March 6
About once a month something inspires me to write and this month is no different. For the past 6 months I have been trying to find my place in my town. I’ve been meeting people, starting clubs, learning about my community and trying to get a hold of the Azeri language.

YD volunteers are community based, which means that we don’t have to work at the same place all the time. I have been spending most of my time at the library, but I have recently been making an effort to branch out.

Yesterday I visited the Music School. I have been talking about going there for months, but I only got around to it yesterday. On a related note, I have been trying to get someone to teach me to play the Tar, a famous Azeri instrument. However, because I get paid so little, I have to obtain lessons for free or next to free, which of course, has been a bit of a challenge.

My Counterpart (CP) and I met with the director of the school, a robust, tall man, in his mid 40’s. We sat down and my CP explained that I was interested in checking out the school. She then surprised me and said I wanted to learn to play the Tar. The director asked why, and I explained that we don’t have the Tar in American music and I want to bring this National Instrument back to my country. I felt like a real idiot. Here I come, I have no musical experience, but teach me for free. At the same time, there was no going back, I couldn’t deny that I wanted to learn, and that IS one of the reasons fueling my desire.

He was pleased with this answer and said I could study there for free with him. The director of the school! He then ordered someone to give him their Tar and gave it to me to see how I felt with it. Afterward we had tea and watched about an hour’s worth of recital tapes.

Before I left he “tested” me by tapping a pencil on his desk – apparently to make sure I wasn’t tone deaf and would be wasting his time. He explained, sternly, that “wanting” to play the Tar was much easier than actually learning to play it. Fair enough. He also made clear that the Tar was a difficult instrument to learn and though I don’t have a Tar now, once I’m serious, I will have to get one. I’ve priced Tars in Baku and they’re about 200 Manat ($240) - much too much for me now, but he assured me that he would talk to the storeowner in Baku to make sure I got the best Tar for the best price.

He said goodbye and told me to come back often. He also gave me the dates for upcoming performances, one of which was the following day. I assured him I would come back for the performance, not only because this is something I have wanted to do since I got here, but now also to prove to him that I am serious about learning the Tar.

The next day I returned to watch the concert. I (as always) was about 15 minutes early and when I asked someone at the school where the concert would be, they said there wouldn’t be one. This happens often and I didn’t believe it, so I continued my search. I found my way to the director’s office and was warmly greeted by the deputy director whom I had met the previous day.

He insisted I sit down and have tea and told me to stay put. I watched the clock reach closer and closer to 2 p.m., when the concert was supposed to begin. In the meantime I had a semi-coherent conversation with a woman who swore she ran into some PCV on the road whose bus had broken down and had helped her out of hysterics. I’ve since contacted all likely volunteers who have no recollection of this event.

Finally 2 p.m. arrived and the same woman I had been talking to earlier lead me down stairs to the auditorium. The door was locked, there was general confusion and she instructed me to sit down. I sat there for about 15 minutes while students, parents and teachers stared and giggled in my direction. I took out my phone appeared occupied.

Finally the door opened and the people piled in. The deputy director sat me front and center as everyone else piled into the back rows. I sat alone there for quite some time, wishing I could sit with everyone else, but not wanting to offend the deputy. Again I worked on perfecting the “sit and pretend you don’t notice you’re on stage” scenario.

Then my director from the library arrived. She had invited me to a concert the previous day, which I had to decline because it overlapped with my conversation clubs. She is new at the library and I have been trying to find ways to relate to her, so I was happy to see her there. I asked her to sit next to me, but she looked at me like I was both crazy and didn’t understand. I knew it was because of where I was sitting, but what could I do?

She sat on the side and I joined her. We talked a bit, mostly I didn’t understand, she was speaking quickly, but I listened and responded as best I could and the conversation consisted mostly of smiles, nods and affirmative statements.

The director of the music school came in, saw me, and smiled broadly. As the concert began another man came and sat on the opposite side of me. It was then that something I still don’t quite understand happened. People noticed my director sitting next to me and angry looks and harsh whispers started going around. In addition to the orchestra playing, there was an orchestra of whispers, dirty looks and shaming happening all around me. Like always, I didn’t know what was going on and I didn’t know how to stop it.

After the first musician left the stage, my director took her cue and left, never to return. My heart sank. Great, I thought. Now my director is REALLY going to hate me. I knew that whatever had just happened had something to do with where she was sitting, or at least that’s what I suspected.

However, the ceremony was terrific. There were two duets with an amazing Tar player who blew my mind. To me, the Tar sounds like beautiful jazz. I found myself lost in reverie, listening to the beat of the drum – unpredictable and incoherent mixed with the quick and violent strumming of the Tar. The Tar player played as if hypnotized, the bottom half of his body steady as the top half shook in violent fits of passion and skill. It was wonderful.

This performance both inspired and scared me. I’ll never know how to play like that! If I could just play a fraction as well, how great that would be! I was lost in his music – music with a mysterious and illusive rhythm – not unlike my day-to-day life here. When he strummed his last string a few of them popped and he smiled and nodded in appreciation to his instrument for holding out so long. It was spectacular. What an ending!

As the musicians returned for their bows, I found myself thinking a thought that I would never have in the U.S.. I thought, “I wonder if they’re going to acknowledge me?” Now, this might sound ridiculous to those at home, but it’s important to understand how important and revered guests are in this country, and how likely it actually was.

I’ve been to weddings where the video camera was stuck on me like I’m the only one in the room; I’ve taken bridal pictures with people; when I walk down the street EVERYONE stops and stares at me. I go into shops and people whisper and giggle to one another; I visit schools and the classes stop to introduce and accommodate me like I’m the most important thing happening. It’s crazy, but strangely, I’ve become used to it and almost expect it. Part of me wonders how I’ll feel when I return to the U.S. and no one pays attention to me…

Afterward, as the musicians assembled for their group photo, the director called me over and introduced me as a welcome guest (I was happy he didn’t ask me to give a speech) and told me to get in the picture. Everyone laughed, and I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t refuse. So, when this year’s music festival picture hangs on the wall, along with all the other photos from every year, I will be there – trying not to smile (Azeri’s don’t generally smile in photos).

As all the musicians received their flowers a woman brought me a huge bouquet. It was beautiful and the first fresh flowers I’ve seen for a while. I knew I wouldn’t keep them, even as much as I love fresh flowers. No, as I walked back to the library, certainly a spectacle now with my huge bouquet, I knew I had to give them away, as a peace offering to my director.

I don’t know if she was angry about being kicked out. I don’t know if she got kicked out because of me. I don’t know if she understood where I got the flowers from, or why, but she received them with a smile and for the first time I felt like she understood my good intentions. All in all, it was a very good day.