Warning: The following contains a lengthy and detail narrative of a party. It was written over the course of three days and the tense is not consistent. Read at your own risk!Our host brother is back from the army and there is great celebration. It is my understanding that all Azerbaijani men when they graduate from high school must do a stint in the army. This lasts usually a year and six months. According to our LCF Aytac, there is always a party to celebrate the return of the sons from the army. Our family is throwing theirs tomorrow.
Things had started into motion a few days ago. I noticed a giant bowl of apples and pears in the larder under the stairs. As apples keep well, I wondered if this might be our winter’s supply. Later that day, four men struggled through the yard with a giant bag of potatoes (possibly also for winter?) Then Aytac mentioned the possibility of a party.
It made the bowl full of a dozen dead chickens in the hallway sort of make sense. I went to school and learned how to say: Bizim evda coxlu olu toyugmuz var! We have a lot of dead chickens in our house!
As the afternoon has progressed, the preparations have sped up. There are several relatives here-a few of my host mom’s sisters, two of our host fathers brothers, and an assortment of extra 20-something men and children. I looked out my window to see the guys hoisting a long table to the second floor balcony and came out to see what was going on. All of the “youth” had a single thumbprint of blood upon their forehead. I peered into the backyard and couldn’t quite figure out what I was seeing so I pointed and said “Olar?” (May I?). As our Ata (host father) took me into the back of the garden we walked past the severed head and legs of a brown goat. Suspended from a hook in a tree was the rest of the goat. My host father’s cousin was working on removing the insides. I was pleased that they let me stay and watch, and it was really interesting. First the digestive tract is removed and set aside, followed by the lungs and heart. He cut and pulled with such skill, it seemed that all creatures are meant to come apart as easily as a jigsaw puzzle. Then the butcher’s wife came with a large bowl and began rinsing the innards. It seemed like she was splitting and cleaning out the intestinal casing, but I can’t be sure, having never seen this done before. I can’t say that the process was as “sanitary” as the PC medical officers would suggest, but I can imagine that this is how its done all over the country (in fact, just this morning on the way to school, I was able to witness an earlier step to the process: a man hanging a beheaded but still furry sheep from a hook). Eventually I wandered towards the kitchen where I found the table and chairs removed and large blanket spread on the floor. On the blanket sat on of our host aunts, cutting apart mounds of fresh herbs. On the other end of the kitchen lay piles and piles of china and cups. I asked Ana (host mom) if I could help and for the first time since we arrived she said yes. She sat me on the floor and handed me a knife and bowl, proceeding to show me how to cut the root from the bunch of cilantro and discard any yellow leaves. There was also dill, scallions, anise (I think?) and something that looked like giant dill. When I finished with my pile I returned to the back end of the yard, where the goat was being thoroughly butchered and distributed equally into plastic bags which my host parents explained would go to all of the different relatives (goody bags of liver?!). Ana is currently boiling the largest carrots I have ever seen in my life-as long as my forearm and almost as thick. The larder under the stairs is stocked with apples, pears, grapes, pomegranates, tomatoes, cucumbers, potatoes, the dead chickens, soda (yes! Soda!), juice and vodka.
I’m told the party will be tomorrow evening and I can’t wait.
Party preparations continued the next day. I went to school and when I got back the dining room was completely set up. Tables were arranged in two long rows with chairs (and the couch and armchairs) along them. There were about 28 place settings. At increments, bowls of fruit, plates of pickled vegetables and cold roast chicken. To drink, (downstairs, at the “women party”) sparkling pear juice, nectarine juice, and fanta. Before the guests arrived I was invited upstairs to see the “man party” set up. As the good dining room chairs were all occupied downstairs, the two long tables of the man party were flanked with benches (boards on cinderblocks, with carpets on top). The upstairs is not yet finished, which paired with the benches gives an appropriately rustic feel. Men also had rows of place settings and fruit, fanta and juice, but with the addition of bottles of vodka and a shot glass at each place. A large blanket/carpet was spread upon the stairs to accommodate the numerous pairs of shoes that would soon inundate the doorway.
Outside the “men” were grilling the kabobs (actually, one uncle was grilling kabobs while the rest stood around and watched). The women who arrived early were working together to assemble plates of salad (in Azerbaijan, salad equals a plate of sliced tomatoes, herbs, and cucumbers). About three o’clock, relatives began to arrive. I was confused about the official start time. I dressed up and hung around with my host sister Arzu and her friend who were putting on make up. They kept saying “Do you want to eat?” Eventually I said sure and was ushered into the dining room to find one table already full of various aunts and great aunts and friends and children eating and array of food. I sat and was served:
• Potato salad with mayo and peas
• Cold roast chicken
• Another mayo based salad with potato, shredded carrots and pecans
• A sort of lamb/goat stew.
• Goat kabobs (delicious, by the way)
• Salad (cucumber, tomato, herbs)
• Pickles (cucumber, carrots, cabbage, green tomatoes)
• Bread (LOTS of bread)
And I drank pear soda, which was incredibly sweet, after which I switched to fanta.
The women talked, and ate, ate and talked. The very very nice teacher of Russian from mektab iki (School number 2) explained over and over who I was, that I was from America, no I didn’t speak Russian OR Azeri. Also, a thousand brownie points to Sabina, my six year old host cousin, who served me food when I was afraid to get it myself, and who would take my hand reassuringly and usher me wherever I should go. In a lot of ways, younger children are the best-they automatically accept you, even if you can’t talk and care for you without pitying you. As soon as our table was just about finished eating, another wave of women appeared and settled on the second table and started eating. At this point I decided to take a breather and escaped to our room, where I found Mathias already hiding. We watched an episode of Family Guy on our computer and then went back out. At this point table #2 was making their exit while table #1 (more family than friends) were going for another round, particularly more kabobs and for the fruit. Each fruit bowl had a paring knife in it, which everyone used to cut open their apples, pears and nar (pomegranates). Someone cut a nar for me and I think I ate the whole thing. I love nar. There were also grapes and little bowls of candy. That was about it for the food. There was more talking, asking if I had children, more explaining who I was…Upstairs it began to get louder and louder. Apparently the man party had two things which we did not-music and vodka-and they had begun dancing. I could here distinctly the dulcet tones of uncensored American hip hop floating down the stairwell. As the man party ampted up, the woman party continued to wane. When most of the guests had left, my host sister put on a soap opera and we all drank tea and watched or talked. Eventually I went to bed.
I asked Mathias for the man-party perspective. Basically it had broken into two groups. The older men, our host father and uncles, had gone outside to smoke and chat. What I heard upstairs were the “youth” (teenagers and 20’s) drinking and dancing. In Azerbaijan, young men may drink, but they are not supposed to do so directly in front of their parents.
So that was Cavid’s party!
This is our new yard covered with snow. The "covered" walkway connects our house (on the left) to the other homes. One is located directly behind and the other to the right. Straight ahead is just a wall that encloses the yard. Most homes in Azerbaijan have large stone walls that surround their yards and subsequently a gate that acts as a "Front Door" for all visitors. Homes rarely open onto the street.
This is a rug shop in Baku's "Old City".
This is a view looking back from the wall displayed in the snowy picture. I took this photo in November when we visited Şamaxı for the first time. 
This is a mosque located in Baku.
This is Jon, one of my very best friends in Azerbaijan, and me, after playing soccer on the beach in Sumqayit. A small group of PC trainees would play soccer every Sunday, but Jon won the coin toss so he got to sit on my shoulders. The Caspian Sea is behind us. I know what you are thinking. This photo is pretty impressive... but what was really impressive was the double back flip Jon did off my shoulders. Man is talented. 
Due to a lack of gas, our 1st host family relies (literally) on truck loads of wood during the winter. This photo was taken soon after all of the wood was removed from the truck. Btb, The truck arrived around 10:30pm and it took about 45 minutes to remove everything. Partially due to the degree of danger associated with standing on, and moving, a pile of wood laden with nails/tacks and partially due to the fact it was more like a game of dodge the wood, then safely stack the wood... No one was hurt and following the fun, tea was had by all! The photo is of Me, my host brother, host cousin and their friends. 
This is our Host Family in Saray! R-L: Father, Youngest Brother, Me, Host Sister, Host Mom, Emma and Oldest Host Brother. They are an amazing family and we were so blessed to have been placed at their home. This photo was taken in our kitchen.
Emma and I eating breakfast at my Language Teacher's home in Baku. Both of our language classes spent the night, and enjoyed a 3 hour "Songs from a Hat" marathon. I know I mentioned SFAH in a previous post, but as it is AWESOME, I find it necessary to mention it again... No I have no idea what is in the bowl. Let's say it is some type mayo and veggie salad.
This is us at our swearing in ceremony. It was held at a cultural center in Sumqayit and covered by most of the country's major media outlets. Emma was actually interviewed by a TV news program that airs nationwide. Our host family received lots of calls from friends, and relatives, saying they had seen Emma. It was pretty cool. We also swore to defend the Constitution, which was incredible on a totally different level.
We hand wash and hang dry all of our clothes... which is fine when the weather cooperates. As you can see this load was not okayed by mother winter. Nevertheless, once it gets warm enough melt, we can view the thaw as a second, not so needed, but always welcomed rinse.
