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#67) When I Go Home (Dec. 7, 2005): Cara comes home Dec. 13!!
Hey,
You
know last time I was in Oguz Jonathon and I were talking about how we
are going to go home more materialistic than when we joined the Peace
Corps. Usually it happens the other way, I think!
I find
myself thinking about going home...
Here is a
list of stuff I want to buy:
A new
wardrobe
A laptop
computer
A digital
camera
An ipod
Maybe a car
Good food
I’m so
excited to:
-use my
feather pillow (for 2 years I’ve been sleeping on a mini-feather
pillow Peace Corps bought from Lufthansa...they are included with the
price of those outrageous ticket prices, right?)
-sleep on
my comfortable mattress
-drive a
car, ride in a car...on smooth roads
-talk to
whoever I want to
-meet
boys...talk to them...and kiss them if I want to!
-go to
church and sing hymns
-have
reliable electricity, gas, heat, and hot and cold water from the faucet
24 hours a day!!
-check out
books and magazines at the library, such a huge selection!
-watch
interesting shows on TV
-hug my
mother
-play with
my nephews
-go
rollerblading, ride a bike, snow shoeing, and so many other outdoor
activities
-have a
conversation where people don’t ask me: which is better (here or
there), how much money do I make, how much is my rent, how much did ___
cost, teach me English, take me to America, if I’m bored/missing my
family
-sit and
walk in grass
-walk
through flower gardens
-visit
Glacier National Park
-eat
Mexican food and drink margaritas
-be able to
find clothes I actually want to buy (free of sparkles, buckles, zippers,
loops, etc.)
-wear new
clothes, in styles I’ve been without, that aren’t completely
stretched out!
-use a
washing machine
-flush the
toilet and things actually disappear...the smell from the neighbors
doesn’t come through the pipes....
-work in a
kitchen that has counter space, cupboards and a logical layout with
adequate pots, pans, dishes, utensils
-go
wherever I want to, whenever I wan to without having to inform anybody
or ask for permission
-and of
course, see all my friends and family and just be in their presence for
hours
Things
I’ll miss:
-going to
the bazaar for fresh organic fruits and vegetables
-using
fresh inexpensive herbs in everything I prepare
-eating the
farm yogurt
-being able
to walk everywhere I go in town–work is only 7 mins away
-the wide,
tree-lined sidewalks
-using
cheap and convenient public transportation
-a
handwritten letter almost every week from Sherry
-being
surrounded by a swirls of language: Lezgi, Azeri, Russian, Turkish, etc.
-my friends
here
-mercimek,
lahmacun, dolma, plov,
-easily
meeting people all the time
-sitting by
the fountain/river on a hot evening eating ice cream
-saying
“Inshallah” God willing
-my
self-created, flexible schedule, including afternoon naps and time to do
everything
-hanging
laundry on the line outside my 3rd floor window and sending
it flying in the wind
-traveling
to other remote places
-watching
progress, growth, and change
-feeling
like I’m growing and changing...learning all the time
-sending
and receiving text messages that are a conglomeration of English and
Azeri
Things I
won’t miss:
-miserably
hot uncomfortable stinky marshrutka rides where you can’t open any
windows because somebody will get “sick”
-walking in
the street and being stared at, commented on/at
-gender
expectations
-having
THAT conversation: which is better (here or there), how much money do I
make, how much is my rent, how much did ___ cost, teach me English, take
me to America, if I’m bored/missing my family
Things I
don’t think I’ll miss, but it might surprise me:
-kids in
the yard that think I’m a star, “Hello, Cara!” at every coming and
going
-Azeri
music/concerts infusing life all the time
-when the
city electricity shuts off at 9pm and it is quiet and dark (the upstairs
neighbor playing piano)
-seeing
women and men all dressed up...all the time
-having to
take my shoes off in all the houses
-turkish
toilets
-dancing at
Azeri Toys
-drinking
tea with candy and jam...all the time
-being
invited to drink tea all the time
-quick
trips to the market every day
-complaining
about Peace Corps
-the
assumption that almost every sickness is due to cold
Random
thoughts:
-I was in a
taxi recently and this couple kept touching each other and flirting.
It shocked my system! How
will I react when 12 year olds are making out at the movies?
-I saw
“Super-size Me.” Is it
really possible that so much of America is THAT unhealthy?
That’s what I’m coming home to?
Corporate America where making money is all that matters?
Or where people are so busy they don’t have time to cook food?
Or where people drive their cars to go down the street or buy
mobility machines because they are too heavy to carry their own body?
-Are we
really still at war?
--------------------------------------------------
#68) November 2005 (put on-line Dec. 7)
Fall
Fashion:
Looking at
my students today versus the first time I saw them, I can see a huge
difference. Western fashion
has arrived! This Fall many
of my students dress in jeans and denim jackets.
One of my favorites is the one that has HADE written vertically
down the back in shiny sequins. (After
the popular television character from Klon.) Also available now, at the
bazaar and shoe shops, is quite a variety of flat shoes, many of which
look like tennis shoes. In
class two days ago, only one of the girls was wearing high heels.
I reminded them when I first met them, they all wore high heels
and asked, “Why do you wear flat shoes now?”
“Because its more comfortable!”
Maybe they have learned something.
Most women, however, still do not feel free to indulge in these
western fashions and continue to wear suits and high heels.
The men, are also more and more often seen in the street wearing
warm-up pants matching zipped jackets.
They, too, are sporting denim jackets.
Happy
Halloween!
Let’s
face it. Usually this
holiday doesn’t jazz me. I
delighted in it this year! Samira,
one of the neighbor girls, said she wanted to have a Halloween party and
celebrate with me. I prefer
it when people come to me with their ideas rather than me pushing ideas
on them. OK! So I got an
idea for my costume and thought it would be fun, and decided to
celebrate it outright. My
co-teacher informed that she would miss class, again.
I wanted to have fun teaching, as in Not use our horrible book,
so I printed off a copy of the Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allan Poe and
prepared a great lesson. Halloween day began with class.
I set my things down in the back of the class, as is my custom
now, donned a hideous green-warted plastic mask with wild hair and as I
walked to the front of the class and growled, delighted at all the
screams that rewarded me. Now
that I had their attention, we proceeded with our scary Halloween
vocabulary and story. But
we didn’t have time to finish so “YES!” students enthusiastically
agreed to write their own version for the end of the story that evening.
Walking home triumphant through the bazaar, I looked high and low
for a suitable squash. The
small selection were shaped more like gourds and wouldn’t stand
upright. I considered
buying one of the last five watermelons and carving it–but compared to
the summer price of 3 K for 1000 manat, they were exorbitant at 1K for
1500. I couldn’t do that! So
I kept looking and found a 4000 manat green and yellow squash that stood
upright and carried it home. I
called Samira to come over before class.
We cracked the knife through the tough outer layer.
She dug out the guts, but didn’t want to carve the face.
I began with one eye, and soon enough I was able to pass the
knife to her and she got to
make her first jack-o-lantern ever.
A few hours
later, I got inspired to call the neighbor kids to my house. I went back to the bazaar, the long way so I could have a
walk before it got dark, and bought a kilo of candy and told the kids to
stop by around 5pm. I put
the candy on my frisbee, and set the jack-o-lantern on a chair by the
front door, glowing happily through jaggedy teeth from the candle
inside. I taped a
sign to the door that explained that today was Halloween, our scary
holiday. The first two
girls came knocking at 5.05. I
put on that same green mask with wrinkled face and opened the door.
GRRR! Shrieks of
terror exploded from the two little bodies.
Bayram mubarek! I
congratulated them on the holiday and handed them some candy.
As they recovered they got excited and ran off to bring other
victims. They kept coming
and I kept laughing as I scared their socks off one at a time.
Halloween has never been so much fun!
But that part ended too quickly as I had to close up my house and
meet Samira for the party.
I walked
over to school #7, where we would celebrate.
Now this party was just about like any other high school party
I’ve ever been to. There
was a table with some sweets and soft drinks.
The boys and girls sat there eyeing each other and laughing and
talking and joking. We had
no power at the moment, so, as the local Halloween expert,
I suggested we tell scary stories in the candlelight.
I managed to tell the Tell-Tale Heart in Azeri, and it was easy
to do considering that this group of students studied in the Russian
sector and I’m able to speak Azeri more freely than some of them. : )
The power came back on; they put in a cassette and danced.
I managed to be a good sport for a while and even slow danced-Jr.
High style- when invited by one of the boys. One girl in a tight
mini-skirt pouted with arms crossed in the corner as the other girl
played intermediary between the two parties.
A scene I remember well and don’t miss. After
awhile, they tried to organize a game; I thought I’d go crazy from the
noise as they all shout at the same time.
I picked up
my coat to check the time. “Are
you going?” “In a
little bit.” And looked
around the room reflective. As
normal as this party felt, there was something very unique about it at
the same time. We were at school number seven, but we were in somebody’s
home. Beds lined the walls,
stacked with blankets and pillows.
There was a stove, storage buckets and a table.
The walls decorated with wallpaper and framed with gold moulding.
The windows were adorned with lacy curtains.
A carpet on the floor. It
was the home of an IDP, families
displaced from their land over ten years ago now.
Unique, but not special. It
was just life. The kids still acted like kids and they can’t remember
anything different. As we
left, I said good night to the mothers in the hallway, holding children
and smelling the aroma of the dinners they were cooking.
Laundry from the day hung on the lines, almost dry.
And we walked back in the dark cloud-covered night.
Class
work: Recently my
students had to write their opinions about class and the university.
The most interesting response: “I think every teacher must make
love [to] her lesson. If
she can’t make love to her lesson, nobody will love her lesson.”
I find
myself over the last few months thinking about going home and making
these lists...
Here is
a list of stuff I want to buy:
A new
clothes
A laptop
computer
A digital
camera
An ipod
Maybe a car
Food I
haven’t eaten in two years
Cowboy
boots! Strange.
I’m so
excited to:
-use my
feather pillow (for 2 years I’ve been sleeping on a mini-feather
pillow Peace Corps bought from Lufthansa...they are included with the
price of those outrageous ticket prices, right?)
-sleep on
my comfortable mattress
-drive a
car, ride in a car...on smooth roads
-talk to
whoever I want to, especially cute young men
-go to
church and sing hymns
-have
reliable electricity, gas, heat, and hot and cold water from the faucet
24 hours a day!!
-hot
showers anytime
-check out
books and magazines at the library, such a huge selection!
-watch
interesting shows on TV
-hug my
mother
-play with
my nephews
-go
rollerblading, ride a bike, snow shoeing, and so many other outdoor
activities
-sit and
walk in grass
-walk
through flower gardens
-visit
Glacier National Park
-eat
Mexican food and drink margaritas
-be able to
find clothes I actually want to buy (free of sparkles, buckles, zippers,
loops, etc.), or “borrow” from my sister
-wear
clothes that fit and aren’t completely stretched out!
-use a
washing machine
-flush the
toilet and things actually disappear...the smell from the neighbors
doesn’t come through the pipes....
-work in a
kitchen that has counter space, cupboards and a logical layout with
adequate pots, pans, dishes, utensils
-go
wherever I want to, whenever I wan to without having to inform anybody
or ask for permission
-and of
course, see all my friends and family and just be in their presence for
hours
Things
I’ll miss:
-going to
the bazaar for fresh organic fruits and vegetables
-using
fresh inexpensive herbs in everything I prepare
-eating the
farm yogurt
-being able
to walk everywhere I go in town–work is only 7 minutss away
-the wide,
tree-lined sidewalks
-using
cheap and convenient public transportation
-a
handwritten letter almost every week from Sherry
-being
surrounded by a swirls of language: Lezgi, Azeri, Russian, Turkish, etc.
-my friends
here
-mercimek,
lahmacun, dolma, plov, paxlava, tendir bread
-easily
meeting people all the time
-sitting by
the fountain/river on a hot evening eating ice cream
-saying
“Inshallah” God willing
-my
self-created, flexible schedule, including afternoon naps and time to do
everything
-hanging
laundry on the line outside my 3rd floor window and sending
it flying in the wind
-traveling
to other remote places
-watching
progress, growth, and change
-feeling
like I’m growing and changing...learning all the time
-sending
and receiving text messages that are a conglomeration of English and
Azeri
-how a
plateful of fruit is always cut up for guests
-the
“vsf” when you ring someones phone to say hello and hang up before
they answer
Things I
won’t miss:
-miserably
hot uncomfortable stinky marshrutka rides where you can’t open any
windows because somebody will get “sick”
-walking in
the street and being stared at, commented on/at
-gender
expectations
-having
THAT conversation: which is better (here or there), how much money do I
make, how much is my rent, how much did ___ cost, teach me English, take
me to America, if I’m bored/missing my family
Things I
don’t think I’ll miss, but it might surprise me:
-kids in
the yard that think I’m a star, “Hello, Cara!” at every coming and
going
-Azeri
music/concerts infusing life all the time
-when the
city electricity shuts off at 9pm and it is quiet and dark
-seeing
women and men all dressed up...all the time
-having to
take my shoes off in all the houses
-turkish
toilets
-dancing at
Azeri Toys
-drinking
tea with candy and jam...all the time
-being
invited to drink tea all the time
-quick
trips to the market every day
-complaining
about Peace Corps
-the
assumption that almost every sickness is due to cold
Random
thoughts:
-I was in a
taxi recently and this couple kept touching each other and flirting.
It shocked my system! How
will I react when 12 year olds are making out at the movies?
-I saw
“Super-size Me.” Is it
really possible that so much of America is THAT unhealthy?
That’s what I’m coming home to?
Corporate America where making money is all that matters? Or where people are so busy they don’t have time to cook
food? Or where people drive
their cars to go down the street or buy mobility machines because they
are too heavy to carry their own body?
-Are we
really still at war?
--------------------------------------------------
September 20, 2005
#65) Happy Birthday, School Started, Close-of-Service Conference
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
A mound of cellophane, empty boxes, shiny green and red wrapping
paper, fresh flower-laden beer bottles lining the wall, a flashing
Vegas-style tropical scene clock, two kissing doves, a matching set of
Mecca plate and mug, a hand-made Sheki box, homegrown honey, a gold
ring, a dancing ballerina with broken off hand thermometer, a framed
gold-matted Mecca icon, a lace-embellished heart-shaped porcelain
jewelry box, a delicate gold-speckled scarf, a glass picture frame, a
Pringles can with nothing left but crumbs, guitar music, rice shakers,
Nido can drums, CDs, dirty dishes everywhere, two large boxes with
pieces-parts of cake, two sleeping friends, and memories dancing in my
head–those are the remains of my birthday.
What can I say?
I threw myself an amazing, unforgettable party ... : ) Durdana
helped me to make the arrangements on Thursday and Friday; we celebrated
from 3-5 on Saturday. Sometimes
this culture really suits me...waiting until the last minute to make a
decision and arrange things. : ) We booked the Turkish Restaurant, a
synthesizer, and a videographer. We
called and texted *almost* everyone I know (and like) in town. We
ordered paxlava, soda, and not one but two amazingly gigantic and very
floraled glittery frosty birthday cakes–one for each 15 years of my
life! Los quinces we say in
Spanish. : ) I got all dressed up in a simple black dress and people
came and came and came! Around
38? Jonathon surprised me
from Oguz, he brought a new AZ3 named Lucas–Durdana asked him,
“Where is Hadi?” a reference to my favorite show, Klon, which he’s
unfortunately never actually seen.
Kerri came from Sheki and Amy from Ismailly. About 20 of my students, friends from World Vision, Soros,
one of the teachers from the Orphanage, my old neighbors, and my beloved
little “sister,” Samira.
Durdana welcomed
everyone, I said some words, and the dancing began!
Really, it progressed just like a Toy...but unlike a bride, I
smiled the whole time! One by one, Durdana invited a spokesperson from a
group and they toasted me and then we would dance “our” dance. Early on I said, “Let’s have cake!” So they played the
birthday song over and over and over again while I cut the cakes Azeri
style–a big circle in the middle and the slices–no more like fat
wedges–along the outside. Because
it was my party, I danced every dance with my friends and students. Smiles, smiles, smiles everywhere! I couldn’t tell, and I still don’t know, if they were
just having a good time (which they were!) or were especially amused at
my dancing (which they were, I’m sure!), which I kept doing regardless
of how I looked. : ) “You were supposed to give me lessons!”
I shouted over the music to Leyla, one of my students that dances
especially well. “Yes,
it’s my fault.” she replied matter-of-factly.
Ack! The video
camera planted itself on me almost the whole party, so you’ll be able
to judge for yourself...the difference between me and my Azeri friends.
The music blaring, sweat dripping, smiles and laughter and kind
words, photographs at the end. I
can’t wait to watch my video “montage” they call it...and to send
it to you!
My celebration
didn’t end there. We
carted all the gifts, flowers (fresh and silk), left-over cake, and a
gift cake home. Almost
three whole cakes somehow remained!
Let’s give it to the neighbor kids!
Armed with camera, cake, knife and napkin, we called them.
I expected a tromping, but for the first time, they came rather
shyly. We probably cut that
cake up into about 30 slices and made our distrubutions in two separate
parts of they yard. We
climbed back upstairs and about ten minutes later, while opening all the
gifts, I heard a commotion from the hallway and knocking at my door.
“Tebrik ederiam!” They
all exclaimed as a huge pile of neighbor kids handed me a bouquet of red
roses. Sweet!
A few beers and
gift-admiring later, we walked out to the river, blowing kisses to our
Heydar statue as we went, to watch the sunset and play.
There are these little swings–the “Yalanchi”, like the
dragon swing at Knott’s Berry Farm, but they are people-powered. Higher and higher we flew...then the “Gunesh” a little
ferris wheel, and a carousel with mounted camels, horses, and elephants.
Back home via my favorite walkway through the pine trees.
And then began our night of music as we busted out the guitar and
accompanying noise makers and sang, laughed and told stories until three
in the morning!
And that...ended my
very Azeri birthday in Mingachevir....for now...today I’m distributing
more left-over cake to the neighbor families in my building and taking
the rest of the cake and music to the orphanage to dance and celebrate
with them for a bit...
Medical Thoughts:
The mother called the
doctor on the phone after hours, at his home.
It was an emergency. “Can I bring my girl to see you?
One of her eyes is really watery...[and] she ate a lot of
walnuts.” He said bring
her. Three days later I followed up on it. “He said it was from the cold.
He gave me a shot and sent me home.”
All better.
School Started:
I was prepared for
“Knowledge Day” this year! By
that, I mean I did absolutely nothing in preparation!
The night before the first day of classes I asked Durdana about
our schedule, and I wasn’t disappointed.
She didn’t know. I
did learn something new, though. The
jockeying of schedules is a money-making venture.
The directors wait until all the teachers are back and
continually revise the schedules...giving more classes and better
schedules to those teachers who pay for them.
For the most part, though, my schedule has been set.
All the speech practice classes have been moved from the first
lesson of the afternoon (1pm) to the first lesson of the morning (8:30).
This is unfortunate for me because I prefer to cook in the
mornings when the gas is good, go to the bazar in the mornings when the
food is the freshest, and exercise in the mornings when the air is fresh
and there are the fewest amount of spectators!
At
our first day of school this year, again, they played a scratchy
recording of the Azeri National
Anthem. Again, nobody sang.
Again the most important men gave speeches (Directors and Deans).
The notable part about this year’s first day of school is that
I also gave a speech. In
Azeri! I had a few minutes
to confer with Durdana about what to say.
I wished them a good year. I
said I was happy to live in Azerbaijan for 2 years and have learned a
lot from them. I wished
them to study and learn a lot. And
that there be peace in the world. (Somehow
seems appropriate as I work for the Peace Corps.) I’m not so good at
these speeches, but I’m getting better. I think. The
fact is that regardless of how good (or not) my speech is, and how good
(or not) my Azeri is, people are touched and amazed at the effort...that
this American is here and she works with us and is learning our
language. In the end, that’s all it takes to bring Peace to the
world. : ) You could do it.
And then Durdana and I checked the most recent version of the
schedule and went to have tea because we had no class to teach for the
day.
Close-of-Service
Conference:
At long last, it
arrived! I went to Baku on
Monday. With high hopes of
bonding with my fellow volunteers, I decided to check into the official
Peace Corps hotel, the Azerbaijan, with Amy, and give it one last
chance. The rooms on our approved 4th floor were all full,
as were the rooms on the 8th floor.
They sent us up to the 10th floor. We walked down the well-used hallway, and unlocked the door
to our room. An ancient
television, ripped carpet, scummy tiles in the bathroom, cigarette burns
on the arm chair...and probably lice infested beds did not impress me. YUCK! I stepped
into the hallway and called PC to say No Way am I staying here–safety
and security concerns--as these creepy guys eyed me up and down as they
walked by. (Baku has really
high end hotels for the oil men and really low end hotels for men with
their special gal of the evening or hour, but next to nothing in the
middle) Thankfully, I have friends in town who were once again kind and
welcoming to let us crash with them.
Tuesday, a rather
unfortunate day. I had my
Azeri language exam–which I’ve somehow managed to use rather
sparingly since summer began, so it was not as rewarding as it could
have been. Then I got the
word that my request to end my service two lousy days early was denied,
and the message was delivered in a way that was not so kind.
So, I then got to sit through a meeting with my tear-stained
face, where we received the news that the original plan for our
conference had changed due to water problems and we might have to stay
the week in Baku (at the horrible Azerbaijan hotel!).
We waited while they scrambled to come up with a new plan.
We loaded up busses
and headed out to the Guba Olympic Training Center. Ah! Little
cottages with comfortable beds, clean rooms, hot water, the BBC, set in
the middle of an immacculate compound that even had real grass beside
the mountains. We actually
had free time and I got to swim in a beautiful olympic pool, sit in a
sauna, lay in the grass, and run on the track.
The food, with lots of salads, tasted quite delicious.
In our sessions, we talked about our accomplishments, goals we
had met, work that is still left to do, writing our resumes, filling out
our PC paperwork, how to say good-bye, how to help our communities say
good-bye to us, and favorite memories.
In the evenings, we had a dance, a slide show, movies, free time.
At our final lunch, we (Kerri, Christian and I) had prepared some
entertainment. I painted up
my eyes with gobs of black mascara and dramatic eyeliner and closed my
head in a pink scarf–I was Hadi from my favorite show Klon. Keri wore
a white doctor suit and hat with large fluffs of lamb’s wool for
eyebrows–she was Dr. Alberie. I’ve
never really acted before and Christian had been kind enough to give us
Acting 101 during our free time. Our
parody of this show got a lot of laughs, many more than I could have
hoped for:
“Doctor, I’ve
come to ask you one thing. I’m
so worried!”
“Please, I’m
listening.”
“....How is it
that your godson looks so much like Lucas?”
“Hmm.”
“Explain it to me,
Doctor.”
“He doesn’t look
like Lucas. He’s
Lucas’s clone.”
“For God’s sake
Doctor, tell the truth! I’m
not just asking. It’s my
destiny, we’re talking about my destiny!
Why does that boy look just like Lucas?”
“Because he’s
Lucas’s clone. Lucas’s
clon.”
“Clone?”
As it went on, I got
less nervous and it became really fun to be Hadi!
I might try acting again, but in English next time--we did this
in Azeri! : ) I had also asked for letters from our former staff.
Following is a poem that our previous country director, Bill
Levine, crafted and sent to us:
YOU’VE (ALMOST) DONE IT!
When E-mailed by Cara and asked to contribute
A poem or letter that she would distribute
At your COS, I said, “Sure, ‘twill be easy.”
But then as time passed, I began feeling queasy.
For while it is true, I remember you all;
Twenty-four separate anecdotes-- could I recall?
Stories funny, or sad that I just had to mention—
How could I possibly hold your attention?
Instead, let me ask you all please to remember
As you count down the days between now and December
That no matter how many posts Peace Corps has run
There will only be you to be Azeri One.
Only you spent that winter in Two-Oh-Oh-Three
Freezing your butts around old Devachi,
And trying to learn TEFL teaching dynamics,
While digesting endless donors at the Ramix.
The Thanksgiving meal that you made that November
Along with the show, surely you will remember.
You swore in and moved out to home stays and schools
And struggled to hone your Azeri and tools,
That would make you effective in classroom and town,
And slowly you gained a sense of renown.
Of course there were breaks. You were relieved of testing,
And you learned some new English words—how about “Guesting?”
It wasn’t all work, when the urge really struck you,
You jumped a Marshrutka and headed for Baku.
Well, some more than others flew under the radar
And characterized staff as the kin of Darth Vadar
As policies aimed at your health and well being
Were perceived by a few as army MP-ing.
Some of you opted to find your own flats
And discovered the joys of going to the mats
With landlords and ladies who promised you all
‘Till you moved in and found you’d got little at all.
The GLOW Camps, the Day Camps, Azlanders you’d write,
And who will forget Summer Schools and Twelfth Night?
For me—well, for me—I will always remember
The way you all looked on that night in September
When you stepped on the buses and pondered your fate
And were whisked off to training in Sumgayait.
Watching you even then, to we staffers it seemed
That somehow you were providentially teamed.
Two years later, I know that I still feel the same
You’ve done it and fulfilled the “why for” you came!
I’ve never been prouder when all’s said and done
To be able to say I was part of Group One.
A very small part, to be sure, that is true
For the “guts and the glory” are all due to you.
In these times of troubles, of war without cease,
Be proud what you’ve done to help foster peace.
Your commitment to excellence won many hearts--
Your students, their parents, and yes, counterparts!
You’ve shown there’s a side to our country that’s great
Reaching far beyond leaders, or red or blue state.
AZ Ones, I can say what I know no Azeri can,
You represent the best in being American!
Peace and love,
Bill
The conference ended
too quickly, but I appreciated the opportunity to have the time to
reconnect with our group–Azerbaijan #1.
Really, as a group we feel quite proud of all that we’ve
learned and accomplished here...and we have some amazing memories.
We loaded up on a
nice bus and headed back to Baku. I
went out dancing and then to church on Sunday, visited a few more
orphanages on the peninsula, washed my laundry in a machine, played
Settlers of Catan with my Baku friends, attended my last VAC meeting
(total meeting time, 5 hours?!), and closed out my 1% Fund bank account.
(Now I’m finishing up my paperwork).
It feels good to be bringing closure to some of my
responsibilities.
Laughs At Crew
Practice: one day the boys were explaining about Islam to me, one of the
other boys on the team--that he’s not too smart.
(But he is really funny!) At that very moment, Islam, already on
the water and not able to hear anything they were saying, for no reason
whatsoever, brayed like a donkey. Hee-haw!
We all laughed. He’s the same kid that’s in love with Mary Kate and
Ashley Olsen. “Do you
know them? Have you seen
then? Can you help me meet
them?” He has high hopes. And today, the coach taught me about the healing qualities of
cats, “Wherever you hurt, your leg, your kidneys, your shoulder...you
can [literally] put a cat on it and it’ll remove the pain.”
I never knew. I don’t have a cat, so you try it, and let me know how it
works.
---------------------------------------
August 28, 2005
#64) August (newest to oldest)
Mingachevir
Regatta: We had our
big meet this weekend. I
raced. I won.
And I now am the proud owner of an official “diplom” from the
city, that says I’m the Champion. : ) After my race yesterday, which
was the first one of the meet, the coach took me on the water in the
speed boat for the best views of the starts and finishes.
Time in Azerbaijan kills me sometimes, its all so relaxed. Punctuality and efficiency are American values, after all.
The meet was supposed to start at 9:30 this morning.
I’ve adjusted to my life here, and showed up around 10am, not a
bit surprised to find them all still sitting around.
Then the coach walked upriver to get the speed boat.
“Take your time getting into the water,” he told them all.
After the first race of the day, the boat motor died.
Someone else had to come and row us to the dock.
I thought about the next group of boys, sitting on the water,
ready and waiting for their race to begin.
It took us at least ½ hour to get back to shore.
The man who helped us tried to guest us with tea.
We managed to escape and walked back, another 15 mins.
He sent a boy rowing out to the start line (another 15 mins) to
begin the race. I sat
around for awhile, and finally we went to watch the last race of the
day–the 4 person boats. It
ended quickly and I sat around some more.
I ended up talking to a Turkish man who made many of the mosaics
around town! The beautiful
one at the rowing center took about 3 months to make he said.
(It’s now falling apart.)
We waited some more...the boys took their boats out of the water,
swam a bit, and then decided to have one more race.
They carried their boats and oars back to the water.
It was now 1pm and I was hungry. I went in the dark, musty,
stinky, dusty office, “I’m outta here.”
The coaches were filling out the diploms, “we’ll be done in
20 mins. Stay. Sit down
here and rest. You need to
get your certificate.” I
grudgingly stayed, but out by the river, knowing that it would not be
just 20 mins. And 1 hour
and 15 mins later the 10 minute ceremony began and ended.
I got my diploma, shook the coaches hands, the boys all clapped
for me, and I raced home to get some food.
It
really happens: Every
now and then I have a day that’s so great, so magical, I wonder why it
is that I’m not staying. Today
was one of those days. It
started out at 7:30 in the morning when I headed out for my bazar trip.
The morning cool, the produce fresh.
I remembered to grab my plastic bucket, so my fruit wouldn’t
squish in the bags. I
bought 3K of grapes to give to the orphans, some green beans, and I
found some beautiful white corn that was “sulu” full of water!
(The last corn I got was hard and yellow and I felt like a
domestic animal trying to eat it.)
I returned to the house, ate breakfast, woke up my PCV house
guests and we headed out to meet the rest of our crew.
On the way saw a
friend who was going to work. Say
hello to Ulviyya, I said. We
sped to the orphanage in two taxis as there were 7 of us.
Relatively quickly we gathered up the children, only 9 today, as
many had gone to their houses over the weekend and hadn’t returned
yet. Yes, did you know most
of these children do have families?
They aren’t really orphans in the traditional sense of the
word. The doctor was late,
again, but she gave her permission over the telephone to take them
before she arrived. We were
off.
As we
walked to the beach, we snacked on grapes.
I talked with Sadet, one of the teachers at the orphanage who has
been accompanying us. I
really like her! She’s 28
and a very smart, kind girl. As
I explained how we were going to clean up the beach, she said, “we
should get garbage cans and place them on the beach and then people can
toss their trash into the cans.” Oh! What a
genius! She’s right! From my experience, if there are garbage cans, Azeri’s will
put their garbage into it–that’s what they did during Soviet times.
But now there aren’t many garbage cans so they throw it
everywhere and anywhere. That’s
a very do-able project I would love to work on.
And there is a smart girl to work on it with.
But I don’t have enough time!
Too bad I didn’t meet her earlier.
Then we talked about one of the orphanage boys, but really,
he’s gone through puberty so he’s rather more like a man–one that
likes to take his pants off. (I’ve
told you many of the kids at the orphanage have illnesses and
disabilities, right?) She
says to me, “All of us girls [co-workers], we see him and decide no
way! We don’t want to get married!
It’s too scary!” I
just laugh as I could imagine their horror at seeing strange body parts
they would just prefer to stay far away from.
She says she hasn’t gotten married yet because she hasn’t
found someone she likes, “with good character.”
I understand that. I
love her openness, sense of humor, and honesty.
We arrived
at the beach and began to pick up garbage.
To my surprise and delight, quite a few of the locals began to
help us! It became a team
effort. Plastic bottles,
empty cigarette boxes, lots of underwear (!), wrappers, glass particles
and decaying corn cobs quickly filled up our bags.
The kids swam, shrieks of delight and lots of splashing!
And unlike last week when we arrived so late, they had 45 minutes
to swim until we put them with Sadet on the bus to return to the
orphanage. The bus driver
is very kind; he transports the orphan children for free.
Five of the
seven PCVs hung out at the
beach until the next bus at 1pm. Hannah
and I swam out to dive off the pier.
The water was so clear, for the first time, I could see really
deep to the iron toward the bottom.
I dove with some of my diving buddies–I’ve got lots of
them...all little boys.
I saw my
PCV friends off to the bus, and picked up my post.
Yesterday evening eating ice cream at the river I saw Ruslan, my
post man. “Hello, Cara!
He said with a smile. You
have two letters! Come and
get them!” So I did.
I know everyone in the post office.
They lady that used to give me a hard time is now on maternity
leave. :
) I came back home, reading my letters with good news and pictures of my
beautiful Glacier National Park, got lunch, napped for a bit, showered,
and read my book.
For the
first time in a long time, I’m studying and enjoying my Azeri. I had bought Ali and Nino in Azeri, and decided August
would be the time to read it. Language
is so funny, how I learn it; it fascinates me.
I guess it’s just part of my natural acquisition process. I
reviewed the sounds of the vowels so I could practice reading out loud.
And there are so many things I’ve been saying wrong! (I
suspected it...) Now from reading, I see what letters (vowels) they
should be (there are nine vowels in Azeri.) I think, I should have done this a LONG time ago!
Perhaps people would have understood me better.
People I talk to on a regular basis are accustomed to my speech,
but talking to strangers can sometimes be a little more work.
But instead of beating myself up over it, I just think perhaps I
just wasn’t ready. So
again, I’m excited to be learning Azeri.
And I feel sad. I’ve invested so much energy learning this
language and I don’t think I’ll be able to use when I return.
It makes me want to stay. I
feel that my language is now, again, going to improve
significantly...and I’m enjoying it so much, after so much work, I
want to reap the benefits.
My friend,
Aynur called me. Did you
hear that? My friend.
I realize that I have a friend.
(And that is exciting!) She
apologized for not coming earlier in the morning like she said she
would–she woke up too late. When
are we going again? “ I
saw that the children didn’t have any clothes to wear.
I asked all my relatives and neighbors to give her clothes for
them.” That touched my
heart.
Tonight I
went to dump my garbage. You
know, we just dump it on this special spot in the road/curb in the
evenings. In the morning
the truck comes and shovels it up.
I had planned to go to the internet and send off an email and
then find some women and sit in the cool evening air near the fountain
near my house. It’s my
new hobby, sitting at the fountain. During the daytime, its man’s land. I’ve recently discovered that at night, it’s also
women’s land! I’ve
met quite a few nice women, and almost every time I go, I see someone I
know. On my way, I walked
down a path I hadn’t gone down in awhile and one of my old neighbors,
standing at her 1st floor balcony window, called to me.
“Gonag ol!” she
said, be my guest. “Thank
you!” I said, which is
also conveniently, “good bye” in Azeri.
But I didn’t leave and we talked a bit more, about her son that
didn’t pass his university entrance exams, that is waiting to be
called into the army, and will go to the 3 month Mingachevir school for
chauffeurs to drive bus. “Gel, chai ichaek!”
(Come! Let’s drink
tea!). Why not?
There was something different and inviting about her. I could
feel that she had a different aura about her than most Azeri’s. Much softer, much more, I really can’t put my finger on it,
gentle? Perhaps. She’s
very religious. She’s
quite lonely, which is mostly why I went.
She told me stories about her first husband and how he died from
an illness–they didn’t have any children.
She told me about how God has provided for her, Ramazan and the
fast, how people are sinners, how God is good, and some miracles she’s
seen in her life. We talked
about making jam and compote. She
reminisced about the good old Soviet days when the nearby hotel (now
filled with internal refugees) filled up with foreigners and a friend
she had that came to crew on the river.
They met when the girl admired her flowers, she used to grow so
many! And now we have a
date tomorrow after I crew to go to the bazar and find some good zogal
to make my favorite jam. : )
So, I sit
here, at the end of the day, reflective about my life.
Yes, I’ve had so many challenges living here! But today, it feels as if its all come full circle.
It feels successful and worth the effort.
Real conversations with real people.
Now I walk around town, and I see people I know everywhere.
I’ve learned my language and I can speak with them.
I feel safe, comfortable, and happy. I adjusted...and this is my
home. I see growth, I see
progress, and I feel the hope. People
at the beach willing to pick up garbage with us.
Sadet wanting to install garbage cans.
Aynur collecting clothes for the orphans. I feel good all around me.
And I’m happy.
Update
on our new mayor: Sad
to report my first instinct was right according to my most recent
information: he’s really rich because he’s really good at
corruption. A real
professional they say. It’s
true he did make the local directors pay to re-do the sidewalks and main
street. (I feel like a
traitor writing this information because its so bad.)
However, he had them take it out of their work accounts, and he
made them take out a lot. Then
he kept a lot for himself and paid for the projects with the rest of it.
And he’s been visiting all their offices, inviting them to keep
their jobs, for a price. And
its not a small debt, either. One
director paid $10,000. It
wasn’t enough, and he didn’t have more to give, so he had to resign.
The education director recently had to sell his large house and
buy an apartment. He still
has his job. The reason I
know all this? I have a
trusted friend who’s father is also a director and is in quite a moral
quandary. According to her,
he’s always kept his books clean, and here when he’s so close to
retirement, will either have to take money from his organization, find
the money somewhere else, or potentially lose his job.
It’s also interesting that the improvement projects–sidewalks
and roads, also benefit the new mayor as his family owns both
businesses. They are
painting up the drama theater, too, and its looking nice.
It’s an election year. It’s
an election year. It’s an
election year.
Pass the
baton: It’s
happened. Congratulations to Azerbaijan Group number three!
They swore in as volunteers on August 5.
In Mingachevir, we have two new TEFL volunteers, Chris and
Hannah, and the first business volunteer, Tom.
And despite the fact that Tom is a Husky, I really like them.
First of all, Hannah LOVES Spanish and Spanish music.
That bodes well for a fantastic friendship!
Tom makes me laugh–he wants to invent the “man fan.”
And Chris is just a nice guy.
Secondly, they help with the work–they are excited and very
willing to participate in the orphan project.
Third, they make me feel like I’ve come a long way and really
learned so much! They have
questions burning in their hearts: How much does a bus cost?
Where do you do your internet?
Will it be easy to find a house?
And I have a lot to say. But
should I tell them? After all, there was nobody here to help me.
I had to find it out all on my own...isn’t it part of the
experience? It was for me. If they ask, I tell.... “In my experience...” and most of
the time, I hope that their experience will be different, better, and
easier. The fourth and most
important reason I love them so much already, is that they are going to
share and continue the work. All
of a sudden, I don’t feel like all the responsibility is on my
shoulders to teach this whole town English.
I always knew I couldn’t; but the people in the city seemed to
think it was my job to teach them all personally.
The orphans will have new friends and advocates.
AzETA Mingachevir Branch can continue to put along at its own
pace, with their support as needed.
More teachers will begin to access the available resources.
My students will potentially find a great new friend that is
closer to their age...and in a few short years teach and apply to get
their own Peace Corps Volunteer to work with!
Summer
Yard Work: I’ve
noticed that August must be the official hot season for yard work.
Now, more so than the rest of the summer, the women do two main
jobs in the yard. One: they
clean the carpets. Two:
they clean the mattresses.
For the
first job, most women find some sort of plastic to lay on the
ground–usually they find an asphalt patch to put it on.
It’s either clear plastic from an old purchase, clear plastic
that costs 1000 a meter from the bazar, or a blue tarp.
I have yet to find the store that sells those!
(I haven’t actually looked, either.)
Then they have/find a long hose that they hook up to the yard
spigot. They hose down the
carpets really good. Some
women use the long stick/”mop” to scrub it down.
Some use a hand scrub brush.
Most of the time there are bubbles from the laundry detergent.
They rinse it off really well and finish with a “neft rinse.”
Neft is gas, and if you put this diluted kerosene on your rug, it
will keep the bugs out. Then they lay it over the parallel bars in what used to be
the children’s playground to dry.
The sun is so hot, it doesn’t take that long, which is why
August is official rug cleaning month, I believe.
After which, they roll it up, tie it with a small rope, and set
it in the corner of the house until the weather is cool again.
For the
second job, women either sit on the flat platform, about 1 ½ foot off
the ground or sit on that piece of plastic they bring out.
They have already untied their mattresses and removed all the
lamb’s wool. The first
thing they do is whack it with a three-pronged stiff metal whip or
wooden stick. Whap! The wool
hangs onto the prongs, shake, shake, shake...dust and little particles
float in the air. And seem
to land right back on the heap. Whap! Shake, shake, shake. Whap!
Whap! Whap!
Slowly the pile of un-whapped wool gets smaller and the pile of
whapped wool gets larger until the wool has all been “cleaned.”
Then comes the washing stage.
They pile all the wool into buckets, which they fill with water
from the yard spigot. They
let it sit for a few hours and rinse. Then they set it on the plastic tarps to dry in the hot
August sun. (No threat of
rain right now!) After it
is all dry, they have already washed the cloth stuff sack of the
mattress, they refill, and restitch it closed.
On to the next mattress. Remember,
each wife has a dowry of about six of these mattresses that the family
doesn’t really use other than for decoration, plus the everyday
mattresses. If they do one
mattress a day, this is easily a ½ months work!
Remodeling:
You know its time to “redo” your house when you clean it and it
still doesn’t feel clean, according to my neighbors.
It’s been 10 years since they have remodeled their house.
In the process of remodeling, you have to strip everything down
to the brick walls and floorboards and start all over again mudding up
the walls, painting them, and especially painting the floors with that
really glossy reddish brown paint.
It’s a Very Dusty Job (not to mention noisy) that takes a few
months. They do one room at
a time. And the way people
pay for labor? Usually
lunch is included in the arrangement.
If you feed your workers, they can work a longer day.
If you don’t feed them, then they don’t work as hard and
leave earlier...supposedly to go home and eat.
A summer
morning:
I woke up at 7am and grabbed a book to start the day...it had
thoughts of serving and grace...
I got up
and thought I should do my cooking before it gets too hot.
I cooked another batch of granola and made some chigirtma--tomatoes
and eggs for breakfast, with some fresh figs on the side. I investigated
the sticky red mess on the bottom of the refrigerator–one of my
tomatoes had gone bad and gotten squished.
I cleaned up that mess and put all my fruit into a bowl.
I boiled some water and cleaned the dishes.
After too many days, I finally got enough energy to do the
floors. The dust here is
incredible. Having clean
floors is very refreshing. It
is just a lot of work. A
volunteer in Ganja said she has to clean her floors everyday.
And that it takes two hours!
I thought it was just me. There
is no way to make it faster, except to pretend like the corners don’t
exist or cleaning behind the arm chairs, like I did today.
But I did move the small chairs, and most of the large items on
the floor–but not all. It
still takes a long time and feels dirty about the same amount of time
later. I scrubbed the tub, put in two buckets of laundry to
soak, and got myself clean–with half with the left over warm water and
half cold water. I was
feeling quite hot from all the work.
And now I sit here, having an almost clean house.
My desk is still a mess and so is the coffee table.
It is filled with stacks of books, music, papers, half written
letters, recent arrivals that I want to read again that I tend to rotate
through, and my journal. My
current collection of books are as follows in Azeri: Ali and Nino, Latin
script. My language and confidence has deteriorated rapidly so I’ve
committed myself to reading at least 10 minutes a day.
Spanish: People magazine and La Casa de los Espiritus, recently
arrived in a care package and just tempting me to never leave my house
or do any of my other work, not to mention the latest and fantastic
release by Shakira, Oral Fixacion I.
English: Ataturk: The Rebirth of a Nation, Cappadoccia, The Bible
(reading Romans), Our Daily Bread, The Confessions of Saint Augustine,
Colossians and Philemon Bible Study, The Catcher in the Rye, Where There
is No Doctor (I recently diagnosed myself with a boil. Ever had one of those?), the first official edition of a
Peace Corps Azerbaijan Volunteer Handbook, hot off the presses after 22
months of confusion, the most recent edition of the Azlander, Peace
Corps Azerbaijan’s Newsletter, Worldview (Summer 2005), Newsweek (July
11). The Russian hasn’t
made it back onto the table yet...except for the tape recorder (needs
new batteries) but I’ve got the TV tuned to a Russian station and I
understand almost nothing. I
think its time to finish up some of my selections and move on.
I’ve got another stack of books in the back room waiting to be
brought out. On my desk, I
have all the paraphernalia for my grad school class, which I just
can’t seem to get myself motivated to do.
My pictures from Turkey and my most recent hiking adventure, get
moved around and looked at often!
Swearing
in–group #3: Today
the third group of volunteers swears in.
And I’m sitting in Mingachevir cleaning and doing what I need
to do. So why didn’t I go? I
really can’t say. I
don’t really have anything going on here.
In fact, almost all of my Mingachevir friends and acquaintances
are gone on vacation. Its
really quite lonely at the moment.
One big reason is the prospect of sitting on a bus for 10 hours
sweating. Another reason is
that I don’t know any of them since I didn’t help out with their
training. And since having
been gone for a month, I really feel like I need to be here. Its kind of interesting, really.
When I first got to Mingachevir, I didn’t leave for Baku for
the first 3 months; I felt like I had a lot of work to do here to get to
know my community. And now
that we are coming up on the end, I again, feel like I need to be here,
to wrap things up.
Talking
with the neighbors (women) in the yard:
“My
stomach hurts,” says one.
“Did you
spend too much time next to the air conditioner?
You were sitting by the fan...” diagnoses the other.
I think
its heaven, but its really all just a dream...a hiking trip:
I met Amy
in Ismailly and the next morning we took a shared cab to Gabala where we
finished buying our supplies and found a driver to take us out to Laza
village–a Lezgie village–at the end of the dirt road. His name was
Royad and we stopped in the middle of the village where all the men were
busy sitting. He explained
who we were and that we were looking for a guide to take us through the
mountains to Xinaliq. We
had an offer of $100 for two horses.
But we only needed a guide, and one horse at that.
We discussed, and decided we could pay $50.
Royad saw we had no takers and put us back in the car, a suped-up
Lada with power windows, nice radio, and air conditioning, and drove us
up the hill a little ways to his house.
We met his mother, father, sister-in-law, and nieces. The small
baby was swinging in a basket made of sticks and a flour sack–wrapped
up in blankets as if it were the middle of winter.
They served us tea and homemade bread, tomatoes and cucumbers.
We discussed the proposition of going to Xinaliq. Unlike all the
Azeris we talked to about this, they didn’t say “No, you can’t do
that! It’s dangerous!
You’ll get eaten by bears!”
Instead they simply informed us that we would be staying the
night with them with a 5am departure the next day. Royad would ask
around to find a guide for us and if he couldn’t find anyone else, he
himself would take us. So
that left the afternoon free to explore.
Royad hiked
us up the hill/mountain behind their house.
We looked over one hill into the town of Gabala.
We kept climbing higher, along the ridge now, past the tree line
and into a steep field of wild flowers--queen anne’s lace among other
things. And we sat on the
edge and looked onto the village of Laza, the river valley we’d hike
the next day, and talked and napped under the blue sky. We headed back down and the family fed us some of the best
bozbash I’ve ever had. Really,
its soup you know, but they serve it with a fork.
You are supposed to eat enough bread to soak up all the liquid
and fill up your stomach. Then
they showed us to their guest room, prepared for us, filled with
guesting mattresses, pillows, a table, and dishes...the brides dowry.
We rested awhile and decided to get ready for bed, when we were
invited to tea. “They
prepared the samovar for us Cara, we have to drink tea,” Amy said.
So we sat at the table some more, and drank more tea.
We refused an offer of dinner.
We confirmed that we were leaving at 5am.
We went to bed.
At 4:40am
the mother came in, “DUR!” she barked at us.
“I’ve got the motor running!”
Which meant hurry, I guess, since she had to use gas to run the
motor. We were able to turn
the lights on, put our clothes on and made final preparations. Royad met us and we said goodbye to his mother.
We were off.
Darkness covered us. A few stars sparkled in the sky between the clouds as we wound our way through the village, over and up. I thought we were supposed to go into the river valley? “We’re taking the other route, so we don’t have to be detained by the passport control office.” The small sliver of the moon peeked out as we walked through the meadow, lighting our way. Quite magical, quiet. Then into the tree cover, where it was dark! I think my pupils were so dilated, they were about to burst! Is that possible? Walking over steep sections of scree, with a heavy pack, I had to concentrate and struggle not to misstep or fall. I imagined my self slipping and falling down the steep hill to my right. My eyes fatigued, I pulled out my head lamp. Not as romantic as walking in the dark, but much safer. We arrived at