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.