Parasites Detection Kit: Not as Cool as it Sounds

Another milestone in our service! We have now been here long enough to participate in mandatory checks for parasites. This involves depositing one's own stool samples in tiny pre-treated vials with the tiny plastic spoon provided. Not once, not twice, but three times. This is maybe one of the most unpleasant things I've done in a while and I'm just bragging that I got it done...

...And then I was thinking of that person in a lab somewhere in D.C. processing the samples of every PCV in the world. That's the true patriot!

MSC Part 2: Escape from Blizzard Mountain

The conference was over. I was sort of sad to be going home, having really enjoyed the company of so many of my friends, being submerged in my own culture for a little while. But while we were sleeping the winter storm hit! By morning things were so bad that our Security Officer decreed no one would be leaving the hotel and we'd be staying for another night.

And this is why I love our group: Was their complaining? sure. But within moments the PCVs started doing what they do best-planning programs. There was a Yoga class in the hallway, card games and board games, an impromptu art gallery where our own Alexis Cohen spoke about her process. In the movie theater (room 305) patrons watched Avatar and Sherlock Holmes in comfy stadium-style seating (bed, chair or floor?).

Imagine you walk into the Hilton in New York. The staff is outside building a snowman and in the lobby there are dozens and dozens of Balinese people walking around in their socks and pajamas. They are playing music in the halls, doing handstands in the dining room. Chattering and laughing hysterically all in a language you can't understand. I think this is why the only two Azeri guests used room service the entire time.

After a day in the hotel we were moved into the city to stay with Ex-pats (my guess? budget concerns) where there were ballet classes and pizza parties and everyone took advantage of the embassy worker's "bat phones" (free calls to America). For pictures, click here. Instead of Thursday, we got home on Tuesday, fully socialized and exhausted.

So I just wanted to say thanks to my fellow AZ6's. Only you could make an emergency/being trapped in a hotel so completely fun. I love our group, what more can I say?

Also many thanks to the Rogers for sending "Settlers of Catan" last winter. It was played non-stop throughout the crisis and enjoyed by many!

MSC Part 1: Lessons Learned

Two weeks ago we had what is called our Mid-Service Conference (though it was held past the mid-point). More than anything this is a time for volunteers from all over the country to get together and exchange experiences, successes and failures. It's the first time since we swore in that our entire group has been together.

One of the highlights of the conference was a man from Turkey who came to tell us about the impact Peace Corps Volunteers had on him as a child. He had two teachers who were PCVs and talked less about what they actually taught but more about how everything about them challenged his perspective-their hair, the way they walked, the way they interacted with the students. He pointed out the young women volunteers and how radical it is in a culture where women really don't leave the security of the home to see a young, unmarried woman working thousands of miles away from home confidently. He talked about how his view of what is possible changed; how he has raised his daughter to be independent and a world traveller.

I think that this was exactly what a lot of us needed to hear. In terms of "changing the world" few PCVs witness anything akin to change and progress. The modern Peace Corps in a lot of countries is not building wells or planting trees, they are teaching computer skills and English. Many of our English students will never be proficient enough to use it in their careers; some of the girls who are will be married to men who won't allow them to work or travel. There still won't be trash pick-up or reliable electricity. So in the end it really is about the relationships we are building more than anything we can see. We got to see and hear about the impact those two volunteers back in the seventies may never know they had (the former student never learned their first names). Needless to say after a year of hard work in a country that doesn't understand volunteerism ("your country sent you here to work for free? What did you do wrong!?") there wasn't a dry eye in the room.

Ice Skating in Heels

It finally came, the first real snow of the winter. Everyone in town seems elated. For weeks students have been telling me that it wasn't really winter because it hadn't snowed (this time last year we'd already endured multiple snow storms). And along with the snow comes adventure and the chance for lots of anthropological study.

First of all, our pipes froze. Luckily we live not far from the bulaq, or spring. We need one bucket to make the toilet flush, the kettle for drinking water, and the jug for washing dishes. I feel like a pioneer girl!

Walking to school is is like walking across an ice rink that just finished hosting 30 second grade birthday parties. I remember last year shaking my head and thinking "They really must not have any lawsuits in this country." There are no salt trucks, no snowplows or shovels. Mathias' ten minute commute becomes thirty. My twenty-five minute commute becomes an hour. It's especially hard because even if the weather changes, the culturally acceptable footwear does not and we are forced to do this in dress shoes and heels. I'm only mildly afraid of hurting myself when I fall. My true fear of falling is because its very embarrassing. Especially because no one else is falling. REALLY. Over two days I fell twice, Mathias said he fell a couple of times, and out of all the people I saw all over town I only saw only ONE Azerbaijani fall down. I reason with myself-in America we have sidewalks that get shovelled, the roads get salted, and I'm from Georgia for goodness sakes! And everyone else in town has been doing this their entire life. I recently read an article about how its actually better to run barefoot, but that people who have been running in shoes forever can't go back. Is this an example of how we become slaves to our technology?

The great thing about the snow was how happy it made everybody. You could just feel it. People were smiling and watching kids sled down the street. Yes, the street, with cars and everything. Apparently I was the only person concerned as fifth grade boys tore down the ice slick (or road) in front of their school, speeding through intersections without a second thought. The sleds have square wooden seats on runners made of pipes. Because of this, they don't steer and in fact I saw more than one kid spinning as they went down. And of course, thoughtful as people here are about bums not getting cold, many of them are outfitted with pillows to sit on. I even saw a very fancy crocheted one! I thought to myself, since I didn't see any girls sledding at all, that maybe that's what the girls get to do. The boys ride, the girls make seat covers. This thought was a little presumptive though as I did see one girl the next day sledding on a side street with her family.

So I'm enjoying the snow as long as I don't break anything on the ice. Don't worry too much, my students have taken to holding my hand and walking me home!

Don't Judge Me 'Cause I'm Trashy

We burn our trash.

When I first got here, the burning of trash was one of the cultural things that bothered me the most. It’s so bad for the environment! It’s so bad for your lungs! I get a horrible headache whenever it’s trash burning day. And until now, I’ve been able to stay fairly judgmental about it through ignorance.

When we lived with a host family, trash wasn’t our responsibility and thus I didn’t have to think about it. Out of sight, out of mind, out of conscience.

In our first home by ourselves we were given two options: pay the trash men 1 manat per pickup (3 manat a month) or sneak across the neighborhood at night to dump the trash in the woods. We nobly chose the expensive route. I felt so environmentalist and smug. Yes, I Emma Jackson, Peace Corps Volunteer, was sacrificing 3 manat a month for my ethics.

A quick note about the trash pickup—There is no trash pickup schedule, no “every Tuesday at 10”. There are no trash bins to be left at the end of your driveway. The way it works is that at three random days and times during the month someone will knock on the door. There will be a big open truck parked on your street and two guys with shovels. You will run inside and collect all the trash you have and hand it to them along with your payment (always in cash). And if no one is at home you ask? Of course there is someone at home, that’s what women are for!

So when we moved here and our landlord told us to burn our trash, we declined and decided we would continue to pay the garbage men instead. We paid them. They never came back. We see them from time to time but they are as elusive as an even-handed comment on Fox News. And so after letting the bags in our kitchen build and build, we have no other option than to dispose of our trash ourselves. And that means burning it or dumping it on someone else’s yard to be torn apart by wild dogs in the night. When we finish burning it, we must then bury it. Otherwise Baby Cat comes inside with her face all black and looking like an extra in Braveheart.

And so I’m a lot less smug these days. And a lot less judgmental of people who really have no viable options. If any of you environmentalist inventors or engineers can come up with a solution, please let me know. Until then:

Recycle all the plastic you can find. Don’t do it for yourself. Do it so that when the fumes of our burning trash reach God’s nose, he’ll balance it out with your recycling indulgences on our behalf and we won’t have to live in the oil baron section when we go to heaven.

A Loss for Words

Why don't I write more often? It's not that I don't write; it's that I don't post. I write blog articles all the time that lay mouldering behind the scenes. The reason for this is that I'm not so confident in my English skills anymore. In part this is because I read a lot of really great blogs by my very eloquent friends and it's intimidating knowing that while I post the equivalent of finger puppets they are posting Nixon in China. And part of it is because I speak and listen to a lot of "Azeri English". My friends call to see if we can hang out and I say tomorrow at 10 will work and they respond "Ok, I wait you." Blame especially falls on my advanced English students and all their questions. Example:
I'm walking down the street with one of my lovely lovely 23 year old students, practicing our English. She says to me:
"How was your going?"
I'm a bit confused.
"Sorry," I say, "Can you repeat that?"
Student: "How was your going? Dünən Necə geldin?"
Me: "Oh, yes, now I understand what your are saying, but that's not how you say it in English."
Student: "How do you say it in English?"
Me: "Ummm....aaahhhh...." Thinking, thinking... "I'm not really sure! Maybe, "how was going home?" no, that doesn't sound quite right..."How was your road?".. noooo. Ah! I got it! "How was your way home?"
Student: "I'm confused."
Me: "Me too."

So bear with me dear reader, a post will come. Just know that right now while you are reading this, I'm sitting at my computer thinking to myself "Is 'I went for often' a sentence?"
Until I do figure that out, I would also encourage you to visit my good friend and fellow AZ6 Julia's very excellent blog for a better picture of what life as a volunteer here is like.

Hippy Skills: Canning

One of the things I was hoping to accomplish while living in Azerbaijan was learning how to can. I prepared over a year ago in America by taking the fabulous Preserving Food at Home Self Study out of the University of Georgia. The only thing that really threw me was that all American information, or all canning information on the web for that matter, assumes you are using ball jars with their fabulous sticky tops and screw lids. People here don't use ball jars, they use these:Notice the implement in the back with the round part and the handle. With these jars, the lids don't actually stick or pop during the boiling process, they are crimped on afterward by hand. After many panicky questions to neighbors and our medical officers I figured if no one else was freaked out, neither would I be (This works for the lack of a lot of things: Lysol, baby gates, toilet paper...). I'm happy to say we've had no ill effects.

So far I've canned 8 quarts of tomato sauce, 4 quarts peaches, 2 jars of Quince preserves, and 4 jars of applesauce.

Canning makes a lot of sense when you can only buy produce in season and its great if you are Scottish. Why Scottish? Example: my peaches cost roughly 1.75 manat to produce while the same amount canned at the store cost 4 manat. Right now apples are 1 Manat for 3 Kilos (roughly $1.20 for 6 pounds!) and won't be easy to find in the summer. Yes, I can feel the approval of the Campbells now!

And its not as hard as you think. Take applesauce:
First peel and core and slice. Put peelings in your compost bin to become worm and plant food and put apple bits in a pan with a quarter to a half inch of water.

Cook apples, stirring and mushing with your spoon until it looks like applesauce.

Then put the applesauce and process in a water bath canner. Mine will look different than yours because I'm using these weird Azeri/Russian Jars. If you've got ball jars, you're done! If you are using what we've got you use your handy crimper thing, spinning the handle around and around the lid, tightening it every round. Check to see that it sealed and you're done!

Not gonna lie, I feel much more satisfied at the end of this than I ever was at the end of "CSI: Miami" (But that might be David Caruso's fault).