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.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Monday, January 07, 2008
January 6
Today I had a “Peace Corps moment”. As my surroundings become familiar the wonder of the moment wears off. As I settle into my little town, my eyes focus more on where I’m going and less on what’s around me. Things I never imagined doing before have become common and cease to be inherently interesting. Except for every now and then.
Living with a family is difficult for many reasons. However, the language barrier has to be one of the toughest obstacles (for me) to overcome. I’ve been living with my family for 4 months and have just in the past two months begun to regularly play checkers with my brother (which I win a lot more now – see previous blog). The rest of the time I am either sitting silently or in my room.
This perpetuates a vicious cycle. It begins with silence. I was silent because I was observing and adjusting. My family was at first talkative, but as my novelty wore off and my silence persisted, they gave up and began ignoring me. To my credit, I am mostly quiet in large social situations in the U.S. as well – my family consisting of 7 people makes every day a large social situation for me.
As I began to feel more comfortable in my surroundings and thus more willing to try to communicate, I was being ignored and haven’t gotten past this barrier and thus the cycle continues. In addition, there is the T.V.. I don’t enjoy watching T.V. in the U.S. when I can understand what’s going on and though at first watching Spanish and Azeri Soap Operas dubbed in Russian used to be novel, now it is mainly boring. The Azeri’s I’ve met, including my family, watch a lot of T.V. and talking during the shows is frowned upon.
Thus it came as a surprise today when my family invited me to go “guesting”. This was a very big deal because usually they don’t take me anywhere, and because they perceive me as being overly shy, they don’t try to draw me out of my room when they have guests at the house (not that they should).
As I’ve written before, guesting can be a long process lasting hours and hours while food is shoved in the PCV’s face “Ye, Ye!” “Eat, eat!”. Azeri’s take pride in their strong familial relations and spend hours upon hours visiting one another, which can be foreign and uncomfortable for the American PCV. In addition, there is the added stress of not knowing half of what is going on.
I took a deep breath. Despite my fatigue and discomfort (I had been laying in bed all morning because the electricity was out and my room was freezing), I knew I could not decline this very important invitation. In addition, last month I promised my family I would take pictures of them and give them a picture disk. I knew this was my opportunity.
I began my preparation. One cannot go into a guesting situation unprepared. I’ve done this and it ends in disaster. I knew I was going to a village, where heat might be scarce, so I put on 3 pairs of pants – 3 pair of socks (2 wool) and 4 shirts. I tied a scarf around my waist and around my neck. I put a small book on Taoism in my purse, grabbed my phone and camera and took two shots of vodka.
We began our trek. We walked past familiar places and then took a turn I’ve never taken before. The narrow, winding road ended at the Kur – the longest river in AZ and which flows through my town. I’ve seen the Kur coming across the bridge into my town, but never from this angle. From the bridge it always looks slow and muddy. From this angle, it actually looked quite nice. I had no idea it was so close.
I thought we were going into one of the houses nearby, so I was surprised when I was lead into the riverboat. I don’t know why I thought this, but I thought they were just showing me the boat. I don’t know why they would do that, but that’s what I thought. “How nice”, I thought, “they want me to see the boat”. I thought maybe someone owned the boat. Then I had an increasingly rare “American Thought” moment (like last night when I heard a engine sound and I thought it was snowplow – or sometimes in the morning when I consider going out for breakfast – both situations which are ridiculous here) – So in my “American Thought” moment I thought we were going to have the party on the boat – which is ridiculous because first of all – it was 32 degrees outside and second of all – well, you can see the picture of the boat.
So I sat down, all starry eyed. People noticed and laughed. I took this opportunity to indulge in my otherness and asked to snap some pictures. Everyone thought that was hilarious, and agreed.
We sat in the boat for about 10 minutes or less and then everyone started to get out. “Okay”, I thought, “shows over”. I was surprised, then, to find myself on the opposite side of the river. I didn’t even feel the boat move! This was my “Peace Corps Moment”. When you’re lead along to and through some strange space nodding and smiling all the way and find yourself in an even stranger place still nodding and smiling. Life suddenly feels more alive and makes all the other stuff kind of worth it.
When we got out of the boat we walked along an incredibly muddy road. I took this opportunity to look around me. To smell and listen around me, experiencing my town and village. Villages look much more like the Peace Corps I’d envisioned when I joined and I always enjoy visiting them.
When we arrived at the house about 40 people were gathered. The rest of the afternoon was fine and without incident. We didn’t stay too long and I took lots of pictures of my family of which I later made a picture CD as a gift. They thought it was great.
I’ve been with my family for 4 months and this was the first really good day. It was an effort made a little by me and a little by them. Everyone warmly welcomed me and no one made me eat too much.
My experience of guesting has changed because I now know what to expect, which makes a huge difference. I know how to pace myself each hour and for each course. As I watch Azeri’s, I see even my grandmother is chided when she doesn’t eat “enough”. But for the most part, I now know this is mostly for show. I now allow them to put the massive amount of food on my plate, laughing all the way saying “besdi, besdi” “enough, enough” and then I eat what I can. No one will hate me if I don’t eat every last bit – this was an important lesson for me. The world will not end if I say, “no”. After a while they won’t take my small appetite personally.
In fact, as long as I’m making a visible effort, observing all of the big cultural norms and some of the small ones, my community will embrace me. Smiling and being nice and friendly counts for a LOT. It’s not enough to wear long skirts, go to work on time, and just be here. You’ve got to pick your battles, find out what you can tolerate and what you cannot. And you absolutely CANNOT take yourself or your situation too seriously. As my friend Joe says, bend, don’t break.
January 3
It’s been over a month since my last entry and my only explanation is that I’ve lacked inspiration, which to me is a good reason not to write. The holidays are over now – and good riddance. I was surprised at how much the holiday season – or lack thereof, affected me.
It’s true that this was the first Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years that I’ve been away from home, but I was taken aback by my longing for familiarity. All month I’ve found myself feeling very alien in this foreign land and what’s more, unable to communicate those feelings articulately.
Christmas was a travel day for all AZ 5’s as the following two days were spent at our first In Service Training (IST), which is meant to bring everyone together after being at site for 3 months to discuss where we go from here.
We met up in Baku throughout the day and into the evening. It’s difficult to explain what it’s like to be in a room of Americans on Christmas, so far away from home, after a day of traveling (and traveling here, which always inspires some good stories) in a country that doesn’t celebrate Christmas.
Throughout the night PCV’s sporadically disappeared and could be found in their rooms or staring out windows at either end of the hall talking to family and friends from home. Luckily, I was able to be one of these people, as the clock struck 7 and then 9, an acceptable time for a conversation back home.
PCV’s returned one by one to the lounge area in the center of the halls looking dazed and weary. They jumped back into conversation with whoever was around trying to bounce back to “reality”. As I stared out the huge window overlooking the twinkling lights (they do celebrate New Year’s here) and the Caspian Sea, all I could think was, “how strange”.
When IST was over I traveled to Qusar to visit a fellow PCV. Qusar is near the Caucus mountains and about 35 kilometers from Russia; thus quite far from me. It was beautiful there in the village and before I left I saw my first snow.
Today I woke up to the first snow in the South. Though it was very pretty, it made me wonder how much longer my reliable electricity would remain. When I returned home from my Azeri language tutoring session in the afternoon, the electricity was out. Fortunately, it was back on within a couple hours.
Doing laundry has become more interesting. What I mean is, I no longer really do laundry. My hamam (bath) is still hot in the mornings (which means I am one of the few very lucky ones who still gets to shower on a regular basis) but drying the clothes has become very tricky. I now have something more to be thankful for in addition to the internet and ipods. Febreeze. Ah, yes, it’s true, I febreeze my clothes until they smell alright again. I bring my underclothes into the shower with me to wash, but they still take forever to dry by my heater. For me, it’s worth it to wash my underclothes, but not worth it to wash my jeans, bath towel and bedding.
It’s been a good month, all in all. My conversation clubs have been successful and will morph into reading and writing clubs in January. I’ve recently received some amazing resources from a friend back home and I look forward to incorporating them into my lessons.
I’m going to try to reach out to some of the people who, though they do not fit the “15-24” age limitations of my program, are nevertheless very interested in being a part of what I’m doing. I am also running a workshop at the end of January teaching English speakers how to fill out applications for programs in the U.S.. Writing essays seems to be a bit of a challenge here. I’m also applying for some committees and planning to work jointly with some PCV’s both for my own sanity and to bring more interesting programs to my town.
However, as is the plight of volunteers in many places, I am only just beginning to make meaningful relationships which give me insight into “what the community thinks”. So far this has included the idea that the women who come to the club are only coming because they have nothing better to do (and this is bad because the woman’s place is in the home) and thus wasting time. This could explain why some librarians refuse to keep quiet during my clubs (everyone now gathers in the small computer room because it is the only room with heat). Others think I’m a spy. Great. The only thing cool about being considered a spy in a community where you’re supposed to do development is if I can add “international spy” to my resume, which I’m pretty sure, I cannot.
Hopefully this spy thing won’t become too serious. There was another PCV in the North who was booted from his home because they thought he was a spy. Vy, vy, vy (akin to Oy, oy, oy or jeez).
As I began my 7-hour trek home from Qusar, I thought about how far I’d come in the past 6 months. Here I am living 6000 miles away from home – dirtier clothes than I’ve ever worn before (and not getting cleaner any time soon) outdoor, squat toilets, host-family drama, loneliness, crazy marshrutka (bus) rides, greeting the morning with breath I can see and numerous other things that have now ceased to be novel and have become “normal”, and yet I am doing the most satisfying work I’ve ever done. I am one of the lucky ones in that regard. My community seems to really want me and I have been able to start programs that are wildly entertaining (at least to me) as well as educational. All that my town lacks is made up for in the people I’ve met and the things I want to do here in the future.
I didn’t join the Peace Corps with a great deal of idealism – I’ve spent too much time in the service sector to entertain ideas such as “changing the world” or “bringing world peace” but that doesn’t mean that change and peace aren’t possible in small doses.
So my New Year’s resolution isn’t to lose weight or eat healthy or exercise or any such thing. My resolution is for peace. Whatever that may mean, wherever I am, whomever I’m with, in whatever small or limited amount it comes. I don’t know if I’ll achieve it, but I’m going to try.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Nov. 21
November is almost over and fall is alluding to winter. This is the right time to live in the south. It has been cooler during the days and cold at night, but nowhere near the weather in Michigan or even Northern Azerbaijan. Good thing too, I hate the cold and without central indoor heating, you are constantly aware of how cold it is.
I have taken to layering, holding warm bottles of water and hiding under my many blankets at night. I am thankful for all that I have here, the little it may be compared to the U.S.. However I am finding, which I suspected I would, that having less does not necessarily mean being less happy. I suppose I miss daily, hot showers (gas is becoming sparse here, haven’t showered in a few days) and baths (especially baths) and being able to walk around without a million layers inside – but I would not say that I am less happy because of it.
Last weekend the PCV’s were invited to Baku to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Peace Corps staff and Embassy workers. I stayed with a young woman in her wonderful apartment, complete with microwave, washer and dryer and a tub. I stayed two nights. I took a bath. A long, hot bath and it was wonderful (though I couldn’t shake the nagging uneasiness that I was using A LOT of water – also something I suspected).
The volunteers prepared meals and we enjoyed a kind of potluck with turkeys provided by the staff. At the end was a talent show and following the shindig we ventured into the streets of Baku. It was a good night, and afterward I felt refreshed; partly because of the relaxation, but also because I felt that I hadn’t been out of the U.S. for that long.
I found using a microwave and washer and dryer weren’t all that exciting. The U.S. women’s magazines and satellite T.V. failed to enchant me. Instead of making me homesick for the U.S. they made me glad I’m here, and reassured me that all those things will be waiting for me when I return (they will, right?).
But before I return I have work to do, and the work is becoming exciting. My three conversation clubs will, in January, morph into one conversation club and two new themed clubs. What the themes will be, I don’t know yet, but a reading club, writing club, and typing club are possible candidates.
Now I am doing several “assessments” of what the “youth” here have, need and want. Listening to their answers is motivating. They overwhelmingly tell me that it’s boring here and that there are not enough places for girls to hang out. The people in my conversation clubs are bright and dedicated and thus are enthusiastic about the new clubs.
On my way to work today I was thinking about the act of listening. So often I’ve skidded through life without really listening. It’s easy to do when you live within your culture, when you’re busy with routine. But here I have to consciously listen every moment of every day and I have to think about what I hear. Not just to the words my community uses, which I am only beginning to understand, but to body language, habits, routines and desires. I listen to their environment, culture and customs. Sometimes I don’t like what I hear, it’s difficult to be a woman here and I knew that coming in, but am only beginning to understand the consequences as a woman living here.
I think about my own country’s history and how fortunate I am that the battles for the right to leave the house for recreation, drive a car and wear pants have already been fought for me. And though we still have battles to fight, we’ve come a long, long way.
I came here a bit directionless and though I would never entertain delusions so grand as changing the ideas or customs of an entire culture, I am nevertheless wholly enjoying listening and observing, asking and answering questions. My students are inquisitive. They want to know what teachers wear and if girls go to pool halls and bowl. They take pride in telling me about, and occasionally preparing, their “national meals” and they want to know about mine. We trade music and talk about the similarities and differences in instruments, what we like and what we don’t like.
I feel I have one of the most interesting jobs in the world. And every day I get the opportunity to fall and get back up, to hit a wall and try another route, to listen more attentively, be more present, and ask more questions. And in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I’m feeling very thankful.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
The Funeral:
I was invited to attend the funeral of the husband of my counterpart’s friend earlier this week.
When someone dies Azeri men erect a mourning tent (for men only) outside the home. The tent covers the width of the street and the inside is obstructed from view by carpets and/or tarps. Being a woman, I have never been or seen the inside of one of these tents, though I sometimes hear the talk or chants of the men inside.
Unlike in the states, you can wear any color to a funeral except for red (or as my counterpart said, you can wear red, but people will talk about you). There is no body to view (at least I didn’t see one) and the ceremony is always held in the relative’s home. After the initial period of mourning, they return to mourn 40 days and then a year after the death. I have not yet experienced these later ceremonies.
Sensitive now to the fact that events such as “guesting” and weddings can take upwards of 5 hours or more, and it being evening, I was careful to tell my counterpart that I would like to be home at 9 p.m., my new bedtime. She laughed and said, “No, we will only be 10 minutes”.
She explained that the “Molla”, the leader of the ceremony speaks at intervals and at the end of the interval she says, “Fatihə” and you are able to leave. If you don’t leave at this time, you must stay until the next interval. She said we would only be staying for one interval.
She went on to explain that most funeral festivities occur in the morning, when all of the crying is done. This is because it is “unlucky” to cry in the evening. Therefore, by the time we arrived most people were dried out and returning home.
I was lead into the house and up the stairs into a small, warm room where about 15 women, mostly middle-aged and older, heads covered, sat legs out (legs and feet covered with sheets, you cannot show your feet) or legs and feet tucked under them on the floor. I took my seat near my counterpart and near the door (the room was full). Sevda quietly whispered to me who the “” was and almost immediately the chanting began. I don’t know what they were saying, but it sounded beautiful. The women began slowly to tap their right legs with their hands and chant along.
After feeling down for the past week, this experience, ironically a funeral, helped to lift my spirits and gave me perspective into my experience in the Peace Corps. As I sat there becoming exceedingly entranced by the chanting, warmth and persistent rising pain in my legs and knees (it’s difficult for me to sit on the floor because of my hip), I realized how unique an experience being in the Peace Corps really is.
True to her word, about 10 minutes later Sevda and I rose, said our goodbyes and walked back to my house.
Many people travel to and through exotic places. They see the sites you must see, they bargain with the locals and at the end of a week or two they return feeling like they’ve “been there”. I never before realized how untrue it is.
This was highlighted a few weeks ago while staying at a hostel in Baku. We met some English travelers who were passing through as the end of an Eastern European holiday. They were surprised that Peace Corps was in Azerbaijan because Baku, though not as impressive a place as Paris or London, is developing very quickly and is pretty comfortable.
As we departed a fellow PCV said to me, “Can you imagine coming to Azerbaijan and only seeing Baku; returning thinking that Baku reflected the country?” Because the truth is Baku, though very much Azeri, does not accurately reflect the state of this nation. You have to go to the regions, meet the local people, not the ex-pats or oil tycoons, to really get an idea about the people and the land. Even two years is not enough.
And we are only just beginning to get a taste of this. I can’t imagine another circumstance in which an individual who is not a doctor, anthropologist or of a similar profession could get to know a country in the same way as in the Peace Corps. And even then, foreigners very rarely live at the “local level” or stay months with host families, perhaps because both are really hard and require the person to be at least a little bit crazy.
I remember a professor in my introductory anthropology course in college saying, “If you want to know about a culture, get yourself invited to a wedding, funeral or birthday party, that’s where the culture is.” And though I would have never imagined it at the time, here I am, almost a decade later, more than 6000 miles away from my home, sitting on the living room floor of a house in mourning, but not as an anthropologist, as a Peace Corps volunteer.
I was invited to attend the funeral of the husband of my counterpart’s friend earlier this week.
When someone dies Azeri men erect a mourning tent (for men only) outside the home. The tent covers the width of the street and the inside is obstructed from view by carpets and/or tarps. Being a woman, I have never been or seen the inside of one of these tents, though I sometimes hear the talk or chants of the men inside.
Unlike in the states, you can wear any color to a funeral except for red (or as my counterpart said, you can wear red, but people will talk about you). There is no body to view (at least I didn’t see one) and the ceremony is always held in the relative’s home. After the initial period of mourning, they return to mourn 40 days and then a year after the death. I have not yet experienced these later ceremonies.
Sensitive now to the fact that events such as “guesting” and weddings can take upwards of 5 hours or more, and it being evening, I was careful to tell my counterpart that I would like to be home at 9 p.m., my new bedtime. She laughed and said, “No, we will only be 10 minutes”.
She explained that the “Molla”, the leader of the ceremony speaks at intervals and at the end of the interval she says, “Fatihə” and you are able to leave. If you don’t leave at this time, you must stay until the next interval. She said we would only be staying for one interval.
She went on to explain that most funeral festivities occur in the morning, when all of the crying is done. This is because it is “unlucky” to cry in the evening. Therefore, by the time we arrived most people were dried out and returning home.
I was lead into the house and up the stairs into a small, warm room where about 15 women, mostly middle-aged and older, heads covered, sat legs out (legs and feet covered with sheets, you cannot show your feet) or legs and feet tucked under them on the floor. I took my seat near my counterpart and near the door (the room was full). Sevda quietly whispered to me who the “” was and almost immediately the chanting began. I don’t know what they were saying, but it sounded beautiful. The women began slowly to tap their right legs with their hands and chant along.
After feeling down for the past week, this experience, ironically a funeral, helped to lift my spirits and gave me perspective into my experience in the Peace Corps. As I sat there becoming exceedingly entranced by the chanting, warmth and persistent rising pain in my legs and knees (it’s difficult for me to sit on the floor because of my hip), I realized how unique an experience being in the Peace Corps really is.
True to her word, about 10 minutes later Sevda and I rose, said our goodbyes and walked back to my house.
Many people travel to and through exotic places. They see the sites you must see, they bargain with the locals and at the end of a week or two they return feeling like they’ve “been there”. I never before realized how untrue it is.
This was highlighted a few weeks ago while staying at a hostel in Baku. We met some English travelers who were passing through as the end of an Eastern European holiday. They were surprised that Peace Corps was in Azerbaijan because Baku, though not as impressive a place as Paris or London, is developing very quickly and is pretty comfortable.
As we departed a fellow PCV said to me, “Can you imagine coming to Azerbaijan and only seeing Baku; returning thinking that Baku reflected the country?” Because the truth is Baku, though very much Azeri, does not accurately reflect the state of this nation. You have to go to the regions, meet the local people, not the ex-pats or oil tycoons, to really get an idea about the people and the land. Even two years is not enough.
And we are only just beginning to get a taste of this. I can’t imagine another circumstance in which an individual who is not a doctor, anthropologist or of a similar profession could get to know a country in the same way as in the Peace Corps. And even then, foreigners very rarely live at the “local level” or stay months with host families, perhaps because both are really hard and require the person to be at least a little bit crazy.
I remember a professor in my introductory anthropology course in college saying, “If you want to know about a culture, get yourself invited to a wedding, funeral or birthday party, that’s where the culture is.” And though I would have never imagined it at the time, here I am, almost a decade later, more than 6000 miles away from my home, sitting on the living room floor of a house in mourning, but not as an anthropologist, as a Peace Corps volunteer.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Oct. 13
When I’m wrong, I’m wrong and I admit it. Ladies and Gentlemen, there are two ways (at least) to play checkers. I live my life through metaphors; some I have to look for, some look me right in the eye. This is an illustration of the second.
This afternoon my sitemate and I discussed our various experiences with what is known as “culture shock”. We’re both experiencing it to varying degrees (read previous blogs) but we can both see it’s clearly happening.
The interesting thing about culture shock is that it’s completely inevitable. No matter how much you think you know. How controlled or enlightened you think you are, misunderstandings and frustrations are bound to occur. And even as you know this and prepare for it, it cannot be prevented. It takes hold of you in the strangest of moments. Caught completely unawares, you fall into a kind of discontented alarm. It’s fight or flight. You versus them; a battle of wills ensues, which you will ultimately lose.
I’ve been staying away from this game of checkers (see previous blog), but tonight after my got my eyebrows plucked (with string – it’s really strange but amazingly, it works) by my aunt (after curiously watching my grandmother get hers plucked –they look great, by the way). My brother brought out the old game of checkers.
We’ve been on somewhat sour terms since that last debacle but I was feeling relaxed and not at all expectant, so I figured, “why not”. I knew I would lose, I knew he would make the same moves as before. I was resigned to defeat.
And then as we were playing I noticed a method to his moves. They weren’t wayward as I once assumed. I began to make the same moves. As the pieces disappeared from the board, I realized I wasn’t playing the same game of checkers. I was playing a new game, with new rules, and this one just as interesting. I lost 5 times out of 6 (the 5th time I won by 8!).
Afterward I had a new respect not only for him (he’s incredibly smart and doesn’t try to cheat, accepting both victory and defeat without creating a scene) but also for PC life itself. Perhaps I’m reaching, but I feel like I understand some basic truth which previously eluded me. Tonight I realized, not just intellectually, but with my entire being, that there is, in fact, more than one way to play checkers.
PS - as many of you have noticed, I now approve all comments before they can be posted on the blog. This is just in case I get some wayward comment from someone I don't know. Anyway, this also means that you can leave me personal posts which I can read, but can elect to keep private. Sometimes I'm not sure if people want everyone to see their comments or not, so please just write "don't post" or something like that so I know if you would rather not everyone see it.
Thanks!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
October 2-11
I’ve been a month at site and what do I have to show for it? Quite a lot, I think. I’ve met many people over the past month and I now have two conversation clubs in full swing. Each club meets twice a week for one hour. I also decided to create a third club for “everyone else” which will meet once a week. This means that 5 days a week I have conversation clubs. The third club solves my previous problem of having to say no to so many. However, people still insist they should be in the other clubs (which are for people who already know English and theoretically should be 15-24 year olds, though somehow older ones snuck in). I don’t have a plan for the third club yet, I don’t plan the way I used to, but I’m not too worried about it.
I’m now spending time in two centers and am going to try to add a third in the near future. The more exposure the better. Right now is all about making myself seen. This is not really a problem as I am pretty conspicuous (though my father told me the other day I looked Russian). Interesting.
I’m still waiting to feel the “Azeri timeframe” Supposedly Azeri’s move slower and spend most of their time taking it easy. Like many things I’ve “heard” I am waiting to see it. My counterpart works longer and harder than anyone I’ve met. And I’m always running from one place to another. Though I don’t have a typical “job” I’m always busy.
I’ve barely had a chance to study my Azeri and I’ve had some complications with my tutor. She’s an Azerbaijani language teacher who speaks no English. It makes clarification nearly impossible. After the first lesson I went home and looked up all the words and realized that she was teaching me about first person, second person, etc. I actually know all of these things, so I was pretty disappointed. The same thing happened again with tenses. I showed my counterpart the lessons she was giving me and she said that the stuff she was teaching me was hard for Azeri’s to understand. At least then I didn’t feel so stupid (did I mention that she laughs at me when I don’t understand something???) It’s pretty horrifying, but hopefully soon it will be fixed.
There have been some interesting political issues with the town as well. As no foreigners, especially American’s, live here the powers that be don’t quite know what to do with us. I met the police chief and he was like, “what am I supposed to do?” so he gave me his phone number and then had to call someone to see what I needed to do next. The same thing happened with the town executive body (excom). He called a meeting with my sitemate and I to tell us that his door was open and how much he loved America and the work we were doing, etc. etc. Good news for me, I suppose.
This morning my counterpart told me that the excom came to the library to say that perhaps I didn’t like the toilet (I’ve never actually seen this toilet, I didn’t know the library had one – I’ve been using the one next door – which is pretty bad. My counterpart said that ours was too bad to show me - yikes!) He is now issuing a repair. My counterpart shook my hand and thanked me for coming to her center. Now to me, this is truly outrageous and illustrates…I don’t even know what it illustrates. I don’t know whether to be elated or outraged. Later that day she said he issued repairs for all of the local libraries (I don’t think this had anything to do with me). My status here is so confusing…
The good news is that perhaps in the future I won’t have to deal with (this particular) humiliation every day; using someone else’s bathroom listening to their laughter because it serves me right to drink so much water (and I don’t drink nearly enough water).
And of course everyone else will have the opportunity to appreciate this as well.
Well, they do say that they want the Peace Corps Volunteers to leave behind something sustainable…
I’ve been a month at site and what do I have to show for it? Quite a lot, I think. I’ve met many people over the past month and I now have two conversation clubs in full swing. Each club meets twice a week for one hour. I also decided to create a third club for “everyone else” which will meet once a week. This means that 5 days a week I have conversation clubs. The third club solves my previous problem of having to say no to so many. However, people still insist they should be in the other clubs (which are for people who already know English and theoretically should be 15-24 year olds, though somehow older ones snuck in). I don’t have a plan for the third club yet, I don’t plan the way I used to, but I’m not too worried about it.
I’m now spending time in two centers and am going to try to add a third in the near future. The more exposure the better. Right now is all about making myself seen. This is not really a problem as I am pretty conspicuous (though my father told me the other day I looked Russian). Interesting.
I’m still waiting to feel the “Azeri timeframe” Supposedly Azeri’s move slower and spend most of their time taking it easy. Like many things I’ve “heard” I am waiting to see it. My counterpart works longer and harder than anyone I’ve met. And I’m always running from one place to another. Though I don’t have a typical “job” I’m always busy.
I’ve barely had a chance to study my Azeri and I’ve had some complications with my tutor. She’s an Azerbaijani language teacher who speaks no English. It makes clarification nearly impossible. After the first lesson I went home and looked up all the words and realized that she was teaching me about first person, second person, etc. I actually know all of these things, so I was pretty disappointed. The same thing happened again with tenses. I showed my counterpart the lessons she was giving me and she said that the stuff she was teaching me was hard for Azeri’s to understand. At least then I didn’t feel so stupid (did I mention that she laughs at me when I don’t understand something???) It’s pretty horrifying, but hopefully soon it will be fixed.
There have been some interesting political issues with the town as well. As no foreigners, especially American’s, live here the powers that be don’t quite know what to do with us. I met the police chief and he was like, “what am I supposed to do?” so he gave me his phone number and then had to call someone to see what I needed to do next. The same thing happened with the town executive body (excom). He called a meeting with my sitemate and I to tell us that his door was open and how much he loved America and the work we were doing, etc. etc. Good news for me, I suppose.
This morning my counterpart told me that the excom came to the library to say that perhaps I didn’t like the toilet (I’ve never actually seen this toilet, I didn’t know the library had one – I’ve been using the one next door – which is pretty bad. My counterpart said that ours was too bad to show me - yikes!) He is now issuing a repair. My counterpart shook my hand and thanked me for coming to her center. Now to me, this is truly outrageous and illustrates…I don’t even know what it illustrates. I don’t know whether to be elated or outraged. Later that day she said he issued repairs for all of the local libraries (I don’t think this had anything to do with me). My status here is so confusing…
The good news is that perhaps in the future I won’t have to deal with (this particular) humiliation every day; using someone else’s bathroom listening to their laughter because it serves me right to drink so much water (and I don’t drink nearly enough water).
And of course everyone else will have the opportunity to appreciate this as well.
Well, they do say that they want the Peace Corps Volunteers to leave behind something sustainable…
Monday, October 01, 2007
Sunday, September 30, 2007
In my communication with people I’m always asked how I’m feeling. What is it like here? These are reasonable questions, although oftentimes I find I cannot give reasonable answers. Therefore, I thought I would instead provide a “slice of life” commentary about “what it’s like here” and “How I’m feeling”. Of course, it’s not always “like this” but it does, I think, give an accurate account of some of the day-to-day adventures of a PCV in Azerbaijan.
Tonight I learned how to play Dominoes. I played with my aunt and she won six times and I won one. Then my brother brought out checkers. “Excellent”, I thought, “a game I know how to play”. I was elated that we were relating to one another and able to speak a common language through games. Oftentimes I find myself at a loss verbally with them (obviously). I had been looking for such an opportunity to bridge the gap in conversation all week so, despite my stomach cramps, I decided to play.
When my brother, who is 6, and I began playing checkers, I noticed he was making illegal moves. So I said, “Olmaz” which means, “not okay” or “you cannot”. He insisted that it was okay. Then his entire family went to bat for him. His father then insisted I play a “mock” game with him because he persisted in thinking that I just didn’t understand. I explained that I did understand, and I was pretty sure those moves were illegal. I saw this was going nowhere so I deliberately put myself in compromising situations and he quickly won.
Then my brother wanted to play again. I didn’t want to, but I figured it would be awkward now not to. When he again made illegal moves, I became furious (like a child myself) and again deliberately lost as quickly as possible. I was frustrated because I couldn’t explain that it was not that I didn’t know how to play, or didn’t understand, but rather that the game is played differently in America. I said “Americada muxtelif dir” “In America, it is different” But they insisted that no, I was wrong (and I suppose, in a way, I was saying the same thing to them) Also, whenever I get the least bit frustrated my Azeri goes out the window and I find myself unable to communicate even the most basic ideas, which is even more frustrating. In a way, it really wasn’t about the game.
When it was over I said thank you very much and promptly removed myself from the room. I texted Donnie, who had texted me earlier, to get it off my chest and relate to someone who I knew would understand.
Maybe I was just tired, or let down because I was so happy to begin with. In any case, I decided this was a good time to do my ritual “I’m going to bed” routine and I grabbed my toothbrush and headed outside to the sink area trying to find solace and friendship in the stars all the while berating myself for how childish and emotional I knew I was being. I said to myself, “but they don’t understand. No one is on my (our – PCV’s) side here. Culturally, we’re all alone. You can think things are wrong - and be sure about it, but no one will agree with you. Right and wrong go out the window. It’s completely disorienting.
On my way back in I gathered my composure. Am I a child? I thought. I felt I was redeeming myself with these games, showing interest in what they were doing and playing along. And now look at it – it’s all messed up and they’re going to think I’m unreasonable and childish and I don’t know that they’re wrong about that.
As I was thinking this I noticed a flame by the cooking area. My Nene was cooking something, but it wasn’t in a pot. Meat! I thought. Yes, there will be meat at the next meal! And as I came closer she noticed me and encouraged me, “gel, gel” “come, come” she said. I couldn’t tell exactly what she was cooking, though it looked like a headless chicken. No big deal, I thought, I’ve seen this before. So I said, “Ah, toyuq dir?” “Yox, qoyun” “No, sheep” But to me it didn’t look like a sheep. My mother then came outside and encouraged me, “”Jennifer, bax, bax” “Jennifer, watch, watch” My nene backed away to give me a better look.
It was then that it came into view. Oh yes, I had seen this before, in the Azerbaijan guidebook. It’s the picture my cluster would always muse over and point to when they were trying to illustrate how different things were going to be here. We used this picture as a kind of badge when we wanted to feel like we were joining the Peace Corps.
Slowly it became clear. The strange smell, burning hair. Yes, there it was, I could see the teeth, a spear through the chin, the shape of the head, now black and charred but still completely intact. There were the ears. My grandmother was torching a sheep’s head. I was transfixed and unable to look away. They started speaking to me and, despite the words being familiar, I was too dumbfounded to understand. After they repeated it several times, I realized they were asking me if we have this in America. I slowly nodded my head, “yoxdur” “we don’t have” and after giving it the appropriate amount of time, I returned to my room.
I texted Donnie, Joe and Scott, all from my cluster whom I knew had seen the picture and would think this was as crazy as I did. Donnie responded, “Is it all you could want and more??” “Yes,” I replied, “I think it is”.
When I tried to recover my feelings about the game of checkers I saw that they had vanished without a trace. I had no feeling of anger or frustration about an event I felt so passionately about not ten minutes before. “Well,” I thought, “I suppose that happened at exactly the right time”.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Another day in the life… Guess what showed up on the dinner table tonight… If you guessed pieces of burnt head, you would be right. But before I get to that, I’m feeling descriptive, so I’ll talk a little about my day first.
My day was great. I began my day going into the library where there was (yet another) young girl waiting for me who wanted to join my conversation club. Like many others, when I asked her if she spoke English, she said yes, but that was the only question in English she could answer. This brings the count to 63.
I am also beginning to work with another nearby organization, the Children’s Creative Center. There is a woman there I met on my site visit who speaks some English and who’s super nice. Maybe my first friend. Since I’m interested in all things creative, I figured it would be a good match. Ellada agrees that it is, “very wonderful”.
The kids were studying their English homework and Ellada had each student introduce themselves. There were four girls there from 4th to 7th grade. They were adorable! Then I read some English passages first slowly and then at a normal pace. Afterward I spoke with Ellada for a bit (in English, she is trying to improve and I enjoy the break) about what it’s like to be a foreigner and not just learn the language a couple hours a day but constantly. She speaks Turkish, Russian (as many people here do), Azeri and a good amount of English so she is no stranger to these struggles. This was the first time I had a chance to talk about the fatigue and struggles regarding language acquisition. We laughed about my poor Azeri and her poor English and it was good.
The kids then asked me questions about myself. How many people were in my family, what fruits I like, am I married, what is the weather like in America, what do I like better, America or here, do I like my town, etc. Pretty standard. But I think they were my most attentive audience to date.
After “dinner” (lunch) Sevda and another woman and I did some real Azeri shopping. Apparently outside of the bazaar many people sell goods from their homes. If you were merely a tourist, you would never know this. The goods aren’t cheaper, but sometimes they are more unique.
We first took this windy rocky road to an otherwise plain-looking house. Once inside we were lead through the garden, where numerous pomegranate trees were in full bloom. The tall trees and bright red fruits were beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. After we went past the main house, the chicken coop, the bags of wool hanging from a tree, we came upon some cinderblocks formed into stairs which lead to a second house. After walking up the wobbly steps, we were in the shop. There was nothing worth mentioning about the shop, really. I bought some comfy slippers for 3 AZN (Manat) and the other two bought some pantyhose. But she didn’t really have what they wanted, so we left.
The shop keeper was an English teacher and once she found out I knew English she was delighted and began speaking to me in English. On our way out, she asked me if I liked pomegranates. When I said yes, she told me to pick a few. So with my purchase of slippers, I also walked away with two huge, ripe pomegranates. She told me when her daughter comes in to town I will have to come there to “guest. Not bad, I thought.
The next place was similar, though less charming. I wondered how many of these “secret” shops there were. Sevda tells me that she will take me again once the fall supply comes in. This is where I will buy a winter coat. I can’t wait! It’s so much more exciting (and less intimidating) than the bazaar.
So yeah, tonight I found myself staring into a bowl of sheep head parts. I knew it was coming before I looked and when it was set in front of my father first, I told myself, “don’t look, don’t look”. But when it was in front of me, I had to look. I could make out a piece of a jawbone, teeth and all. But, I tried to be a good sport. After all, isn’t this what the Peace Corps is all about???? So when my father started eating, I took a piece of bread (a great buffer, I’ve found), and dipped it in the soup. It was awful. Worse than liver (before tasting this, my least favorite meal). And it still smelled of burnt hair.
I had a choice. It is a choice I have anticipated making since I decided to join. When my mother saw my face after tasting it – she (without a hint of surprise) said, “yemirsan?” “you don’t eat?” Then I did something I totally did not anticipate doing. I refused. I said no, I’m sorry, I don’t like it. She said, “nevermind” and promptly brought out some cheese and grape jam (by the way, real, fresh grape jam tastes nothing like grape jam or jelly in the states). I repeated that I was very sorry, and listened to my father say it would make me strong, and tried not to watch as they heartily enjoyed their meal.
So there it is. I found my food adventure limit. I hope these anecdotes are amusing and give a better picture of “how I’m feeling” and “what it’s like here”. Because, as you can see, it is a very complicated answer.
In my communication with people I’m always asked how I’m feeling. What is it like here? These are reasonable questions, although oftentimes I find I cannot give reasonable answers. Therefore, I thought I would instead provide a “slice of life” commentary about “what it’s like here” and “How I’m feeling”. Of course, it’s not always “like this” but it does, I think, give an accurate account of some of the day-to-day adventures of a PCV in Azerbaijan.
Tonight I learned how to play Dominoes. I played with my aunt and she won six times and I won one. Then my brother brought out checkers. “Excellent”, I thought, “a game I know how to play”. I was elated that we were relating to one another and able to speak a common language through games. Oftentimes I find myself at a loss verbally with them (obviously). I had been looking for such an opportunity to bridge the gap in conversation all week so, despite my stomach cramps, I decided to play.
When my brother, who is 6, and I began playing checkers, I noticed he was making illegal moves. So I said, “Olmaz” which means, “not okay” or “you cannot”. He insisted that it was okay. Then his entire family went to bat for him. His father then insisted I play a “mock” game with him because he persisted in thinking that I just didn’t understand. I explained that I did understand, and I was pretty sure those moves were illegal. I saw this was going nowhere so I deliberately put myself in compromising situations and he quickly won.
Then my brother wanted to play again. I didn’t want to, but I figured it would be awkward now not to. When he again made illegal moves, I became furious (like a child myself) and again deliberately lost as quickly as possible. I was frustrated because I couldn’t explain that it was not that I didn’t know how to play, or didn’t understand, but rather that the game is played differently in America. I said “Americada muxtelif dir” “In America, it is different” But they insisted that no, I was wrong (and I suppose, in a way, I was saying the same thing to them) Also, whenever I get the least bit frustrated my Azeri goes out the window and I find myself unable to communicate even the most basic ideas, which is even more frustrating. In a way, it really wasn’t about the game.
When it was over I said thank you very much and promptly removed myself from the room. I texted Donnie, who had texted me earlier, to get it off my chest and relate to someone who I knew would understand.
Maybe I was just tired, or let down because I was so happy to begin with. In any case, I decided this was a good time to do my ritual “I’m going to bed” routine and I grabbed my toothbrush and headed outside to the sink area trying to find solace and friendship in the stars all the while berating myself for how childish and emotional I knew I was being. I said to myself, “but they don’t understand. No one is on my (our – PCV’s) side here. Culturally, we’re all alone. You can think things are wrong - and be sure about it, but no one will agree with you. Right and wrong go out the window. It’s completely disorienting.
On my way back in I gathered my composure. Am I a child? I thought. I felt I was redeeming myself with these games, showing interest in what they were doing and playing along. And now look at it – it’s all messed up and they’re going to think I’m unreasonable and childish and I don’t know that they’re wrong about that.
As I was thinking this I noticed a flame by the cooking area. My Nene was cooking something, but it wasn’t in a pot. Meat! I thought. Yes, there will be meat at the next meal! And as I came closer she noticed me and encouraged me, “gel, gel” “come, come” she said. I couldn’t tell exactly what she was cooking, though it looked like a headless chicken. No big deal, I thought, I’ve seen this before. So I said, “Ah, toyuq dir?” “Yox, qoyun” “No, sheep” But to me it didn’t look like a sheep. My mother then came outside and encouraged me, “”Jennifer, bax, bax” “Jennifer, watch, watch” My nene backed away to give me a better look.
It was then that it came into view. Oh yes, I had seen this before, in the Azerbaijan guidebook. It’s the picture my cluster would always muse over and point to when they were trying to illustrate how different things were going to be here. We used this picture as a kind of badge when we wanted to feel like we were joining the Peace Corps.
Slowly it became clear. The strange smell, burning hair. Yes, there it was, I could see the teeth, a spear through the chin, the shape of the head, now black and charred but still completely intact. There were the ears. My grandmother was torching a sheep’s head. I was transfixed and unable to look away. They started speaking to me and, despite the words being familiar, I was too dumbfounded to understand. After they repeated it several times, I realized they were asking me if we have this in America. I slowly nodded my head, “yoxdur” “we don’t have” and after giving it the appropriate amount of time, I returned to my room.
I texted Donnie, Joe and Scott, all from my cluster whom I knew had seen the picture and would think this was as crazy as I did. Donnie responded, “Is it all you could want and more??” “Yes,” I replied, “I think it is”.
When I tried to recover my feelings about the game of checkers I saw that they had vanished without a trace. I had no feeling of anger or frustration about an event I felt so passionately about not ten minutes before. “Well,” I thought, “I suppose that happened at exactly the right time”.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Another day in the life… Guess what showed up on the dinner table tonight… If you guessed pieces of burnt head, you would be right. But before I get to that, I’m feeling descriptive, so I’ll talk a little about my day first.
My day was great. I began my day going into the library where there was (yet another) young girl waiting for me who wanted to join my conversation club. Like many others, when I asked her if she spoke English, she said yes, but that was the only question in English she could answer. This brings the count to 63.
I am also beginning to work with another nearby organization, the Children’s Creative Center. There is a woman there I met on my site visit who speaks some English and who’s super nice. Maybe my first friend. Since I’m interested in all things creative, I figured it would be a good match. Ellada agrees that it is, “very wonderful”.
The kids were studying their English homework and Ellada had each student introduce themselves. There were four girls there from 4th to 7th grade. They were adorable! Then I read some English passages first slowly and then at a normal pace. Afterward I spoke with Ellada for a bit (in English, she is trying to improve and I enjoy the break) about what it’s like to be a foreigner and not just learn the language a couple hours a day but constantly. She speaks Turkish, Russian (as many people here do), Azeri and a good amount of English so she is no stranger to these struggles. This was the first time I had a chance to talk about the fatigue and struggles regarding language acquisition. We laughed about my poor Azeri and her poor English and it was good.
The kids then asked me questions about myself. How many people were in my family, what fruits I like, am I married, what is the weather like in America, what do I like better, America or here, do I like my town, etc. Pretty standard. But I think they were my most attentive audience to date.
After “dinner” (lunch) Sevda and another woman and I did some real Azeri shopping. Apparently outside of the bazaar many people sell goods from their homes. If you were merely a tourist, you would never know this. The goods aren’t cheaper, but sometimes they are more unique.
We first took this windy rocky road to an otherwise plain-looking house. Once inside we were lead through the garden, where numerous pomegranate trees were in full bloom. The tall trees and bright red fruits were beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. After we went past the main house, the chicken coop, the bags of wool hanging from a tree, we came upon some cinderblocks formed into stairs which lead to a second house. After walking up the wobbly steps, we were in the shop. There was nothing worth mentioning about the shop, really. I bought some comfy slippers for 3 AZN (Manat) and the other two bought some pantyhose. But she didn’t really have what they wanted, so we left.
The shop keeper was an English teacher and once she found out I knew English she was delighted and began speaking to me in English. On our way out, she asked me if I liked pomegranates. When I said yes, she told me to pick a few. So with my purchase of slippers, I also walked away with two huge, ripe pomegranates. She told me when her daughter comes in to town I will have to come there to “guest. Not bad, I thought.
The next place was similar, though less charming. I wondered how many of these “secret” shops there were. Sevda tells me that she will take me again once the fall supply comes in. This is where I will buy a winter coat. I can’t wait! It’s so much more exciting (and less intimidating) than the bazaar.
So yeah, tonight I found myself staring into a bowl of sheep head parts. I knew it was coming before I looked and when it was set in front of my father first, I told myself, “don’t look, don’t look”. But when it was in front of me, I had to look. I could make out a piece of a jawbone, teeth and all. But, I tried to be a good sport. After all, isn’t this what the Peace Corps is all about???? So when my father started eating, I took a piece of bread (a great buffer, I’ve found), and dipped it in the soup. It was awful. Worse than liver (before tasting this, my least favorite meal). And it still smelled of burnt hair.
I had a choice. It is a choice I have anticipated making since I decided to join. When my mother saw my face after tasting it – she (without a hint of surprise) said, “yemirsan?” “you don’t eat?” Then I did something I totally did not anticipate doing. I refused. I said no, I’m sorry, I don’t like it. She said, “nevermind” and promptly brought out some cheese and grape jam (by the way, real, fresh grape jam tastes nothing like grape jam or jelly in the states). I repeated that I was very sorry, and listened to my father say it would make me strong, and tried not to watch as they heartily enjoyed their meal.
So there it is. I found my food adventure limit. I hope these anecdotes are amusing and give a better picture of “how I’m feeling” and “what it’s like here”. Because, as you can see, it is a very complicated answer.
Monday, September 24, 2007
September 17-24
Week one is over and I’m feeling enthusiastic.
This week began with my first meeting of the first program I will create for those interested in the English Conversation Club. 52 people showed up ages 10-40! The way word was getting out I thought this might happen, but as the room grew more and more snug and people filtered in, I thought to myself, “how am I going to say no to so many people?” I can take up to 20 and they must already have a basic understanding of English (it is a conversation club, I am not a teacher). It’s something that every PCV faces and there’s not much to say about it except that it sucks. Especially when one after another comes to you to say, "It is my childhood dream to learn English." Ugh!!
However, I am thankful to Sevda, my counterpart who was extremely helpful in spreading the word. Obviously it was effective. She also helped to translate my English text schedule and plan into Azeri. When I greeted the group I spoke four whole paragraphs in Azeri!
Most foreigners here (and many people who live here) speak Russian and people are always asking (and assuming) that I speak Russian. When I say, “no, I speak English and a little Azeri”, they are always surprised and even delighted. It symbolizes my desire to be here and to learn the local culture. So many foreigners are here to profit from Azerbaijan (as many of you know, this is a oil rich country) with no regard to the culture or people. Learning the language is a small way to show that I am not here for that (living at the local level and offering free services is another).
And speaking of living at the local level…this is tremendously important and much easier to do if you are not around Americans (as I am not). My site mate is 25 minutes by bus and the bus stops running at 3p.m., so we haven’t seen one another more than once a week, therefore it’s like living without a site mate.
The other day I thought about buying more clothes (yes, I’m still thinking such things – it’s really hard to change!) and then I thought to myself, “everyone here wears the same outfit or same 3 outfits every day. They only have 3 or 4 hangers in their closets because they don’t need any more than that. If I wear a different outfit every day, what does that say?” And this is when living at the local level comes into play, because I know everyone is watching everything I do and everything I represent. I am not the first American they have met, but they could probably count them on one hand and I am the only one living here.
I think the fact that PC gives us so little money is an easy way to make this transition. Then you realize that 5 manat for a taxi is really expensive, and you balk and shudder along with the locals about the ridiculous 30% inflation rate. Because with development everything is getting more expensive, but most people aren’t getting any wealthier.
I spent this last weekend in Baku with about 35 other PCV’s both from our group and AZ4. I live only 2 hours from Baku, and there are always busses going there, so it makes the trip relatively painless.
I saw a bunch of people, shared stories and ideas and lived like I was in America. I went to restaurants and ordered in English, I browsed the racks at air conditioned clothing stores and I even hugged my male friends in public! It was very disturbing. Though I enjoy going to Baku on some level, it really messes with my mind. I stayed at a hostel with some other PCV’s, went out to eat at a Thai restaurant, bought some DVD’s for 3 manat a piece and raided the PC lounge.
The PC lounge is a sacred place. It is as close to America as you will get.
Side note: notice how I now refer to America instead of the U.S.. This is a nasty habit I have gotten into because everybody here refers to it as such. When you say the U.S., people just become confused and it takes longer to explain (they know where and what the U.S. is, it’s just not the common term), thus, for all of you who are annoyed by this (and I would be one of you if I were you) get over it, I’m trying to integrate.
Sunday afternoon I found myself sitting around watching, “Stranger than Fiction” in an room so air conditioned it was cold while eating a slice of Hawaiian pizza that had just been delivered! Real pizza. As more and more people filtered in I thought to myself, “I have to get out of here!” and a little while later (after the movie and after my pizza and hot cocoa) I left with my site mate, this time finding the right buses, and traveled back to my site where things made sense again.
Week one is over and I’m feeling enthusiastic.
This week began with my first meeting of the first program I will create for those interested in the English Conversation Club. 52 people showed up ages 10-40! The way word was getting out I thought this might happen, but as the room grew more and more snug and people filtered in, I thought to myself, “how am I going to say no to so many people?” I can take up to 20 and they must already have a basic understanding of English (it is a conversation club, I am not a teacher). It’s something that every PCV faces and there’s not much to say about it except that it sucks. Especially when one after another comes to you to say, "It is my childhood dream to learn English." Ugh!!
However, I am thankful to Sevda, my counterpart who was extremely helpful in spreading the word. Obviously it was effective. She also helped to translate my English text schedule and plan into Azeri. When I greeted the group I spoke four whole paragraphs in Azeri!
Most foreigners here (and many people who live here) speak Russian and people are always asking (and assuming) that I speak Russian. When I say, “no, I speak English and a little Azeri”, they are always surprised and even delighted. It symbolizes my desire to be here and to learn the local culture. So many foreigners are here to profit from Azerbaijan (as many of you know, this is a oil rich country) with no regard to the culture or people. Learning the language is a small way to show that I am not here for that (living at the local level and offering free services is another).
And speaking of living at the local level…this is tremendously important and much easier to do if you are not around Americans (as I am not). My site mate is 25 minutes by bus and the bus stops running at 3p.m., so we haven’t seen one another more than once a week, therefore it’s like living without a site mate.
The other day I thought about buying more clothes (yes, I’m still thinking such things – it’s really hard to change!) and then I thought to myself, “everyone here wears the same outfit or same 3 outfits every day. They only have 3 or 4 hangers in their closets because they don’t need any more than that. If I wear a different outfit every day, what does that say?” And this is when living at the local level comes into play, because I know everyone is watching everything I do and everything I represent. I am not the first American they have met, but they could probably count them on one hand and I am the only one living here.
I think the fact that PC gives us so little money is an easy way to make this transition. Then you realize that 5 manat for a taxi is really expensive, and you balk and shudder along with the locals about the ridiculous 30% inflation rate. Because with development everything is getting more expensive, but most people aren’t getting any wealthier.
I spent this last weekend in Baku with about 35 other PCV’s both from our group and AZ4. I live only 2 hours from Baku, and there are always busses going there, so it makes the trip relatively painless.
I saw a bunch of people, shared stories and ideas and lived like I was in America. I went to restaurants and ordered in English, I browsed the racks at air conditioned clothing stores and I even hugged my male friends in public! It was very disturbing. Though I enjoy going to Baku on some level, it really messes with my mind. I stayed at a hostel with some other PCV’s, went out to eat at a Thai restaurant, bought some DVD’s for 3 manat a piece and raided the PC lounge.
The PC lounge is a sacred place. It is as close to America as you will get.
Side note: notice how I now refer to America instead of the U.S.. This is a nasty habit I have gotten into because everybody here refers to it as such. When you say the U.S., people just become confused and it takes longer to explain (they know where and what the U.S. is, it’s just not the common term), thus, for all of you who are annoyed by this (and I would be one of you if I were you) get over it, I’m trying to integrate.
Sunday afternoon I found myself sitting around watching, “Stranger than Fiction” in an room so air conditioned it was cold while eating a slice of Hawaiian pizza that had just been delivered! Real pizza. As more and more people filtered in I thought to myself, “I have to get out of here!” and a little while later (after the movie and after my pizza and hot cocoa) I left with my site mate, this time finding the right buses, and traveled back to my site where things made sense again.
Monday, September 17, 2007
September 5 – September 16
Well, I made it. I am officially a PCV (no longer a lowly PCT, unable to understand anything). We finished our lessons, took the language exam (I did just fine), and were officially sworn in as volunteers by the United States ambassador on Wednesday (Sept. 13th) evening. Thursday morning my sitemate and I headed south to our respective homes, not at all sure of what to expect. The weather was nice and everything went fairly smoothly aside from the cabbie who tried to rip us off (albeit unsuccessfully).
Everything is great. My family is great, my house and room (and bathroom) are comfortable and the food is delicious. I feel fortunate for my arrangement for the next six months (we must live with host families for at least six months before we can move out on our own).
My family is Muslim, and so we wash our feet, hands and face before every meal (which I have to say is a relief because it is much better than not washing at all!) My father is observing Ramadan, which means that for the next month he only eats before and after sunset. The rest of my family is not fasting, and of course they don’t expect me to fast. They do not speak any English, which I am happy about because perhaps I will learn more Azeri. Already I feel my Azeri improving. This is the first time in my life I can consider myself to be anything near bilingual, so it’s a big step. In fact, after spending some time with my family today I thought to myself, “Did I really just converse all this time with them in Azeri?” We don’t speak about complicated things, or use complicated words or sentences, but I can understand most of what they say if they speak slowly and use gestures for words I don’t understand.
My father was the first to discover this. When I arrived my family didn’t think I could speak or understand Azeri at all because if people speak too fast, I can’t. But with some patience on everyone’s part, I think my language skills are pretty good. I’ll begin working with a language tutor in October. In any case, my counterpart speaks English fairly well, so if there’s any question, I can always go to her, which is nice.
My house is small, but comfy. We have a very big yard with many fruit trees and other non-fruit-bearing trees. The toilet and hamam (bathhouse) are outside away from the house, but both are nice (despite the toilet being a squat toilet). The shower (a real shower) is great and very hot! We have consistent electricity (for now) and I think running water (you might wonder why I am not sure about this, but you would have to be here to understand). We have a small black and white TV and also a flat screen TV, which illustrates well the contradictions that abound here.
Here’s what’s next on the agenda for the next couple months:
- Meet the local police and get registered (you must register when you move)
- Make a work schedule (I get to make my own schedule – cool)
- Start a conversation club (or two)
- Meet lots of people and drink lots of çay (tea)
I already anticipate some of the challenges that may arise in my work here as the first Youth Development volunteer. As news has gotten out about my arrival, many people have asked me to teach them English and to be part of my conversation club. Unfortunately (for the YD program) all of these people have been older adults. I don’t know how I’ll work this out yet, but that is what it’s all about; working it out.
Also, a man from a neighboring village wanted me to come to his school and write grants, set up many conversation clubs, bring internet and computers and a host of other things the village needs. Unfortunately, not only am I only one person and without access to such resources, his village in a 45 minute walk from my town and thus too far. He is a bit put off by this, so this kind of situation may be another challenge.
But I am ready! I cannot stress how happy (and relieved) I am to be here and to have finally been introduced to my life for the next two years. With an amazing counterpart and great family, I feel I have what I need to be successful, whatever that may mean.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
August 29-Septmber 5
Today my family’s “washing machine” broke. I put the quotations because really, in my American mind, it is more like an “agitator”; a big drum barrel that swirls the clothes around in more or less soapy water and then in 3 or 4 minutes is finished. From the time I’ve been here the process of washing clothes has taken about 30 minutes as you can only put about 3 or 4 articles of clothing in the drum at a time, and of course afterwards the rinsing and hanging must be done.
But today I was given a whole new perspective. A perspective my Ana says, through laughter, “I must learn”. This is of course because, as she has told me several times, where I’m going it will be very difficult. “So hot” she says, “many mosquitoes”, “no running water”.
Of course I have already been to where I am going, and though I have not been there in the wintertime, I could not see very many differences. But I think she is right, I must learn how to wash my clothes by hand because chances are, I will have to do this again in the future.
So I learned to wash my clothes by hand. One by one. I hadn’t washed clothes in about two weeks, so I had more than usual. Plus I had my big, fluffy towel ready to be washed. Let me tell you, big, fluffy towels are much lighter dry! My bacı sat next to me the entire time laughing. Then she helped me with my towel and graciously helped to rinse and hang my clothes. But she laughed the entire time. Especially when I said in my still poor Azeri, “Mən oyunmalıam” which I meant as “I need to learn” but actually means, “I need to play” Then after her giggles continued I retorted, “Mən güməli dir, bilirəm” which I meant as “I’m funny, I know” But really means, “I is funny, I know” Then as she walked away to hang my clothes I called after her my corrections, which of course made her laugh even more.
But as I was sitting there, bent over the wash bin furiously rubbing my clothes against one another I thought, why in the world do I have so many clothes? Realistically speaking, how many shirts does one person need?
These types of questions have not yet come across my mind with any frequency, but I expect them to flow freely where I’m going. Because it’s true that some PCT’s will become PCV’s in homes with air-conditioning, washers and dryers, indoor western-style toilets and beautiful scenery, where I’m headed next week is nothing of the sort. It’s as we have begun to call it the, “true Peace Corps experience”
So as it may be, as my Ana says, “very difficult” I feel up to the challenge. After all, each challenge prompts a new thought and forces a fresh perspective. And I believe now, as I have always believed, that wherever you are, there you are, and we are always where we ought to be.
Today my family’s “washing machine” broke. I put the quotations because really, in my American mind, it is more like an “agitator”; a big drum barrel that swirls the clothes around in more or less soapy water and then in 3 or 4 minutes is finished. From the time I’ve been here the process of washing clothes has taken about 30 minutes as you can only put about 3 or 4 articles of clothing in the drum at a time, and of course afterwards the rinsing and hanging must be done.
But today I was given a whole new perspective. A perspective my Ana says, through laughter, “I must learn”. This is of course because, as she has told me several times, where I’m going it will be very difficult. “So hot” she says, “many mosquitoes”, “no running water”.
Of course I have already been to where I am going, and though I have not been there in the wintertime, I could not see very many differences. But I think she is right, I must learn how to wash my clothes by hand because chances are, I will have to do this again in the future.
So I learned to wash my clothes by hand. One by one. I hadn’t washed clothes in about two weeks, so I had more than usual. Plus I had my big, fluffy towel ready to be washed. Let me tell you, big, fluffy towels are much lighter dry! My bacı sat next to me the entire time laughing. Then she helped me with my towel and graciously helped to rinse and hang my clothes. But she laughed the entire time. Especially when I said in my still poor Azeri, “Mən oyunmalıam” which I meant as “I need to learn” but actually means, “I need to play” Then after her giggles continued I retorted, “Mən güməli dir, bilirəm” which I meant as “I’m funny, I know” But really means, “I is funny, I know” Then as she walked away to hang my clothes I called after her my corrections, which of course made her laugh even more.
But as I was sitting there, bent over the wash bin furiously rubbing my clothes against one another I thought, why in the world do I have so many clothes? Realistically speaking, how many shirts does one person need?
These types of questions have not yet come across my mind with any frequency, but I expect them to flow freely where I’m going. Because it’s true that some PCT’s will become PCV’s in homes with air-conditioning, washers and dryers, indoor western-style toilets and beautiful scenery, where I’m headed next week is nothing of the sort. It’s as we have begun to call it the, “true Peace Corps experience”
So as it may be, as my Ana says, “very difficult” I feel up to the challenge. After all, each challenge prompts a new thought and forces a fresh perspective. And I believe now, as I have always believed, that wherever you are, there you are, and we are always where we ought to be.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Finished. The LPI is over and I did well. Lessons are over and next week I will travel south to my final destination. I had a blog prepared detailing my lesson in handwashing clothes after my "washing machine" broke, but it disappeared so I'll have to search for it and post it later. Just know that it was a good one :) Enjoy the pics...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
August 18-August 29
When I arrived in Azerbaijan I said everyone should do this. I would no longer make such claims. For instance, it is important for a PCV not to be too much of any one thing. If an individual is too much of any one thing they risk not being able to bend when necessary. In my opinion, PC is all about bending. It's not about life being "fair" to anyone in any place at any time in any sense of the word.
Training is quickly coming to an end and our swearing in as PCV’s looms ever nearer. We’ve had out site visits. We know what our communities look like, we know who we’ll work with, for the most part we know where we’ll live. We know the theories and we know the requirements.
More than ever we are beginning to understand what it means to make this commitment and though we could never know what our experience will be, the probabilities are finally beginning to come into focus.
Next week is our final language proficiency exam. The following week we will be given a total assessment of our commitment and must demonstrate our ability to reasonably take care of ourselves for the next two years. Do we know how to keep ourselves safe from medical and physical danger? Do we know whom to call? Do we know what we can and cannot do? When can we leave site? When can we go on vacation? When can we MOVE OUT?
At the beginning of September we will say goodbye to our host families, our houses and local friends and embark on a journey that will surely change us. Some of us will be alone, some will have PCV’s near by. Some will go north, others will go south. Our training wheels will come off and for the first time we’ll apply the concepts and language skills we’ve spent the last 2 ½ months cultivating.
Yaxşı Yol!
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
August 5-August 17
Each week the magical doors of mystery open spilling their contents into my consciousness. Today I found out who my new site mate will be. I have to say I’m excited about the southern crowd. Also, I found out that my family has a “compound” which means that I may get my own separate dwelling when I move there. (Yay!) Next week I will travel to my permanent site, meet my new family and see where and with whom I will be working. Finally I will see for myself if this place is truly better or worse (aesthetically) than where I have spent the past two months. So far I’ve received mixed messages.
At the same time PST is coming to an end with only 4 weeks and 12 language classes left. Somehow I have recently found certain words rolling off my tongue easier. Words such as “I don’t want it”, “I like this”, “please”, “excuse me”, “I am going to…” and the like. At the same time I still feel painfully inept when the time comes to have an actual conversation with Azeri’s who don’t speak English.
However, last week I had a tutoring session with my LCF (Language and Cultural Facilitator) and we spoke (in Azeri) about the books we were reading. This was my first impromptu conversation in Azerbaijani, and I doubt it would have been possible had she not been able to fill in the gaps in English and to speak slowly, but it happened, and it gave me at least a hint of hope. This week I had my first conversation with my qardaşum (brother). Though it was very short and only consisted of me asking him if he liked sports and which his favorite sports were, for me it was a milestone. I don’t think I’ve completely expressed how adorable my qardaşum is, but believe me when I say that he is adorable.
My first splash into the cold water of language learning reality came when I met a local school director from my future town. He spoke no English and also spoke very softly and quickly. I felt completely inept and clumsy. Any of you who have had similar experiences may feel my pain. My only previous experience with this was in France, when I shared many a meal with French speakers. By the end of one month I could tell what the conversation was about, but I was far from being able to contribute.
The difference between that experience and this was that he was expecting me to be able to speak Azeri. Soon I will be working with him and other Azeris attempting to create programming and communicate questions which will make or break my success here. I don’t yet know if anyone at my site will speak English, so I must be prepared for many more such experiences.
Afterward I felt defeated and anxious in a way that I have never before experienced. At the same time we were in the middle of a heat wave (110-113 for a week) and my fan broke the night before. Needless to say, when my Mom and Adam called later the next evening I was a little….off. When I talked to my mom she said, “You know what it sounds like? It sounds like you’re in the Peace Corps.” Touché.
The good news is that since my fan broke it’s been uncommonly cool. Only about 80 or 90 and cooler at night. I sleep on the floor now, nearer the window where it’s not as hot. I also started putting my water bottles in the freezer despite the warnings that cold water will make you sick (as will fans). However, I’ve seen my Ana drink cold water so this habit is not so alien to my family.
You may be asking yourself, “why don’t you just buy a new fan?” And to this I would say, “it’s more complicated than you think”. They have fans at the local market, but aside from being expensive (though don’t worry, I could afford it) they are also big and I can’t just put the box (even if they came in a box) in the trunk of my car. Also, if I bought one I would also have to transport it to my permanent site, which would be a pain. And besides, Azeri’s don’t use fans. So I’m waiting until I get to my new site and I’m depending on the weather holding out (which is by no means a logical thing to do) and maybe I’ll break down, but for now I think I can deal with the heat. You may also ask yourself, “Why doesn’t she ask her Ana to buy a new one?” And to this I would answer, “again, it’s a very complicated and delicate issue, but the short of it is that they don’t have the money”.
On another note, 3 out of 5 people in my cluster have gotten full blown food poisoning thus far. This is very common. There are frequent power outages for hours and most families and stores don’t replace the meat or other perishable items. I am fortunate that my family does not eat a lot of meat and when the power is out for an extended time, I’ve seen them throw out food. For this I am very fortunate. At the same time, I know many people outside of my cluster who have fallen ill and I cannot imagine that sooner or later I will meet this same fate. Such is life in the Peace Corps.
Aside from that the food remains tasty. Lately watermelon, grapes and melon have been abundant while cherries, figs and apples have disappeared. Somehow there is a calming order to truly seasonal fruit. As I have mentioned before, my family has many fruit trees as well as a large vegetable garden. In addition the hundreds of planted flowers are beginning to bloom and yesterday my Ana cut some and put them in my room. Again, such is life in the Peace Corps.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Well, here it goes.
So much has happened since my last posting!
Here it goes:
- I placed "intermediate low" on my language exam, I must place "intermediate mid" in the next six weeks. So I'm close and that's good.
- My Mid-Assessement went well
- We got our permenent assignments!
We received our site announcements yesterday. In six weeks I will be travelling to south eastern AZ to spend the next 2 years of my life. Here is a brief synopsis:
Where I'll work:
- I'll be primarily working for a library (awesome) but also with a school and community center near by.
- I'll be working with youths (15-24) on computer/internet and job skills as well as resource building and conversation clubs.
- I will have regular access to the internet.
Where I'll live:
- another host family for the first six months at least (I'll visit them in three weeks)
- It will be hot, maybe as hot as here, maybe not, but it will be hot
- I've heard I have to draw my water from a well, but I'm not yet sure if this is true
- It's not a village, it's not a city
- There will be lots of fish (fish from the Caspian, ugh) and lots of watermelon and quince (I still don't know what a quince is)
- There are no PCV's there currently, but I may get a sitemate. I'll find out in two weeks
- I (we) will be 2 hours from other PCV sites
- Another PCV has been there and SHE was very successful
- SHE was also able to move out after six months
- There are a lot of "gender issues" there
So I've been busy and hot but I've gotten used to getting around and am now comfortable leaving and returning home on the "bus". I can even bargain at the bazaar (but how successfully, it's hard to tell). But there are some things that have been more difficult to get used to. Like....
- treatment of animals
- environmental stuff (all of it, the entire natural environment)
- slaughtered animal parts in the road admist puddles of blood (seriously)
- puddles of blood that linger days, and days, and days...
- flies, lots of flies
But other things are easier; the bathrooms, the food and the heat are all becoming familiar. Friendships and language skills are (slowly) building and somewhere in between I lay down and night and feel alright.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
July 9th – July 20th
Week Three is at an end and finally the days have begun to pick up speed. Last weekend I traveled to Gəncə to visit a PCV’s and I learned the following things:
I can live for days without having stomach cramps – they’re not just from “being in Azerbaijan”
I’ll get out of Peace Corps what I put into it (just like everything else)
If I don’t get the language right away, it’s okay, charades is cross-cultural
It will be very difficult to find an apartment, but it is both possible and likely (but it is also likely that I will be kicked out at some point for doing “American Things” like being a woman and having people over and thus will have to begin the search again)
I WILL learn to live in Azerbaijan with all of its quirks and I will likely be safe
We began English Conversation Clubs last week and held two sessions thus far. There have been between 16 and 25 youth (14-24 yrs old) in attendance. I’ve never done anything similar to this and wouldn’t have expected it, but I’m truly enjoying it. The youth are eager to learn and excited to meet Americans. It’s also nice to feel like I’m interacting with the community and providing something of use instead of just learning the language and doing exercises (which I know are important). We now have enough students to hold groups individually and I am looking forward to it.
Next week I’ll meet with my Program Manager to discuss where I would like to go for my permanent site. This means a rural location or city, hot or cold climate (though it’s similar everywhere), with or without site-mate(s) and what type of organization I want to work with.
I wish I could say what I want most, but I just don’t know. There are positive and negative aspects to everything and I am at a loss as to what’s best. We find out our permanent assignments the week of July 29th. (yikes!)
****A note about blog postings – the internet is REALLY slow. Therefore, I will not be able to post pictures in the near future. I have sent some home to Mom and Adam, so hound them if you are curious.
Also, the webpages are in RUSSIAN. I don’t know how to change this, and it is a miracle anyone has been able to post anything but I will not be able to respond to comments or change my blog in any way. Therefore, PLEASE only post culturally sensitive comments. Peace Corps periodically monitors blogs and I don’t want to make mine private and sign-in only. If you want to say something risquÈ, email me. Also, I will not be able to list any information about my current location for safely purposes, so if you’re curious, email me or ask Mom or Adam.
Joe (my site-mate) said something last time we were in the internet cafÈ that I felt both obvious and telling. He said, “A month ago I was reading, ‘Jenni’s Life at the Moment’ and today I’m sitting in an internet cafÈ in Azerbaijan next to Jenni as she types her blog. Oh how far (literally) we’ve all come.
Week Three is at an end and finally the days have begun to pick up speed. Last weekend I traveled to Gəncə to visit a PCV’s and I learned the following things:
I can live for days without having stomach cramps – they’re not just from “being in Azerbaijan”
I’ll get out of Peace Corps what I put into it (just like everything else)
If I don’t get the language right away, it’s okay, charades is cross-cultural
It will be very difficult to find an apartment, but it is both possible and likely (but it is also likely that I will be kicked out at some point for doing “American Things” like being a woman and having people over and thus will have to begin the search again)
I WILL learn to live in Azerbaijan with all of its quirks and I will likely be safe
We began English Conversation Clubs last week and held two sessions thus far. There have been between 16 and 25 youth (14-24 yrs old) in attendance. I’ve never done anything similar to this and wouldn’t have expected it, but I’m truly enjoying it. The youth are eager to learn and excited to meet Americans. It’s also nice to feel like I’m interacting with the community and providing something of use instead of just learning the language and doing exercises (which I know are important). We now have enough students to hold groups individually and I am looking forward to it.
Next week I’ll meet with my Program Manager to discuss where I would like to go for my permanent site. This means a rural location or city, hot or cold climate (though it’s similar everywhere), with or without site-mate(s) and what type of organization I want to work with.
I wish I could say what I want most, but I just don’t know. There are positive and negative aspects to everything and I am at a loss as to what’s best. We find out our permanent assignments the week of July 29th. (yikes!)
****A note about blog postings – the internet is REALLY slow. Therefore, I will not be able to post pictures in the near future. I have sent some home to Mom and Adam, so hound them if you are curious.
Also, the webpages are in RUSSIAN. I don’t know how to change this, and it is a miracle anyone has been able to post anything but I will not be able to respond to comments or change my blog in any way. Therefore, PLEASE only post culturally sensitive comments. Peace Corps periodically monitors blogs and I don’t want to make mine private and sign-in only. If you want to say something risquÈ, email me. Also, I will not be able to list any information about my current location for safely purposes, so if you’re curious, email me or ask Mom or Adam.
Joe (my site-mate) said something last time we were in the internet cafÈ that I felt both obvious and telling. He said, “A month ago I was reading, ‘Jenni’s Life at the Moment’ and today I’m sitting in an internet cafÈ in Azerbaijan next to Jenni as she types her blog. Oh how far (literally) we’ve all come.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
July 1 – July 8
Week one is over and I’m feeling fine. My body continues to adjust to new sights, tastes, sounds and attitudes. After battling sickness for a few days, I bounced back and am feeling well. The spectrum of my experience and what’s to come is sinking in. Having my phone helps, though it’s expensive to call home (I’ve made a total of four calls – each lasting one minute and used up 800 of my 1000 kontours*. Needless to say, I won’t be making very many phone calls. One the up side, it’s free for me to receive calls, though there’s been some trouble and confusion as to how to do that inexpensively.
I found the post office. It will cost about 2 manat** to mail letters, so I’ll be sending them in bulk (we get paid just over 1 manat a day for regular work days). For the past week the post office has been out of stamps, but I’m hoping they’ll get some in early next week so I can send out my first written correspondence.
On July 4th the PCT’s went guesting at Scott’s house. Scott’s lives in a villa. It’s nicer than most American homes I’ve visited.
For dinner, his Ana served us:
- Orange Juice
- Pizza (no kidding, she made pizza and it tasted just like pizza)
- Chicken kabob
- Bread
- Beef tenderloin kabob
- Roasted potatoes
- Some crepe like yumminess
And a host of other foods I can’t think of at the moment. He has a washing machine, dishwasher and indoor western toilet and bathtub (a REAL tub)! Needless to say, the other PCT’s enjoyed July 4th together. It was extra special because it’s the first time we’ve all been together outside of school (which we attend 6 days a week).
I learned how to say foods that I like and don’t like and my Ana bought LOTS of fresh fruit and vegetables: apples, plums, tomatoes, eggplant, and potatoes. I tried and figs, which my town is famous for (and for good reason!).
My typical day of PST is as follows:
- 7:00 am wake, stretch, listen to the roosters and contemplate the new day
- 9:00 am arrive at school for language lessons
- 1:00 pm walk home for lunch, which is always delicious. (I’m even getting used to drinking hot tea when it’s 100 degrees!)
- 2:30 pm walk back to school for Youth Development training
- 5:30 pm arrive home, have tea, supper, shower, spend time with family, talk to Adam about life and how many times he had to call before he got through , talk to my mom about life and how many time she had to call before she got through , write letters, listen to music, etc.
- 11:30 pm fall asleep after contemplating where I am in the world and what it means to be here.
My new week will begin with my first Azerbaijani party. A friend of the family’s son is returning home from the military. We also received an invitation to a wedding (in which 300-400 people will attend!) later this month. Weddings are a pretty big deal here and my host sister “said” she wanted to style my hair for the wedding (I think they don’t like my everyday ponytail as much as I do) and I’m looking forward to my first Azeri hairstyle.
This weekend we will be traveling to the regions for a few days to visit current PCV's and get a better picture of the Peace Corps experience long term. I'll be about 6 hours away from my present site, so the bus ride should be interesting.
This week is also the beginning of our English Conversation clubs. This is our first assignment and I am looking forward to working with the community to get a better sense of where I am and what I may encounter while working with community members in the future.
We continue to be well taken care of while everyday brings a new experience in which we acculturate and communicate a little better. Even when illness strikes, we get together and talk about the most intimate of subjects with strangers who become better friends every day.
*1 kontour translates to about 1 second. There are no phone contracts, only cards with kontours
**1 manat is about as much as a euro, which is stronger than the dollar and thus does not go as far
***supper is dinner, dinner is lunch.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
June 27-June 29
Salam! I made it! After about 30 hours of travel we finally arrived at the Quba Olympic Complex in Quba. We were spoiled. I shared a room with two other girls, had access to 24-hour running water and 24-hour electricity. The toilets are “regular” toilets, not squat-style. The scenery is beautiful, rolling hills and lots of green and though it is hot, the air is dry so it is not so bad – and there is air-conditioning!!!
The food is amazing: Breakfast = bread, honey, butter, some sort of cream, tea, juice, and goat cheese.
Lunch = bread, goat cheese, soup, tomatoes, cucumbers, cherries, sour green crab apples, soup, two types of salad (beat, potato, bean, slaw), juice and meat.
Dinner = bread, goat cheese, two types of salad, tomatoes, cucumbers, juice and meat.
There is no snacking generally and no one drinks water and no one uses ice (but it is supplied for Americans).
What did the countryside look like on the way to Quba? Bare, brown and full of oil pumping stations (I don’t know the proper word for them). There were also half-built walls that appeared out of nowhere and a few huge new housing developments. Cows, goats, donkeys, chickens wandering about. There were lots of people standing about – I should say lots of men because I didn’t see hardly any women except a few here and there. And I don’t want to make value judgments, but the driving is NOT AT ALL like in the states.
On the way we stopped at a kabob stand where I had my first experience with a squat toilet. Not bad. Like some places in Europe – we paid to use the bathroom. Besides smelling strongly of urine and being dimly lit, it wasn’t bad at all. There was even toilet paper (Azeri’s don’t typically use toilet paper, but it’s available for purchase).
One exciting thing that happened was we got our host-family placements! I will be living in a town of 14,000 that has a history dating back to the 9th century!!! One of the trainers used to live there and she said they have regular electricity and the water is not so bad, though it will have to be boiled. We haven’t begun malaria medication, so I’m assuming there’s not malaria there – though I will still be using my mosquito net and OFF.
I’ve heard some sites have Internet access, which mine does not – but I figure I didn’t join the Peace Corps to be totally connected. There’s always letters I keep hearing cows moo which I always seem to mistake for my cell phone vibrating. Funny, I don’t have a cell phone yet.
My family will have a father, a mother who is an English grammar teacher, two sisters (16 and 17) and one brother (11). I’ll be moving there Saturday afternoon.
June 30
Salam! Today I arrived at my destination for the next three months. I can finally unpack! I am close to the Caspian Sea, where my host Ana (mother) tells me we will soon go. She says she will take me everywhere! Weddings, Parties, “Guesting”. My elation and excitement are difficult to describe. Her English is good and she is more than happy to translate and help me with grammar, which will help considerably in the coming months.
My room is larger than I imagined. My bed is comfortable. There is a “shower” but because of a water shortage in the summer, we are not using it. Instead it is like a sponge bath without concern of getting the floor wet. The bathrooms are like the true meaning of the word “washroom” Everything gets wet. The toilet is not “pit-style” but it does not have a lid and there is no toilet paper (I brought my own. No toilet paper is a custom it will be difficult to get used to.) The bathroom is on the outside of the house, down a corridor and in a separate concrete building.
My first evening was spent with grape leaves, bread, cherries, tea, tomatoes, cucumbers and beef (not in that order). I then took a bath, which I turned cold and though it felt great, after I turned off the water I immediately began to sweat. Now that it’s night it’s cooled down considerably and is comfortable. My host Ana warned me to be careful not to get in front of the fan while wet because I might catch cold. It’s over 100 degrees here.
The bus ride was long and hot but it was exciting to see each group get off, all dazed and anxious to see what comes next. I was in the third of six groups to get off and the first of my group to leave. When it was my turn I thought, “well, here goes nothin’” I waved to my fellow PCV’s, whom I will see again tomorrow morning, and took a deep breath. Like jumping off a diving board in the dark into the ocean – you don’t know idea what’s down there, but you know you can swim.
My Ana told me I could either rest or come out with the family, which was nice because it is strange for Azeris to grasp the notion of “alone time”, but she totally got it and encouraged me to take the time and space I needed. She even stocked the fridge full of cold water! Consequently, I got bored in my room, found my photographs and gave my gifts of UNO cards, a Michigan Cookbook and a Michigan post-card. My sixteen-year-old Becı (sister) was really interested in the pictures of my friends and family and said Aunt Janet had beautiful eyes. Blue eyes are an extreme rarity here; though it amazed me she could see them in the photo. Then she showed me photos of her family and told me she was fat. She is not fat. I guess there are some things you just can’t get rid of. Perhaps it’s because she spends time watching American music videos. Ugh.
On the bus ride I thought about all of the people who have told me that Peace Corps is their dream and wish they would have or could do it. To those people I say, “DO IT!” It’s scary and crazy and exciting, but once you’re in, you’re in and there is every kind of person here – there is no “Peace Corps type of person” We are all who we allow ourselves to become.
Salam! I made it! After about 30 hours of travel we finally arrived at the Quba Olympic Complex in Quba. We were spoiled. I shared a room with two other girls, had access to 24-hour running water and 24-hour electricity. The toilets are “regular” toilets, not squat-style. The scenery is beautiful, rolling hills and lots of green and though it is hot, the air is dry so it is not so bad – and there is air-conditioning!!!
The food is amazing: Breakfast = bread, honey, butter, some sort of cream, tea, juice, and goat cheese.
Lunch = bread, goat cheese, soup, tomatoes, cucumbers, cherries, sour green crab apples, soup, two types of salad (beat, potato, bean, slaw), juice and meat.
Dinner = bread, goat cheese, two types of salad, tomatoes, cucumbers, juice and meat.
There is no snacking generally and no one drinks water and no one uses ice (but it is supplied for Americans).
What did the countryside look like on the way to Quba? Bare, brown and full of oil pumping stations (I don’t know the proper word for them). There were also half-built walls that appeared out of nowhere and a few huge new housing developments. Cows, goats, donkeys, chickens wandering about. There were lots of people standing about – I should say lots of men because I didn’t see hardly any women except a few here and there. And I don’t want to make value judgments, but the driving is NOT AT ALL like in the states.
On the way we stopped at a kabob stand where I had my first experience with a squat toilet. Not bad. Like some places in Europe – we paid to use the bathroom. Besides smelling strongly of urine and being dimly lit, it wasn’t bad at all. There was even toilet paper (Azeri’s don’t typically use toilet paper, but it’s available for purchase).
One exciting thing that happened was we got our host-family placements! I will be living in a town of 14,000 that has a history dating back to the 9th century!!! One of the trainers used to live there and she said they have regular electricity and the water is not so bad, though it will have to be boiled. We haven’t begun malaria medication, so I’m assuming there’s not malaria there – though I will still be using my mosquito net and OFF.
I’ve heard some sites have Internet access, which mine does not – but I figure I didn’t join the Peace Corps to be totally connected. There’s always letters I keep hearing cows moo which I always seem to mistake for my cell phone vibrating. Funny, I don’t have a cell phone yet.
My family will have a father, a mother who is an English grammar teacher, two sisters (16 and 17) and one brother (11). I’ll be moving there Saturday afternoon.
June 30
Salam! Today I arrived at my destination for the next three months. I can finally unpack! I am close to the Caspian Sea, where my host Ana (mother) tells me we will soon go. She says she will take me everywhere! Weddings, Parties, “Guesting”. My elation and excitement are difficult to describe. Her English is good and she is more than happy to translate and help me with grammar, which will help considerably in the coming months.
My room is larger than I imagined. My bed is comfortable. There is a “shower” but because of a water shortage in the summer, we are not using it. Instead it is like a sponge bath without concern of getting the floor wet. The bathrooms are like the true meaning of the word “washroom” Everything gets wet. The toilet is not “pit-style” but it does not have a lid and there is no toilet paper (I brought my own. No toilet paper is a custom it will be difficult to get used to.) The bathroom is on the outside of the house, down a corridor and in a separate concrete building.
My first evening was spent with grape leaves, bread, cherries, tea, tomatoes, cucumbers and beef (not in that order). I then took a bath, which I turned cold and though it felt great, after I turned off the water I immediately began to sweat. Now that it’s night it’s cooled down considerably and is comfortable. My host Ana warned me to be careful not to get in front of the fan while wet because I might catch cold. It’s over 100 degrees here.
The bus ride was long and hot but it was exciting to see each group get off, all dazed and anxious to see what comes next. I was in the third of six groups to get off and the first of my group to leave. When it was my turn I thought, “well, here goes nothin’” I waved to my fellow PCV’s, whom I will see again tomorrow morning, and took a deep breath. Like jumping off a diving board in the dark into the ocean – you don’t know idea what’s down there, but you know you can swim.
My Ana told me I could either rest or come out with the family, which was nice because it is strange for Azeris to grasp the notion of “alone time”, but she totally got it and encouraged me to take the time and space I needed. She even stocked the fridge full of cold water! Consequently, I got bored in my room, found my photographs and gave my gifts of UNO cards, a Michigan Cookbook and a Michigan post-card. My sixteen-year-old Becı (sister) was really interested in the pictures of my friends and family and said Aunt Janet had beautiful eyes. Blue eyes are an extreme rarity here; though it amazed me she could see them in the photo. Then she showed me photos of her family and told me she was fat. She is not fat. I guess there are some things you just can’t get rid of. Perhaps it’s because she spends time watching American music videos. Ugh.
On the bus ride I thought about all of the people who have told me that Peace Corps is their dream and wish they would have or could do it. To those people I say, “DO IT!” It’s scary and crazy and exciting, but once you’re in, you’re in and there is every kind of person here – there is no “Peace Corps type of person” We are all who we allow ourselves to become.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
In Istanbul now. It's 3:33am, but here it's 10:30am. We're leaving for Baku at 1:30. The flight wasn't bad, I picked up some medicine from some fellow PCV's and I'm a true believer now in medicating oneself before such an endeavor. I felt absolutely wonderful. :) No worries here....
Now I'm tired. I'm kind of hungry, despite the yummy croissant on the plane. Knowing some Azeri helps with the signs in the airport. Travelling with 53 other people helps too.
Once we get to Baku we'll begin orientation until Sunday and then move on to our host families, where we'll stay for the next three months. This is where letters will come in handy :)
That's all I can write for now. Like I said, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm in Istanbul.
Now I'm tired. I'm kind of hungry, despite the yummy croissant on the plane. Knowing some Azeri helps with the signs in the airport. Travelling with 53 other people helps too.
Once we get to Baku we'll begin orientation until Sunday and then move on to our host families, where we'll stay for the next three months. This is where letters will come in handy :)
That's all I can write for now. Like I said, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm in Istanbul.
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