February 5
While leaving my tutor’s house today a goose stole and spit all over my boots before laying an egg beside them. Seriously. As I slipped on sandals to recover them, the geese hissed and squawked at me. My tutor didn’t quite understand why I was laughing and thought it was funny as she told me how bad geese were. Take some time to think about this.

There are many things I love about my tutor. She is my third tutor; my first spoke no English and in my opinion, didn’t want to tutor me. I was convinced it was mainly a “language barrier”. My second tutor was my counterpart, who speaks English well, but didn’t really have the time to tutor me for long. I then found my most recent tutor, which has changed my attitude about learning Azerbaijani.

We begin our sessions in her house with tea, jam and candy. She has a room in a larger house. We began by using a first grader’s book. At first I didn’t understand anything, but now I have to refer to the dictionary less and less. We have since moved on to women’s magazines, which are a little more compelling (though I have learned quite a bit about Azeri history through the children’s book). Now we switch back and forth.

The language barrier has been a real bummer. As the all-knowing PCV handbook states, at around month 7 one of the struggles will be a language plateau. This helpful little manual always seems to know what I felt, am feeling and will feel at designated times. What’s even crazier is that my mom has the book too, and when I call home, freaked out, she says, “oh yes, the manual says that what you feel is normal”. I’ve discussed this phenomenon with other volunteers who find it both as comforting and infuriating as I do.

My tutor is always encouraging, praising my speech and telling me how much she likes me. It’s fantastic and what’s more, it doesn’t matter that she doesn’t speak English or that she speaks quickly. I catch on and she makes me want to keep going. She’s patient, kind and funny and I’m making it a point to see her more often.

Over dinner in Baku last weekend a mix of AZ4’s and 5’s (AZ is country and the numbers are for years the program has been in country–I am a 5) were talking about our experiences since the last time we saw one another. An AZ5’s exclaimed, “Can you believe we’ve been here over 7 months! That’s a long time!” Other 5’s shared in her joy until the AZ4 across the table said, “Yeah, that’s how much time I have left!” Our smiles soured as we realized 7 months meant the end was in sight for him. We were again reminded of just how long 27 months is. It’s a long time.

I’ve made it 7 months. My group of 55 is now 48 (1/3 of PCV’s don’t make it till the end). 7 months brings a mix of feelings. I am getting used to my surroundings and for the most part, the novelty has worn off. I have a reading and writing club, I joined the Women in Development and Writing Olympics committees and am trying to follow my ever-elusive sanity. Happiness and peace does not necessarily come to me, I have to go in search of it every day and follow it as its parameters constantly change. Everything I do is trial and error, and it’s mostly error. I’m always stumbling (whether literally or figuratively) and trying to motivate myself to keep going.

There are so many things I could say about this experience, but one thing is certain, I’m learning a lot. For instance, bread can double as a napkin, clean boots = smiling faces, dirty boots = frowning faces, pickled garlic can be eaten whole and things won’t fall apart if you make a mistake (or several) so long as your intentions are good.