charge of planning the Ismayilli visit. Azerbaijan is a top-down bureaucracy, so it was necessary to alert each national office and regional office about the visit. On top of that, there would also be an entourage of Azeri reporters along for the ride, and the events that were to be planned had to also cater to the media and their interests.
For a while, the embassy said they did not want assemblies or speeches (I don’t particularly blame them for this, of course), but would not say what they did want. We knew they were planning a visit to the ExCom, the executive power governing body for each region, and a visit to my sitemate’s organization, a new organization that helps disabled children and their families. Eventually, they agreed to a visit to the biggest school in Ismayilli to showcase the past accomplishments inspired by volunteers and the future plans with us current volunteers. My students and the director were a bit bothered that he was not going to our school, but when the details of the visit were made more clear, they understood.
The entire event would be MC-d by a student who met Amy when she was in fifth grade and is now about to graduate from high school. As her aspiration is to be a journalist, she acted as an interviewer exploring the influence of Peace Corps in the community. My students and I would be the grand finale, and two students were chosen (by popular vote by the other club members) to read the letters they had recently written to their American pen pals (“pen friends” to most Azeris).
The night before the event, we met with all the speakers to go over what they would say and to stress that they would only have a minute or two to say it in. Now, people here love assemblies, and there is a protocol to what is said. It took a bit of convincing that they should dispense with the formalities and go straight to the main ideas, given the length of the event. It was rewarding, however, to realize just how much their lives had been touched by their experiences with volunteers and how excited they were to talk about it.
The morning of the visit it was raining, and after way to long agonizing over what to wear (I blame color blindness), I trudged up the road to my school. Most of the students were there early, but we had a minor panic when one of the readers did not, and a search party was dispersed. Stretched out along the road, we made our way to School Number 1. Throughout the walk and the lead up to the event, my students continually asked me questions about the event, showing how nervous they were to possibly be on TV. One of the readers asked me several times if the news crews were going to ask him about his letter.
The event went smoothly, though several teachers did go on for longer than expected. Everyone, including myself, spoke in Azeri, for the media, and Ambassador Bryza had an assistant translating for him. I was nervous about speaking in Azeri (it’s hard to sneakily practice a speech when you’re up on stage), but everyone was complimentary afterwards, and I don’t think I butchered it too much. My host brother told me only one word was difficult to understand, and in the video replay, it doesn’t seem like I “um”-ed as much as I thought I did on stage.
The entire time, the media milled about, filming random parts of the event, and afterwards approached me for a short interview (thankfully in English). I don’t know when the event will show up on TV, but they said they’d edit it to make me look good. The message of the event hopefully planted ideas in my students about goals for the future. The importance of trying new things, of working hard, of striving to meet one’s goals. These are the ideas I really want to share and spread at my school. These are ideas that are more important than having new computers to show off or simple test scores, or learning English just to go to America.
A Chapter Closed
News of the death of Osama bin Laden has reached us here in Azerbaijan. A text message sent out by the CD erroneously announced that President Obama had gone on the air to speak about the death of “Obama bin Laden,” something that certainly won’t help Obama’s fight against the Birthers and those that pay too much attention to his middle name.
Ten years ago, I came home from a Boy Scout meeting to see the live coverage of the World Trade Centers falling. We didn’t know exactly what was going on, but knew that the attack had caused a huge amount of damage and deaths. On the other side of the world we still felt the repercussions. Friends went home, recalled by the government or by their companies. Security was raised at the school. I listened repeatedly to the Concert for NY album. Just as for those who were in the United States, it was a time that we could never forget, but I always noticed how different and slightly distant the effects of the event were in Indonesia. I was more directly touched by the bombing of a nightclub on the island of Bali in 2002, in which a teacher from our school died.
I can’t help feeling that it is a bit fitting that just as I was abroad for the events of 9/11 and the immediate aftermath, I am abroad now, as the man who claimed to be the mastermind behind the attacks, Osama bin Laden, has been killed. Even though bin Laden’s death does not mark the end of al-Qaeda, nor does it mean the end of the War on Terror, his death does create a symbolic bookend.
Here I am, abroad again, just as I was when the towers fell. But it is not just as it was, for the world has changed, and I have changed, in the past ten years. I was in middle school in 2001. I lived in a rented house in Jakarta with my family. We had a maid, a driver, a gardener, just as most expats in Indonesia did. Now, I live with another family, an Azerbaijani family, though a family I can still call my own in a way. I work at a middle school. I shop and cook for myself. In these past ten years, I have adapted to American high school life, participated in an exchange program in Japan, gone to college, studied abroad in India, graduated from college, and entered the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan. I have grown physically, of course, but have also changed in other ways as well.
There have been constants, as well. There are people, two friends in particular, who have been with me over that time. One predated Indonesia, one I met there. And though I am on the far side of the world, they are still my friends, people I would not want to be without. In the ten years that have passed, what has bin Laden’s life been like? Has he had friends that he has been in contact with this whole time? Has he changed in these ten years? He has become such a symbol for the fight against terrorism that it is easy not to think of him as a person, but an evil entity that lurks in caves and makes videos condemning America and the West, or a cartoon character lampooned by the likes of South Park or Family Guy. I wonder if, at the end, when his life came to a close, how he looked back at the ten years that have passed since the attack in New York.
Ten years ago, I came home from a Boy Scout meeting to see the live coverage of the World Trade Centers falling. We didn’t know exactly what was going on, but knew that the attack had caused a huge amount of damage and deaths. On the other side of the world we still felt the repercussions. Friends went home, recalled by the government or by their companies. Security was raised at the school. I listened repeatedly to the Concert for NY album. Just as for those who were in the United States, it was a time that we could never forget, but I always noticed how different and slightly distant the effects of the event were in Indonesia. I was more directly touched by the bombing of a nightclub on the island of Bali in 2002, in which a teacher from our school died.
I can’t help feeling that it is a bit fitting that just as I was abroad for the events of 9/11 and the immediate aftermath, I am abroad now, as the man who claimed to be the mastermind behind the attacks, Osama bin Laden, has been killed. Even though bin Laden’s death does not mark the end of al-Qaeda, nor does it mean the end of the War on Terror, his death does create a symbolic bookend.
Here I am, abroad again, just as I was when the towers fell. But it is not just as it was, for the world has changed, and I have changed, in the past ten years. I was in middle school in 2001. I lived in a rented house in Jakarta with my family. We had a maid, a driver, a gardener, just as most expats in Indonesia did. Now, I live with another family, an Azerbaijani family, though a family I can still call my own in a way. I work at a middle school. I shop and cook for myself. In these past ten years, I have adapted to American high school life, participated in an exchange program in Japan, gone to college, studied abroad in India, graduated from college, and entered the Peace Corps in Azerbaijan. I have grown physically, of course, but have also changed in other ways as well.
There have been constants, as well. There are people, two friends in particular, who have been with me over that time. One predated Indonesia, one I met there. And though I am on the far side of the world, they are still my friends, people I would not want to be without. In the ten years that have passed, what has bin Laden’s life been like? Has he had friends that he has been in contact with this whole time? Has he changed in these ten years? He has become such a symbol for the fight against terrorism that it is easy not to think of him as a person, but an evil entity that lurks in caves and makes videos condemning America and the West, or a cartoon character lampooned by the likes of South Park or Family Guy. I wonder if, at the end, when his life came to a close, how he looked back at the ten years that have passed since the attack in New York.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Surreality of Easter in Azerbaijan
Visiting Baku is always a good break from life at site, and more often than not, more than a little surreal. This last trip just about took the cake, though. All of my year’s YD and CED volunteers came to Baku Thursday for our Early Service Training, an in-service training conference. It was weird, first of all, to see all the YDs again after four months. Some I’ve seen here and there over that time, but never at the same time. Peace Corps put us up in a hotel somewhat near to the Peace Corps office (though not as close as the map they gave us made it seem). Soft beds, normal-sized pillows, and a proper shower with good water pressure that never ran out of hot water. If that ain’t surreal, I don’t know what is.
The conference lasted all day Friday. While a nice chance to catch up and hear about others’ work, we were all glad when the day ended. We were finally free to take advantage of Baku, something we hadn’t been allowed to do during the weekend since March due to the occurrence of protests against the government in downtown Baku. And so we had another strange experience, eating Indian and Chinese food, relaxing at bars, being out at night. At the Chinese restaurant, we even had some fun with the karaoke machine.
The next day, I made arrangements for Easter. I would go, along with a few other volunteers, to a church service. I decided instead of paying for another night in Baku, which would cost money, to stay in Xirdalan with Rashad, my former LCF. He was working all day, so we spent the day wandering Baku, and happened upon a gelato shop, and a hidden ping pong/games den. Through the back of a shop, in a large former theatre, Narnia Ping Pong (our name) caters to those who want to play ping pong, air hockey, pool and some video games. A mural of the Marlboro man adorns one wall, and another wall bears an image of Samson breaking free of the pillars. We encountered an 80-year old man who beat everyone who played against him.
And so we come to Easter. I slipped out of Rashad’s house shortly after he’d gone off to work, and headed off, one bus ride and one five-stop metro ride, to meet the others at a bus stop near McDonald’s.
The church, Baku International Fellowship, is not itself a church, but meets in the auditorium of the Baku International School. This was the time that tipped the weekend over the edge. To enter the grounds, we had to pass through a security checkpoint, and upon entering the lobby, where there was coffee(!), I was stunned. Everywehre I looked, foreigners. Speaking English. I was happy to be at the service, even though it wasn’t entirely what I was hoping for. The music was a bit more in the contemporary music vein for my taste, though they did the Hallelujah chorus to end the service, and the sermon used a Powerpoint presentation, which seems off to me. There was nothing wrong with the service, just not always to my tastes or ideas of what church and Easter should usually be. (I made up for some of it by making Easter eggs when I got back to Ismayilli.)
Being at the school reminded me intensely and immediately of my time at Jakarta International School in Indonesia. My life now is very different from the life I led in Indonesia. The people at the church often did not know Azeri, and some had not traveled much in the regions. They shopped at supermarkets with foods imported from Europe and America. They live in modern buildings with air conditioning and central/good heating, with showers and washing machines, and indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets. This was the life I led in Indonesia for the most part. My school there offered opportunities to travel to the islands of Indonesia, to see and experience and learn about the cultures. But we didn’t live there. It was separate. We always had our comfortable homes in Jakarta to go back to in the end.
Is one lifestyle better than the other? Does one group help people and lead to better change than the other? Now that I’ve lived on both sides of the expat aid worker spectrum, I can’t help wondering. It is obvious that our lives are different, that life in Baku is very different from life in the regions. Knowing Baku is different from knowing Azerbaijan, but knowing the regions is also different from knowing Azerbaijan. The anthropologist in me believes it is important to learn the language to know a people, and to live amongst them. It’s in fact hard not to think that I know better than they do because of where I live and how I live. But is this really the best way to cause the change we say we want to inspire? Or is it better to work with the governments to enact that change in policy which will lead to new teaching supplies and techniques, new agricultural equipment, and so on? Probably, both are needed to make the world a better place. The grassroots and the governmental aide working together. But we don’t speak to each other about our work. They don’t ask for our opinions, and we don’t seek them out for help. Why is that? Why is there so little connection between the organizations? Is there some ideological rationale, or is this just the way it is? These questions are truly worth asking to determine whether or not we can actually change things, whether what we do here is worth doing. I just don't have the answers yet.
The conference lasted all day Friday. While a nice chance to catch up and hear about others’ work, we were all glad when the day ended. We were finally free to take advantage of Baku, something we hadn’t been allowed to do during the weekend since March due to the occurrence of protests against the government in downtown Baku. And so we had another strange experience, eating Indian and Chinese food, relaxing at bars, being out at night. At the Chinese restaurant, we even had some fun with the karaoke machine.
The next day, I made arrangements for Easter. I would go, along with a few other volunteers, to a church service. I decided instead of paying for another night in Baku, which would cost money, to stay in Xirdalan with Rashad, my former LCF. He was working all day, so we spent the day wandering Baku, and happened upon a gelato shop, and a hidden ping pong/games den. Through the back of a shop, in a large former theatre, Narnia Ping Pong (our name) caters to those who want to play ping pong, air hockey, pool and some video games. A mural of the Marlboro man adorns one wall, and another wall bears an image of Samson breaking free of the pillars. We encountered an 80-year old man who beat everyone who played against him.
And so we come to Easter. I slipped out of Rashad’s house shortly after he’d gone off to work, and headed off, one bus ride and one five-stop metro ride, to meet the others at a bus stop near McDonald’s.
The church, Baku International Fellowship, is not itself a church, but meets in the auditorium of the Baku International School. This was the time that tipped the weekend over the edge. To enter the grounds, we had to pass through a security checkpoint, and upon entering the lobby, where there was coffee(!), I was stunned. Everywehre I looked, foreigners. Speaking English. I was happy to be at the service, even though it wasn’t entirely what I was hoping for. The music was a bit more in the contemporary music vein for my taste, though they did the Hallelujah chorus to end the service, and the sermon used a Powerpoint presentation, which seems off to me. There was nothing wrong with the service, just not always to my tastes or ideas of what church and Easter should usually be. (I made up for some of it by making Easter eggs when I got back to Ismayilli.)
Being at the school reminded me intensely and immediately of my time at Jakarta International School in Indonesia. My life now is very different from the life I led in Indonesia. The people at the church often did not know Azeri, and some had not traveled much in the regions. They shopped at supermarkets with foods imported from Europe and America. They live in modern buildings with air conditioning and central/good heating, with showers and washing machines, and indoor bathrooms with flushing toilets. This was the life I led in Indonesia for the most part. My school there offered opportunities to travel to the islands of Indonesia, to see and experience and learn about the cultures. But we didn’t live there. It was separate. We always had our comfortable homes in Jakarta to go back to in the end.
Is one lifestyle better than the other? Does one group help people and lead to better change than the other? Now that I’ve lived on both sides of the expat aid worker spectrum, I can’t help wondering. It is obvious that our lives are different, that life in Baku is very different from life in the regions. Knowing Baku is different from knowing Azerbaijan, but knowing the regions is also different from knowing Azerbaijan. The anthropologist in me believes it is important to learn the language to know a people, and to live amongst them. It’s in fact hard not to think that I know better than they do because of where I live and how I live. But is this really the best way to cause the change we say we want to inspire? Or is it better to work with the governments to enact that change in policy which will lead to new teaching supplies and techniques, new agricultural equipment, and so on? Probably, both are needed to make the world a better place. The grassroots and the governmental aide working together. But we don’t speak to each other about our work. They don’t ask for our opinions, and we don’t seek them out for help. Why is that? Why is there so little connection between the organizations? Is there some ideological rationale, or is this just the way it is? These questions are truly worth asking to determine whether or not we can actually change things, whether what we do here is worth doing. I just don't have the answers yet.
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