Challenged Expectations

When I came into Peace Corps, I tried to learn as much about Azerbaijan without building up expectations. I knew that any expectations I formed would be wrong one way or another, and I wanted to keep myself open to the experiences I would encounter. Recently however, I have learned more about one thing I never expected to know. My dog became pregnant and gave birth to puppies. If I had been assigned to a PC country such as Mongolia or somewhere in Africa, being around birthing animals seems like it would have been more likely. And certainly, we have our share of animals wandering around the yard—ducks, turkeys, and chickens. Every year my host family buys several dozen chicks to raise, for eggs and meat. There are geese out on the street. But serving as a dog midwife was a surprise. Sure, we could have prevented it, but we were slow to find a doctor who would perform the operation, and slower to talk about how we would pay for it (only 40 manat), and by the time we had a plan of sorts, the damage had been done. Instead, we watched Miri swell. Shortly after we were sure she had become pregnant I did some research on dog birth. But then all we could do was wait. We took bets on what day and how many puppies would blossom. The general verdict was the beginning of June. Miri had other plans. May 27 I invited the Ismayilli baseball team to my house to watch a game on my computer (Game 6 of the 2011 World Series, Rangers at Cardinals as it happened). They met Miri and joined in the guessing on how many puppies would come in the next few weeks. Several remarked they wanted to see the puppies when they finally came. That night, Miri began pacing and panting, waking me around 2am. After a frantic call from Caroline, who came to my rescue by reading to me about dog birth online, Miri seemed to settle back down and we both went to sleep. In the morning, there were no puppies, and I worried that something had gone wrong. To clear my mind, I went to the bazaar for food, and when I came back Miri was sitting in her box in my room, a panicked look on her face, and a puppy on the way. Jet-black, except for small bits of white on its paws and chest, the puppy took after Miri’s parents (and possibly its father, though there are two suspects for that honor). That first puppy was a shock for both of us, but after realizing that the puppy was alive and well, and Miri had seen to its first bath, we breathed sighs of relief. Through the course of the day, four other puppies followed, totaling three males and two females. Almost three weeks later, the puppies have started to open their eyes and take their first real steps. Future homes have been found for most of them, though they have to stay with us until the end of July, staying close to their mother. I have spent the past few weeks, in addition to my other work, researching puppy raising techniques, knowledge and relaying this to my host family. Truly, a learning experience from an unexpected source. Woof.

Eurovision: Light Your Fire

Well, that was fast. Eurovision has come and gone. In a way, it feels like a bit of a letdown. Azerbaijan has been planning for this event for a year, ever since they won last year’s competition. Massive construction has been underway in the capital, including a brand new performance center just for the event. I have yet to see the full results of the work, but from traveling in Baku for the past year, I can tell you it was extensive. All this work, all this anticipation, and in one week, it’s all over. Several PCVs went into Baku for the competition, but for most of us, travel was restricted because of how crazy and busy Baku would be. For those who don’t know, and before coming here, I was one of you, Eurovision is like an annual international American Idol. Each country has one entry, whether it is a group or individual artist. The countries then vote on their favorite performances (apparently, it can get political, with countries that are generally friends voting for each other and countries that are generally at odds saving their votes for others) and a winner is anointed. There are two semi-final performance nights, and ten qualifiers based on online or phone voting move onto the final night, along with the “Big Five” and the host country. (Thanks for help on that, Wikipedia!) The Big Five are what you’d expect probably—France, Spain, UK, Italy, Germany. In the end, Sweden came away with the win, and will be the host of next year’s competition. My personal favorite, Russia, came in second. Russia’s entry was a group of small, old babushkas, definitely not the norm for this competition, which is filled with young men and women belting out pop music and dancing enthusiastically around the stage. Their performance was also unique or at least rare for their more cultural-sounding song. Most songs are typical international pop, with lyrics in English and little to differentiate between each country. Turkey had a little cultural feel to their song as well. Even Azerbaijan, which came in fourth, had a little traditional singing in the background, the wavering voice that is common in the mugam style. I have a personal award to give out, for best name. There really was no contest, because Englebert Humperdinck from the UK stole this from everyone. Clearly not the best singer/performer (UK came in 25 out of the 26 finalists), but easily the best name I’ve heard in years. Let that sink in for a minute. Englerbert. Humperdinck. Being here in Azerbaijan over the past year has been an interesting experience. Watching the competition to select the Azeri representative, crashed by two PCVs performing as the Caspian Dreamers, was a lot of fun. Seeing Baku and Azerbaijan try to prepare to play a larger part on the world stage in particular has been interesting. Azerbaijan is not a perfect country, nor is any, and they’ve struggled to determine what face they will show to the world. And fielding questions about why America does not participate or follow Eurovision has been fun though somewhat repetitive (think about what continent America is on…). But now, with the event over and done, and the visitors leaving the country, how will Azerbaijan maintain its newfound fame? That is the question.

Strike Up the Band, It's Wedding Season: Or, My First Azeri Wedding

Here in Azerbaijan, there are a number of cultural traditions, holidays, etc. that are sort of the must-do, bucket list things that you have to do while living in Azerbaijan. Jump over a fire at Novruz. Eat xash with vodka early in the morning. Go guesting. But perhaps the top of the list is to go to a wedding. My fellow PCVs have been going to weddings almost since we got off the plane. But for me, the invitations never came. I never really knew anyone who was going to get married. Not that that always seems to matter. People have been known to be invited off the street. But not me. What was wrong with me? I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me! And yet, the wedding invites remained elusive. Until now. A teacher at my school was planning on getting married. I’d heard about his engagement, and I’d made up my mind that I was going to get an invitation. The two of us have a running joke where he asks me if I can take him to America, and I ask him if he can fit in a bag (he’s not a tall man). A month before his wedding, I was sitting in our school cafeteria over tea, and the others at the table were questioning me about wedding traditions in America. He jokingly asked me what I would give him for his wedding. After some laughter—I’m a guest after all, and wasn’t actually being required to bring a gift—I told him I’d bring him a suitcase. Uproarious laughter. The week before the actual event, invitations were passed around the school, all around me and under my nose. A couple teachers asked me if I was going, and when I said I hadn’t received an invitation, they immediately called the teacher and made sure I would be getting an invite. The next day it was there. I was going to a wedding! But wait, at the same time, my host family was invited to a neighbor’s wedding and they were taking me. The catch, it was on the same day, at the same time, on different sides of town. Since I didn’t really know the groom at my host family’s wedding, I decided I’d go to that wedding for an hour, and then go to the other wedding. We arrived at the wedding hall (most weddings in Azerbaijan are held in special party and wedding halls called Shadliq Saray, or Joyful Palace), and the doors were still closed. We loitered for a few minutes until everyone was allowed in, and we all rushed to find open seats. At the tables already were cold starters and bottles of juice, soda, and vodka and beer. As we waited, staff members hovered around, filming constantly, pouring drinks and slyly removing the alcohol from the tables where women were seated. Around the walls were large televisions, on which the night’s events were constantly broadcast. The lights went low and on the far side of the room, a garage door opened, and a shining white car rolled in, lights flashing. Out climbed the new couple, and the staff blasted confetti into the air with leaf blowers. There was a bubble machine! I left shortly after the couple took their place at a table overlooking the hall (and managing to spill Fanta on my pants—can’t take me anywhere). I stopped off at home to change pants and then caught a cab to the second wedding. The second I walked in, I was dragged onto the dance floor to show off my totally awesome Azeri dance moves. This means lots of arms in the air like airplane wings, feet kicks, and a sense of rhythm. The music was pretty much constant, with a live band playing tar, saz, drums, and alternated between fast-paced dance music and fast-paced non-dance music. In between the dancing, there was eating. Plate after plate of kebab, and the others at my table kept sending food and drinks whenever the waiters passed. Immediately after I put down my fork, I’d be rushed back onto the dance floor. This was what I’d been waiting a year and a half for, and despite my stomach cramping up it was worth it. Azeri wedding parties are no small matter. They often stretch on into the night, lasting five, six hours or more. This is at a shadliq saray, mind you. When weddings are held at home or in the village, they can last all night. The longest I’ve heard of was a two-day affair, lasting 14 hours or so each day. Frankly, I would have been more impressed if it had been two days straight, but still, not too shabby. I left the wedding around 10pm, and it was still going strong. A number of people had slipped out, first being sure to get their commemorative photo with the bride and groom. About an hour after I got home, I heard my host family return. We had fun talking about our comparative experiences and learning more about wedding traditions and practices, but shortly after I collapsed into bed. Dancing Azeri-style takes a lot of energy.

Playing 20 Questions

Whenever we travel here in Azerbaijan, we tend to stand out. I know that may not come as a surprise to any of you, but there it is. A bunch of foreigners stick out like sore thumbs. Because of this, we’re often questioned about who we are, where we’re from, what we do, etc. Usually it’s friendly and comes from curiosity, and we’re more than happy to field these questions. Sometimes, though, it turns into some sort of difficult and complicated game of 20 Questions. I don’t mean to say that the questioning becomes confrontational. I mean that sometimes, when folks learn that we’re from the US, they decide to pump us for as much information as they can. I’m periodically asked about prices for goods, so they can compare with what they pay here. How much is a liter of petrol? A loaf of bread? A kilo of potatoes? Sometimes I know the answers, but a lot of the time, I have to guess. How many kilometers between Washington, DC and New York City? Wish I could tell you. How much for a batch of cilantro at the market? Well, in America we don’t really shop at markets…oh, you’ve lost interest, sorry. Generally, when I don’t know the food answers, it’s chalked up to the fact that I’m a man and therefore probably don’t do the shopping. Of course, this isn’t the case, but it’s what fits into many people’s perspective here. Or, they try to show off the knowledge they remember from their school days. Usually this means they ask about museums, holidays, or traditions they’ve heard about or read about. Other times it’s questions about history or random facts about the US or England (often it’s England since the textbooks here focus on England more than America). Occasionally I’ve been asked about the date of American independence or how many rooms are in the British Museum. Other times, I get asked about the differences between British and American English. I generally go for the lift/elevator, lorry/truck, color/colour explanations. These examples are always met with thoughtful nods. In a way, I feel like these questions are not just meant to help people here learn and compare with their own lives. Sometimes, though, I feel like I’m being tested to see if I am who I say I am. I’m proving I’m American (or English when the difference isn’t entirely understood). I recently visited an older student who lives in a village outside Ismayilli. He invited his neighbor over to meet me, and after dinner, he invited us to tea at his home, where he surprised his parents with me. I felt a bit awkward, as they were clearly not expecting guests, though I appreciated being treated like just another friend of their son’s. Their son explained this was because they didn’t believe I was really American or that there was really an American in their home.

Out Here in the Fields

Ismayilli was recently visited our (“our,” because both the volunteers here are from Youth Development) program manager. This will be her first visit to Ismayilli after taking the job earlier this year. All program managers in Peace Corps Azerbaijan visit the volunteers periodically. We’ve been visited once before as part of these periodic checks and once during a special camp my sitemate was leading with her organization. The first visit was about the same time last year, but still while we were in our mandatory host family time, so part of the visit was also to check in and see how we were getting along with our host families. We were also still in the process of getting situated with our host organizations. A lot has changed since then. I don’t know how it is in other PC countries. I don’t even know the details of other programs here, but more or less, we’re left alone to do the work of Peace Corps out here in Ismayilli. The only times I’m really contact or am contacted by PC and my program manager is when there’s trouble or sometime important is coming up (like a conference). And without commenting on whether or not that’s anyone falling down on the job, I gotta say that I like this independence. I’m sure it’s different for other people. People who want to talk more to their program managers for that extra support or inspiration, a push in the right direction, can and do talk more often. But I like being on my own here, setting my own schedule, judging my own work. There have been times when I’ve needed that kick in the rear, especially during the winter months, when it’s hard to get out of bed and go to work. But by and large, I am self-analytical and self-critical enough most days to judge when I’m doing enough, when I should be doing more (or less) and what I can do to do a better job. I’m definitely not always perfect, but mostly things have seemed to work out all right. One thing I know for sure is that readjusting to life in the US is going to take some time, and this is just one more area that will call for some adapting. Working with direct supervision, and really any kind of work with other people will be a shock to the system. Partly, I figure this is because most of my work experience has been pretty individualistic. Lifeguarding is by nature a solitary task as one sits above people playing and splashing, only communicating when necessary. Spending a summer outside by a lake in the woods was also pretty isolated. Maybe I should go be a fire lookout next? Spend the summer months alone in a tower looking out over acres of woods. Sounds better than sitting in a cubicle.

Azerbaijan's 15 Minutes in the Reality Show Spotlight

Several months ago, we received news that an American reality show would be coming to Azerbaijan. Speculation flurried and it quickly became the worst kept secret in Baku: The Amazing Race was on its way. Several volunteers and Azeri counterparts interviewed to help the production as aids and interpreters, and while most begged off due to the time commitment, a couple went ahead with helping. That was all we heard for awhile.

Last week, the episode that was filmed in Azerbaijan aired. It’s funny how seeing a bunch of American stereotypes running around the streets of Baku, past familiar sites and landmarks, can be revealing about a culture and absolutely wrong at the same time.

The Amazing Race people dashed out of the airport I’ve gotten to know all too well waiting for guests and out into the London-style taxis that have appeared recently in the capital. Sure, they were missing out on the joy of Ladas, but they made the smarter choice as the London taxis have meters. And they noted the primary trait of all taxi drivers here, they drive like they’re on the Autobahn or in Indy. Perfect for a bunch of people in a contest called The Amazing Race.

The taxi took them to the Atesgarh Temple, the temple with the perpetual flames due to natural gas, though they didn’t mention this on the show. When the contestants arrived, they were bombarded with traditional music and dancing, which was completely in line with my experiences. And just like us when we first arrived at the hotel a year and a half ago, the racers joined in awkwardly at first, but soon were laughing and enjoying themselves.

The contestants had two choices in their contest in the country: search a car filled to the brim (literally) with apples, or wipe down a man who has bathed in oil. One of these I am all too familiar with, the other was as new to me as it was to the contestants. Every Sunday at the market I see cars filled with fruits and vegetables. The trunks lined with plastic tarps, the passenger seats removed for more storage space. In the contest, the racers had to search through a car of apples to find one apple with a ribbon on it. I do not envy them that. They also quickly noticed the fact that they were being stared at as they rooted through the cars. This is a common and at times infuriating aspect of the culture here, and can cause major fishbowl-itis, though I can’t blame people for watching some crazy Americans sitting in a car trunk looking for one apple among many.

The second task, in which a man has bathed in oil for health reasoning, was new to me. It must be a thing for people living nearer to the Caspian, because out here in Ismayilli, there’s just enough oil and gas to cook and heat our homes, if that. The fact that the men the contestants were washing down were hairy as all get out wasn’t too surprising, though.

Finally, the contestants had to find their way to a carpet store in the old part of Baku (which is called Icheri Sheher, not Old Town, thank you very much) and then the boulevard along the Caspian Sea (which the show called Esplanade, which I have never heard anyone call it, to us it’s just Bulvar), to meet the host. Here the taxi drivers reared their stereotypical head again, when one taxi driver stopped on the side of the road, seemingly to ask for directions, though given that they were just around the corner from their destination, I’d guess it was more likely he was seeking out a toilet or some cigarettes.

Watching the show was in many ways like watching our service in an hour, or at least our times in Baku. I recognized familiar places, normal Azeris in the background, and customs and ideas that I’ve grown to know well. While I think I would do pretty well on a show like The Amazing Race, I’m glad I’ve had the opportunity to spend time in the countries I’ve visited, to get to know the culture better and become more comfortable. While there was much that was familiar to me in the show, I doubt the contestants were able to think of too much else than what they had to do next. Sure it’s a contest, but Ferris Bueller had some choice words for the kind of life they were living.

Happy Novruz!: Or, When Is Novruz, Anyway?

This year’s Novruz was a more subdued in Ismayilli than last year. Novruz, just a refresher, is the large spring holiday in Azerbaijan, marking the end of winter and the coming of spring, a “new day.” The holiday is a big time for family to come together, but Novruz found my host family split in several directions. One host brother is studying in Ohio, another is working on an oil ship as a translator. That left my host parents a bit lonely, and while I did my best to be an acceptable consolation prize, I’m sure it wasn’t the same for them. Last year’s Novruz was a big deal. In addition to both their sons, their first volunteer came to visit, along with my host father’s brother’s family. It was a full house, to say the least.

Just because this year’s holiday was quieter doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good holiday. We had our share of plov and baxlava, and then some. We jumped over a pretty decent fire, and kids threw their hats at our door in hopes of sweets (it’s kind of like Halloween, but with hiding while their hats are filled with sweets, candy, and fruit—even in Azerbaijan there are people who insist on giving healthy stuff).

The week before Novruz, I sat down with a conversation club and had the students tell me about Novruz. When I asked about when Novruz is, they got into an argument. It may seem strange that there is uncertainty about when the biggest holiday of the year, but it actually makes a bit of sense. And at the same time it is completely baffling. Novruz comes originally from the Zoroastrian faith, and like many holidays in the region, the holiday begins at sundown the night before and lasts until the next sundown. At the same time, everyone wishes each other Happy Novruz for days and even weeks beforehand, the same way Christians often wish others Merry Christmas all through the “Christmas Season.” Making matters more confusing though, is that Novruz is celebrated in ceremony in Baku, the capital, a day before it is celebrated in the regions. Why this is has never been satisfactorily explained to me, but the matter can’t make things easier.

I spent the majority of the week dealing with a blow to ABLE, the Azerbaijan Boys’ Leadership Experience. We failed to win the main grant we were hoping for, which is forcing us to reevaluate our game plan. While this is a blow, we hope to push this to be the first step to true sustainability by searching out smaller donors and focusing on local organizations. Funding the camp will go down to the wire, and we’ll probably have to make some difficult decisions, but if we can make this happen, we all hold high hopes that we are now moving the camp in the right direction. The exec board for ABLE had already been hoping to move down this path, we just thought we had more time to set it up beforehand. There’s no such thing in community service, apparently.

Georgia On My Mind

With three fellow PCVs, I finally made it up to Georgia, the easiest nearby country to visit. Both the countries to the south, west, and northeast provide their share of difficulties in visiting, and Turkey requires a plane ride. Fortunately, Georgia is just a bus ride away.

We went to go skiing, in Gudauri, about two hours north of the capital. The four of us met in Ganja and took a bus directly to Tbilisi, via the Red Bridge crossing in western Azerbaijan. The Red Bridge is in fact just a brick bridge, and is perpendicular to the border, not the route to cross, as I had imagined beforehand. The idealist in me was a bit disappointed; I have to admit.

Tbilisi is a smaller city than Baku, and feels definitively older as well. Baku only truly became a major site under the Soviet Union when Azerbaijan was used for its oil and natural gas, and Baku was convenient for these goals. Tbilisi, in contrast, has been the major city of Georgia for centuries, and in addition to straddling a large river, is filled with old buildings, churches, and topped with a large fort.

Our bus actually dropped us on the outskirts of the city and we experienced our first moment of culture shock. We realized, very suddenly, that even though we have spent the last year and a half becoming proficient at Azerbaijani, we didn’t speak a word of Georgian, and only a few words amongst us of Russian. Additionally, we couldn’t make heads or tails of the Georgian alphabet. We were back to square one, just as we’d been when we first stepped off the plane in Baku. It was a jolt, and in fact, a little frightening to be so helpless for a change.

We spent the first night in a hostel in Tbilisi. Another first for me, and while it gave me a taste for what hostels are like, we left spent the majority of the afternoon exploring the city and left early in the morning, so it wasn’t quite the full hostel experience. However, it was enough to remind me of my time at Genesee Valley, so perhaps I know more of hostels than I think. I’ll just have to go back.

One thing that Tbilisi and Georgia have in spades is good food. We had a delicious meal of chicken cooked in a garlic-spiced broth (yes, they cook with spices!). We had bacon and eggs for breakfast (yes, they eat pork—Georgia is predominantly Christian). The main food Georgia in known for (to us at least) is a dish called khachapuri, which is sort of a pizza sandwich. The most common sort is dough with cheese inside of it. There are variations that involve egg and more cheese being baked on top, or with beans inside as well. Basically, it’s delicious any way you have it. And it’s everywhere. I doubt I would have lost as much weight as I have if I could eat khachapuri every day. We spent a considerable amount of the trip wondering how our lives would be different if we had been placed in Georgia.

To return to the purpose of our trip, we came to ski. And ski we did. We arrived around midday to Gudauri, a resort up in Caucusus, above the tree line and among some of the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen. I have never skied anywhere like it. We feared the weather would be bad, but the entire weekend, the sky was brilliant clear blue, which turned out to have its own downside, as none of our group had thought to bring sunscreen. Oops.

The slopes were just as nice as the weather, and while I was out of practice and shape, and my muscles that I had forgotten I had reminded me of this the next day, it was a lot of fun. I only fell down five or six times!

Sitting on the gondola in our ski gear, with mountains in the background, and the sun shining down, we were shocked by how good we felt, how away from everything that had been our lives for the past year and a half. It was a real vacation; a vacation like we’d take back in our pre-Peace Corps lives. This wasn’t exploring a new culture or studying a new language, this was pure fun and games.

By the time we made it back to our sites, it was time to get ready to celebrate our second and last Novruz in Azerbaijan. But that’s for another post.

Recent Events and Spring May Just Come After All

Winter may not be over, and clubs are still sparsely attended, but the last week has been considerably sunnier than recently. It may not really be much warmer, but just seeing the sun makes it feel like spring may actually come. A few weekends ago, after what seemed like years of clouds, snow, and frozen pipes, I traveled to Bilasuvar, to visit one of my former cluster mates. This was my first visit to the south of Azerbaijan.

Before I could head south, I found I had to go west. There are no direct roads between my part of Azerbaijan and the southern finger, and I had two options—go west and then south, or go to Baku and then south. I ended up meeting up and heading south from Mingachevir with another PCV friend. This too was a bit of a milestone for me, the first time back to Mingachevir since site visits, over a year ago. At that time, I needed my PCV host to feed me Azerbaijani lines to be able to ask how much some potatoes at the bazaar were, and even then, barely stumbled through the conversation. Now, such conversations have become second nature.

(My host brother has been teaching himself some Spanish, and asked me some questions about that. Now, that requires a lot of conversation to recall the Spanish vocabulary and conjugation.)

At the time, Mingachevir was my first choice for site, perhaps because it was the only place outside of Xirdalan and Sumgayit I had seen in Azerbaijan. But after a year of living and working in Ismayilli, I can truthfully say that I am happy at my site, and even though Mingachevir would have been a great assignment—university students, lots of site mates, warmer winters—there is a lot to be thankful for in Ismayilli. I still have a fantastic host family, beautiful surroundings which I hope to explore more of in a summer that is less humid than much of the rest of the country, and beautiful views of snow-covered mountains in the winter. Not too shabby.

From Mingachevir, we got on a large bus, that was comfortable for how old it was, and despite the fact that its internal systems had been gutted. The spots where the personal lights and A/C fans once were, now were just holes in the ceiling. The engine was where the buses really showed their age; though we definitely weren’t helped by the state of some of the roads we drove on, under construction since before I came to Azerbaijan.

It turned out that we drove back basically the way I’d come, and if I had known, I could have waited for the bus instead of going all the way to its source. Lesson learned. Eventually we turned south, and five hours after we’d left Mingachevir finally had our first rest stop. After that, Bilasuvar was another 45 minutes. We’d taken breakfast with us on the bus, but to be safe had not drunk anything up until the rest stop.

I will say this about the south. It is flat. At least not along the path we were on. Further west, there are the Talysh Mountains, but along the coast it is flat, flat, flat. I dozed off in the last leg of the trip and woke up suddenly to see we were passing over a large lake, suddenly reminiscent of driving to Key West.

Bilasuvar is flat and spread out, so even though it is one of the smallest rayons in Azerbaijan, the town itself is actually fairly large, or at least in comparison to Ismayilli. The PCV we were visiting works at a very nice, modern school financed by Central Bank, complete with Smart Boards and giant outdoor chess sets. While the school faces many of the same issues other schools in Azerbaijan deal with (textbooks, etc), it was startling and exciting to see a school so different from where I work. They even have school buses!

Several other PCVs came to visit us and we made some delicious chicken enchiladas and sugar cookies before settling in for a game of Settlers of Catan. The next day we wandered around town and found ourselves climbing the bleachers at the local stadium and staring out across the fields, trying to spot Iran in the distance. While we were unable to see the mountains that are on the Iranian side, we could see far enough in the clouds to see the road that crosses the border and a flag that marks the crossing.

The final night was marked with more Settlers, good music, and a long, hot shower. The next day, another seven hour bus ride commenced and finally I made it back to Ismayilli, to discover that the pipes had finally thawed and water was mine once more. The days of melting snow were over (hopefully I’m not jinxing myself on this one). A watched pipe never thaws, and getting out of Dodge was just what they needed to work again.

Since then, we've had some sunnier days, and temperatures have even jumped into the 40s! Last Tuesday marked the first of four days leading up to Novruz, each called Chershembe. You may remember from last year that each represents a different element. The first Tuesday was water. Though it is tradition for girls to go to the river to gather water, that step was avoided here (no local rivers, for one). Instead, my family did place a bowl of clean water on the table during dinner and prepared the traditional celebratory meal, plov.

Khojaly 20 Years Later

Sunday marks the 20th anniversary of the Khojaly massacre, which resulted in over 600 civilian deaths. Along with January 20th, this is one of the most important dates in Azerbaijan.

Maybe it’s anniversary fever, but suddenly, Azerbaijan is popping up around the world. Germany and France have recognized the event as an act of genocide. A memorial was erected in Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina. Signs for Khojaly have been placed in New York and Washington, even on the front page of The Washington Post website, and on buses and buildings in New York City. Even the state of New Jersey recognized the massacre.

At my school, an assembly was held to remember those who passed on that day, complete with a powerpoint slide show, detailing the event. Even though I did not understand all that was said, it was clear how impassioned they felt about the incident.

While the war that lead to these deaths caused suffering and death for both sides of the conflict, it is nice to see the issue receive international attention. Progress towards peace has not been achieved solely between the two countries, which to this day remain technically at war, albeit in a cease-fire. Attention, interest, and encouragement from the international community seem the best and most effective means of encouraging both sides to move towards a peaceful resolution. Of course there are other pressing international relations concerns, but a peace between these two countries sure would make relations in this region healthier.

http://news.az/articles/karabakh/55420

http://news.az/articles/politics/55381

http://azerbaijanamericaalliance.org/