June 2008
It has been awhile, I know. A statement I heard second hand from a volunteer can best describe my absence, “I can’t even write home anymore because I no longer know what’s interesting. That’s kind of interesting”. It really is.
This morning I awoke early in order to do some laundry before the oppressive afternoon heat rears its head. Yesterday was the first very hot day. The kind of day all you can do is sit still and allow the force of your own heat and the heat around you to lull you to sleep until it passes. Expecting every day to be this way from now on, I’ve become proactive. I get up early to boil water, go to the bazaar and do any housework I might have before 11.
Admiring my developed forearms while wringing out my clothes, I began to muse about my life here; specifically, the “foreigner factor”. Gone are the days when my life revolved around the complexities and surprises of my own bowels and physical discomforts. Gone are the days when simply moving around in this strange land excited and bewildered me to the point of exhaustion. I’ve been here just under a year now, and I’m on to bigger, deeper complexities.
Over the past couple months I’ve grown to know some young Azeris in my town. Mostly women, they are strong, inspiring, intelligent and incredibly beautiful (both physically and otherwise). In the time that I’ve been able to hold conversations with them I’ve heard the same phrase over and over, “Jenni, you don’t understand”.
This is the first time I’ve been a foreigner for any substantial length of time. I can be uncommonly naïve about certain things, and my status, what it means to be a foreigner, was/is no exception. I’ve been reading a lot of books this year about foreigners, specifically Americans, in foreign lands. I’ve watched my fellow foreign Americans interact in their communities and carve out their niches. Each experience being unique and molding itself to each specific individual and circumstance. Mine experience is no different.
I’ve been asking a lot of questions lately. “What if X has a bad reputation (“bad reputation” in this context means a female who’s rumored to sleep with married men – though in actuality (I think) was talking on the phone to an old friend whom she just recently discovered was engaged and didn’t tell her), and I hang out with X – will I then have a bad reputation?” “No, Jenni, you are a foreigner, people expect you to be different”. “Can I go to a restaurant here?” “Of course, Jenni, you are a foreigner.” “Can you go with me?” (laughs) “No, of course not”, “What would happen if you just defied your parents? What if you took a job in Baku (the “liberal” capital city)? What if you applied for a program and got in and went even though your father and mother said no?” (forms an amused look and laughs) “Jenni, this is impossible. You don’t understand. This is not America”.
She’s right. I don’t understand. For the first time in my life I am realizing how much I seek harmony and agreement. I am realizing the strength of my desire to “fit in”; to be like those around me. But I cannot be. I am an American. I don’t understand. Despite all of the similarities and shared moments, my mother would never, at 25 years old, insist on walking me two blocks down the street after dark. My father would never refuse to let me travel 2 hours a way to a town I new well (or any town for that matter). And no stranger (or anyone I know) would ever call me out of the blue to tell me that they had “decided” I was “fit” to marry. It is this that I can never empathize with. It is on this subject I have no advice to give. “Do you ever feel alone?” she asks. “Of course. I AM alone here. But I think everyone feels alone at some point…” I go on about the idea of loneliness, the feeling of alienation. “Maybe” she says. “I asked because I feel alone a lot”. I berate myself for not understanding her question. For going on and on like she wanted me to explain something to her, to philosophize, when really she wanted to express to me how SHE felt, she wasn’t really asking how I felt.
I have been affected. Before I left I religiously listened to the song “Across the Universe” covered by Fiona Apple. It’s a beautiful song with the refrain “nothing’s gonna change my world”. When I listen to that song now I get sick to my stomach. What arrogance, what ignorance, I had. How could I travel more than 6000 miles away from home, live in a town where I am the only American in 40,000, do the only natural thing, which is build relationships with those around me and think, for one moment, that “nothing’s gonna change my world”. My world has been changed. I can feel it beneath my eyes.
Back to this “foreigner card” I keep reading about and witnessing. Don’t ask me why, but I never considered not trying to conform to this society. I dress in long skirts and high-necked shirts. I clean my shoes every day. I wear lipstick when I go out. I am quiet on the bus, I don’t walk with headphones in, I don’t make eye contact with men in the street and I don’t smile and say “hi” to people I don’t know. I don’t smoke and I don’t drink in public (outside of Baku). I sit with my legs crossed (never underneath me), I don’t sit on tables and I don’t sit on concrete without something under me. I drink hot tea on hot days, take off my shoes inside and I never walk barefoot outside. I made it, right? I’m integrated. Nope. I will always be “the foreigner”, someone everyone expects to be different. I will always be a curiosity. I will always be “the other”. Don’t ask me why this is news to me.
I am a strong observer. I see how the PCVs operate in their towns. I marvel at the way some are able to keep their American identities so strong and still work within the community. Because of my strong desire for acceptance and approval, I could never do these things. Maybe if I wasn’t the only one here. Maybe if there was someone here before me who paved the way (there were actually 3 volunteers before me, but none made it the 2 years for various reasons).
In the past I’ve been fairly quiet. I try to listen and not speak because maybe I don’t understand. I’m not swift to voice my opinion in areas I haven’t personally experienced and don’t have extensive information about. I will very rarely debate “right” and “wrong” because very few things are “black” and “white” to me. So I listen. I listen and I learn and I observe and I think. But in my time here of listening, learning and observing there are a few things I cannot help but to form a strong opinion about. Is this the time to speak? Or will I be faced with, “Jenni, you don’t understand”?
All of the nuances of living in a strange place still occur. Geese accost me on my way to work, I almost trip over severed cow heads in the market, older women are constantly molesting my clothes to wipe off any speck of dirt that may have accumulated. I fear the bees in the bathroom, wake up to the voices of roosters, go to bed amongst the voices of nightingales. I stumble, fall, and get back up.
But, I ask myself again, “Is this interesting”? I don’t know. I hope so.