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.

To Not Forget the Figs and Friends

A little over two years ago I was busy memorizing every sight, smell and feeling I experienced on a daily basis. We were about to leave to a faraway place and I didn't want to forget anything. I was creating a memory bank of everything I'd miss. At the time it felt like I'd never see or feel those things again, like I was never going to come back. Of course, it was for only two years and here we are, on the verge of return. And now, for real this time, there's a good chance that I'm not coming back.

Preparing to leave Azerbaijan feels very different than preparing to leave America. And it should; I'm different. There is a lot to process looking back over the experience and preparing to re-enter my own country without too many expectations. So now is the time to put into good use what I've been working on for the last two years-living in the moment and really memorizing the feelings.

Like when we went over to the Məlikov's house. We learned a lot of cool stuff that day. Araz makes wine and liquor at home and had just bought over 100 kilos of grapes (it's grape season) to process. We asked if we could watch and he said come on over. We got to see how the grapes get squished, ferment and then sit in bottles. Araz lets his wine age for about three years.
Then we did a tasting. Araz also has a still that he welded himself. He makes araq (vodka/liquor) with grapes, honey, mint and other things I forgot. It's always strong but you'll never get sick from it. Araz says that this is a sign of its quality.

While Qətibə was preparing dinner, Araz called "Who wants to do some work?!" "Oohh! Me! Me!" Mathias, Nijat and I threw our hands in the air (actually, maybe Nicat rolled his eyes). We were each handed a small glass full of water and headed to the back yard. Araz showed us how to break off the little baby figs and collect the sap/milk that came out of the stems in our glasses:
Then Qətibə used 1/6th of what we collected on the meat (but everyone got to feel like good helpers!). She is the best cook in the world by the way. When Qətibə is feeding you there will be a main dish and a minimum of three sides. For dinner we had little tenderized beef medallions, fried potatoes, pickled eggplant, salsa-like tomato sauce, pepper tomato salad, salt-preserved fish and home made bread. Yummm!! She is also the only person I've met here who actually asks for and writes down our recipes for things like corn bread when she likes what we've made.
We talk and tell jokes and drink tea. The family always makes us feel normal. I know that sometimes we must be difficult to understand or make a lot of mistakes when we speak but I never feel that way when we're talking to them. They are patient and willing to search for words to get a point across instead of giving up and moving on. Araz and Qətibə have been like our parents over the last two years. When we needed a new house they helped us find it and negotiate prices. When our water pumps broke at two houses in a row, Araz fixed both of them for free. When I apologized he said we just didn't know how to fix it because we're still young (not because we're dumb Americans!) They take us on trips out to the village or the mountains. If I get sick, Qətibə calls to make sure that I'm ok and sends over a jar of zoğal mürəbbəsi (a high-vitamin jam) to speed my recovery. They have loved us for who we are. Even if we are different. Even if we don't always do everything right. Even when it was probably more convenient not to invite or help us. They did.

People have been asking me what I would have done differently or if I have any regrets about the last two years. And I don't have an answer for that yet. But one thing I would not change for the world was the opportunity to be adopted by this incredible, fantastic family.