Nine Months Home

I'm sitting in front of the t.v., once again obsessed with Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations. It was a little over three years ago that I first got hooked on the show, sitting on the floor of our house packing books and dishes (which have yet to be unpacked) ready for adventure. We were preparing to leave for Azerbaijan and the show encompasses all of our excited expectations. I have a feeling this sort of thing is cyclical-or will be for Mathias and I.
Step 1-Wanderlust. The undeniable pull in the belly to foreign lands and different people. Enter obsessive Bourdain watching and jealousy, and reminiscing about past trips.
Step 2-Arrival. For a week or two everything is magical and perfect, simply because you wish it to be so. Bourdain's visit to Kurdistan is an excellent example. The food is amazing, severed cow heads charming and everything pin-prickingly special.
Step3-Disillusionment. Exhausted from spending so much energy deliberately ignoring those things which don't match your expectations of the place, your manic swings to depressive. Everything is horrible. This is the most boring/frustrating/backward (insert your own adjective here) country in the world. You spend a lot of time being angry with taxi drivers.
Step 4-Acceptance. Or whatever mix you can find. There are things you'll always hate, but you're ready to appreciate your favorite foods again and some of the local oddities. You make friends and appreciate them. Perhaps you are so bored that you spend all of your time making home videos of your cat.
Step 5-The joy of returning home. Eat all the donuts you can. Endure mild own-culture shock in the supermarket.
Step 6-Amnesia. Like a woman who's forgotten her 13 hour labor while holding her newborn, you cannot for the life of you remember what was so bad (something about taxi drivers?) Nostalgia sets in. It was such a great experience, why didn't I appreciate it more? You make your very first attempt at cooking indigenous recipes. You must find these recipes on the Internet because while you were in country you couldn't have been less interested in a cooking lesson from a local. You go back over all the photos and videos you took and wonder why there are so many of your cat. You realize that maybe you don't want to go back there, specifically, but you want to go again. Somewhere else. Next time you'll do better.
You watch No Reservations. The cycle begins again.

An Episode in Culture Shock

"That is too heavy for you!" He cries, hurrying towards me and taking the bucket of kitty litter from me as I emerge from the pet needs aisle. The older cashier and young bag boy grin at each other; obviously most adolescent sized women don't go stumbling through the grocery store carrying things half their size. "Why didn't you get a cart?" The bag boy asks, lugging the bucket up onto the conveyor belt. I say something about exercise and pull my cloth bazaar bag from my purse. The thin young man seems appreciative of my environmentalist gesture and cheerfully bags the rest of my groceries as I pay the cashier. Maybe it's his dark skin and lightly accented English but I suddenly feel like I am back in Azerbaijan. I automatically count how many males are looking at me, which is quite a lot since it is immediately clear that though the bag boy only outweighs me by a dozen pounds, he will squire me to my vehicle with the majority of the load and the others are going to tease him. My glance darts around to the ground, the sky, to my peripherals. As we walk towards the car I find that I can no longer make eye contact. I'm walking a few steps ahead, mentally telling myself not to walk so quickly. What is my problem? I find the intimacy of the help unbearable. I unlock the car and gesture towards the passenger side, "You can put it down on the floor there" I say, my gaze staying at a safe unfocused chest height. You probably look really bizarre and rude. American women are perfectly capable of casual interaction with service persons! "Have a great day!" I chirp at the last moment, hoping this will make up for my awkwardness. He's already off, cheerfully helping another customer. I spend the rest of the drive home wondering what triggered such a vivid emotional response. Was it the small Azerbaijan-sized onions in the produce section? Was it that choosing between the brand-name cat litter or cheaper publix kind I vividly remembered Mathias digging concrete dust out of our crawlspace into a laundry bucket for Baby Cat's first litter box? (I went with the off-brand.) Or maybe it was the bag boy himself, something (forgive me) but not-quite-American-yet about him? Or maybe it is I who am not quite American. There is one thing that is for sure and that is that Azerbaijan is not leaving me anytime soon.

Three Months Out

It's a strange thing, when you're back, it's hard to look back.
I had always suspected as much. People in my town would tell me how their emails and phone calls went unanswered when they tried to reach the volunteer who had left. There were a lot of stories like that-volunteer leaves, never to be heard from again. And near the end more than one volunteer jokes they will never attempt a good deed ever again, that their allotment of humanitarianism has been used up for the rest of their lives.
But we didn't want to vanish off the face of the earth. We didn't want our friends and colleagues to question our fealty. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, Skype and Facebook, keeping in touch with our dear Azerbaijani friends has been easy. Easy say "Happy New Year!" or "How was your vacation?"
But part of it hasn't been easy- staying connected to the American experience in Azerbaijan. By that, I mean that I could not read a single Azerbaijan volunteer blog. I tried. But I couldn't do it. Maybe the struggles are too familiar, something I'm not willing to feel again so readily. Perhaps I am reading the subtext behind each line, knowing the things I never wrote. Maybe it is the residue of all the things I did that I didn't want to do-all the times I smiled when I wanted to cry, or tried to brush off offense, or be a stronger person than I was. You never want to feel some of those things again, those things the current volunteers are doing right this very moment, and I fear if I read their heartbreaks that mine will come crashing back through--I want to be finished with that part.
I miss Azerbaijan. I miss my friends. I miss speaking Azerbaijani, the walking to the store and laundry hanging in the breeze. But I do not miss being a volunteer. I do not miss realizing that I am not even 10% close to being able to be selfless for a single day, let alone two years. Which brings me to my final judgment of my time. All those times that I was disappointed, the frustrations, the fears...they were not because of Azerbaijan or it's people. I mean, some of them were, but for the most part they were merely the big dirty mirror by which I learned the of the flaws in myself. That I am not as selfless as I wish. That my self-esteem could be stronger in the face of disapproval or rudeness. But for every time my inability to handle such difficulties frustrated me to tears, like a muscle aching under strain, I did get the tiniest bit stronger. I'm still getting stronger.
And so this week I could enjoy Hillary and Joey's post about the computer-ray-eating-cactus, and practice my Azeri to my Azerbaijani cat. I walked into a lamp shop whose owners were Turkish and had to go hide in the sconce room because their accents made me weepy and nostalgic. I could watch Egypt and think of Baku without bitterness, but hope.
Perhaps now is the time to go back to my novel, and begin editing again.

NaNoWriMo!

Where have I been? As many of my Azerbaijani friends know and many of you probably don't, I spent the month of November participating in National Novel Writing Month. Participants are encouraged to attempt to write 50,000 words in the 30 days of November. That breaks down to roughly 1,667 words a day. I'm happy to report that despite moving halfway across the world and leaving 10,000 words for the final two days, I successfully completed the 50,000 words and my novel!
I have attempted to capture the country as I experienced it and explore what it must have been like to grow up in a constantly changing socio-political environment. Someone my grandparent's age has experienced communism, capitalism, independence, ethnic cleansing, war, atheism and Islam, official language and alphabet changes, the use of three different currencies; All of this in one lifetime. I am so grateful to the people I met and love in Azerbaijan and didn't want to forget what they've gone through. Will I try to get it published? I don't know. It needs a lot of revision. But there aren't that many books about Azerbaijan so...we'll see.

Home Again, Home Again

Jiggedy Jig! Two years has come and gone just like that. I hope to continue to write here about Azerbaijan and America but for now I am a little overwhelmed. Until then, Happy Holidays! and maybe we'll be seeing you soon!

2008

2010

For It's Own Sake

Disclaimer: I am so very glad to have been a Peace Corps Volunteer for the last two years. I have done good work and made a difference. I have learned a lot. The fact that I felt a need to write a disclaimer just proves the point I'm about to make.

In the past I have alluded to the fact that things aren't always perfect in the PC, but I haven't spent a lot of time going into detail. There are several reasons for this.

One of them being, people don't want to read about it. I know a fellow development worker who was recently very honest about their experience on their blog-the frustration of giving up so much for others who rarely acknowledge your sacrifices-and was criticized for not being more understanding of those they are serving. People don't want to hear that Mother Theresa had doubts or resentment about what she was doing. They want you to be a hero. I fear that if I'm not a hero, people will think I'm not living up to the job.

I don't want you to feel I wasted your money. My "salary" is paid by the U.S. government and therefore you. Development work is painfully slow and full of failure. And even if I've been able to adjust my own expectations of success, how do I explain myself to results-driven Americans that I did a total four hours of work this week? That when I got to work no one else showed or that the project I worked on for six months never came to fruition? That sometimes the best you can do is be happy you finished a load of laundry. I haven't always succeeded in teaching myself that it's about process, not product, so I'm too afraid to justify it to others.

I've been convinced for too long that if a person isn't happy, that must mean that they are doing something wrong. So when I wasn't happy, I felt guilty instead of accepting the whole range of emotion as a valid and integral part of human experience.

So I leave out the bad parts mostly for fear of being judged. Because I'm sure judging the heck out of myself already.

As you read this, a new group of PCV's are in Sumgayit training just as we did two years ago: learning the language, enjoying the exotic nature of everything being different. For the most part they are blogging and writing home about their awesome host family and the yummy new food and leaving out the doubts and frustration (I mean, how bad would it look that I'm struggling already?). And I know that someone in that group is going to face these demons that I've been facing. This week while watching Michael Sandel's Justice Series, I heard something that I wished I'd accepted two years ago:

"A good will isn't good because of what it affects or accomplishes, it's good in itself. Even if by utmost effort the good will accomplishes nothing it would still shine like a jewel for it's own sake as something which has it's full value in itself." ~Immanuel Kant

As Kant argues, the fact that you are still here when it turns out this isn't as glamorous as you thought it would be, that you aren't getting recognition or thanks, that you are misunderstood and lonely, this is proof that you came with good will. You are doing the best you can. And that's enough.
Let it be enough, I beg of you, for your own sake.

Published!

I forgot to tell you! I got published in AZ Magazine back in August! If you've never heard of this publication, it is a lovely glossy magazine targeting mainly ex-pats living in Baku.

Now before you get too too excited, AZ Magazine is awesome in that it publishes an article by a PCV every month so I'm not the first or the last. But it was fun to get the call and have an "assignment" and I got a lot of good feedback from the article itself which was really cool.

You can check out the magazine and read my article here; click on the August issue and turn to page 10-11. Also note that the internet version has changed the cover and removed the authorless Angelina Jolie article that was in the original print version. Interesting, no?

And to make it a little bit easier, here's the original text (my version, before edited by the magazine) here:

Being Married and Childless in Azerbaijan

AZ! She calls from behind me. A teacher from my school. I’m not sure we’ve ever really had a conversation before. “Where have you been?” she asks. I pause in the road so she can catch up, standing under a cherry tree that’s trying hard to bloom. “Oh, I work in the afternoons, after all the teachers are gone.” We resume walking along the potholed road, gravel popping off our heels. “Still no children?” she asks, peering at my stomach. The sky is a brilliant blue and I’m in a good mood. “Nope!” I grin as we reach the intersection where we will part ways. She shakes her head seriously. “I am praying for you that God may grant you children. Farewell!” Watching her back as she turns down the road, I smile and hope that my birth control is stronger than her prayers.

When I first got to Azerbaijan I was not prepared for how much my marriage and lack of children would factor into my work. Here in my town, ideally, you get married in your early twenties and start working on having a baby right away. Everyone is granted about a year or two of trying before the gossip really hits full swing. I think it’s hard or nearly impossible as an American to understand the inevitability of the situation. As a woman, getting married and having children is just what you do, your raison d’etre. I get a lot of points for being married young but confuse the heck out of everyone when I explain that not only do I not have children after three years of marriage, it is on purpose. Here’s how the conversation goes when I meet someone for the first time:

New acquaintance: Where are you from?

Me: I’m from America, but I live here in town and I work at the Russian School.

New acquaintance: Are you single?

Me: I’m married. My husband lives here too.

New acquaintance: Do you have children?

Me: No.

New acquaintance: Why not?

It’s the “Why not” that used to shock me. I can hardly imagine a situation back home where I would feel comfortable asking someone why they don’t have children, especially because I know exactly what they’re getting at. They want to know if I’m infertile. Once I explain that this is a choice people usually spend the rest of their time trying to convince me why this is a terrible idea. The fact that at twenty five my biological clock is ticking, for example. One neighbor literally brought a baby over to me in an attempt to melt my ice-cold heart/womb. “Isn’t he cute? How could you not want one?!” Exasperated after several failed attempts at trying to change my mind, one woman declared, “Fine! I understand that you don’t want a child. So don’t do it for you. Do it for your mother!”

Not all of these conversations about my choice to work first and have children later are dead ends. Sometimes a woman will nod her head knowingly and say it’s a good idea. And even if the person I’m speaking with still thinks I’m crazy I am confident that living as an example of a different option is worthwhile.

I’m at the avto vagzal, waiting for the bus to fill up so we can leave. The weather is rainy and gray, bad for traveling, so for two hours it’s just me, the bus drivers and one old woman sitting in the marshrutka. The drivers are asking me who I am, why I am here, what was I doing in Baku, all the typical questions. They declare my marriage Halal and my modest clothes Halal as well. But when we get to the children question I become incomprehensible. What do you mean you don’t want to have children right now? What else would you be doing? Working? Can your husband not find a job? I explain that I enjoy working, that I have other dreams to attend to like traveling and learning about other cultures and people. It becomes clear to me that some of these men have never even considered the fact that a woman might want to do something other than be at home, that this is even a possibility. I am somewhat amazed, but all the more glad that we are having the conversation. The old woman in the back pipes up out of nowhere as the men are scratching their heads. “She wants to see the world! Of course she does!” This woman gets it and I am encouraged. I wonder what her dreams have been. Now to be honest, would I rather not be explaining my every lifestyle choice to everyone I meet? Would I rather not have to justify myself to strangers? Of course. Sometimes I would love to get on the bus and pull out a book and not talk to anyone. But having these conversations is my job. This is why I am here. Goal #2 of the Peace Corps mission is “Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.” I think that these conversations are critical to achieving that. Goal #3 is “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.” And that happens too. I’ve learned a lot about the importance of family in the lives of Azerbaijanis and the importance of children. I think we have a lot to learn from each other. I hope that I offer a broader view to life’s choices. Every time my husband and I walk down the street together, talking and laughing, we are being an example of a different kind of marriage. Also when we go to the store together and make choices about purchases together. Or the way I am allowed to do whatever I want and travel where I want. I was recently in a different town helping another PCV on a project and a woman there warned me against leaving my husband alone at home. I said “It’s ok, he knows how to cook.” She said he’s probably finding another woman. It felt good to reply that I’m not afraid of this, that my husband and I have been friends for years and that we trust each other. That cheating is not accepted in our relationship.

People get married here for very different reasons than Americans do. Many marriages are arranged by third parties. There is a sense of creating a partnership that benefits the next generation. The strict gender roles can appear strange to us, but I think they can also lead to happy marriages here. Each person needs each other-the wife needs her husband to provide financially for the family and to literally bring home the bacon (well, not bacon…maybe mutton). The system is set up to rely on someone being home-bills are paid in person at the door. Someone must be home to fill the water tanks when the municipal supply turns on randomly. It takes a long time to wash clothes by hand so that the husband can look presentable in the community. In this way marriages are bound together by each member’s dependence on the other. This is the way it has been for hundreds of years. The notions we have in America these days of independence and companionship over physical dependence are new and still evolving (Check out “The History of the Wife” by Marilyn Yalom). What will we depend on each other for when money, security and even children can be attained on one’s own? Do we lose something valuable by not needing each other? At a dinner once we were explaining to an Azerbaijani couple how twenty-three is considered a bit young to get married in the U.S. and that most of our friends were still single. It was sort of a “let’s get this straight” kind of moment. “So, you weren’t being pressured to get married, you still had a lot of time, and you don’t have any children…WHY did you get married?” And it’s an excellent question.

As a Youth Development Volunteer I do a lot of the kind of work that you’d expect. I teach ballet and theater after school and also English classes. Our women’s group is working towards publishing a magazine of their own about lives in Şamaxı by women for women. However it’s all those conversations, all those explanations off the record and off the clock that I consider my real job; all those times when my neighbors and I are challenged to re-examine our assumptions. What better lesson can come from my Peace Corps service than to prove that though we are different and we don’t always agree, we can live together side by side and learn about life from each other? This is why I wanted to come to a Muslim country; this is why I wanted to move to the other side of the world. It’s not easy and yes, it does reinforce that hippy stereotype of a PCV but in the end this is what makes living in Azerbaijan worth it for me.