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.

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.

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

NPR this week reports that the economic crisis in America has led to many people moving back in or consolidating living spaces with their extended families in order to cope financially. I found the article interesting because of it's overall assertion that moving in with families is very difficult and uncomfortable for Americans. "It was embarrassing" one couple asserts.

I live in a country where living with your extended family is more than normal, it is the only way to go. My best friend's family includes her siblings, mother, father, aunt and grandmother as well as college student boarders. At no point have I ever felt like it was crowded or uncomfortable. Everyone continues to live their own lives, on their own schedules. It's not like you have 8 people sitting in the same room all the time (which is why I would not compare it to a holiday dinner, as the article does). We're not even talking about that big though, the article cites for example a single mother with one child moving in with her own mother. Yup, an overwhelming family of three.

The great financial success of America has created a system where even the very young can have their very own house, their very own car. We can make any decision we want without consulting a single other soul if we so choose. Between our cars and facebook and teleconferencing we hardly have to physically interact with anyone at all. It is the ultimate in freedom. But at what price? Americans are very socially evolved when it comes to work, school and friendship situations. About this I have no doubt. But have we gained the ability to "play well with others" at the expense of being able to enjoy our own families? I would like to meet someone who could argue that over the last few decades of increasing separation that the American family unit has grown stronger and more appreciative of each other. The comment about moving in with family being embarrassing also said something to me about our culture. We are independent. But so independent as to be embarrassed about a living situation that is considered healthy in many many countries on earth? Would we really rather be poor and alone than middle class and together?

Of course living with family has its drawbacks. Opinionated mothers or mothers-in-law for example. Or a grandma that hogs the remote. Hierarchy develops between the generations that we've thrown off long ago. Why should someone with decades more life experience (or outdated views) give me their opinion on how to live? I've learned that living with someone else demands a degree of personal sacrifice, of compromise and forgiveness. Boundaries must be drawn and agreed upon. However I also feel that if I can learn to consider others more, to be more forgiving and laid back, I might be a less selfish and maybe even a happier person. In the cleverly titled Truman biography, Truman, I read that the president was forever sending letters to or asking advice of his mother and sister and cousins. No matter how far he went or what he accomplished, he always returned home. There is something awfully appealing about strong family ties like that.

I might just feel this way because I am literally in the home stretch. Stretching for home, preparing to move back. Ask me again in two months and see if my opinion changes!

Thinking in Words

I just finished listening to Radiolab's excellent podcast on Words. I would highly recommend it. They spend a lot of time talking about the degree to which the ability to use words impacts one's thought processes and social interactions. It got me thinking about when we first arrived in Azerbaijan and suddenly to a small degree I had no language anymore. Actually, it would be more accurate to say when we arrived in Shamaxi. This is because throughout training we are surrounded by English speakers and Azerbaijani language teachers-there is never a loss for words. I did well enough during training-I learned phrases, how to understand and answer basic questions, ask for things. But these linguistic interactions were always slow and one-on-one regarding predictable topics.

In Shamaxi, everything changed. In the teachers room it is loud and gossipy. There are always several conversations going on at once. When I was alone in the corner my brain would get overwhelmed just trying to pick which conversation to focus on and try to decipher. I stop thinking even in English so much as in feelings: Angry, repetitive, agreement, frustrated, sympathetic. I find myself emotionally mirroring the people I'm watching (this is especially useful when people are telling jokes) Oftentimes several people would begin speaking to me all at once. I was hit with a tangle of questions and while I sorted through them and crafted answers for them painstakingly the group would give up. Everyone drops back, silent, with a disappointed look on their faces. And then one person says something slow and predictable: She doesn't understand. Which of course, I completely understand. I have gained an immense amount of empathy for any immigrant to the U.S. who is trying to find their way in a new language.

When describing what it is like to arrive not knowing the language I often say that at that time I was like a baby; always watching, absorbing and not understanding. And like a baby all this processing made me exhausted and forced me to re-institute the four hour afternoon nap.
Eventually things began to click together. Now I can speak. But my vocabulary is still frustratingly limited compared to my English. It makes me think of the assertion in the podcast that we are limited in our thoughts by the breadth of our language. I am interested in this because there are holes in the Azerbaijani language that don't exist in English. For example He, She and It are all represented by one word, O. O went and said to O did you get O? Also there are no articles. For me this takes away a specificity of meaning. When I'm translating what I want to say from English to Azerbaijani in my head it comes out the other end not quite as satisfactorily. But the real question is that at the same time that these words or lack of words are changing the way I communicate, do they intrinsically change the way that native Azerbaijani's think comparatively to how I think in English?
For instance To Wait and To Miss. In English you say "I will wait FOR you" and "I miss you." In Azerbaijani it is the opposite-"I wait (or await) you" and "I miss FOR you." I spend a lot of time wondering why? Why do we just miss and they miss for? Why do we wait for and they just wait? Does it partially change the meaning? Or the feeling?

I think the key is in the feeling. Often people use words to me that I don't know the literal translation for but I can still feel what they are trying to say. Just like Shakespeare. It's what I absolutely love about Shakespeare. You don't have to know exactly what that strange word means because likely at the time he made it up and his audience didn't know it either-you just have to go with the gut reaction you get from hearing the word. And experiencing words on the gut level opens up such an immense and beautiful release to intuition.

But feelings are not enough. Ultimately we need that language key to simplify our interactions (and help us stop taking all those naps!!) Knowing the words can be like magic. Last week I was in Georgia (the Country, not the state). I not only didn't know the language all over again but I was illiterate as well. Georgian script looks like this:ქართული. Which means I can't even attempt to read the street signs. For some reason this is even more disturbing to me than not being able to understand spoken word-maybe because I'm so visual. And so again it's watch, watch, watch, feel, guess. I can't wait to be speaking Azerbaijani again-how easy! How clear! Nothing shows me how far I've come until I cross the border into Azerbaijan, heave a great sigh of relief and say Salam.

Here There and Everywhere

Yesterday my neighbor stopped me as I ran out to the grocery store. "You are always coming and going, I never see you!" she scolded. It occurred to me that you might also feel the same way.
It's been hard to write because the summer is for traveling and on the road I often don't have Internet access. And what have I been doing you might ask? Camps! With school out and nothing for kids to do, volunteers organize day camps in their towns and invite other volunteers to help run them. It's a fun way to introduce American culture and give the kids something to do. On the exchange side, it allows volunteers to see different parts of the country and Azerbaijani's to meet a more diverse group of Americans than just their own PCV's. So here's where I've been:

Agjabedi Sports Camp-Highlights included playing Frisbee and egg toss!

Zagatala Art Camp-Löki's fully-funded brainchild involved a training of trainers where Americans worked as support staff for Azerbaijani counterparts who were learning how to lead and run their own camp. And I learned how to screen print!

Activity Week in Shamaxi-I took a week to make sure my kids had something to do. Not brave enough to call it a camp, the students and I spent two hours every day doing such things as acting, collage pasting and volcano building. In the afternoon I had a laid-back conversation club with ladies my own age who want to practice their English.

ABLE-Mathias took four of our boys this year to ABLE, the prestigious, well-funded, PCV led boys leadership camp. This one actually is overnight for a week and the boys meet other outstanding students from other regions.

COS Conference-Not a camp but our "Close of Service" conference where we learn thrilling things like: how to apply for post-pc health insurance and fill out lots of official paperwork. There was also reflection on the last to years and some thoughts about the future-we're going to have to get jobs! Highlights include waterslides as conference was at a waterpark/hotel.

Bilasuvar Camp-Mostly indoor activities now that Ramazan has begun. Highlights included playing "ninja" and making picture frames.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for yet another town I've never been to and then soon after I'm going to be doing WWOOF in Georgia in an attempt to use up my vacation days. I look forward to lots of time to think there so hopefully there will be some good thoughtful posts when I get back!
~Emma

Good Bye to an Old Friend

Most that know me, know I am pretty partial to baseball caps. Perhaps my favorite of all time was a Webster University trucker hat that I had for the last six years. It was with me in Japan, at Webster, in Belleville and it traveled with me to Azerbaijan. Alas, due to wet winters and moldy conditions my old cap suffered greatly over the last two years. Thus, this spring I "put her out to pasture." What follows is a photo story line chronicling our time together. RIP Old Friend.

Wearing the cap at Martina's 2004 High School Graduation Party

Lake Weekend with the Boys 2004 (Justin put on a shirt)

In Takayama, Japan with my Japanese roommate and his family 2005

Senior year skiing with the college crew 2006

Emma and me at the softball game the Thursday before our wedding 2007

Trip to Pine Island Maine 2008

My three leg race partner and me in Lankaran last summer 2009

The last time we were together, late April 2010

In Flames

The End

Boy Scout Weekend

This was written, but obviously not posted, in mid-April...

Two weeks ago, Emma and I were in Baku for Easter. During that time, we were lucky enough to spend a couple of meals with some very generous ex-pats. At one of those meals I met the local Baku Boy Scout Scoutmaster. He explained that he ran a multinational troop and I explained that I was an Eagle Scout. Our mutual interest grew as we discovered that his troop's next camp-out was actually to my region, Samaxi. He suggested that I come out and talk to the troop about my time as a Boy Scout, as well as my experiences in Azerbaijan as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Very excited about being able to camp-out and get back into scouting, I eagerly accepted.

So... Last Friday rolled around, I met the troop's caravan of SUVs in Samaxi and we headed up to the designated camp-site. Originally I thought we would be camping by a lake somewhat close to a village I had visited. However, once joining the caravan I realized that we were heading for a site up close to the Soviet Era Observatory and Azerbaijani National Park, Pirgulu.

We stopped a couple of times along the way to pick up a variety of items: charcoal, a local guide and then after about a half an hour of driving up into a thickening fog, directions from a wandering villager. The directions worked and we soon found ourselves at a damp, slightly horizontal campsite. The cars were unpacked, tents pitched and food organized. For dinner we had foil wraps, which for anyone who has participated in a Boy Scout Event, is known as the staple of solid camp cuisine.

After dinner, the dads pulled out a guitar and we sang 70's rock anthems such as: Sweet Home Alabama, The Weight, Sweet Baby James, American Pie, etc. To top it all, we were even provided Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate. It really doesn't get much better.

So, after a long night of warm sugary beverages and fire side songs, I headed off to bed. I don't have any pictures of this but I shared a tent with two of the adult troop leaders. Our tent was staked upon some of the more level ground available, still twice in the night I woke up a foot or so south of my pillow having slid down the hill, ha ha.

The next morning I woke to the sound of excited pre-teens and the smell of sizzling bacon. After a large breakfast containing portions of pancakes, scrambled eggs and bacon, the kids started on a number of tasks pertaining to certain scouting requirements they were in need of completing.

During that time, I was able to talk to most of the dads. A lot of the families were in Azerbaijan due to the fathers working for BP, Chevron... IE, Big Oil. However, despite the stigma attached to working for those companies, these dads turned out to be incredible guys. (I am thinking of the oil men I have met while out in some of Baku's finer drinking establishments, when writing this semi judgmental line...) One of which was actually from St. Louis and he was a HUGE Cardinals fan. See, I mean these guys were cool. So, yeah, the boys worked on merit badges while I got to talk to the dads.

At lunch, I talked to the boys about being an Eagle Scout and a Peace Corps Volunteer. Then we headed out on what was supposed to be a five mile hike. The path led right into the mountains and by the end, five miles had turned into seven and a half... We hiked around some of the most beautiful parts of Azerbaijan I have ever seen. It was really great to revisit some of the more compelling reasons for while Azerbaijan is so very special. The diversity of nature and breathtaking beauty of the southern Caucuses are quite impressive. It is nice to be reminded of that.

The weekend was a great escape from the rush of my dramatically slow life, ha ha. Here are some pictures of the fun.

American Tents

The Dads singing American classics

Breakfast

Crossing at the semi-dry riverbed

The Troop

3/4 of the way into the hike

-Mathias

A Little Night Music at 93 Degrees

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.

In Pillow We Trust

It's payday. ATM's are swarming with pensioners waving their cards in a clump. A few hold an entire stack of ATM cards, each wrapped with a piece of paper that has the card's pin code on it. I imagine they drove in from the village and are doing everyone a favor. But how could this person possibly keep track of each person's amount? How much should he take out of each account? That answer is simple. All of it.

People in Shamaxi, for the most part, do not keep their money in the bank. They keep it in the house; hidden in drawers, the refrigerator, or in their bras. The only investment option is to spend the money buying land, building a house or on new renovations.

We were discussing this phenomenon with a friend yesterday. I was describing one day when all three ATM's in town weren't working and I was wishing I had some cash stashed somewhere. Our friend was quick to point out that it's not ATM malfunction people are worried about:
"When SSR (the Soviet Union) ah, what's the word? dissolved, all the money eh...went away (hand motions for disappearing money) And a man is thinking, yesterday I had 15,000 rubles and now, I have nothing. Now we do not trust the bank, we trust the pillow." All the Soviet money was instantly worthless, all of it. Any account in the bank voided, as if it had never existed.

Just imagine that. Everything you've saved, you've worked for, gone. It's not so hard, really. Think of all those banks that failed at the beginning of the crisis two years ago, think about if every person who had money in those banks was now penniless. Think about how the stock market has crashed, how we are all waiting for it to slowly recover. But what if the stock market was never coming back? Or that it existed in New York and L.A. but everyone living in the new countries of Georgia, Montana, and Michigan were no longer a part?
When I think about all of this and compare it with the discomfort the financial crisis in America has caused and can't help but think that maybe I need to be cutting everyone I know in Azerbaijan a lot more slack.

Fifth Time's a Charm?

So we've moved into our new apartment. Inshallah, this will be the last time we move before we finish our service. For those of you keeping score at home, we've lived

1. Host Family in Sumgayit
2. Host Family in Shamaxi
3. "The Jackson Resort"
4. "The Cabin"
5. The Apartment

Living in Azerbaijan taught me that showing peope around your whole house (even bedrooms and bathrooms, gasp!) is a very culturally American thing. But I am an American and this is a good opportunity to show also what the average place is like for Azerbaijanis too. We live on the second floor of a two story row of apartment/townhomey things. So, with no further ado, the Grand Tour in Photos:
The Entryway:

Our Bedroom:


(The "dresser" only holds so much for two people so we had to get creative and make a clothing mural)


Guest Bedroom/Storage Room:


Dining Room/Living Room. When you talk to us on skype, it's the walls of this room that you'll see.

Porchy Kitchen with door to the toilet:

Ah yes, the infamous semi-sit-squat. Take your pick. Bucket flush.
Across the drive from our building each person has their own gated alley. The majority of it is patio with lines to hang laundry. The building has a small storage space and behind it the hamam, or shower room (Note the eggplant I took with us from my old garden):

Classic shower/Water heater combo:




The End!

It's all about who you know

About four days ago, tired from what seemed like a month's worth of travel, I entered my home to find the restful faces of a host family I wasn't expecting. They said hi, waited an hour and then told me we had to go...

Promptly I called Emma and then anyone else that might have been able to help. Within two days we had visited five homes and had decided on our current three room apartment.

When we moved from our first host family's house in April 2009, we were given very few options and it took a while to find a suitable home. However, a year and a half later, I finally feel as if we have made it. We have made it because of the people we have gotten to know.

Today, I took this "It's All About Who You Know" point a little further.

Internet usage in the regions of Azerbaijan is pretty small outside of Internet Clubs. However, we have been fortunate enough to have Internet at our last three residences. The first time we moved it took forever to transfer the coverage from one house to the other. This was because those who have Internet at home DON'T make a habit of moving and thus the people from whom we receive our Internet had little to no experience with transferring coverage. However, this time was very different.

I went in yesterday and spoke with the man in charge of all Internet whatnot in Samaxi. Being that I had done this before, he knew who I was and why this was an issue. However, in true Azeri fashion he hinted that if I wanted to get the Internet transferred I would have to pay him a bribe. I playfully told him that I don't pay bribes and was relying on his Azeri hospitality to help me out. Unhappy though he was, he said that the change would take place the following day (today).

Today I got up and checked the Internet... nothing... so being in a proactive mood I set off for the Internet office. When I arrived, I was told that the man with whom I had been speaking was no longer working there (Maybe because he was taking bribes... though probably not). They also told me that because of this, the very soonest I could expect to have anything changed over would be the first of July. That was of course unless I wanted to pay a full month's amount for the eight remaining days in June. If I did that they could probably help me out. I declined the offer and decided to call in the help of a friend.

The aforementioned friend works in the Internet connectivity office. Over the last year he has helped me out an incredible number of times concerning telephone and Internet issues. I explained the issue and he just smiled, taking note of the point that ONLY this other man could get me my Internet. That, he said, was absolutely wrong. He told me to go home, call his office from my home phone and then he could set us up.

I ran home, picked up the phone and found it dead. Worrying that I might be taking too long I called in the help of another friend. This man was a telephone repairman that had been very kind to me over the year and always said to call if I needed help. Thus, I called, he came and he fixed my telephone problem. An issue that otherwise might have taken two days, was handled in less than two hours. So, after a quick call to my friend in the connectivity office we had Internet. A small victory in the war against unstable housing situations and shoddy infrastructure, but a victory nonetheless.

Really when I look back at the events of the last week I can't help but believe it really is all about who you know.

-Mathias

Photos of the new place will be posted soon.

In America

First of all, let me say that America was awesome. Since most of you were there I won't go into too much detail but the itenerary went something like this:
West Point/Graduation->Party with Relatives->Roadtrip to Georgia->Time with immediate family (Rogers and Jacksons)->Gun Safety->Anniversary Dinner->Bagpipe Competition in South Carolina->Birthdays (Marshall and Emma)->Baseball->Ballet Recital->Brawners Lakehouse. Whew!

In the middle of all this, I tried to jot down a few of the things about America that stuck out to me. Here they are:
~There were more women wearing headscarves in Queens than in Shamaxi.

~The scale of the grocery store made me feel full. For months in Azerbaijan I had been planning shopping lists and when I got there I didn't want to buy anything. I couldn't imagine that there were enough people living in our area to consume everything in just one of the grocery stores. (Compare to Azerbaijan: There are about three bottles of shampoo on the shelf because that's probably all anyone's going to buy that week)

~America is going Green! The milk and ice cream cases turn off their lights when no one is looking (Seriously, you should have seen my face when this happened). CVS gives you a dollar for every three bags you don't take. Also, I know they're not new, but I couldn't stop noticing all the automatic water, flushing, soap dispensing and other germ-free things in airports and other public places.

~We automatically started wearing our clothes only once before washing them again.

~I felt sweatier in America.

~America is COLD. I think the air conditioners must have been cranking at 60. I was stuck in the catch-22 of needing more clothes in almost any building or car and yet wanting to be fashionable and wear less.

~There is so much to do, so many places to go. You cannot possibly be bored. I swam, assembled guns, watched tv, pet a manta ray, played badminton, went shopping, saw a movie, attended a Scottish festival and a ballet recital, ate at restaurants, drank starbucks, drove a car.... (compare: today I have washed socks and read a book).

~With all the opportunities surrounding me, all I wanted was to sit in my mom's "alone time chair". Furthermore, just the fact that my mom HAS an "alone time chair." I noticed one day that every person in the house was in a different room with their own different electronic equipment. And for the first time in my life, I really liked it. (Compare to: A total lack of privacy for the past two years).

~There are a lot of electronics everywhere. It was overwhelming. I need to get a home phone when I get back and tell people just to leave a message.

~Landscaping! Everything is landscaped. There is grass everywhere. Georgia clay remains impossibly red.

Top to Bottom: Gas station coffee (Size of cup); gun safety day (legal weapons in peaceful home); Pool (Men in shorts); Traditional American yard game (grass); National Dress and Music (of Scotland); National Pastime (We actually DO have a National Something!)