It's 11:30 p.m., the noisiest time of the day. Children are running screaming through the alleyways, playing games. The sounds of chattering women drifts through the open windows while men slap their dominoes and nərd pieces against hard wooden tables. The sun has finally gone down and provided a few hours of cool sociability.
Very few people in Azerbaijan have air conditioning in their homes. This includes us. No air conditioner necessitates keeping the windows open all the time. Many doors are replaced with breezy lace curtains to block out bugs and remind cats where the border between outside and inside lies. And the thing about not having doors and windows is that sound carries. The openness transforms our private little boxes into a loose community of honking horns, private arguments and music lessons. At ten a.m. the quiet is broken by the qatıq xanım, a grandmotherly figure with a raspy cadenced holler that could challenge any beer seller at Busch Stadium. Smetan! Yarpaqmızdan! Kimə Lazım?! Sour cream! From our leaves, Who needs some?! Now I'll admit, I don't understand the "from our leaves" part. She's selling homemade yogurt, sour cream and soft cheese out of large jars and comes by a few times a week. By noon it is surprisingly quiet. I assume that everyone, like us, is taking naps and avoiding anything too strenuous. Stirrings of sound mark the preparation of dinner and by nightfall it's as if everyone breathes a huge sigh of relief and lets out all of the chatter and noise they've been preserving throughout the day.
Every night I enjoy this. I even consider going downstairs and sitting with the ladies on their stoops to perhaps try and soak up some gossip. But my American privacy-obsessed shyness takes over and we watch a movie instead. Let me be more specific-My middle class suburban American privacy-obsessed shyness. There are places in America where the communal front stoop has not been abandoned. Mathias and I used to live in Belleville and drive through East Saint everyday and that's when we first noticed that there are still groups of Americans who don't have air conditioning. And because of that, whole neighborhoods go outside and sit on the front stoop to share their lives with those around them who also lack the luxury. This in stark contrast to where I grew up, where houses are far apart and people can't imagine living without the air conditioner humming. But in this specific situation I'm not sure who is the disadvantaged group. Which is the greater luxury? Physical comfort or feeling part of a close community? I guess it depends on how hot it is. But at 93 degrees, I'm still tempted to choose the latter. That is, if I had a choice. But since I don't, I'll just sip my iced tea and keep listening to the night music.
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2 comments:
OK, So...I tried to do this from my phone and it didn't take, so here it is again...in a nutshell.
I seem to remember many a night when the children were outside playing night tag or capture the flag and afternoons where the ladies would have their iced tea or something yet a little stronger. Sometimes inside with the confort of AC or sometimes outside on a porch. And even when it would snow, the tea pot would be whistling while the children played out in the cold. Whether with air conditioning or heaters, there was still definite community.
I think it is part of our God given nature to want to have relationship and a connectivity with others. And while some of us are shy...I like to think that those of us who are not shy help the shy ones to stretch a little of themselves to reach out to us...
I miss you two very much!
Absolutely! Perhaps it was growing up this way that has left me longing for it ever since. But it's a rare gift you have; I can only hope to be the person, like you, who reaches out.
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