Dear everyone,

Summer in Azerbaijan means no break from the heat. Most of the country is 35 degrees of hotter (in Celcius of course). It's far easier to stay in the mountains of Lerik. But I have ventured to the Baku heat to provide this update.

I know it's been a while. I think my last update was before Novruz! Oi, that was a long time ago. So much has happened and hasn't all at once. It's true what they say. The 2nd year is when everything finally settles. This is the time when you realize what you've done and what you have left to do. It can weird to be so happy in a place when some of your peers definitely can't wait to get out. I seriously considered extending a third year to finish up projects. Staying a bit longer is always tempting. A part of my heart will always belong to the people of Azerbaijan (especially those in Lerik). Emily and Martin came in May, and I loved showing them around. Two weeks in Germany with my family recharged my batteries, and now I'm spending time with my host family in Masazir. A little bit more than 4 months remain, and I'm having a hard time knowing that it'll be done soon. While I am ready to stay, it is time to go home and to build my life there. I promise to write more later, but I wanted to give y'all a quick update!

Cheers,Amy

Hillary Clinton visits Azerbaijan!

Look, people in America have heard of Azerbaijan.

Mason and I went on a hike to the neighbouring village of Jangamiran. It is home to an old cemetery with tombstones dating from the 5th century (supposedly). The hike is a really easy, and I love the gorge at the beginning of the hike. Here are some tombstones. The sheepies are just for you, Laura.

Turban-like Tombstone

Flower or Sun Motif Tombstone

Sheep!

Design on Side of the Sheep (same on every sheep)

Chicken in front of my school

Rooster Chick

Rooster Head

One day, Jessica and I were walking to Mason's new apartment and we saw a shack on the back of a truck! We were all kind of shocked. Where were they taking this shack?

Answer: They dumped it on the side of the road somewhere on the road between Lankaran and Lerik.

Peace Corps countries in Caucasia have a trans-Caucasia competition called the Writing Olympics. The Writing Oympics is a English Language Writing Competition; students write on assigned topics in their villages. The essays are judged for a national competition and then go on to the trans-Caucasian judging in Georgia.

Writing Olympic Info

I volunteered to help judge Azerbaijan's WO this year. Grammar and spelling are not factors in this competition because we are looking to develop creative thinking with this competition. Nevertheless, the combination of creative thinking, English as a second language, and children make these essays frustrating and hilarious to read.

Here are the winning quotes from Writing Olympics Azerbaijan 2010:

See you soon, famous. (If you could be famous for anything, what would you be famous for?)

I must see Jeff Hardy. I must go to Smack Down. (If you could live in any other country than Azerbaijan, where would you live and why? Jeff Hardy is a professional wrestler.)

THESE ARE MY THINKS! (Written in all capital letters at the end of the essay.)

I must be my friend America. (Again, if you could live in any country ....)

Golden Fish can give me a computer. I have 4 wish. It's no many. Golden Fish, please, help me! (If you could have any wish, what would you wish for an why?)

Do you know what happens if all the colour are mixed? You can check it. (If you could paint the perfect picture, what would you paint?)

I don't live little. Butterfly always dead. (Would you rather be a kangaroo or a butterfly? Why?)

If women were in the army, it would be better. And better, honestly, awesome. (What would happen if women could join the army?)

I want to buy knowledge in America country. (If you could live in any country....)

Hope you enjoy these as much as we did!

I heard this in the lounge:"I kicked a goose in the face the other day."

http://www.azcookbook.com/novruz-is-knocking-at-the-door-samani-is-growing/

http://www.azcookbook.com/shekerbura-making-a-novruz-dessert-step-by-step/

These are Novruz websites, and fun cultural learnings. Check it out!

Lerik above the CloudsFamous Lerik Fog and our local cemetaryLulakaran -- a neighbouring villagehiking around the rayon

Novruz Samani and Khoncha!

7b form Girls and their form Khoncha

Nurlan enjoys paklhava and an apple

14 & 15 March 2010 Dear everyone, The best description I’ve heard about life in Peace Corps is “the days drag on but the weeks fly by” (thanks, Corey). This observation is so very true. While I cannot believe it’s almost half-way through March and Martin is now 20, as I write this letter I cannot help but wonder why this day is just taking forever. It’s definitely a boring, slow Sunday with the trifecta of foggy, windy, and rainy. Seriously, they are bad enough on their own, but all three is just a bit too much. For a bit of good news, it was shower day today, so I am clean and already looking forward to my next shower (next Sunday). With the weather being so nasty, the electricity is also being finicky coming and going without a moment’s notice. The fickle electricity has the women in town in a panic as they try to bake for the upcoming holiday: Novruz – the celebration of the new year/spring. Novruz is this week; and it is a holiday which you cannot ignore nor want to ignore it. Novruz combines all elements of Azerbaijani culture and places them prettily on a khoncha. A khoncha is the centrepiece of the Novruz table. Mental image time: picture a large round tray. In the centre of the tray, there is saucer of growing grass called samani. A red ribbon decorates the samani. Moving out from the samani, you will see that the tray is filled with sweets and nuts. Sweets include pakhlava (baklava), shakarbura, and gogal. Nuts are of the peanut, hazelnut, and walnut variety. Dyed eggs are also placed in the khoncha. On the edge of the tray, coloured candles representing each member of the family sit waiting to be lit. Everything in the khoncha has meaning and despite how random, odd, or contradicting an item may seem, they find a way to be together. Family is a central to Azerbaijani culture. They take care of each other, and once adopted into an Azerbaijani family, you will always be family. According to Azerbaijanis, those who are not home/in a home for Novruz/the New Year will be homeless for seven years. The growing grass and dyed eggs point to Azerbaijan’s Zoroastrian past. Jumping over the bonfire seven times comes from Islamic tradition. Sweet making becomes neighbourhood activity with the women spending hours helping each other make hundreds and hundreds of sweets. Nuts, which are ridiculous to crack, symbolize the hardness of life here from time to time, but there is a reward to persistence. And of course, the hardworking women and girls of Azerbaijan do most of these preparations. I think you may be please to find that this email will be a lot shorter than my last marathon letter. Not that much really happens in a month here; every day can feel the same. School is going well. Mason has started a couple of conversation clubs which I like to attend. One of his clubs was filled with my seventh and eighth form kids, so, of course, I had to come. I enjoy clubs more than teaching because the kids who attend my clubs actually want to improve their English. They may be a bit rambunctious, but they come under their own volition and know that I can kick them out of the club. I am in the process of developing a club idea that will hopefully launch either this summer or next school year. I am very excited about this club and will fill you in on the details as soon as I can figure out how to articulate it. The rough outline is an intense English-language club for serious students who want to drastically improve their language skills. It will set up as hour lessons or hour conversation clubs once a week. I want to hand select the students who attend, and it will admission will be offered to students regardless of their level. I’m looking for students who have the ability to learn English. This club will be offered for students, not adults; while children are very frustrating to teach, I find it extremely rewarding. I’m in the process of sorting it out in my head, and I hope to bring it up with my program manager next time I’m in Baku to help get more logistics knocked out. Meanwhile in Lerik, Gulafat and I continue our English lessons. She is improving and can form basic English sentences. Her vocabulary is limited, but she’s trying hard. We still mainly communicate in Azerbaijani; however, we are a bit conflicted about that. Her goal for me is that I learn temiz (clean) Azerbaijani but wants to learn English herself; at the same time, I want her to learn English and want to become excellent in Azerbaijani. I’m sure we’ll figure it out in time. My favourite moments with Gulafat are when we stay up talking about random stuff. We’ve discussed tampons, where we learned about sex (she was shocked that parents tell their children about sex), my dreams for the future, her dreams for the future, and what’s wrong and right in our countries. One night’s discussion was girl v. woman usage and connotation in both American and Azerbaijani society. I said the difference between girls and women lie in age. It has no reference to a female’s sexual activity or lack their of. Calling a female a woman is a sign of respect. That’s why we say things like “young woman.” Gulafat said that the title of woman is given to a female after she’s married because it connotes she is no longer a virgin. She told me that as an unmarried female I am a girl in Azerbaijan. To call me a woman would be an insult to me and could throw my reputation into question. In Azerbaijan, a PCV straddles two worlds: her community world and her PCV world. I hang out with my sitemates and get enough America-time where I don’t have the urge to go to Baku. We cook together, blow off steam from the latest disappointment, laugh about the clumsy interactions with locals, and, when needed, create a little America long enough to relax. However, at the end of the day, I’m still relieved and happy to be in community “Azerbaijani” world. Gulafat teases me that she won’t allow me to leave site, and I always feel guilty when I do leave Lerik. I hate knowing that I’m leaving Gulafat alone. Please don’t ask me what it’s going to be like when I return from the Peace Corps. I don’t like to think about it. This year has proven to be quite windy. When the wind blows, you know the electricity is about to flicker out, and only Allah knows how long we will be ishiqsiz (without lights). The winds used to remind me of when I was little playing in MomMom’s yard in the country near Iota. Surrounding you, they gently push you to your generation and create a small space of one’s own. However, lately, the wind has taken a more menacing attitude, pushing and pulling you whichever way they fancy. Going to school can be quite interesting. I can never tell which direction the winds originate as they whip around. Along with the fog, these are Lerik’s reliable and distinguishable weather features. A couple of weekends ago, I went to Lankaran (the site next door) to visit PCVs and to attend the AzETA meeting. I always love the contrast between these two sites. We are so close to each other, yet worlds apart. Lankaran is one of the largest cities in Azerbaijan, has a large English speaking community, and a university. Outsides of Baku, it has the largest and most active FLEX community. FLEX is a US State Department program that allows students from former Soviet Bloc countries to study in the US for one year of high school. It is extremely tough to get into. Out of the 2000 applicants every year from Azerbaijan only 40 attend. Half are from Baku or the Baku area. The projects pursued in Lankaran exist on a completely different plane than the ones I attempt in Lerik. In Lankaran, I feel as if I just walked in from the country. The women seem more fashionable, wearing pants. For that matter, I see more women period. The roads are a labyrinth, and I don’t see chickens or cows in the road. Their bazaar could eat our bazaar six times over. It’s a fun place where you can buy absolutely everything. It is always great to visit Lankaran; it’s always even better to come home. In a reverse, this past weekend, my sitemates went to Lankaran, and I stayed in Lerik. It was just like old times. I did miss my sitemates, but I relished the old feeling of knowing I was “alone.” Lerik has become home, and when I am alone here, I know where I fit in here. I am not speaking English to anyone and go about my business. Sitemates have come, but in the end, Lerik (the place I know and love) hasn’t changed. It was refreshing to see this. Tuesday is the “last Tuesday” or Torpaq Chershembe (Earth Tuesday). It is the last Tuesday before Novruz/the New Year. Before Novruz, we celebrate four Tuesdays. Each one represents an element: su, od, kulek, and torpaq (water, fire, wind, and earth). Water purifies the earth the fire re-energizes, and the wind cleans, allowing the earth to be reborn and start a new. On that note: Happy Novruz! Cheers, Amy

12 February 2010

Dearest everyone,

I’m still alive; however, I’m still waiting for the world to end since the Saints not only made it to the Super Bowl but also won the game. Having heard that people are wondering what happened to the elusive Lerik PCV, I am once again writing a marathon letter. I guess I should also note that those stateside should not worry about my long stints of radio silence, those in Azerbaijan also experience my bouts of radio silence. But on with our regularly scheduled program….

Can you believe it? We’re in 2010! I still have a hard time believing it, and February is rapidly coming to an end. Officially, this is my last year of Peace Corps; in less than 10 months, my PC tenure is over. This leaves me wondering how did this all pass so fast and panicking that I will not finish my projects before I go home. But I guess just one day at a time, and we’ll see what happens. After all, here in Azerbaijan, we live “in time” not “on time.”

As always, I’ll have to play a bit of rewind so you can catch up to my present reality. October was my last update, so November it is. November’s highlights include Thanksgiving, TEFL Training, meeting sitemate #1, and Gulafat (of course). November’s low points were hurting my ankle in TEFL training and losing the sitemate stalement with the powers that be in the office (I got not one but two). November started with me leaving Gulafat and Lerik for the first time since September. I was definitely itching on the inside to get out, but I was content Lerik. Yet, after the whole moving out drama and the emotions that came with the move, it was nice to vent to fellow Americans.

While spending time with the fabulous southern ladies of Lankaran, I gave a presentation to the local AzETA (Azerbaijan English Teacher Association) branch about encouraging students to talk in the classroom. I forgot how nervous public speaking made me, but it went well. One frightening moment occurred when the eldest male teacher in the classroom began to talk. I was sure he was going to contradict everything I just said. I braced myself for impact as he agreed with everything I just said. The whole room breathed a sigh of relief, and the meeting was adjourned. Pictures followed the meeting, and before the flash, Rachel’s counterpart patted my rear and told me, “oh, soft!”

Well, I suppose I have become used to the culture in unexpected ways. It wasn’t the “soft” comment that threw me for a loop; rather, the touching my rear part confused me. Azerbaijanis are definitely more touchy than Americans, but they touch people’s arms much like my grandmother used to. As for the “soft” part, well, that’s kind of normal. In Azerbaijan, people aren’t as sensitive to commenting on people’s weight. Here in Lerik, I’m the yaxshi topush – the good chubby. They don’t mean that I’m the chubby, good girl. Nope, they mean that I’m the good kind of chubby. It would appear that my self-esteem in that area has taken so many knocks that I just try to let it roll off now. It can be hard, but I’m “soft, “ so I think most comments can bounce off naturally.

After AzETA, I was off to Baku for TEFL training. For one week, I was to observe the trainees teach classes and provide feedback on how to improve. After much confusion, I was finally informed that Xirdalan was the community I was going to. It was a stroke of luck because Masazir is next to Xirdalan, so I got to stay with my training host family while I commuted every day to Xirdalan. The training was fun, and definitely brought back memories of my own training. PCT was a good time, but, honestly, I much rather be a PCV. Lerik is way more interesting than Masazir.

Because of the commute, I walked 4 miles a day that week in my kitten heels, and my Achilles suffered. By the time I came home to Lerik, my heel was huge and painful. My running abruptly came to an end just as winter came to Lerik. I suppose that this was the perfect season to have running banned, because some days I can skate down my 12% grade hill. (I don’t know if it’s 12% or not, but every sign says 12%). While I was helping training, I received a call from one of my new sitemates: Mason. He called me in hopes of brokering a peace before coming to Lerik. It was well known amongst the Az06 (my group) and the Az07 (his group) that the little volunteer in Lerik DID NOT want any sitemates. To his surprise, I was pleasant, and we arranged to meet at the end of the week.

On a side note: The fact that I did not want sitemates did not mean that I was anti-social or disliked people. I think I got into my head that being at site with no other Americans was the PC experience that I wanted. It was like being an anthropologist and going into the field, figuring stuff out on your own, and stuff like that. I was not going to throw my sitemates off the mountain (as the chances of me being taller than them were slim) or ignore them (given the size of Lerik that is impossible). Lerik for me was a conundrum. On the one hand, I love Lerik. It’s a great community with little harassment, beautiful scenery, and friendly people. Why would I not want other PCVs to come and help this community? On the other hand, I love Lerik. I have met some bitter PCVs, and I did not want anyone to say bad things about my community. But I do love my sitemates, and I’m happy to have them just as much as I am happy that I had my first year by myself.

Meeting Mason was the end of an era. I knew that when he came to Lerik that my isolation was over. Whether this was a good or bad thing, I couldn’t tell yet, but change comes whether we want it or not. I liked Mason right off the bat, so I knew we wouldn’t have problems in Lerik. He tried to reassure me that he wasn’t taking over my site, and I tried to reassure him that not wanting sitemates wasn’t personal.

After training, I came home only to pack my bags and turn around again for Baku Thanksgiving with the Embassy staff. That’s right, I got to rub elbows with the man who is right under the US Ambassador to Azerbaijan. Baku Thanksgiving was a lot of fun because I got to get to know a fellow PCV better: Linda. Linda is a CED (Community Economic Developer) volunteer, and she just amazes me. She has come to PC after retiring, but she’s my mom’s age. Unlike many “senior” volunteers, she strongly believes that she will learn Azerbaijani and is always studying and improving her language skills. I enjoyed rooming with her and getting to know her better. She is such an amazing woman, and I love hearing her experiences as a PCV because the older people garner more respect in Azerbaijan than younger people.

By the end of November, I was back in Lerik and anxiously awaiting the TEFL site announcements. This is when I learned I was getting Jessica in Lerik. I called her to welcome her to Lerik and make sure she wasn’t scared of me. My program manager was sure that the Az07s knew nothing of me not wanting a sitemate, but word always spreads fast amongst the PCVs. Sure enough, Jessica had heard that I didn’t want a sitemate but was keen on coming to the fabulous that is Lerik.

December marked two glorious occasions. One: I celebrated one year as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Two: I welcomed my sitemates to Lerik. As Mason says, Lerik is a site Peace Corps places you as a reward. I was nervous to get my sitemates. I was not sure how we would fit into each other’s lives. I have learned enough about other sites with multiple PCVs that some sitemates never see each other while others hang out all the time. I was not certain what tone to set or, moreover, what tone they wanted. But as with most things, time has told our tone for us.

Indeed, my world has been rocked to the core since the arrival of Mason and Jessica. But I cannot say that it’s been a bad thing. As my mom would say, they are rounding out my PC experience. It’s a bit odd to have sitemates. Whenever I want to go speak English with another native speaker, I can walk down the road and find one. Originally, I had to call fellow PCVs when I wanted American-like conversation. We can meet, talk, be Americans, navigate guesting, discuss projects, and hang out. It’s been nice to meet some new people and realise that their arrival has not ended my little Lerik world.

Suddenly, I’m the PCV expert of Lerik because I’ve been here over a year. It’s hard to think that they have only been in country in 4 months, but the company has been nice. With Gulafat, Aynura, and my kids as my Azerbaijani company and Mason and Jessica as my American company, I found this part of my service to be more fulfilling. It has been a big confidence boost in my language to know that sometimes they need my help in translating or expressing an idea. However, Mason is very good with the language and often navigates the waters on his own.

Having sitemates is like having a mini-American family here. Mason and I are like adult siblings. We offer advice to each other but generally let each other figure things out on their own. Jessica is like our little sister. We can spoil her a bit, help her out a bit more, and she more than willingly accepts our help. We probably see each other 3 to 4 times a week for coffee, a game of dominos, and to vent. Mason’s hikes have meant that I have seen and explored more parts of Lerik. Jessica and Mason are still in host family situations. Jessica, like me, lives with a single woman and really enjoys her host family life. (Female PCVs have noted that the best host family situations tend to be those without males). Mason, on the other hand, has had a harder time. I think finding him housing was difficult in Lerik, but since his organization only wanted a male CED volunteer, Lerik was getting a male PCV. I’ll give Mason this. He’s a lot stronger than I am. If I had to sleep with Nana (host grandmother) in my room, I would have blown my top a long time ago.

Now to Gulafat! I have lived with Gulafat for almost 5 months now, and it has been nothing short of fantastic. She’s the bee’s knees. Without her, my language skills would have never improved nor would I have been motivated to improve them. We spend so much time talking about everything. I try to be very honest with her, because I want her to know me. She knows that I drink in America. She knows that I speak very frankly with my parents. She’s very patient with me when I try to talk Azeri and always manages to make me feel better about my language skills.

Lately, Gulafat wants to learn English, so every night we have English lessons. Slowly, she is gaining confidence to form simple sentences, and it’s great to see what this is doing to her confidence. She is talking about going to the community college in Lerik and studying to become a primary school teacher. I’ve really encouraged her to do this because she loves kids, and I want her to be able to support herself.

In many ways, Gulafat is my best friend here, and she is the kind of connection I always wanted to make during my Peace Corps service. We share ideas, opinions, and cultural differences. Sometimes, I’m too tired to translate everything she’s telling me, but I just let her talk and talk. We’ve bonded a little too close, because now I’m even more reluctant to leave Lerik.

In many ways, I cannot picture my PC service or living in Lerik without her. I know that before I spent a lot of time in my head, by myself. But now, Gulafat and I spend 80% of our time in the same room – the room with the pech. We even now sleep in the same room. I have my own room with a bed, drawers I’ve made from boxes, and an electric heater; however, now I prefer sleeping in this room.

The biggest change in December was my sitemates coming to Lerik. I have to say that overall it’s been a mild winter. But I’m still grateful for hot coffee (coffee!), a warm pech, and hot food. I’m rarely in more than two layers, and the snow rarely lasts for more than a week. Ata insists it’s because I’m in Lerik and Allah knows that I don’t like the snow. Yes, my Azerbaijani family is doing great. They had a new PC Trainee this year but assure me that I am still their daughter and their favourite. (I know this to be true, but will not elaborate.) I miss them greatly, and I cannot wait to see them next. The problem is that with Ana and Ata it’s never a short visit. I feel like I have to stay at least 3 nights to make it worth our while. I have been very fortunate to have good host families and such an awesome Azerbaijani roommate.

In the absence of a formal Azerbaijani tutor, I’ve been reading the second grade Azerbaijan language book. Rather, I’ve been trying to read this book. I have to stop every sixth word and look up what it means. I’ve noticed an improvement, but it’s still a bit of a confidence knock to know that I can’t read a second grade book. In my defence, Peace Corps teaches us how to navigate our way through the adult Azerbaijani world in which learning words like lion, to swing, and slave aren’t really necessary. But the book has been wonderful for seeing how this language is used, and Gulafat has noticed an improvement in my language skills. Sometimes, she listens to me while I read to correct my pronunciation. It makes me feel a bit sheepish, but it’s good practice.

I also find the second form book so culturally telling in its choice of subjects and national stories. Many of the stories talk about family, bread, obeying one’s elders, national heroes from both Soviet times and even to today. It makes me want to look at my second grad text books with a new eyes and see how we imprint our children with our desired cultural nuances.

Middle December marked the beginning of Ashurah:

“Ashura is celebrated on the ninth and tenth month of Muharram. The word ashura means "ten" and is a time of fasting, reflection and meditation. Jews of the city of Medina fasted on the tenth day in remembrance of their salvation from the Pharaoh, and the Prophet Muhammad pledged he would fast for two days instead of one in this same remembrance, but he died the following year and so never fasted as he had hoped

For many Muslims there is joy in commemorating all of the wonderful events traditions say occurred on this day, including: Noah's ark came to rest, the Prophet Abraham was born, the Kaaba was built. Among Shiite Muslims, it is a day of special sorrow commemorating the martyrdom of the Prophet's grandson Hussain and his followers at the battle of Kerbala in Islam's first century. It is commemorated in Shiite communities with reenactment of these events and is a time of mourning.”

Azerbaijan is a predominately Shiite country, and the community in which I live is also predominately Shiite. Women gather for ten evenings to mourn the Hussain’s death, and, of course, I was invited to tag along. I was present for seven of the ten evenings (even on Christmas eve and Christmas night), and it was quite the experience. We went to our neighbour’s house: Saida. Saida has spent all day cooking with her sisters. We were served plov and levengi until I wanted to burst and then I was given tea and sweet bread. After tea and food, one woman lead prayers, while we kept the beat on our legs. The “beating” of our legs symbolize the ritual self-flagellations one might see on TV every year around Ashurah. I also found it significant that only young boys could pray in the room with us and that they would hit their chest instead of their legs.

The evening prayers could be a bit tiring because the older women much like the older women at Momo’s would slip in and out of Talysh, making it increasingly difficult for me to follow their conversations. However, they were impressed that I could say, “Amen” and that I knew what it meant. I had a wonderful time meeting more women in the community and getting to know my neighbour more. Gulafat and I spent Christmas day making shakurbura, my favourite cookie, to give to Saida as Imam yolu (Imam’s way). It is great praise from Gulafat is you can decorate shakurbura up to her standards. I’ve accomplished this.

Christmas was celebrated more flagrantly than last year. I actually acknowledged the holiday and welcomed the incoming Az07s whom Mason and Jessica had invited. It was great to “celebrate” the holiday this year; although, I fear the rest of my service will be Amy and the Az07s. Jessica and I went to the boarding school and led class after class in a spirited and somewhat jumbled version of “Jingle Bells” which did make my spirits bright. While the others went for a long Christmas Day hike, I came home to open my presents and help Gulafat make cookies. Then it was Christmas dinner with Americans, and Muslim prayers were my Christmas carols. I think it was a holiday well spent: a blending of both worlds.

New Years once again was celebrated in Baku, and while we were not snowed in this year, I did skin my knee as I ran for the bus that I almost overslept. Overall, it was a low key holiday, and I enjoyed spending time with my Az06 friends whom I do not see enough. We reminisced on times past and were giddy at the fact that this was our last New Year’s in country. It’s not that we don’t like Azerbaijan; most of us find it hard to be away from family and friends over the holidays. I enjoyed my holidays spent mostly at coffee houses, drinking Americanos, downloading new podcasts, and catching up with stateside friends via Skype. But soon enough, the holidays were over, and I just wanted to go home to Lerik.

Gulafat was excited that I was home, and I was equally excited to be home. Now that is 2010 the end is in site! This idea is both scary and super exciting. Gulafat is already counting down the months and looks sad that it’s approaching so fast. My mother and father celebrated their thirtieth wedding anniversary in January, so Mom and Dad, sizi tebrik ediram! I congratulate you. January in Lerik was a month of settling in. Getting back into my routine of teaching, I focused on my fifth form kids whom I believe have the most potential to change. I feel that if I start them off with good habits, then Terana who is an excellent teacher can continue to build their English skills. It’s too often in this country that kids who miss the English basics just fall off the wagon because no one will go back and explain the basics to them. As Aynura said my success has been that most of my children can properly conjugate verbs into the present tense and translate those sentences into Azerbaijani.

With my sitemates, they are settling into their roles as PCVs and settling into the idea that this is the next two years of their lives. I try to be optimistic and tell them that it’ll pass far faster than they realize, while I try to be realistic and recall how hard my first couple of months truly were. With Gulafat, we are always learning new things about each other, but settling in is actually quite minimal. As she said, “You were a guest the first two days you were here, Amy. Now, you are my sister.”

Some of you have read my blog about the red rooster how kept attacking me until Gul felt it was necessary to cut off it’s head. Well, the two remaining roosters also have begun to hit me – quite hard. I’m not exactly sure why they hate me so much, but Wednesday, I was trying to go help Mason with his English club when the rooster appeared out of nowhere and jumped on my pant leg. Of course, his muddy feet soiled my freshly washed pants. Out of frustration for my newly soiled pants, shock from the velocity of the hit, and sleepiness just waking up from a nap, I started to cry. I turned back to the house in defeat because I had to be clean for class. But the black-tailed rooster wasn’t done. He hit me six more times on the way back to the house – one of those times was half-way up the stairs. Surprised to see me back so soon, Gul came out to see tears in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” “Roosters.” She looked at my pant legs that are now covered in mud. She was furious. She actually escorted me to the gate and gave me a stick. Then I was given permission to hit the rooster. It sounds a bit childish, but after making my pants dirty, I was happy to give that rooster a good whack. After returning from Mason’s English club, Gul assured me that both roosters would be dead by the end of the month. Yay!

The beginning of February marked our Mid-Service Conference (MSC). The Az06’s descended upon the Neopol Hotel for two full days of Peace Corps sponsored fun. It was the first time all of the remaining PCVs had gathered together since swearing-in over a year ago. It was really nice to see every one, especially those of us who have a habit of hiding at site. The biggest downfall at these conferences is comparing your PC experience to those around you. We have some “super PCVs” who seem to be taking on the world, but we all have very different resources at site and very different reasons for being here. So, I think our service reflects our choice of joining Peace Corps. I may not have a million and one clubs going, but I do have friendships with Host Country Nationals that some PCVs envy. I got what I came for here.

But like New Year 2009, a freak blizzard hit the Baku area literally freezing us into place. Once again I was stuck in Baku, and Az06 bunkered down to card games, movies, and friendly conversations. Once again, I was roomed with “senior” volunteers. I was so excited that Susan was my roommate once again like she was back in Philadelphia. I have to say, that I immensely enjoy talking to the senior volunteers. Dorothy and I discussed swing music. Denney explained to me how green stamps worked. Linda and I caught up on Elle. Susan and I discussed our sites. I could not have asked for a more relaxed atmosphere.

Because of the snow-in, my plans on going to Mingachavir were postponed, but I was able to attend the Super Bowl. At 1:30am, I piled into a taxi with 4 other PCVs and we made our way to the Hyatt Regency whose bar we convinced not only stay open but to give us half-priced drinks the whole game. At 3:30am, I braced myself for my first football game in a long time. Sitting up in the front with the men who watch “SPORTS” (as they said), I was definitely on edge for most of the game waiting for the Saints to pull a Saints. I’m sorry, David, I was not a believer. But thanks for taking the time to teach me about football because now I enjoy it. I sat next to Mathias a hard core Colts fan, but we enjoyed a good conversation of football in between plays. At half-time I was feeling weary, but I had made it this far, so I decided to stick it out. Most of the PCVs were pulling for the Saints out of some distorted Katrina sympathy (which I won’t even get started on), but as the sole Louisiana representative in PC Az, I did the “Who Dat” nation proud and cheered for my team. The few Colts fans left sad, but my euphoria and sleep deprivation left me light on my feet.

By the way, major thanks to my incredible mother who “watched” the game with me via text. It was nice to have a voice from home throughout the game – even if hell has now frozen over because it’s snowing in Lafayette.

I’m not back in Lerik, and not too ashamed that I haven’t been emailing as regularly as I once have. I’m settled in. I have a fabulous roommate who makes each day interesting and fun. We’re currently hiding out in our bedroom/living room/dining room watching TV as snow covers Lerik once again this winter. Y’all take care, and I’ll try to be more regular with my coverage.

Cheers,

Amy

Whirling Dervish outside the Blue Mosque during post-fasting fun

The Palace

Goodies at the Spice Bazaar

Inside the Blue Mosque

Inside the Aya Sophia

The Bosphorus and Golden Horn

The Blue Mosque

The Bascilica Cisterns

The Aya Sophia

This morning the rooster chased me out of the gate on my way to school.  Sighing, I thought, two more months of rooster-fun.  Thank goodness, I'm wearing my wool stockings.  I'd be pissed if he attacks my leg again and rips my tights.  (I'm more worried that he's going to rip my tights more than draw blood.)  The weather is foggy, dreary, and cold, and I'm in no mood to play with the rooster-fiend, so I head quickly out the gate.  The red rooster crows his victory.

When I come home from the school, the yard is quiet.  I don't take anything for granted because the rooster is very quick and will take me by surprise.  In my high heels, I traversed the muddy, rocky yard, listening for his steps.  Nothing.  Hmm, maybe Gul has just fed them.  

I quickly dressed for my afternoon run wanting to get it in before the fog got any thicker.  Gul caught me before I left.  "The rooster," she said, "is gone.  I gave him away."  "Where does he live now?" I asked.  Confused, she shook her head.  "No, Amy, we killed it and gave it to my sister."

What?  No good-byes?  My rooster-fiend is dead.  Somehow life was more interesting with an antagonist.  Alas, our conflict was short-lived, but I will remember you, red menace.  

Final score:  I still don't know.  The rooster definitely lost this round, but I don't think I can claim victory. 

Azerbaijani lesson learned: Red roosters are pretty, but they will hit you.  Thanks Gul!

Due to the cold weather, Gul has been putting the chickens (and my rooster-foe) in the garden.  She doesn't want them wandering off in the fog and getting hit by a car.  So this past week, I've been safe from the unwanted attention from male fowl.  Nevertheless, the rooster always kept me in his sight following me as I cross the yard going to and from the gate.  It was a bit amusing, and I might have teased him a bit, feeling safe with the feathered fiend on the other side of the fence.That, however, changed today.  After my afternoon run, I came back to find Gul planting strawberry plants in the garden (now home to the chickens).  I, foolishly, decided to join her to keep her company and to see what was going on.  As I approached, I could her the rooster's approach as he tailed me across the garden.  When his sound was too close, I would turn and glare at him and stop him in his tracks.Everything was fine until it was time to go back into the house.  Crossing back through the garden, I had to face the rooster head on -- a move too aggressive for the red menace.  As soon as I was in attacking range, he flew into motion.  Admittedly he used much more force than I was expecting, but I was shocked.  Did he really think he was going to take me down?  Morever, does my leg look like any kind of opponent?  Seriously, I've seen roosters fight each here in Azerbaijan -- mini-battles for yard supremacy, but cockfighting my leg?  It's like a one-sided battle with a post of something.  I'm guessing the battle ended in a draw.  I'm still standing and not defeated, although he got both of my pant legs muddy (I'll have chicken feet mark on my pants as battle scars until my pants are washed).  However, he's still standing too.   While he waits for his next opportunity to attack, I will try to learn more deflection manoeuvres.  

We have both lived to fight another day.

Chicken head on roadMuddy, flat, and forgottenI had to look twice.

As Micah (a PCV north of me) said, "sounds like someone is in Azerbaijan."

It was just another day going to work.

So, after moving into my new place, I have noticed some strange behaviour from the red rooster.  As I walk to and from the house (going to school or coming home from an errand), the rooster runs up to me and hits me.  Sometimes, he runs in front of me and ruffles his feathers poised and ready to attack.  I was and still am genuinely confused by this behaviour.  All my experience with Azeri chickens and Louisiana chickens says that chickens run away from you unless you have good in hand.  Then again, my mother always told us not to chase the roosters at Momo's.  At first, I was amused by the attacking rooster, but now that the ground is muddy and I'm wearing heels, I am less inclined to be kind.  At first, I hiss at the rooster, "You know, I could eat you if I wanted."  (A phrase I can say in both English and Azerbaijani.)  The rooster doesn't know I'm a vegetarian, but my threats appear to have no effect on my stubborn and formidable foe.  He rules this yard.  I am an unwanted trespasser.  My next form of attack was throw pebble in his general direction; it's a tactic that works on dogs, so it should phase my rooster-foe.  No luck.  He just dodges the pebbles and continues his pursuit with dogged determination.  I'm glad the dogs of Lerik aren't this persistent.I made a passing comment to Gul that the rooster keeps hitting me, and she become very distressed.  "He may jump on you and take out your eye," she warns.  Not exactly a story I want from the PC.  "What happened to you eye in Azerbaijan?"  "Well, I was riding in a crazy marshutka, and ....  No, really, a rooster attacked me."But while I was contemplating ways to protect my eyes from rooster attacks, Gul's next sentence brought me back into the present.  "I'll tell Poppa to kill him."  "What?!"  She repeats the phrase thinking that I didn't understand.  "Why?" I ask.  Basically her answer is that he's getting aggressive and needs to be put down.  I was saddened to know that I am the cause of the rooster's untimely demise.

Until the next time, I went outside, and he attacked me.  Now as I cross the yard keeping an ear open for the pitter patter of his approach, I think, "your days are numbered, buddy."

19 September 2009

Dear everyone,

Tomorrow marks on year of leaving Lafayette for this Peace Corps adventure. (It is also, most importantly, Emily’s – my little sister – twenty-first birthday! Happy Birthday, Emily!) It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a year. The year mark is an anniversary of mixed emotions for me. First, I think, “How can this only be a year?” So much has happened in this year. I have hit rock bottom; I have soared higher than the Talysh Mountains. I have struggled with a new language, a new culture, and a new job description. I have made new friends (both American and Azerbaijani) and have been adopted into a loving Azerbaijani family. I learned to manage a squat toilet, to ignore unwanted attention, and to handle knowing that the only American I’ll see is my reflection in the mirror. These are some of my triumphs. I also have my failures: my continual struggle in learning Azerbaijani (and my laziness of not studying), spending too much time in my head rather than with my host family, and feeling as if I’m not doing much for my community.

For all the good (which I cherish) and all the bad (which has made me a stronger person), I wouldn’t trade any of my Peace Corps experience for anything. Looking back, all my nervousness was warranted, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to come when I left Lafayette. Peace Corps has been harder and easier than I expected. I am blown away with how kind, generous, and (of course) hospitable the people of Azerbaijan are. When I hit a brick wall, there is always someone here to give me perspective. Not too long ago, I took the wrong bus from Masazir to Baku. Both buses are labelled 225, but the one I boarded only went to Xirdalan. At the end of the route, the bus driver helped me find the correct bus to Baku. A woman once paid for my ride into Baku (another trip from Masazir to Baku) because I gave her my seat. She was juggling five kids on the marshutka and reminded me of my mother when we all under the age of 13. Yes, I’ve had unpleasant experiences, but I like to think that most of my bad experiences could have happened anywhere in the world. They aren’t Azerbaijan-exclusive incidents.

Peace Corps Volunteer life is like riding a roller coaster. When you’re down, you know you’ll be up again, and when you’re up, you know and dread the impending fall. And in the end, you end up right where you started just with a new perspective. Tonight is Eid or the end of Ramazan. We are celebrating the breaking of Ramazan fasting for the last time tonight. I haven’t noticed strict observance of Ramazan here in Azerbaijan. Some people fast, and some people don’t. It’s interesting to celebrate this holiday here in Lerik tonight. Last year for Eid, I was in Masazir. I remember still being uncomfortable because it was only my third day in Masazir. My host cousin told me that my husband would be ugly because I couldn’t finish my plate of food. (Just a side night, the Islamic calendar is based on the lunar calendar so holidays move up ten days each year on the Gregorian calendar.) In Lerik, it was a slow day. I read my latest Peace Corps lounge book, listened to music, and enjoyed a cup or two of fine French Pressed Community Coffee. Life is good. Today the house has been buzzing with Eid sweet preparation and baking. I am a bit amused with how everyone makes the same sweets and then gives them to each other. So in the end, you end up with all the sweets that you just backed but from different houses. It is interesting to taste little differences in each family’s recipes. The Eid sweet of choice looks like a giant shakurbura (from Novruz) with gogal (again from Novuz) stuffing. I’ll get the name sooner or later, but it has the Amy seal of approval.

I would feel a bit bad for not helping out more with sweet making, because my host-mom is working so hard, and I like to watch how she makes national dishes. Nevertheless, like a good Azerbaijani mother, she doesn’t expect or really want us to lift a finger to help. Saida helps a bit, but, at a moment’s notice, she’ll leave the room and go play on her computer. Ruslan (my host brother who lives in Baku) is home, but being a boy and the youngest is not expected to help. Since I’m the youngest and an American, I’m a baby in two senses, so I just sit in a corner and try to stay out of the way. Azerbaijani women work so hard. My host mom, when she gets going, just doesn’t stop. It’s amazing.

At the Bashirov house, I am left to my own devices for the most part. I went running in the fog and rain. I’ve changed my running routine because school has started. I now run in the evenings. I hate running for an audience of boys, but I figure the novelty will wear off in a month or two. Until then, I’ll just ignore the boys who try to race me for a lap while my blasting music drowns out any of their attempts to communicate with me. When I come in with rosy cheeks, wet hair, and a big grin on my face, Saida and Yeta (my host mom) start fussing over me, telling me to put on some dry clothes, and telling me how I’m going to get sick. Despite the daily onslaught of reprimands, I think Yeta is proud of me for running because she tells all the teachers that I run daily. This report is in a proud mother tone and not in the guess-what-the-crazy-American-is-doing-now tone. Saida, I believe, thinks that running is a bit crazy.

Fall is slowly smothering what was left of summer. Starting in August, sunny, cold days would snidely remind me what was to come. Now, the rain and fog of fall has settled over Lerik, and I layer accordingly. I am already sporting my black wool long johns to colour coordinate with the grey skies.

The rain of autumn is not my enemy like it was in Masazir. Paved roads and living close to school make daily walks less of a mud-sludge-ing adventure. Sometimes the rain is Seattle-like: it mists. But, lately, I’ve had the pleasure of Louisiana-rain. Big drops beat on the truck outside my window (which has finally starting working and been removed from it’s permanent parking space outside my window), fill the potholes at the stadium, and drip off the red school roof to stain the yellow walls. Some days, we are even granted thunderstorms. Last thunderstorm, my three-year old cousin Farid informed me that he wasn’t afraid of the thunderstorms, as we watched the storm from my kitchen window. He also told me a bunch of other things, which I couldn’t catch because a) he was talking really fast and b) his mouth was full of cucumbers he had snatched from the dinner table.

As with most Peace Corps experiences, the bad resides with the good like a colloid. Yes, fall brings cold, foggy days, and the part of me that has lived over ninety percent of my life south of the Mason-Dixon line and roughly seventy percent within a twenty-minute drive of I-10 still cannot fathom that it can actually be this cold. But the cold weather does have some sweet rewards. First, school has started, and I am back – enthusiastically – in the classroom. I actually missed my monkeys. Second, some of my favourite fruits are now in season or will soon be in season. Pomegranates (nar), lemons (limon), persimmons (xurma), figs (ancır), and apples (alma) will once again be cheap and readily available. I cannot express how excited I am for persimmons and pomegranates. Memories of PST rush back with every bite… For such a small fruit, the fig holds so many memories for me.

My maternal grandmother had a fig tree in her yard, and I remember watching her peel them at the kitchen counter. Thinking that they looked squishy and gross, I didn’t like figs for a long time. Homemade fig preserves never lasted long at our house and was eaten on everything from cornbread to rice-cakes and, at times, straight from the jar. I’d bring jars of fig preserves from the bakery home last summer, and after dinner, we’d let the syrupy figs bring us back to Mowata and our childhoods. My first morning in Azerbaijan, I was elated to see fig preserves at breakfast; they were a reminder of home and softened the reality of how far, both in time and distance, I was from home. To me, food is the perfect way to capture a memory; it’s better than a photograph. The sweet smell, the sticky syrup on my fingers, amber-coloured figs sitting in the jar flooded my memory with thoughts of home as soon they hit my tongue. Fig preserves every morning in Masazir reminded me who I was and where I came from and prevented me from losing myself in my new situation. It was my comfort food. Before leaving Masazir last week for Lerik, Ana gave me jar of fig preserves, and I couldn’t help but smile. Figs will always remind me of Mowata, my grandmother, and my mother. This week in Lerik, when I ate my figs on fresh baked bread, recollections of Louisiana and Masazir painted my mental wanderings. I never expected the tiny fruit to hold so many memories.

13 October 2009

So flash forward almost a month, and here I am still typing the same letter, but in a completely new location. Shortly after I started composing this letter, my host mom informed me that I had to find a new residence. That’s right, I was being kicked out. I should probably add that she was very polite, I didn’t have to move until I found some place new (but ASAP), and many PCVs face this problem of sudden homelessness syndrome (henceforth will be called SHS). I should also add that the day I was told that I needed to move out was also 23 September: my one-year anniversary in Azerbaijan. Happy one year, right?

Of course, I went through the normal stages of SHS: shock, anger, despair, panic, hope, and resolution. First was shock; it was so hard to believe that I was being kicked out. Yes, I understood that guests were coming (Saida’s future in-laws, it turns out), but still. Where am I going to go? I had kind of thought that this arrangement was going to see me through my PC service. I have so much to pack. For a lack of better things to do, to prevent crying, and to ensure that I didn’t use all my kontour (read cell phone credit) texting my parents, I began to pack. It took me probably 4 hours to pack my room from 10pm to 2am. I condensed my year in Azerbaijan into my orange backpack, messenger bag, black duffle, eight boxes, and one huge bazaar bag that I can fit into. This was a long cry from the orange backpack, duffle, and messenger bag I brought with me from America. By the end of packing, I was too tired to cry, and the next stage of SHS was hitting anger.

The worst kind of anger is undirected anger. I was so angry with my situation. How could I be kicked out? It wasn’t even something I did. It’s a cultural issue, and, honestly, you have to respect the fact that family is so prized (even future in-laws). Family outranks the American who is paying to stay in your house. I could tell my host mom really didn’t want to kick me out, but I was still angry. What was I going to do? Where was I going to live? Who was I going to live with? I knew the idea of living on my own was a bust, and I just wanted to move as quickly as possible. I couldn’t stay at the Bashirov house any longer than necessary; sometimes, things look better the next day. The cold, cloudy morning only made things look worse, and I slipped into despair.

Getting kicked out does a bit of work to your self-esteem. I felt so unnecessary, disposable, and unliked. I had lived here for 9 months, and, now, I was being tossed aside like week old dolma. Damn, how did I get here? I went to school the next morning, only because I had to start asking everyone for help to find a place. When you need to find a new roof to sleep under, you start asking EVERYONE you know for help. It was surprising to find out that some people already knew that I was kicked out. Apparently Qizyeta had informed people of my impending move even before I knew of it. I was a bit miffed, but considering that it gave my house hunt a jump-start, I got passed my annoyance. My counterparts were shocked to learn that I needed a new place to stay. It was honestly a bit hard to keep it together in class. I just sat there, worried, and probably looked like a pathetic, homesick American. So, I went home early.

Heading home, I ran into my soon-to-be former host dad. That sight did me in. Barely holding back the tears, I managed to crawl into bed, and then I let the tears flow. This is where Qizyeta found me. She came bursting in my room because I wouldn’t answer her. I was hoping that she would think I was sleeping and leave me alone, but she had other plans. She came in to find me in bed red-nosed and tissue in hand. I’m sure it was a lovely site. Like a mother, she came rushing to my bed and threw back the sheets. She said we are going to village today. I think, “Good. I want to be alone today.” She asks me why I’m all packed up. I answer because I’m moving. “Where?” “I don’t know yet.” “Amy, don’t worry. You’ll find a new place, and it’ll be ok.” It’s really hard to be angry with this woman who is stroking my hair, trying to comfort me, and telling me that I can come visit whenever I want. With a kiss on my forehead, she headed to the door, reminding me that we are going to the village today. At this moment, I realized I was included in this we. Oh my.

I knew that I wouldn’t find my new house that very day, but a car ride into the countryside to an unknown village with the people that just kicked me out? Am I really that masochistic? I could tell by Qizyeta’s demeanour that I was not getting out of this one. Maybe she felt guilty. Maybe she wanted to show that I was still her “daughter.” Maybe she just wanted to show me off to relatives. Whatever the reason, I was going to Zuand.

Where is Zuand? Well, the best way to describe Zuand is almost-Iran. We took off towards the village, and my host mom said that Zuand is near Iran and very close to the border. I though, crap, I left my passport and Azer ID back at the house. Inshallah, we won’t get that close to the border. On the rough, mountain roads to Zuand, I could really appreciate the rugged beauty of Lerik. It’s a beautiful rayon. An hour into the trip, I started to realize what Qizyeta meant by close to the border. We pass an Azerbaijan army base, and then I see a long barbed wire fence maybe 200 yards in the distance. My host mom pointed out the window, “See, Amy, that’s Iran. See the fence. See the watchtower.” Oh yes, I saw the watch-tower and wondered how Jeyhun, the PC Safety and Security Officer, would like this story. I took my phone out of my pocket to check the time, and Saida said, “Oh, Amy, phones don’t work here.” Oh boy, no cell phone reception.

As I hoped that we would not get any closer to the border as to incur a check of our vehicle from Azeri border patrol or otherwise, we pull over near some tombstones seemingly in the middle of nowhere. (Nowhere next to Iran.) These are Adil’s relatives, and we have come here to pay our respects. The men stand next to the car while the women circle the tombstones again and again and again. I follow along placing my hand on the tombstone and pulling it across my face. Religious and family moments are always a bit awkward. How do you act appropriately?

Back into the car to drive further into the rayon, we finally made it to Adil’s relatives. Zuand is like a ghost town. Most of the residents have moved to Lerik for work, and the rugged landscape reminds me of the movies. It was a strangely pleasant afternoon, and Qizyeta’s efforts to make me feel not kicked out from her family did win me over. Plus, Farid, my 3 year old host cousin, is just the cutest little kid, and I got to hang out with him all afternoon.

So next came the house hunt. My emotions bounced like a ping pong ball between hope and despair many times a day. I was shown three houses in the course of my house hunting escapades, one of which I couldn’t live in because the new PCV will be living there. And while my emotional rollercoaster had me feeling like time was creeping along, I actually found my new house a week after being told I needed to move. Aynura, my younger counterpart and best friend in Lerik, told me that her classmate and very good friend Gulafat was living alone and maybe I could live with her. One cold, rainy, and dreary Tuesday (funny how it was fitting of my mood), Aynura, her two daughters, and I slowly walked up the hill to Gulafat’s. While the house is admittedly not as nice as Qizyeta’s (let’s face it, she set the standards pretty high), Gulafat instantly won me over. She was really kind and welcoming, and she seemed genuinely excited that I might live with her. I can handle an outhouse, bucket baths, hand washing my clothes, and basically an outdoor kitchen. Before leaving Gulafat’s, I agree to move in with her even though the room that was going to be mine wasn’t ready. I just got a good vibe from her.

Deciding to move in with Gul was such a relief. At last, resolution. I felt like I could breath again; even though looking at all the stuff I had to move up hill, I was a bit reluctant to actually move.

September thirtieth was my supposed move-in day. I waited most of the afternoon for Qizyeta to help me find a car to move; I was willing to get a taxi, but she wouldn’t hear of it. However, after two hours of making calls, Qizyeta was still empty handed, and I was falling asleep on the couch. I offered to call Gulafat and ask for help, but Qizyeta wouldn’t hear of it. She told me to stay the night, kissed my forehead, and sent me to bed. In spite of all the ups and downs, I realized that I liked these people a lot, and I was sad to leave. Nevertheless, sometimes we have to move on.

27 October 2009

When all the moving out rigmarole started, my mother said something better was waiting for me after this settled down. Well, as always, she was right. That something better is a person. Gulafat is my roommate here in Lerik. She’s frankly awesome. She’s really patient with my bad Azerbaijani, super motivated, and really sweet. She is such a strong person for reasons that I won’t get into, but let’s just say that she’s not your typical Azerbaijani woman. We spend a lot of time each day together. She is quite a talker, so I like to sit back and listen. On her birthday, I made her chocolate chip cookies. I could go on and on about her, but I’ll just sum it up saying that she rocks my socks.

On a BIG side note, I must add that there are many people I want to thank for helping through my moving out fun. Tarana and Aynura were so patient and understanding of all my freak outs and panicky moments. Tarana is like a mother-figure. She brought me to look at houses and acted like a translator when I was so stressed that my Azeri went out the window. Aynura is my best friend in Lerik. We joke, watch TV, and even cut class together. She helped me find Gulafat and is a pleasure to teach with. Thanks to my parents at home who lent encouraging words at all the right moments. Thanks to Qizyeta and Saida for being understanding of my dilemma and helping me to find a new place as much as they did. I think we are still having fun telling everyone that Amy did not choose to leave their house nor was she kicked out. They put up with me for nine months, and I am grateful for all the memories. (P.S. They are already fussing at me that I haven’t visited them.)

Moving out caused me to miss class for person reasons, house hunting, and etc. My absences caused minor panic in some of my classes. As soon as the news leaked that Ms. Amy was moving, children were volunteering their houses and scared that I would have to return to America if I didn’t find a house (or England, some of them are still a bit confused the Americans speak English). To everyone’s relief, I found a house and was comfortably moved in by October first, and in my new location, I am now neighbours with many of my students, which they all informed me about numerous times. My favourite new neighbours are Rza and his brother Rashad. Rza cracks me up. He is a very sweet kid who earnestly wants to learn English. He tries to speak, and he’s really a smart boy. He just has this grin that is winning. His favourite English sentences are, “I like it all,” and “it is very, very hot.” Rashad is the younger of the two and just tends to giggle.

Classes seem to be off to a good start. Aynura is up for some of my ideas of classroom reform, and Tarana has asked for help decorating her classroom. I’m afraid that I will not be able to start any clubs before the snow puts them on hold all winter. However, I’m developing ideas for my next round of clubs so they will be fantastic when I finally get them started. My fifth form is much larger than last year, but I see a lot of potential in them. A couple of them are quite quick with the language. Others are just plain eager to learn. One has obvious learning disabilities but tries to participate in the class. Fifth form is always my favourite form. They are at such a great age. These kids are all new to me because I didn’t teach them last year. Sixth form has my favourites from last year. They are an active class, but I can see so much improvement from last year. This is my class; I will see them through my whole time I am here. Seventh form is my class of characters. Each student has such a distinct personality. There are a couple of students who show a great aptitude for English. Eighth form, I regret to say, I’m only with them once a week. The students and I are both upset that I will not be teaching them more this year, yet I feel that I am more productive and a better teacher with the younger forms. Because I have no clubs, my goal every class is to get my children to speak more.

The boarding school is going better this year now that I know what role I fill there. I’m Friday Enrichment for any of the GT kids out there. I teach the children songs and English games. Vagif is a great teacher, and the children have a good grasp on grammar and seem more confident in trying to speak than the children at School 1. This past Friday, my seventh form treated me to a wonderful rendition of “Old MacDonald” with monkeys, wolves, and roosters. The wolf was my favourite that student completely hammed it up.

Halloween is on its way, so HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I will be in Lankaran with other PCVs celebrating a small Halloween, and then I will be giving a presentation to AzETA (Azerbaijan English Teacher Association) about encouraging students to speak in the classroom. Then I am off to Baku to help with training.

Of course, I have more to write, but I’ll leave that for next time. Istanbul will be shown in pictures on my website. I had a wonderful time, and it is an incredible city. I am more than ok with going back any time. Azerbaijani is only so useful in Turkey. I could understand some of what was going on but found that Azerbaijani is great for amusing the locals who think you are speaking “baby Turkish.” I got a lot of free food speaking Azeri with the locals. More on that later.

Happy October!

Cheers,

Amy

I will conquer this cold weather. I'm secretly wearing three layers on the top (undershirt, blouse, and vest) and two on the bottom (tights and jeans). It should not be this cold in August. Hard core sleeping bag remains in the corner of my room because I refuse to take it out until September.

The Girls!

Our Guide

This summer as part of my Lerik Girl's Camp, I took my girls for a hike. One girl's brother tagged along as our guide, and since he is one of my students, I let him come along. This picture are taken in the gorge behind my school.

This is my stadium. It's about a two minute walk from my house, located in the valley-ish area. The track is poorly maintained, so the second half of each lap is a bit like running cross-country. However, I am a huge fan of my track. I share my morning runs with turkeys and chickens, and, sometimes, I have to defend my track from dogs.

Fall Activities include drying feathers for pillows, watching low, fast-moving clouds in the valley, and washing wool.

As requested I am posting pictures. This picture is in Targova (Fountain Square). The PCVs come to this area for McDonalds, Falafels, and other yummy stuff. This area is highly touristy, so you can buy trinkets like eye eyes, dolls, hats, and mini-carpets.

23 August 2009 Dearest everyone, Whoa!  So, when I took off for summer, I guess I really took off.  You would think now that I have internet at home that I would be more on the ball.  Now that summer is officially coming to an end (school starts 15 September, and it’s already getting cold in Lerik), it is time to give y’all the summer review and to resume my monthly (hopefully) letters. The end of school was rather uneventful.  In fact, it was slightly painful.  I was ready for school to end, but that isn’t why the end was unpleasant.  Around the 20th of May or so, the kids began to return their books to the library.  What?  How do you teach a class, when the kids can’t “turn to page ___”?   There was definite creative lesson planning going on, and for the last two weeks, I basically flew by the seat of my pants when I walked into class.  The good news: I felt as if my kids were really coming along in their English and if not in their English, then they were more confident to at least try to speak.  Now that summer is coming to an end, I miss my little monsters.  The bad news: I was completely frustrated by all the little things.  Really, “Hello,” is the most diabolical two-syllable word in the English language.  When you’re having a bad day, the “hellos” feel like an attack.  As I’ve said it before, but when you want to drop kick the third form kid for saying hi to you, it’s time to leave site and cool off.  Luckily for me, I had a planned trip to visit Sara in her lovely region and a weekend with my host family in Masazir to look forward to.  Thirty May marked Son Zang (last bell).  Here in Azerbaijan, the eleventh form doesn’t graduate like we do in America.  Instead they have a celebration to commemorate the last bell of the school year.  Of course, I had to attend.  I am the resident American and hold a celebrity-sideshow freak status here in Lerik.  Seriously, I was asked by several eleventh form kids to come to Son Zang.  I don’t even teach eleventh form because I have a rule that I don’t teach students taller than me.  So, I went.  It was a remarkable experience. There were the normal speeches by the school director and local officials, Azerbaijani songs and dances, and poems yelled into the microphone by the younger children like there is at all school functions.  This school function was especially fun because it was finally sunny enough to sit outside the whole time and because two eleventh form boys performed Aysel and Arash’s “Always.”  “Always” is the Azerbaijan entry into Eurovision’s Song Contest and took third place.  I must say the boy dressed as Aysel went all out.  He wore a wig made from cassette tape ribbon, heels, and a skirt.  And he can really shake his hips.  I was seriously amused.  My favourite part of Son Zang is the symbolic passing of the torch.  For the whole ceremony, the little first formers (some in tiny three-piece suits) stood in front of the eleventh form kids.  The first formers represent the next generation of Azerbaijanis whose education will propel them and their country its next stage of development. After the ceremony, Hiba and Elmer came up the mountain to Lerik, and I took them on a nice hike through Jangamiran – the village next to Lerik.  Between the hike and Song Zang, I got a rather wicked sunburn on my forearms.  Seriously, it looks like I’m wearing tan gloves that come up halfway up my forearm.  I’ve had this tan mark all summer. June began with Children’s Day.  My host mom wished me a happy children’s day, and I had to laugh.  She also wished Saida a happy children’s day, so I guess no way I’m going to be completely an adult in this house.  To answer any lingering house questions, I am staying with my host family.  Yes, I complained about them at first, but I really like them now.  I like the company they provide, the constant language exposure, and the great people they are.  I realize that this is very typical Amy behaviour, but this is the situation.  While my mother in the states realized that the biggest problem I had with this host family was me having my head up my butt, it took me a bit longer to realize it.  That being said, my mom realizes why I did because she met my Masazir host family in July and now knows how wonderful that family is.  But more on that in a bit. What made Children’s Day great was that the children from my sixth and seventh form conversation club performed their poems and songs.  They all did a wonderful job, and it was great seeing how excited they were to perform.  They are little monsters, and I love them dearly. The next day, I left for Sara’s.  It was a ridiculous travel day in which I learned what bus NOT to take and why I don’t like riding in taxis alone.  But I made it safely into Sara’s city, and I had great time with my best friend here in Azerbaijan.  We cooked excellent food, laid on her balcony and read, and caught up.  We even guested at a family we both know.  Remember Shebnam from a long time ago.  Well, her family moved to Sara’s town and is related to Sara’s host family.  So we both know this family, and of course, I had to see them when I was in town.  They are doing well but miss Lerik a lot.  (I would too.  It’s truly my favourite place in Azerbaijan.)  It was really hard to leave Sara’s because she is one of those people that I can just be with.  We don’t need to fill up the space between us with words.  We just sit and be with each other.  Plus, it’s always nice to have someone to complain to rather than doing it via phone calls.  I didn’t want to leave, but I had to visit Ana and Ata and get supplies for my upcoming camp in Baku. The supplies pick up was a resounding success.  I found everything I needed/wanted for my Lerik Girl’s Camp, and I had a great time with the Masazirians.  I love them so much.  Seriously, they occupy the same status as family now.  Ata and I have arguments about when I have to return to site.  Ana continually overfeeds me like a good Louisiana grandmother would.  Gunay consults with me like Emily.  And Tunar is still Tunar.  But he’s growing so much.  He’s so tall, and when I leave, he’ll be a little man.  It’ll be so disturbing. My Lerik Girl’s Summer Camp and my English Clubs were, in my opinion, a success.  The Lerik Girl’s Summer Camp did achieve the goals that I wanted to hit upon.  The girls wanted an English Club and I wanted more of a girl empowerment/day camp feel.  So we compromised.  I ensured the lessons of girl empowerment were simplified and taught in English, but we also made crafts and played sports.  Week one, we discovered who we were and the rolls we filled, made masks, and played soccer.  Week two, we gave compliments and said what we were good at, made friendship bracelets, and played soccer.  Week three, we learned about stereotypes (about Americans and Azerbaijanis) and how we are all different, made flowers to give to their mothers, and played dodge ball.  I was really proud of this lesson, and the girls seemed to really get it.  Week four we went on a hike and had tea at Gultakin’s house.  Week five we spoke about our goals, made plans to achieve our goals, made more bracelets, and played volleyball.  Truth be told the lessons were basically all in Azeri (go me), but I feel like they learned a lot.  I had a great time with my kids, and I’m grateful for Jaclyn’s, Joyce’s, and Jenn’s help. The English Clubs were just funny.  The fifth form boys and I played sports.  I tried to teach them sports in English, but we would end up playing soccer for 30 minutes every Wednesday.  I wanted to play soccer with them every Wednesday, but unfortunately, many things prevented me from playing soccer with them after the clubs were finished.  Very little English was learned, but I did teach them that girls can play soccer.  While I’m not a great soccer player by any means, especially since I rarely touch the ball and am out-of-shape, I could keep up with the fifth formers, and I cherished my time on the field with them.  The sixth and seventh form club and eighth form club was about American culture.  However, the attendance was rather pitiful.  I’ve been expecting this – especially because its summer – but I was amused nonetheless.  We also had our lessons.  I taught about American Football, American Music, and the 4th of July.  My philosophy on the English Clubs is as follows: if one student comes to my English Club and tries to learn, then my club was a success.  I cannot make my kids come to my clubs, but even if one kid comes, then for that hour, I will try my hardest for that kid. Mid-June was the TEFL Counterpart Conference.  I was half-expecting Tarana to back-out last minute, but much to my pleasure, she came!  We had a great trip up, including our marshutka driver yelling at the police officer who pulled him over, refusing to pay the cop a bribe, and driving off with a door open.  I was thoroughly amused.  The Counterpart Conference was great because after the conference, Tarana felt really proud of the work we had accomplished.  She understood more of the PC goals for TEFL volunteers and how well we work together.  I was happy that she could see her own progress.  I had the pleasant task of trying to describe to a room full of Azerbaijani English teachers our (PCV’s) expectations for working with our counterparts.  I had to say this in a nice tone.  I can’t say, “We expected you not to teach us like a text-book reader.”  I had fun being politically correct and said things like, “We expected to teach and plan our classes together.”  By keeping an upbeat attitude, I actually impressed Jeremy’s counterpart who is really so sweet.  I love Tofiqa.  She is always smiling and is a strong, intelligent woman.  I should call her soon.  Other highlights from the TEFL CP Conference was the fast internet at the hotel.  I got to download music, Skype, and check on the news.  Yes, I do realize that Michael Jackson has passed away.  I averaged very little sleep the whole conference because it was more important to chat than to sleep. The other highlight from June is that my host sister – Sonya – and her children – Jala and Kanan – came in from Moscow to spend the WHOLE summer with us.  I was intimidated at first.  I’m not used to my quiet house having a screaming 3 year old, but Jala did amuse me.  I like talking to kids in this country.  They don’t really understand that you don’t understand them.  They just keep talking to you as if you get it all.  With Jala, she speaks half-Russian to me because she goes to school in Moscow.  When she counts, she counts to seven in Azeri and then switches to Russian.  I mainly hid in my room when they were out and about.  Kanan would just scream and scream.  It was easier to be in my room.  On to July.  July only meant one thing to me.  MOM AND DAD WERE COMING!!!!  By June, I had a countdown going.  I could hardly wait to see my parents; it had just been way too long.  But before Mom and Dad could arrive in Azerbaijan, an important holiday passed: the 4th of July.  Now, I’m not a big Fourth of July person in the States.  Last year, I worked on the fourth and celebrated by drinking an Abita Strawberry Ale and looking at my calendar seeing when I would leave for Azerbaijan.  This year, I felt as if I should really try and celebrate it.  (End result: still ambivalent to the holiday.) Maybe it’s my anthropology training, maybe it’s travelling abroad, maybe it’s because I’m Amy, I do not feel any more American now than I did when I left America.  [Side note: all week there have been soccer games in the stadium near my house.  I can hear the loud cheers and drums in my room.  I walked past the stadium this afternoon, but I’m a bit timid about going to the games because I’d be the only girl there.  I know I could break gender roles and stuff like that, and, honey, that’s easier said than done.  I do wish I could go to the soccer game, but then I wouldn’t be writing you this lovely letter.] I do realize more of the privileges I have been born into because I was born an American.   However, I feel like I already realized how much being an American tied into interpretations of my own identity and perceptions of the world.  Who knows, but, yay, for not having to experience that part of culture shock! My fourth of July was spent up in Xachmaz.  I had a great time seeing everyone, especially Corey.  I think more people were shocked that Amy left site.  I tend not to leave for anything, and when school starts, I may leave site once a semester. Lately, I’ve been getting more and more requests from locals not to leave Azerbaijan and to marry a local boy.  I keep telling them that my dad forbids me to stay in Azerbaijan and that he says I can’t marry an Azerbaijani boy.  Olmaz! This means “it mustn’t be” and is one of the phrases my dad learned in Azerbaijan. Now for Mom and Dad in Azer-land!  My parents arrived into Baku late on 12 July.  I have to take a moment to say that I am Corey’s debt for all his help.  He really helped me calm my nerves the day that I was preparing to get my parents from the airport.  He helped me sort things out with Ana and Ata who were disappointed that my parents were not staying with them in Masazir.  Seeing my parents in Azerbaijan was a surreal experience.  I am so grateful that they came: A) I just really, really missed them;  B) Now they understand so much more about Azerbaijan, my PC service, and Azerbaijanis.  We had an awesome time.  I don’t know how else to describe it.  It was awesome.  Not only was it awesome but also my parents are absolute troopers.  They went through Azerbaijani boot camp and survived!  The only way it would have been a more authentic PC experience is if we had stayed with my Masazir host family.  But we stayed at a hotel instead.  Special thanks to Emily, Martin, and Jonah for making me fabulous mixed CDs of new songs and favourite songs.  I appreciate new music and the fact that y’all made these for me.  I miss y’all dearly, and as much as I wish that y’all could have come to Azerbaijan, I’m so glad y’all didn’t.  We would have filled up half a marshutka and I would have had five times the amount to translate.  It was hard enough with Mom and Dad.  Next year would be awesome though…. Ok, enough of the plugging.  First day in, Mom, Dad, Corey, and I head to Masazir for dinner with my host family.  Ana prepared a feast, and Ata finally got a McManus to eat his kabobs.  The food was great, the company was even better, and Corey translating for my dad was the best.  My dad got to hang out with the Masazir men in a different fashion than if I were alone.  He drank beer, vodka, and got to participate in men conversation.  Mom and I stuck to the women’s side.  Mom was told that her hair cut was very fashionable (two years ago).  We had a great time, and I loved the meetings of my families.  Plus, Mom and Dad got to experience what it means to never be hungry in this country.  We feasted everywhere. True to PCV form, Baku was the American experience.  We ate hamburgers, drank beer (Yay for Guiness!), and had espresso and carrot cake.  (Although the coffee was far superior in Lerik thanks to all the coffee implements and coffee beans people have sent.)  We tracked up Maiden’s Tower, walked along the Caspian, got lost in the Old City, and unsuccessfully searched for Georgian and Thai food.  I showed them where the Americans hang out, drink beer, and played tourist.  It would have disappointed Laura, my older sister, that we failed to stop by any museum.  However, I was showing Mom and Dad my Baku, and my Baku is really only limited to the PC lounger and Targova.  I just had so much fun showing off my parents to my PCV friends.  It was as if I was trying to prove to myself that my parents were really here.  After a couple of days in Baku, we made the trip down to Lerik.  This is when Mom and Dad showed their real trooper status.  We take an un-AC bus down to Lankaran and taxi it up to Lerik.  It was a lot easier to follow this pattern than to try to catch the 7:30 bus to Lerik.  I am amused by the little boy sitting next to me who obviously doesn’t want to be sitting next to a girl and is crammed up next to the arm rest and by my mom whose motion sickness medicine has knocked her out for the trip down.  Upon our arrival to Lerik, we have a pleasant surprise.  Knowing there are no hotels in Lerik (at least none I would let my parents stay at), we had arranged to stay with my host family.  Walking through the door, I find that the only person home is my host mom.  Apologizing, she says that tomorrow she must leave for Baku because Saida is meeting the man who will become her fiancé and my host mom wants to be there so she can approve of this man.  By all means, I think meeting Saida’s fiancé is more important than babysitting my parents.  I can do that on my own. My host mom spends the evening cleaning the house and cooking levengi (YUM!), and I spend 30 minutes explaining how the house works to my parents.  I show them water tower outside the house, the kalonka (water heater), the indoor and outdoor squat toilet (lessons to come later), my room, the house, etc.  Then, like a good Azerbaijani, I serve tea to my parents while my host mom turns on the satellite TV for my parents.  Dad laughs at the irony of a squat toilet and a satellite TV.  I can no longer see the irony since we do have an indoor squat.  That’s fancy!  In Lerik, we went to 8 people’s houses and Konul muellima’s wedding.  That’s right, I brought my parents to a wedding.  We may have gone deaf sitting next to the speakers, but we ate, danced, and rubbed elbows with Lerik’s finest.  I am so proud of my parents for putting up with all the craziness I put them through.  Everyone who met my parents were so happy that we stopped by and visited.  Of course, everywhere we went, we drank tea, ate sweets, and most places we ate a meal.  My mom’s favourite story is when we went to my neighbour’s.  My neighbour (I love this family) asked me if my parents ate meat.  Yes, they eat meat.  Do they eat chicken?  Yes, they eat chicken.  Good, I’m going to go cut off one’s head.  Ok….What?  **Distressed chicken clucking comes from outside and is quickly silenced.**  I was really amused, but we had a great time.  With my host mom gone, we drank forbidden iced water, mom and dad could manage the squat toilets in peace, and we could truly relax from guesting in the evening, watching Aljeezra from the satellite TV.  We went back to Baku to finish our trip, and I was truly reluctant to see Mom and Dad go.  Luckily, I had Ana and Ata waiting for me in Masazir to help ease the separation pain.  It was hard to let go of Mom’s hand at the airport.  I wanted to selfishly keep them in Azerbaijan, but I also knew that life would continue on as it had before they came.  However, to buffer entering the real world, I stayed in Masazir for a week after Mom and Dad left, which was still too short of a time for Ata. Gunay was having a hard time when I arrived in Masazir.  She had not done well on her university exams.  I was so upset for her, and Ana said that Gunay hadn’t really eaten since getting the results.  I tried to cheer her up the best I could, telling her about how I didn’t get into the Peace Corps the first time I did.  But I tried again.  And if I had gotten in the first time, I would have never met them because 2008 was the first year Masazir was used for training.  Ana kept saying, “See, Gunay.  Things happen for a reason.”  I wanted Gunay to see that, but I knew it’s hard to do that when you are so disappointed.  So I just tried to be the best big sister I could. Gunay wanted to go to Baku and show me around the Bulvard.  So, I agreed.  We had a great time.  My Masazir host family continually reminds me why I love this country, why I love Azerbaijanis, and why being here has a purpose.  Gunay and I searched and searched for a boat that would take us on the Caspian.  We found and rode the windy vessel.  We rode unsafe carnival rides, which scared Gunay so much.  Like a good friend, I laughed way too hard at her fear.  I tried to warn her if she didn’t like the ride that moved back and forth but didn’t go upside down that she wouldn’t like the one that actually went upside down.  But I went anyways.  I felt like I was just one of the girls, and it’s so nice to have a sweet, genuine person like Gunay look up to you and remind you of the positive qualities you do possess when you’re having a bad day.  To show my gratitude, I took Gunay to “little America” aka Café Caramel.  I wanted her to see what I liked about Baku.  Café Caramel is a place where the PCVs go for good coffee and sweets.  We each had an Americano and split a lemon tart.  She loved it so much and bragged to Tunar when we got home.  After seeing her so sad for so long, it was wonderful to see my beautiful host sister smile and enjoy the little things again.  (Later Ana thanked me for what ever I did that corrected the former situation.)  But it came time for me to return to Lerik.  Off I went on the Lankaran bus.  While my Masazir family feels like home, Masazir itself is no longer home.  Lerik is home, and seeing Lerik peeking between the mountains when you are only ten kilometres away is a sight that I love.  I always go on about how much I love Lerik, but it’s true.  Lerik is a wonderful, magical, friendly place.  I’m so happy that this is my site. Word around the PC office is that I may be getting a sitemate this December.  I still have mixed feelings towards this idea.  Mainly, I wanted to be alone at site for two years.  I’m not good at sharing, and I am scared that another American will ruin what I have in Lerik.  I know this irrational, but I can still pout.  I accept that I’ll probably get a sitemate, and I just hope that they’re a cool person and that they don’t speak Azerbaijani better than me. August began cold and rainy.  I was a bit upset at first, because I wanted 3 full months of summer.  No fair giving me only 2 months of summer.  I will stubbornly refuse to put on my PC sleeping bag before September.  Nine months a year is my limit for using my PC sleeping bag.  Luckily, after the rain stopped it warmed up a bit.  It’s no longer hot like when Mom and Dad were here (although it wasn’t really that hot when they were here); I still wear long sleeves most of the time and have started to sport tights under my jeans. Oh, I guess that is a development.  Starting in June (6 months being in Lerik), I started to wear pants on a regular basis.  Most people were kind of shocked but took it as a sign that I am more comfortable in town.  It’s like I’m showing everyone that I can be more American.  Although, the old ladies loved it that I wore long skirts.  I think as long as I dress pretty modestly, it really doesn’t matter what I wear.  I’m the American and that gives me some wiggle room for what I’m allowed to wear and do. Scott, an AZ05, came up the mountain to visit Lerik before he leave in September.  Now, as he realized on the trip to Lerik and I will try to clarify for you, when I say Lerik is in the mountains, I don’t mean I live in the foothills of the Talish mountains.  I mean that I literally live on top/side of a mountain.  I love it, but it does lead for an interesting ride getting here, especially when it’s windy, rainy, or snowy.  Anyways, Scott was my first male visitor (besides my dad), so I wasn’t sure what to do.  He stayed at the house anyways; I just tried to make sure that everyone knew who he was in order to prevent some rumours.  I haven’t been kicked out of town yet, so I’m guessing I did a good job.  Anyways, Scott and I went hiking through Lulakaran and up the mountains to the south.  It was a hard hike for me, but the view was worth it.  We went to the top of the mountain and looked to the other side.  It was just a steep cliff down, but it was awesome.  Now, the mountain chain to the south is the border to Iran.  Lerik, my rayon, border Iran.  Lerik, my town, is fifteen kilometres from Iran.  So, yes, I peered into Iran.  I did not know about the story of the hikers; I found out about them the next day.  I won’t make a regular habit of hiking to the border; nevertheless, I’m so glad I did this hike.  It was beautiful.  It was neat to see the cloud rolling into the valley or at times straight into me.  Funny, cows scale the mountain too.  Scott kept pointing out to me when I was tired that there was cow manure in front of him, so if a cow could get this high on the mountain so could we.  Competitive as I am, I could not let a cow scale a mountain and admit defeat myself. My host mom, having enough of Scott, politely kicked him out of the house, and life continued on in Lerik.  I completely toy-ed it up.  I went to two wedding in three days!  And I toy-ed for more than 12 hours.  It was quite the cultural experience.  The first toy I went to was my first boy-toy.  I think I have said before that there are boy weddings and girl weddings.  It’s like having a two-part wedding ceremony: one for the girl’s family and one for the boy’s family.  So, I went to the boy-toy where we were related to the groom.  At 5pm we went to Zaza’s house.  She is my host-dad’s mom and my Azerbaijani grandmother.  She cracks me up.  We waited for the bride and groom to arrive.  When they did, women danced front of the car, Zaza sacrificed a sheep in front of me (kind of disturbing), and had the normal gathering of relatives and people I don’t know.  I was polite and quiet, and we went to the toy at 7.  I ate, danced, and did the normal toy rituals.  Around 1, I had enough.  It was time to go home.  How could we still be toying it up?  My neighbours brought me home.  I was flabbergasted when they asked me to have tea at their house.  Excusing myself, I went inside and crashed.  My host family came home within the hour, so I guess I could have toy-ed it to the end, but I was so tired. My next toy, however, I toyed it to the end.  Two days after my boy-toy, I went to my first little toy.  A little toy celebrates a young boy’s circumcision.  That’s right, young boys, not babies, are circumcised in this culture.  The basic process of a little-toy is like that of a big-toy.  People go the Happiness Palaces, eat plov, salad, bread, etc, and dance.  The only difference is that there a little boy walks through the doors instead of a bride and groom.  This toy was fun because there was a lot of modern music, so we could dance more freely.  I had a great time.  I toy-ed it up for 6 hours, and I lasted until the END!  HA!  Yes, that is victory. This week, after so much comings and going, I’ve convinced myself to go running on a more regular basis.  I’m done a great job this week, and I can’t tell you how much I miss running.  It is so much fun to wake up early, go to the track, run three miles, and be back before most of the town as woken up.  There is something about running that is just good for my spirit. I’ve been studying Azerbaijani again, connecting with my host mom and sister (which is so much easier now that the other have gone back to Baku and Moscow respectively), and settling into life in Lerik. I’m ready for school to start, but before school starts, I’m off to Istanbul for a week.  I’m super excited.  I have a new cell phone which is both Azertastic because it plays music so I can be like the Azerbaijani guys and play music when I’m walking down the street like a little boombox and because its “Russian Red” according to the box.  The latter amuses me far more than it should. In local news, Ramazan started on Saturday.  “The ninth month of the Moslem calendar.  Commemorates the month in which the Koran was revealed to Mohammed.  Observance involves prayer and abstention from food, drink, smoking, and sex, from sunrise to sundown.”  That being said, I don’t know many Azerbaijanis who are actually fasting for the month of Ramazan.  To me, Ramazan just means that I have a break from going to toys. Next update will be post-Turkey.  Until then, take care! Cheers, Amy

My parents have come to Azerbaijan, and together we have taken AZ by storm!

In honour of Laura, who made the Hi Amy! website, I introduce "Salam, Laura!"

On top of Lerik!

Facing the west toward Yardimli.

Entrance into Lerik!

I know I have had some radio silence for a while.  Please don't be offended.  Please be happy that I feel like I'm settling into site.  

My older sister made this blog for me, and it makes me so happy.

http://hiamypcv.blogspot.com

It's super awesome.

SON ZANG! Last Bell!

11th form and 1st form. A symbolic farwell to the eleventh form and a warm welcome to the first form.

Liman and Emil ring the last bell of school.

Water fall behind my school (and down a deep gorge)

towards Lankaran

fields of poppies

LERIK!

Lenin Mountain

I figured you might want to see pictures of my new life!

24 April 2009 So, I have come to understand that some future PCVs may be reading my blog hoping to understand what Peace Corps life is like and what they should expect.  Well, as my friend Micah put is, Peace Corps is like the lottery.  You never know where you’re going (country), who you’ll meet (fellow Americans), who you’ll live with (host family), where you’ll live (permanent site), or who you’ll work with (host organization).  There is a lot of stuff that is just plain out of your control.  The only thing you can control is your attitude.  My advice to any future Peace Corps Trainee coming to Azerbaijan is sit back and get ready for a bumpy ride.  If you are reading this blog and not coming to Azerbaijan, please be aware that while culture shock, frustration with host country nationals, and frustration with learning a second language is something that almost all Peace Corps Volunteers deal with no matter where they go.  HOWEVER, each and every PC country is very different, and the PCV experience is very different.  My experiences in Lerik will be very different than PCVs an hour away in a larger site. When I call PC Azerbaijan a bumpy ride, I don’t mean to infer that bumpy rides are bad.  For all the good and all the bad, I have enjoyed my ride thus far; I like to view living in Azerbaijan as being 98% comfortable with my surrounding and myself.  For the most part I am happy, adjusted, and love people with whom and the place in which I live.  But there is still 2% of me that deals with the fact everyday that I am living in a foreign land with babat (so-so) language skills.  Now, for the 5 things.  5 things I wished I brought, 5 things I wished I had left behind, and 5 things that I’m glad I brought.  Before you take this as gospel, just know that this is from my perspective as a woman from Louisiana. 5 things I’m glad I brought:·      Wool stockings and good tights - never underestimate what paying extra money for tights can do·      My sleeping bag- good for travelling·      Comfy Shoes·      Clothes for layering·      My computer & journal 5 things I wish I brought:·      Running Pants- can’t really run with shorts in this country·      A Good Cloth bag- Mom sent me one (good for groceries and extra stuff)·      Headlamp- good for the outhouse at night & Dad sent me one·      External hard drive (good for trading music and such with other PCV’s)·      Markers & index cards 5 things I wish I had left behind (or have found to be unnecessary):·      A large stash of books- you will find many in the Peace Corps lounge·      My personal first aid kit- Peace Corps provides you with one (although I’m partial to Advil, so I brought an extra bottle)·      My raincoat- Haven’t used it once.  I use my umbrella·      A large assortment of shoes.  I only brought 5 pairs (hiking boots, running shoes, black flats, sandals, and casual shoes) and bought one here (my black winter boots).·      My sense of shame- be ready to be a small kid again on numerous levels   I know looking at the packing list can seem daunting, remember to streamline because Peace Corps will give you more stuff to carry anyways (First Aid Kit, Sleeping Bag, Water Filter, hand outs, more hand outs, carbon monoxide detector, etc).  

4 May 2009 Dearest everyone, Happy May!  Can you believe that it is already May?  Time continues to slip past me without saying a word.  I know I’ve said it numerous times, but spring has finally come.  I can say this with assurance because the locals have told me that the warm weather is here to stay.  I’m so happy for the sun, the warm weather, and the two layers of clothing I need to stay warm.  For those of you from cooler climes, a spring that doesn’t make itself known until the fifth month may be normal for you; however, for this southern woman, it’s already short sleeve weather in March. May has begun as a beautiful month with each day sunny and mild.  Everywhere is so green, and we have so many flowers in our yard.  I know some of the PCVs are tired of me saying this, but I live in a magical place.  Lerik is breathtakingly gorgeous, and I am so happy that this is my home.  Of course, three out of these four days I have spent in bed or in my room, nicely sidelined by a cold and sore throat.  However, that being said, I finally feel as if things are turning around, and I’ll be able to return to my normal PCV duties.  When I last wrote, I was about to embark for IST (Inter-Service Training) in Baku.  The trip went remarkable well.  It stopped snowing the day before I left, so it was all melted by the morning I left to catch my bus.  The only problem is that melted snow leaves a lot of mud, and I slipped and slid my down to the bus station using the bus station shortcut.  It was truly a site to behold.  I have my phone/flash light in one hand, my messenger bag on my back, my birthday cake in the hand with the flash light, and my free hand gripping a wall or fence.  Every step slid about three inches from where I put my foot down.  I was sure that I would be full of mud by the time I made it to the bus station.  Luckily, only my shoes were muddy when I got on the bus.  But since Azerbaijanis’ shoes are impeccably clean, I was very self-concious of my muddy shoes and hid them under the seat in front of me.  When we stopped for our tea break, I immediately hopped off the bus to clean my shoes.  I guess in some ways, I have integrated into Azerbaijani society. IST’s were great to see everyone from the east side.  We all talked about our sites, our lives, and our work.  As compared to New Years, the conversations were more relaxed as we have adjusted to our new lives, new jobs, and new trials.  I guess I could tell that we were making our way from newly sworn-in PCVs to weather-worn PCVs.  We could joke about our first months and talk about stuff beyond site.  At IST, I could easily tell those of us who are alone at site and those of us who have site-mates.  The lone PCVs at site are so excited to see someone who speaks English natively that we just talked nonstop and all over each other.  I think Rachel and I just talked for 30 minutes straight continuously interrupting the other person.  For me though, these group gatherings always have a backlash.  Yes, I’m excited to see people and to be able just to shoot the breeze, but then I just get overwhelmed.  I’m not used to this many Americans or having to hold a conversation for this long.  I’m not sure what to do about this situation and usually need to step outside to catch my breath. The people at IST made IST a great event.  Peace Corps staff was able to give us feedback and ideas on how to proceed after our first four months.  PCVs were able to bounce ideas off of each other on how to improve a club, classroom, or any various problems.  In some ways, it was nice just to get out of site and to be an American with other Americans, rather than being THE American.  After ISTs, I planned on going home to Masazir and visit my “second” family (as my family is Louisiana is starting to call them).  On Friday, the day I was to depart for Masazir, I was filled with a sense of dread.  Ata had been calling me since Wednesday to make sure that I was coming home and asking when he could pick me up in Baku.  Searching for the source of this dread, I came up with a couple of ideas: 1) I’m not used to being the centre of attention.  Going home to Masazir meant speaking A LOT and not being able to hide in my room like I used to do.  2) You can never really go home.  I hadn’t been home since New Years.  What if everything had changed and it was no longer the loving home I left in December?  3) In joining the Peace Corps, I did not have the intentions of being adopted by another set of parents who now worry about me almost as much as my parents in Louisiana.  My PST host family calls me almost as often as my parents to see how I am. Putting it off until late afternoon, I finally called Ata to ask him if I could still catch the 225 at the normal place since Baku has a new bus station.  Ata and I always have a bit miscommunication going, so he insisted on picking me up in Baku.  When I met up with Ata, all my worries melted away about going home.  Nothing seemed to change, and he appeared so proud that his American daughter had come home for a visit.  He tells me about the cake and food Ana has prepared for me and how they’ve been waiting all day.  I let him talk and zoned out watching the familiar route of Baku to Masazir.  When we got off the bus at the Blue House to Nowhere, we met up with a neighbour whom I’ve never met.  She asked Ata, “Who is this girl?”  He responded, “My daughter.”  I introduced myself, telling her that I am an American and I lived in Masazir for three months.  She tells us that we must come guesting, but I tell her that I must go home because Ana is waiting for me.  Ata and I head proudly down the road.  I guess you can go home. When we turned toward the house, Ata tells me that the water is worse.  I’m confused for a bit until I see what he means.  Lake Masazir, the pond that resides in front of my house, has grown!  I thought that this would be impossible, but nope, it’s deeper and now more treacherous to pass.  But I make it past the moat to the castle.  Ata and I quietly creep in, and Tunar sees us, but I quickly gesture for him to stay quiet.  I open the kitchen door, and Ana laughs as she looks up.  She runs up to me and gives me a huge hug and a kiss.  “My daughter, how are you?  Are you hungry?  Do you want tea?”  It was wonderful to be home.  Tunar is apparently doing better in school.  Gunay is studying hard for her university exams and has a cute new haircut that I appropriately raved over.  It was just like old times.  I know for the next two years (and probably forever) I will always have a home to go to when times are tough or just to visit.  Things really haven’t changed.   Tunar still talks nonstop.  Gunay, who just turned 18, still behaves like the world revolves around her.  Ana is always bustling around.  And Ata still gives me that goofy look and says, “Amy, Amy, Amy, Amy.”  That first dinner left me full for the next three days.  It was my birthday dinner with all my favourites: dolma, plov, cucumber, tomato salad, and an awesome birthday cake.  Being home, I can put why moving to Lerik and adjusting to my new host family was so hard for me.  I still can’t really call Yeta ana.  She’s not my ana.  If you note in my emails, when I refer to Yeta, I call her “my host mom.”  What can I say, I won the PST host family lottery.  Word quickly got around Masazir that Amy had come home. I received many visitors between Friday night and Saturday.  And despite my fears of being the centre of attention, it was much like coming home from college.  That first night everyone is super pumped you are home, and then they go back to their business.  Ana and I basically had the house to ourselves for much of Saturday. We talked, I read my book, and she cooked. Sunday morning, I basically had to force Ata to bring me to the bus station.  He wanted me to stay for another week.  But Ana and I would argue that I had work on Monday.  Then he tried to convince me to come home that coming Friday for a wedding.  I told him that it was a long trip and that I would need to think about it.  We both new that meant I wasn’t coming, but he tried.  Ata, being the good father he is, brought me to the bus station, found my bus, paid for my trip, and told the woman sitting next to me to take care of me.  Ana, being the good mother she is, gave me a meal that could feed 6 people for the road.  I did catch the Lerik bus home, and the ride home was smooth.  I always feel sad when I leave Ana and Ata, but I told them that I would be back this summer for a week. The next week in Lerik was cold, windy, and foggy.  I think we had a week straight of fog.  The part of me that went to college in California was so tired of the fog and the dreariness.  I was seriously about to give up on the whole idea that spring was ever coming to Lerik.  I was back in four layers (most of which were wool).  Despite the nasty weather, there were some sunny parts of the week.  My students usually find a way to make my day a lot brighter.  I love my Wednesday conversation club for the 8th form.  Girls show up to that club, so I have decided that this club is girls only.  I teach them basic English conversational points, and each girl must give a presentation at the end of the class.  My fifth form seems to be really catching on to my interactive teaching methods I am presenting and are becoming quite vocal in class.  (Even if they are wrong most of the time, they are trying.) Also the other teachers at my school are really wonderful.  They female teachers have incorporated me into their fold.  I’m the quiet American who follows them around.  They know my Azerbaijani is limited, but it’s better than their English, so we slowly converse.  And they are forgiving of my butchered Azerbaijani.  The last week of April began to mark the beginning of the sunshine.  Sure, I had my trials and tribulations of the week; nevertheless, I think it was a week where many necessary things were accomplished and were made known.  First trial, my counter part Aynura was sick all last week, so she could not come to class.  Having taught for basically four months now, I felt prepared enough to teach these classes by myself.  If the text was too hard and needed a lot of translations, we would just play review games instead.  Early on in my teaching (by February), I realized that I had a slight problem.  The kids like me.  They really like me as their friend and NOT as their teacher.  Having younger siblings, I’m used to relating to younger children on a friend level and not on a hierarchal level.  Being thought of as a friend is a problem because the kids won’t respect me.  The younger forms thought it was awesome that Ms. Amy was going to be teaching them for this week because it was just going to all fun and games… They were definitely wrong.  They got to encounter the mean Ms. Amy.  (Yes, Mom, I shot some of those kids the eyes.)  It started with fifth form.  They weren’t listening.  They kept goofing off.  So using a trick I learned from Corey, I had them open their books and copy a text from the new lesson.  Then they had to translate it.  On top of that, I gave them homework.  I gave students who didn’t participate 2’s in the grade book.  In Azerbaijan, they do not have the same grading system we have (i.e. A, B, C, D, F).  They use numbers.  It works out the same; 5 is the best, and a 1 is the worst.  Fifth form got this punishment on Tuesday.  But 6b didn’t get to learn this lesson until Friday.  Strangely, I don’t feel bad about being the mean Ms. Amy.  It was a necessary evil, and, honestly, they were being horrific.  Not all of them, but the bad ones were preventing the good ones from learning.  I think my students get the point.  If you are good, you will have the fun Ms. Amy who plays games and jokes with you.  If you are bad, then you will have the mean Ms. Amy who is demanding and unforgiving.  I must admit that when I reflect on being the mean Ms. Amy, I have to smirk a little.  I can be a mean hard nose teacher.  I wasn’t sure if it was in me. Wednesday, I had a couple of Peace Corps moments, which I will share with you now.  The first one was in fifth form.   The newly well-behaved fifth form, fresh from their punishment on Tuesday, was going over the vocabulary words.  Since the fifth form has a hard time sitting in their desks, we act out of the vocabulary words to help them remember the words.  The word was “to choose.”  I wasn’t going to have them act it out; I wasn’t even sure how to act it out.  Qabil shoots his hand up.  “Teacher, teacher, let me show it.  Let me show it,” he asks (of course, all in Azerbaijani).  I relent to Qabil’s request.  He takes out his handkerchief, putting it on his head like the old ladies.  He explains to the class that he is a lady at the bazaar.  He proceeds to pretend to be picking out a piece of fruit (being quite picky I must add).  I was so impressed and very amused. The second moment came Wednesday afternoon after my girl’s club.  I wasn’t home for more than an hour when some family friends came over.  One of my host mom’s good friends is moving to Zardab.  Her husband is being transferred there, so the whole family was moving on Thursday for their new home.  The woman had come along with her three children who I know better than I know this lady.  Firudin was in my 6b class.  Shebnam (4th form) and Yunis (1st form) sometimes stop by the house after school.  I befriended Shebnam and Yunis during these after school visits.  Shebnam decided that we were friends and often talked to me in the schoolyard.  She was always sweet.  After about 10 minutes of sitting in the living room, Shebnam asks to see the pictures on my computer.  Next thing I know I’m entertaining Shebnam and Yunis for the next 4 hours in my room.  Yunis sat at my computer taking pictures of himself.  In school, the little boy never talked, but in my room, he wouldn’t stop.  Shebnam told me that she was said to be leaving and she was going to miss me very much.  I told her that she was going to make new friends and that everything would be ok.  She then looked through everything I owned and proclaimed that everything from America was both good and interesting.  As a going away gift, I gave her an English/Azerbaijani book I have about a little boy who moved away to a new home.  She was so happy.  I feel that even if I never see Shebnam again that I affected her life in a positive way.  She was so convinced that we were friends, that I had little choice but to be friends with their very sweet 4th grader.  She actually called on Saturday to let me know that they made it safely to Zardab and that the weather was hot.  I told her, “Inshallah, goruserik.”  (God willing, we will see each other soon.) I guess what I have learned from Shebnam is that even the smallest things you do in the PC (or really in life) can make a big impact.  I just stopped and talked to Shebnam once when they came over because I didn’t want to spend an afternoon hiding in my room.  I didn’t realize at the time, but our small encounters meant so much to her.  You have to be careful with those little ones, they are more observant than you think. Happy May once again!  I feel like a little kid counting down the days until summer vacation (although really all summer long, I plan on having weekly activities for the kids in my community). Much love, Amy

11 April 2009

Dear everyone,

It appears that this year, I’ll be dreaming of a white birthday. As I write, snow is falling in a foggy Lerik, and I am back in three layers nursing a cup of hot chocolate. So my official prognosis is that Novruz lied and that spring is still not here. My host sister keeps teasing me that it’s going to snow in May. At this rate, I totally believe her. Spring will probably come sometime in June or July.

Today is month four in Lerik, and, officially, I no longer have to live with a host family. Yet in the pursuit of trying to find a house, I decided that staying put is not such a bad idea. I am happy with my decision, and, I think, my host family is actually happy with it too. I finally reorganized my room and will start putting pictures on the wall. For a long time, I was resisting to making this place home. I also was trying to process what staying with my host family would mean.

I won’t lie. Part of me wants to move out so that I can finally “grow up.” I have never had a place of my own. I’ve lived in dorms or at home. I’ve also settled in here and risk becoming complacent. But in the end, I received some wonderful advice from my friend Corey. He said to do what makes me happiest. Staying would, at this moment, make me the happiest. So, while I may be almost 26 years old when I finally get my own place (unless my host family evicts me), I have the rest of my life to be a “grown up,” a term that I am increasingly unable to define.

As I wrote in previously, this week I started conversation clubs at School 1. Tuesday was a glorious beginning of the 6th & 7th form club. I had over 20 students attend, and they had a great time. The next day they were still talking about it. Thursday was the 5th form club. I was nervous about this club because the children need a lot of translation and sometimes have the attention span of gnats, like most children in the 5th grade at home. Now the club didn’t start until 3pm, but at 2pm, two students come to the house ready to come to the club. I told them to come back at 3pm, but they didn’t come back. Instead, I had a room of 11 boys who came wrestling, joking, and shoving through the door.

On Tuesday, Aynura came to help me translate and facilitate the club, but on Thursday, I was on my own. I was surprised how well the club turned out. They may be bouncing off the walls half the time, but I truly enjoy the fifth form. They are always full throttle, but I love their energy and enthusiasm. Fifth form is never dull. Secretly, they are my favourite form. I even taught the boys to say, “What’s up?” and to say, “Nothing,” in return.

Friday at the Boarding School is always my least favourite day of the week. I have a feeling this probably won’t change until next school year. I simply do not see the children at the boarding school as often to have a rapport with them. Next year, I would like to start going there maybe twice a week or to have special clubs for them. As the Azerbaijanis would say, “slowly, slowly.”

12 April 2009

Happy Birthday Me! I am now 24 years old. I especially like how my sister Emily described this occasion: “On one hand, that’s old. … On the other hand, you are so young when I think back to everything you have experienced and accomplished – and only at 24!!!”

How does being 24 feel? Well, cold. It’s snowing on my birthday! This is definitely a first and a bit incomprehensible. I actually walked around in the snow this morning just to wrap my head around it. This is no spring snow either; it has snowed for 12 hours now, and I don’t see it letting up any time soon. In fact, the snow has gotten heavier as the day has progressed. I am thoroughly amused. Toto, I don’t think we’re in Louisiana any more.

Being the big partier that I am (please note the sarcasm), I stayed up past midnight to ring in my birthday. At the stroke of midnight, I was making dolma with my host mom. That’s right, I know how to party. It seemed like such a Peace Corps moment to be wrapping grape leaf dolma the moment I turned 24.

14 April 2009

It only took until yesterday but the snow finally stopped. And the sun is back, melting three days worth of snow. Everything is green again in Lerik except for the mountains that remain white. My host mom said that it snowed 30 cm (11.8 inches) but the news says it only snowed 15 cm. (5.9 inches). Regardless of the amount, I’m maintaining the fact that it’s April, and it shouldn’t snow in April. Maybe I’m just being picky, but there were icicles longer than my arm hanging from my room yesterday. I just think that almost half way through April, I just think that I shouldn’t be wearing all my winter clothes again.

But how did my birthday go? It was a nice quiet day that I spent at home with the host family. I normally have morning on the weekends to myself because my family sleeps in, so I received birthday calls from Eleni and my family and opened my birthday presents from my family. The summer clothes that my parents sent are very nice, and I’m sure I’ll be able to wear them eventually. Maybe in June.

As for the rest of the day, I passed my time texting friends, talking to my host family in Masazir (who inquired when I was coming home because Ana wants to bake me a cake), and helping my host family decorate my birthday cake. My host mom baked me a honey layer cake that we covered in a chocolate ganache. It was really good. I kind of felt like I was at the bakery again, because I got to write, “Happy Birthday Amy” and draw drop roses.

I should probably clarify that cake is peculiar baked good in Azerbaijan. Cake in Azerbaijan is not cake in America. They make look the same on the outside, but they don’t taste the same. Cakes here tend to be dry and pretty thin. My honey cake kind of tasted like a honey graham cracker.

I also spent part of the day trying to stay warm. I was inside, but I still wore three layers. For my birthday dinner, my host mom made a feast of plov (rice), eggplant levengi (a southern specialty which is so yummy), cucumbers, and dolma. I was touched and enjoyed the company.

Now the cake’s candle needs its own paragraph. This was amusing for a myriad of reasons. Saida got this candle especially for me. The apparatus is bigger than my fist and stuck a good 5 inches out of the cake. When I lit it, a mechanical “Happy Birthday” starts bleeping and a torch-like flame erupts from the candle’s centre. If this weren’t enough, then candle opens up like a flower with 8 more lit candles. I did manage to blow out all the candles in one breath, but that’s only because the torch had gone out long before I tried.

Monday was trudging through the snow to get to school. I asked the teachers why did we have snow since it was spring. One teacher said spring came and gone; it’s winter again. I’m glad we can joke somewhat with each other.

Today was round 2 of the conversation clubs. The sixth and seventh form has seen to grow by at least 6 students, and no one really seems to listen to me or each other. I think they are learning, but one can never be sure. They are happy to come, and I am happy to see them. It gives them something to do in the afternoon. Because it was too cold at school yesterday for the 8th and 9th form clubs, we had class today after the 6th and 7th form met. It was a completely opposite situation from the previous hour. The eight girls who came were so quiet, and I felt that they learned a lot about greetings. It was kind of nice to be around people who have the maturity to sit and listen. But then again, after having such noisy classes, I was really thrown by my silent class.

Tomorrow, I am going to Baku for Inter-Service Training. I am excited to see AZ 06 again. I haven’t seen some of these people since swearing-in, but at the same time, I am really dreading travelling. I like staying at site and being just being here. It’s an hour trip to Lankaran and a six-hour to trip to Baku. But I guess we all have to leave site sometimes, probably just to maintain sanity. And I’m going to visit my host family in Masazir this weekend! I can’t wait to see them, although my stomach already hurts from the amount of food that I will be fed.

Much love,

Amy

P.S. If you wish to be removed from this mailing list, please send me an email and let me know. OR If you wish me add someone to my mailing list, please send me an email with her/his email address.

2 April 2009

Dear everyone,

Peace Corps moments are always great: both the good and the bad. The good give you the answer why you joined the Peace Corps. The bad make you question why you joined the Peace Corps. My host mom was telling me about trying pork. Despite being in a Muslim country, one can still find pig farms. Another PCV and I had a weird experience when we saw a pig farm on the bus ride home from Göyçay. During the Soviet administration, developing pig farms and advocating the consumption of pork was a policy to weaken religious ties. And according to Yeta (my host mom), Russians really like pork. Pork is forbidden (or as the Azerbaijanis would say, “Olmaz!”) in the Islamic faith.

My host mom says she ate pork once because her neighbours said it was a mutton kabob. They only told her afterwards that it was pork. She asked me if anything was forbidden to eat in the United States. I told her nothing; I’m guessing that this was the most culturally appropriate answer because there are so many religions in the states. Human meat is not culturally appropriate and neither is eating cat or dog flesh, and horse meat is generally not eaten. But if I told my host mom that, she would think that either I’m really weird or Americans are really weird.

So speaking of weird, American music videos are on the TV, and it took me a second to realize that I was hearing English. I’m used to zoning out the TV because they just speak too fast for me. But it’s even weirder that I cannot recognize the singers any more. It takes half the song for me to realize that I’m watching Jessica Simpson or any other blond musician.

Overall, it was a good day. One of teachers just got engaged. She is very excited, and I’m excited for the toy (wedding) this summer. Toys are always an interesting experience, but now that I am feeling like more of the community, I’ll be able to enjoy the toy from a different perspective. I enjoy being furniture in these people’s lives. I can sit and watch them interact, and I just try to soak up as much as I can.

While some days December 2010 seems like forever away, I know it’ll come quickly, and then I’ll want more time in Lerik. Now that spring is here, I can look out the window and just appreciate where I am. It is gorgeous. I am just going to wander in the rayon this summer, exploring various roads up the mountain. No worries, I won’t accidently wander into Iran. I think it’s more than a day’s hike to get to the border.

I’ve gotten a favourable response from the kids about the conversation club; many applications have rolled my way. I was originally going to limit my conversation club to 20 members per time slot, but I kind of figure they’ll weed themselves out on their own. If worse comes to worse, I’ll just have two clubs on Tuesday.

Things are going well with the host family. I feel bad about being so insistent about moving out, but I am working under two principles: 1) my host family has family who visits in the summer and 2) house guests like fish stink after 3 days (or four months). The last principle is thanks to Benjamin Franklin in “Poor Richard’s almanac. Actually, I really like my host family. We have all learned to coexist. They are super sweet, and we just bumble along our merry way. My host sister has truly become someone that I admire and that I like to spend time with (when I’m in the mood to blunder through Azerbaijani).

7 April 2009

Considering that I will not have a house by the housing contract’s termination of 11 April, I asked my host mom if I could stay here until I find a house. She said, of course, you’re my daughter. Awesome! I’m really happy that I am not being kicked out of this house. Today, I saw the house that my school director wanted me to see. It’s not a bad house; there is a kitchen area, outdoor toilet, a shower that I would share with the family who owns the main house, and a nice big room. BUT (there is always a ‘but’) it’s on the other side of town, way on the other side of town. As in, it’s on the edge of the town.

I’m all for having a longer walk to school and getting my exercise in; however, this is a 25 minute walk in good spring weather. This past winter was mild, and I was pretty miserable/cold. So, when I got home, my host mom asked me what I thought about the new house. I said it was ok, but the walk was long. She asked me what I wanted. I said that I would like to stay here because I am happy here. She said that I could stay! So this is an exciting turn of events.

I definitely want to keep looking for housing, but it’s really nice to know that I have a place that I can still call home and that my host family actually likes me.

In Lerik, spring has yet to decide if it is ready for a full-time appearance. The first couple of days of April were gorgeous and on the warmer side of things. Lerik was green, and the only dots of white came from apple blossoms on the trees that everyone seems to have in their yards. Friday turned cloudy and foggy, and the postman told me that this weekend it would rain. I expressed my dislike of his weather forecast, but, alas, he spoke the truth. This weekend was grey, cold, wet, and muddy. This weekend, it snowed! I was completely aghast on Saturday morning when I saw a 3-inch layer of snow on everything.

“This is spring!” I thought to myself, but despite my grumbles, the snow did not stop until a little after 10. As quickly as the snow accumulated, it had almost completely melted by the time I left the house at 11. I was told later that sometimes Lerik has snow in May: this was only spring snow, and it will quickly melt. (Oh yay! That means it’ll be muddy.) Back in full winter regalia, I traversed Lerik on the social dates I had made the previous week: lunch at Vagif’s where I met his grandson and drank tea with his wife and lesson planning with Terana where I drank more tea and watched PowerPuff Girls in Turkish.

Terana completely cracks me up. Her English is excellent, and she is one of the best teachers at my school. She maintains excellent classroom management and is still able to joke with her students. We can joke together, and we have good conversations about most topics.

Sunday morning started with rain and ended with snow. I layered up to go to Aynura’s house, and by the time I left at 7 in the evening, the sun was out, and it was too warm for my coat. Silly weather we are having here. Aynura is probably the first friend I made in Lerik. She is only 25, so we have a lot in common. We have similar sense of humour, and she lets me rattle on and on. After we wrote our lesson plans, we sat, drank tea, and watched the new in English!

Oh the news! This was the first time that I have watched the news in long, long time. I was so excited to understand everything that was said and to hear what was going on in the world. Then again, the news was so depressing that maybe it’s better not watching the news. Sure, I live in a bubble in Lerik but so does everyone else here.

Lately, I have realized that slowly but surely I am becoming settled in Lerik. Most days, I have been able to say that I’m happy. Happiness seems to creep up on you, and you don’t even realize that you are happy/content until the moment passes. I’m sure the weather has something to do with this, but it’s nice to finally start feeling at home in Lerik.

Today, I had my first conversation club for sixth and seventh form. It was a hit, and I kind of feel like a celebrity. I was nervous for my conversation club. How would it go? Would they even like it? Before leaving, I could hear children’s voices outside. This was a bit unusual because not many children live in my neighbourhood. I leave the house, bracing myself for the unknown of the next hour. “YAY! MS. AMY!” This cry from a group of my 6th and 7th form startles me. They explain that they are excited about the club have waited for an hour.

Then like mice following the Pied Piper, the children follow me to school, skipping, and talking (the whole 30 seconds it takes me to get to school). Aynura graciously came to help me translate and keep the class in order, and the children, in my opinion, learned and had a good time. I am really excited to see how the clubs progress and how the final presentations turn out.

Days like today and yesterday are the days I file in my “BREAK IN CASE OF EMERGENCY” mental file. When I have bad days (and they will come), I will pull out this memory and remember why I came to Azerbaijan.

Much love,

Amy

P.S. Awesome Lerik fact of the week: when looking at the south-east mountain peaks, one can see the profile of Vladimir Lenin. I will try to attach a picture to show y’all. Aynura pointed this image out to me.

P.P.S I haven't been able to take the picture because it's been so cloudy.

1 April 2009

Dearest everyone,

Apartment update! Today my school director, Gültəkin, and I went to look at my future apartment. It is an older apartment and probably was built during the Soviet era. My gut is saying no as we walked into the place, but my head is saying just look around and see what Gültəkin thinks. Paint is chipping off the wall, I cannot locate a heater in the whole building, and the kitchen is an empty room with an electric burner. It’s on the first floor (I was hoping for second floor for security reasons). I am scared to think that this is my only option. When I look over at Gültəkin, she also looks uncomfortable; she leans to me and says, “There is another house I want you to look at.” OH THANK GOODNESS!

After another walk around, we head back down the mountain. Gültəkin says that she does not like that place, and she wants me to be comfortable. There is a house on the other side of town that we will look at. I’m hoping that this one is better. Because I honestly don’t think that apartment would be approved. I have limited options in this community, but I am being optimistic. Maybe this house will be better, and a house with a yard would be awesome.

But the day is not a complete downer. My birthday presents came in the mail today, and my mom is so smart. She wrapped all my presents so I couldn’t spoil my surprise too early. We’ll see how much self –control I have. I have already opened every birthday card that has come my way; cut me some slack, it was only two.

In the end, today is a beautiful day. The sun is out, and I’m happy that it’s April. I probably will not be able to move out on 11 April, but good people, who are kind and genuinely care about me, surround me. I could not ask for anything more.

2 April 2009

I have learned to be grateful for the little things in life. It’s a fun moment when you read a sign with no difficulty and later realize that the sign is completely in Azerbaijani. Some days I feel as if my language skills are progressing nicely, and, other days, I feel like an idiot. But I know we all have those moments out in the field.

Martin, my brother, sent me a book – via my parents – that he read in his intro to anthropology class. He thought I might enjoy it since I was an anthropology major. Entitled THE INNOCENT ANTHROPOLOGIST, I must admit I am very amused by the book. It’s so much fun to read about the author’s blunders as he goes about fieldwork. While I am not too far into the book, some of the author’s misfortunes remind me of my own follies at site.

I am mastering the idea of how to get something accomplished in Azerbaijan: persistence. Fortunately or unfortunately, not everyone schedules her/his time like Americans. I am enjoying the relaxed ambling nature my life now possesses. Sitting down with a neighbour for tea and chatting for hours is not unusual. No one is in a rush. Things will happen when they do. But no one is in a rush, and things will happen when they do. When I try to make a plan and a schedule, it always seems to fall apart. No one arrives on time, and, worse, now I’m not even arriving on time. It’s not that the idea of a schedule is foreign to Azerbaijanis, for school runs on a strict schedule. Rather, scheduling one’s life is a ridiculous concept.

Someone I went to college with told me that Peace Corps benefits the volunteer more than the community. I was dumbfounded by this assertion, but I find a grain in truth in this statement. The statement only reveals half of service’s purpose. Volunteers come to help their community; however, to think that a transformation only moves in a single direction is a foolish notion.

Much love,

Amy

27 March 2009

Dear everyone,

It’s been a while, right? I can’t really say that nothing has happened here, because there is always something happening in Lerik/Azerbaijan. However, that does not mean that I am involved in everything that is happening. As always, I have had high points and low points, and I will do my best to give you an update on the life of Amy without running more than 15 pages. I promised a 12 pager!

For the past two weeks, we have not had school. It is Novruz holiday. Novruz was 20-21 March this year. This holiday is celebrates the beginning of spring and is considered to be the beginning of the new year. Now before you become confused, Azerbaijan works on the Gregorian calendar like we do (even the months sound like our months – e.g. mart and aprel. Novruz is preceded by four Tuesday: Water (which was on Mardi Gras this year), Air, Fire, and Earth. The last Tuesday, Earth, is more commonly the last Tuesday because it is the last Tuesday before Novruz.

Leading up to Novruz, Azerbaijanis are very busy. They clean their houses in spring-cleaning tradition. Everything must be spotless for the New Year. New things are bought for the house: rugs, curtains, clocks. And, most importantly (in my opinion), many national sweets are baked. I got to help (mainly watch) my host mom and neighbour make these goodies. My favourites are pakhlava and shekerbura. Shekerbura is a cookie that is stuffed within an inch of its life with a hazelnut, clove, and sugar mixture. It is amazing! I ate way too many of those things. All the sweets are so time consuming to make, but they really bring the family together. I spent one Friday afternoon making over 120 cookies with my host mom, neighbour, and host sister.

While 31 December in Azerbaijan is celebrated like our Christmas, Novruz has elements of other holidays piled into one: Easter, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. Like Easter, Azerbaijanis dye eggs and play what my family calls pock. This is a game where you hit your dyed egg against an opponent’s egg. The egg that cracks is the loser egg. The Halloween aspect comes from a game that children play called “Papaq” that resembles Trick-or-Treat. “Papaq” means hat in Azerbaijani. Children go door to door Throwing their hats near the door of a neighbour, they cry,” Papaq! Papaq!” The people inside collect the hats and fill them up with candy, shekerbura, and nuts. Novruz is like Thanksgiving because it is a big family event. People visit relatives or have relatives come in from out of town. I had Novruz dinner with my host cousin’s family. It was a really nice time just to be with really kind people.

On the Last Tuesday, I jumped over six mini bonfires in our yard. My illnesses and misfortunes of the past year have fallen into the fire allowing for good things to come my way this year. Then Saida and I lit the candles around the Novruz bowl. There was a candle for each person in the family – even me. Wednesday morning – really early – the women of Lerik go the river that runs through our rayon. We crossed the river three times allowing our illnesses to be swept away. We also washed our faces in the river and after cutting off a small piece of our hair let, we placed it in the river to be swept away by the current.

For the most part, I have passed my Novruz holiday quietly. My host family left for Baku last Wednesday, and I have had the whole house to myself. Some days, I went out and tried to be social, and other days I’ve stayed at home. It is a vacation without leaving site. Sara and Hiba came down south for a couple of days, and it was wonderful to show my site to my friends.

So, I have mentioned before that Lerik is home to earthquakes and fog. Well, we are also home to wind. March has roared in like a lion, and, well, it’s leaving like one too. I think the Tallish mountains form a wind tunnel like in California, because one a week, terribly strong winds blow through the town. They normally knock out electricity for a day or two. I do love the wind, but seriously, everything stops when the wind is that strong out because there is literally nothing you can do.

Earlier in March, we celebrated International Women’s Day. By the way, Azerbaijanis are very surprised that Americans do not celebrate this holiday. I wish we did. It was awesome. Well, the actual day of the holiday, I was visiting Sara and Hiba in the middle of the country, but the day before I left was great. My kids got together and bought me cups. I have three brand new mugs. It was kind of like teacher’s appreciation day. I really like my students. For some reason, I have a hunch they are learning. They may not be fluent in English by the time I leave, but I think they will have learned some English and some other stuff from me.

I have been looking for housing because on 11 April, I get to move out and try to live on my own. I am really looking forward to this. It would be really nice to just have my own space. Good news: the available flat is on top of the mountain and the view is great! Bad news: the flat is on top of the mountain which means the walk home is going to be uphill. I am pretending that the flat is already awesome and that I will live here because in Lerik, frankly, I don’t have many options.

Emotionally, I guess I can’t complain too much. I am happy in Lerik. The people here are so nice. They put up with me and my cultural/language awkwardness. The mountains are looking beautiful as spring comes slowly. Everything is so green, and the amount of produce at market is multiplying. And I can’t lie. Some days are really hard. Peace Corps Volunteers say that during service the highs are high and the lows are low. It is very true. Everything I feel at site is full blast. When I’m having a good day, it is awesome. When I’m having a bad day… But luckily, the good days have outweighed the bad.

6 months! That is how long I have lived in Azerbaijan. To me this is so crazy. It feels like so much longer and that the time has slipped by so quickly. This is the longest I have ever been away from home. I have made some great friends here who definitely have made culture shock a little more manageable. As of right now, I can’t really say that I have any regrets. This next 21 months will have many trials and great times. But I’m ready to accept them.

I love that the days are getting longer. If my time in California and London taught me anything, it taught me that I am a person who loves sunny days. Not that I want everyday to be sunny, but the fact that the sun rises at 6 and sets after 7 makes me so happy. It is easier to get up in the morning and just be happier in general. I know that those of you in American have already changed your clocks but here in Azerbaijan, we spring forward on 29 March. For future reference, we change our clocks on the last Sundays in March and October.

So I am sure you are curious about Ana and Ata in Masazir. They are family now. I am stuck with them whether I like it or not. (And I do like it, and they are also stuck with me! I love those people.) Ana and Ata call every other week to check in. They always want to know if I am warm if the people are nice, if work is going well. Of course all the answers are yes. “Emi, do you have enough money? Emi, are you happy? We miss you.” And of course the most important question, “Emi, when are you coming home?” They lit a candle for me on Novruz. I miss them so much. I could not have asked for a better PCT family. The trainee who gets them this fall will be so very lucky.

So, I think in my last letter I wrote that I had no cell phone. Well, I went three weeks without a cell phone, but I finally got one in February. Being without a cell phone was definitely a good experience. I had to start focusing my attention in site. If I was having a problem and wanted to talk it out, I had to talk it out at site. Now, don’t get me wrong, it was rough at first. In fact, within the first week, the proverbial excrement hit the fan. It was probably the lowest point that I have ever hit in Peace Corps (to this point).

After school one day, Saida asked me what was wrong. I told her that I missed my family and that I was frustrated with the language. She was really encouraging. She told me to keep trying and that it’s hard, but I could do it. It was just what I needed to hear. ALSO, Eleni’s wonderful package came in that day. The man upstairs definitely knew I needed a pick me up.

So here is what I learned being without a telephone:

While constant contact with my American dostlarim (friends) is great, it is easy to use that as a crutch to avoid the “real” world that you are living in. I had to deal with my host family all the time and try to work things out here. I was reminded the benefits of guesting in a society that values guests and that asking for help is not a sign of weakness but a strength of recognizing your own limitations.

I really, really like Lerik. Everyone has really rallied around the fact that my phone was stolen. They are insulted and keep telling me, “You are guest in our country. And we pride ourselves on being hospitable.” I am also told that my phone would NEVER be stolen on a Lerik bus. Bad people live and bad things happen in the big city of Lənkəran.

Finally, there are and will be good days, bad days, and VERY bad days. While two years seems like a long time (and it is a long time), it will fly by, and I need to appreciate every moment I have here. I’m not only helping these people, but they are also helping me.

Because my phone was stolen and my friend Jaclyn’s wallet was stolen in Salyon, we had to file a police report in that rayon. So I left my mountain to meet Jaclyn for our Police Station adventure, and it was definitely a Peace Corps adventure. Neither of us wanted to go up and do what we had to do, but we did nonetheless. We couldn’t really get out of it since Jeyhun the Peace Corps G-man extraordinaire was meeting us. Wednesday evening, I went to Jaclyn’s community and spent the night. I got to meet her wonderful host family who is so sweet. Jaclyn is amazing. Her language skills are so good, and she is so talented. I know she will be a great volunteer.

Thursday morning, we woke up early and got on the bus to Salyan. Correction: first we got on a marshutka; after waiting 20 minutes, we literally ran off the marshutka and flagged down the passing bus for Baku. We made it safely to Salyan after Jeyhyn and Parviz picked us up at the chai break. It was so terrifying to walk into the police station. What would they ask? Would they be understanding? I was just glad that Jeyhun was on my side. He may be the smiliest man I have ever met, but he definitely means business. For an alternative report of our police encounter you can check out Jaclyn’s blog from my blog. I recommend it; Jaclyn is not only an excellent writer: she is also quite funny and a good friend.

Well, it turns out that we had NOTHING to worry about. Filing the police report was actually kind of fun. We got to talk to Jeyhyn, drink chai, and talk to the police officers. They were incredibly sweet men. We were assured that no one from Salyan took our belongings. We were asked if we were single and our opinions of Azerbaijan, our regions, and Nagorno-Karabakh. The last one is very sticky. I played diplomat with this answer. You should definitely look this event up. But I’ll write a brief history shortly.

Our police reports were written for us with Jeyhun translating what we said into Azerbaijani. Then to our surprise, the police chief took us all out to lunch. We were given Sheki sweets (very yummy) and then fed until we wanted to burst. Of course, I was given crap because I am a vegetarian. “Why?” “It’s good.” Etc. Even Jeyhun was shocked. I just had to laugh. Malaka (Vagif’s wife) told me that I should eat meat in Azerbaijan because the meat is good and that I can be a vegetarian when I get to the United States. No one has to know!

Like that is going to happen. I’ve managed vegetarian eating thus far, I think I can manage the next 21 months.

On the home front: things are going really well with the host family. We have established a balance of coexistence. Yeta and Saida are really good people, and I do enjoy their company. I have been fortunate enough for them to put up with me when moods were less than stellar. They have been so helpful in little ways. They helped me get a new cell phone and just tried to help me adjust to life in Lerik.

My last email, I stated that I wanted to go guesting more. Well, I didn’t really accomplish my goal of going out 4 times that week. But I am guesting more. I’m probably averaging about 3 visits a week. Part of it is the American in me really hates to just drop in on someone. I always am getting invites, but as Gulnara, my Program Manager, pointed out, invites don’t always mean that they want you to come right NOW. Guesting is a lot of work for the hostess, and frankly it’s a lot of work with me as I struggle with my language skills.

On Tuesday 17 February, I went with my host family to my neighbour’s house. We have been there before; it is an older woman, her son, her daughter-in-law, and their two children. I try to follow the conversation, but sometimes, it gets overwhelming for me. I don’t know if it’s the accent or I’m just not as good as I want to be in Azerbaijani (it’s probably the latter). But regardless, the two-year-old little boy decided that we were friends on this trip. He kept staring at me, so I finally turned, looked at him, and raised my eyebrows. He squealed with delight and ran out of the room. Only to return 10 more times in the span of 3 minutes. I’m glad he was amused. I was amused too. When we got up to leave, he ran up to me and said, “Don’t go.” When his grandmother asked if I should stay, he said, “Stay.” It was definitely cute. And I’m so glad a two year old doesn’t live in this house and I have to listen to the shrieks of delight. I know it means that they are happy, but they are also ear piercing.

Wednesday brought my first performance review in the Peace Corps. I was super nervous, because I haven’t started any conversation clubs, sports clubs, or any other extra-curricular activities. I feel like I’ve started to integrate into the community, but language sometimes keeps me out of touch. And other days are so foggy that I cannot see more than 10 feet in front of me. But luckily, the review went really well. Apparently, my teachers like me. I like them. And we all play well together. (And we do not run with scissors.) There is not right time frame for a PCV to do their work. Some of us work more slowly than others. It’s also winter; it’s kind of hard to play soccer when the ball gets lost in the snow or in the dense fog bank. It just doesn’t work well, you know? Then again, I’m not one for playing in the snow or the fog.

When March came, I was excited. It’s spring, right? Sara and I said that if we survived our first winter that things would get better/easier. I wanted sunny, warm weather. What should happen but snow! It snowed at least 6 inches. By the next day, most of it had melted away, but it’s the principle of the matter. In March, it does not snow! Luckily, for the most part, the weather has gradually gotten warmer.

I think that hardest thing about being a PCV, for me, is dealing with me. As I have said a multitude of times, I really like Lerik. According to my friend Danny, I tend to drag my feet when the outcome is unknown. I guess that is true. Ok, I know it’s true, I am just not willing to 100% admit it. Some days I definitely find it easier to hide in the house than deal with my language skills or just walk around the community for the 100th time. I realize that the purpose of coming to Azerbaijan and joining the Peace Corps was to help the community that I now live in. I just like to claim that some days must be personal days. I guess I’m hitting stage 2 of culture shock.

Culture shock has a couple of stages according to the Peace Corps reading material provided to us. Stage 1 occurs shortly after entering the country. Everything is amazing/wonderful/new. Cultural differences are viewed as exciting and part of the adventure. The cultural interloper likes to find similarities between their home culture and their new culture.

Stage 2 is the bitter stage of cultural shock and the hardest stage, in my opinion. In this stage, all that was new and amazing becomes annoying and hindering. The once intrepid explorer now can only see differences between their culture and the host country’s culture. At times, she finds the cultural integration process hard and in some ways, resents the changes she has done to fit in.

Stage 3 is coexistence. The interloper no longer sees the host culture as a hindrance and begins to make peace with her surroundings. It’s a process of understanding of coming to understand some cultural practices and just dealing with others. It’s a symbiotic relationship in which our explorer finally feels at home in her new home.

Having studied anthropology at university, I “know” what culture means. I understand culture as a web of meaning that a society applies to their daily lives. It is nonverbally taught to us, and we nonverbally communicate it through our actions. What I value, how I behave, even how I rebel is all informed by the culture I was raised in. You never really realize the deep impact of culture until you are in a place where you are the single representative of your culture. It’s not enough to speak (or in my case – to barely speak) the local language because you still view your surrounding within the perimeters of your home culture. In some ways, I believe my training as an anthropologist allows me to be more thoughtful and aware of my own ethnocentricisms and my new culture. But it does not mean that I am thrown less for a loop by the culture shock.

In many ways, I do not think that my stage 2 of culture shock is going to be a bitter one. I am acknowledging and realizing the differences between Azerbaijani culture and American culture, and for the most part, I’m ok with these differences. I spent my Novruz vacation basically taking an in-site vacation. I think as my language skills grow then I will move faster towards stage 3. But I won’t lie. That in-site vacations was definitely a much-needed break. So maybe I’m not at stage 2 but somewhere between stage 2 and stage 3. I definitely like the sound of that idea.

So for the teachers out there, “Amy, how is teaching going?” Teaching is going really well. I am definitely enjoying it more than I thought. The kids have the ability to completely make my day. Then again on the days when they don’t care to pay attention, they have the ability to make me want to pull my hair out. But it is a rewarding job. Even when they completely screw up a sentence, I’m just ecstatic that they tried to speak English. It’s amazing how enthusiastic they are. My fifth form finally got the concept that if you stay in your seat and raise your hand quietly, I’m more likely to call on you than when you fly out of your seat like a grasshopper.

I’m still working on prompting (when the brighter students tell the answers to the weaker students), but I have hopes that we will get there. If it weren’t for these kids, I’m don’t know if I could make it in the Peace Corps. They love to come up to me and talk to me after class. I may not understand half of it, but we try.

My April project will be starting conversation clubs. Hopefully, the kids will actually come and participate in them. I know some adults in the community want me to start a conversation club for adults, but I want to start with the kids first. Knowing English will help these kids get into university and take advantage of programs like FLEX and UGRAD (US State Department programs that help high school and college students study abroad in the US for a year). It’s not that English is not a valuable skills for the adults, but right now I’m focusing my energy on the youth. And I’ve been at site for 100 days, so it’s time that I try to start some program besides teaching. I claim the first 100 days were to help me adjust to living at site.

Even on the hard days, I don’t want to be anywhere else but a PCV in Azerbaijan. When I think of where I was a year ago and what I was doing, this is just so much more fulfilling. Time certainly flies.

Well, I hate to disappoint everyone, but I think I am out of things to say. So I’m 5 pages short of a 12 pager, but at least now, it’ll be really quick to read this email. ;) Take care everyone, hopefully, it won’t be 2 months until the next email. In April, I have to go into Baku for PC business, so I’ll try to get another email out in roughly 3 weeks.

Much love,

Amy

P.S. Mom and Dad, my 7a form class has our home address. They asked for it, and I wrote it on the board. They told me that when I go back to US that they are going to find me. I told them good luck. So if Azerbaijani children show up on the doorstep, they are from Lerik and very sweet.

I know it is a tad late, but better late than never. This is from 10 Dec 2008. Ata, me, and Ana. In the background, you can see Marina's host father: my host uncle.

Dearest everyone,

Slowly working my way through my second month as a PCV. Some moments have been absolutely wonderful and other times have made me question why did I ever wanted to do this. Nevertheless, even on the bad days, I am very happy to be in Azerbaijan. Every day is certainly a challenge. Now whether or not I’m up for meeting the challenge each day is a whole other matter.

I am realizing more and more that I am becoming my mother. (Love you, Mom! No slight intended.) I now own a day planner, which I keep filled which lessons I’m teaching, what I should do each day, everyone’s birthdays, and other important dates. Travelling makes me nervous, as it does my mother. Going into the unknown figuratively and literally, I drag my feet. I still go through with the plans, but I’m not happy about getting started. I’m a homebody. When a card comes through the mail, I know from which parent my sense of humour stems. Every day when I look in the mirror, I appreciate how much like my mother I am becoming; I am surprisingly ok with this fact.

As you have all read, I am currently without a cell phone. Part of me is really itching to get a cell phone back in my hands. I’m tempted to go cash in some of my American money and buy a new phone. It would be nice to have my American connection, to receive the daily check-in with Sara, and to send messages about how ridiculous my day is. (Sara, I did have to laugh at the irony of receiving a 5AZN Kontour card from you in the mail two days after my phone went missing.) But relying on my own funds goes against the Peace Corps directive of living within the means of the Host Country Nationals, and Zoltan once told us that using our own money is failing. Most people know about my feelings about failing: it is my greatest fear. Also, the one-week that I have been without a cell phone has been an interesting one. It almost seems like a test of my own self-reliance. Being lonely, wanting to talk to others, and venting my frustrations are now something that I have to do in-site. As of right now, it’s been a GOOD thing because it’s making me go out more.

The goal for this week is to go guesting more. I want to be more known in my community. It is fun to get to know neighbours, the parents of my students, and fellow teachers. They all know who I am, but I don’t know them. It pushes my comfort zone, tests my Azerbaijani language skills, and causes me to be constantly overfed/explain why I don’t eat meat. For the record: I don’t eat meat in Azerbaijan because my doctor said it was forbidden because of my kidney stones. Saying that my doctor forbids me to eat meat is a lot easier to explain that I don’t like how it tastes (which means you haven’t had it cooked properly) or that I like the animals (which just means you are crazy – although you can’t get away with being the crazy American sometimes). I went to three people’s houses last week, and my goal is four this week. Of course these were all houses that I have guested before, but the main idea is that I got out of the house.

Last time, I wrote a monologue I was going to Zaqatala for the GLOW meeting. Well, I made it there and back in one piece. The Southern folks (the wrist of Azerbaijan) have requested that we don’t have meetings that far north any more. It was just a ridiculous day of travelling. “According to my calculations,” (if you get it, you get it) Jane, Jaclyn, Whitney, and I were on the road for over 24 hours to get there and back. I always say that it’ll be a long time since I go a travelling, but it’ll definitely be a long time until I go that far again. The upside is that it makes trips to Baku look like a breeze. Since transportation is more spotty for me than others, I stayed at Jane’s house two extra days (the day before we left and the day we came back).

Jane, as you may know from her blog Azerbayjane, is a wonderful volunteer who is currently on my people-who-rock-my-socks list. (If you haven’t read her blog, look her up.) First, she took me in when I felt like I had to leave site for my sanity. Second, she let me rant and helped me put things in focus. Amazing how people who have been here over a year (6.5 months left) understand what you are going through and help you see the light at the end of the tunnel. Third, she has a cat. Don’t laugh too much Eleni, but I didn’t realize how much I missed little critters or how much comfort they can give you. And we made cookies, so Jane is definitely a good person.

The night train to Baku was a lot of fun because the four of us were in one car together. We got to talk and relax, and while it was not the best sleep because the train stopped and started all night, trains are probably the best way to travel in this country if you have a lot of time on your hands. I can get to Baku in 5.5 hours from Lerik. The night train was 9 hours. The marshutka to Zaqatala was hilariously fun. This marshutka could fit 14 passengers, and 7 passengers were Peace Corps Volunteers from the regions north of Baku (the first finger).

I should probably break and say that the analogy we most commonly use to describe Azerbaijan is a hand. Extend your left hand in front of you with your palm facing away from you. Spread your fingers and rotate your hand 45 degrees to the left. So there you have it: Azerbaijan. Your thumb is the Absheron peninsula where Baku, Masazir, and Sumgayit are located. Your wrist is the southern most rayons (including Lerik where I live!).

Continuing on: Marshutka culture is surprisingly quiet. Even with the occasional cell phone conversation, people do not converse loudly or at on marshutkas. The PCVs were all talking excitingly and having a good time. I would not say we were load, obnoxious Americans, but we definitely were not following the unspoken rules of riding on a marshutka. The ride to Zaqatala was probably the bumpiest road that I have EVER been on. Well, ok, the ride back from Site Visits when Jaclyn, Jon, and I took that detour around Baku was the bumpiest, but this ride was a close second.

The GLOW meeting went as smoothly as most PCV-run meetings go. We got in. We got out. We have things to do, and the hotel didn’t have heat at the moment, so the meeting room was beyond cold. As always, it was so nice to see everyone and talk about sites. It was easy to tell if you were walking into an AZ05 or an AZ06 conversation. AZ05s talked about anything and everything. AZ06s talked about site, counterparts, conversation clubs. I think it is indicative of were we are in our Peace Corps service. AZ06 is just starting out. We are new, confused, and still settling into site. AZ05 has rode out most of their bumps (I’m sure some still remain), but they all appeared to have checked their problems at the door.

The ride home from Zaqatala was long. As I mentioned earlier, I didn’t even make it all the way home that day. I stayed with Jane another night because there was no way I could make it back to site in one day. That extra hour is just way too much, and I don’t think any taxis would have been available. So I got to enjoy another morning with Jane, her cat, and pancakes. The silly things you miss when you are away from home. I was never a big pancake eater in the states. I wanted cereal, soymilk, a cup of coffee, and a shower every morning after my run. Now, pancakes almost are a miracle, coffee is non-existent (waiting to open my coffee supplies for a super bad day), and running is confined to my edition of Runner’s World Magazine and my dreams.

I want to say teaching is getting easier. In many ways, it really is. I am used to being in front of the class. I’m getting to know the students’ personalities even if their names still elude me. They know to call me, “Ms. Amy.” Although sometimes they mess up and call me, “Mr. Amy.” Which absolutely cracks me up. My teachers are amazing. I love going to Terena’s and Aynura’s houses to lesson plan. We are getting much faster at lesson planning, and I get to learn about life in Lerik. They are both amazing women in their own right. I like that I can actually talk to them, mainly because they both speak English. But it’s nice.

Yet teaching still perplexes me. Why the sixth form class gets the game and the seventh form doesn’t understand the game leaves me stumped. One day the class is great. The nest, I don’t even know the kids I’m looking at. For those teachers who are reading this, I know you are laughing with me. No, you’re probably laughing AT me. But I would too.

Great moments from teaching: Explaining to Terena that cock and pussy are no longer really mean rooster and cat in spoken English. Those words now describe male and female parts respectively. I told her this in her first form class, so I know the kids had no clue what we were saying. Terena laughed. The sixth-form wrote a composition about English speaking countries. The three girls who volunteered to read wrote beautiful compositions. Every sentence had articles, correct verb usage, and proper sentence order. Something had to be up. I flipped through the fifth-form book and found where they had copied their compositions. Shocked that I had caught them, Aytan in English said, “Oh my God.” Kind of hard to maintain your teacher-like composure and explain that in America students receive 0’s for copying when the phrase your student has mastered is “Oh my God,” in the best pre-teen voice.

Saturday morning was beautiful and sunny. A great day to go exploring! So, yes, I finally decided to find the mysterious Mekteb 2 and to see the other half of Lerik. The other half of Lerik is mainly residential from what I can tell. The city square and government buildings are on my side of the mountain. I enjoyed my early morning walk and seeing what I could see. Lerik is a place of juxtapositions. A small creek travels through the other half of town. Trees overhang the creek, and the creek happily splashes and gushes around trash people have thrown in it. Satellite dishes are attached to roofs just beyond the outhouses and clotheslines. The still morning was punctuated by the sounds of dogs, chickens, and roosters. It was a good morning for gaining perspective.

I never did find Mekteb 2; I think I cut a left when I should have cut a right. But it doesn’t matter, for it was a good trip.

Sunday morning I knew I had to go to Vagif’s house. I hadn’t been to the Internat in two weeks. I knew he would be wondering where I was, and he would probably want to know why I hadn’t answered his text. (No phone = no texting). Sure enough, I walk through the door, and Vagif is feeding the cows. “Amy! How are you? Where have you been?” He is just like a concerned parent. Even though I insist that I am not hungry, I am still served apples, carrots, jam, eggs, bread, and of course tea. Malaka, Vagif’s wife, has been asking where I was, and she rushed home as soon as Vagif called to tell her that I was guesting. I even got to practice my Azerbaijani for once.

In Lerik, I have a mixed blessing. The English teachers here all speak English very well. I am really impressed. However, these are also the people that I spend the most time with, so my Azerbaijani is not getting any better. I somewhat suspect that my spoken Azerbaijani is getting worse. (Although I think my listening skills have improved.)

After guesting for four hours, I knew it was time to go home. So I started my good byes. While there are only two people in that household, it takes about 30 minutes to finish my good byes. Malaka wants me to stay for dinner, but I do not like going home after dark. Vagif insists on giving me a sack full of apples. I promise that I know how to wash them properly, and I set off for home.

Being the sole American at site is proving to be a mixed blessing. All my victories are my own, and all my failures are my own. I become so frustrated some days. Yesterday, I was convinced that I would never learn Azerbaijani. Today, Saida asked me what was wrong. I said that I can’t learn Azerbaijani. It’s too hard. She told me that I will learn the language, but it’s going to take time. She is encouraging me to talk more. So, today I dusted off my Azebaijani language books and started studying again. It’s going to take time, but I want to learn this language. (It doesn’t help that the older generation speaks Tallish about half the time or tries to speak Russian to me.) I’ll get it eventually.

Happy things from the week:

· My students getting excited about a game we are doing in class, and everyone participates even the weak students.

· When a weak student starts speaking up.

· Terena joking with me in class. Today, she looked at her first form class, and said, “Children, I don’t like you.” In English! I almost fell out of my chair.

· Letters from my mom! They may take almost a month to get her sometimes, but I love messages from home.

· Eleni’s package came in! I have more coffee (which I did bust out today because I was having a bad day), skittles (which I did separate and eat in proper order), a beautiful scarf, and love.

Well, my PCV mantra is, “Just Keep Swimming.” That’s what I intend to do.

Love,

Amy

*Imagine that coming out of a pre-teen's mouth. Now imagine you're in Azerbaijan.

With family ties being as such, it is not outlandish to think that I would teach a ‘cousin’ in one of my classes. Ayten is in my sixth form class. She reminds me of a stereotypical American pre-teen. She honestly cracks me up. With her shiny Azer-boots, pink glittery shirts, and hair up in a braid, she lives in her own world where everything revolves around her.

I’m not trying to make her sound like a bad kid. She is incredibly sweet and taken quite a fancy to me. On my part, I find her hysterical. She just talks and talks to me and blows kisses to me when I pass her in the hall. The kids here really aren’t much different from the kids at home. They just speak Azerbaijani.

Early in January, Ayten asked me translate something for her. She had heard it on television and wanted to know what it means. Oi, I thought, my language skills are good for expressing my needs, so/so for expressing desires, weak for expressing my thoughts. But I have to give it a try. I’ve learned with middle school aged kids that her question could range from something really profound/taboo to something incredibly vapid. I was truly hoping for the latter. What she wanted me to translate lies somewhere on a whole other level; Ayten wanted me to translate, “Oh my God.”

Part of me still cracks up at this. I did the best I could. How do you describe why Americans say this much less translate it. Is there a translation? Do I go into the moral ambiguities of taking the Lord’s name in vain? The best I could do is to explain we say it when we are shocked, surprised, or dismayed. It’s like when Azerbaijanis tisk, or clap their hands in dismay, or say, “Vy, vy, vy.” I think she actually got it. As for the translation, she got, “Ay menim Allahım.” She giggled at the translation. I have to laugh myself. It takes an outsider to make you realize how ridiculous something can be.

The application of what you teach is the best way to tell if you taught a lesson correctly. My sixth form students had to write compositions about English speaking countries. When they read them, I noticed that many of them were perfect. No grammar errors, correct sentence structure, and all articles were included. There is only one explanation for this; they copied their compositions out of the fifth form book. My students were shocked when I pointed this out to them. (That’s right, Ms. Amy is not stupid.) Ayten in astonishment said, “Oh my God.” She used the phrase in the correct situation, so I guess I taught it well. She almost sounds like a good American pre-teen when she says it. It kind of takes me off guard and cracks me up.

At the end of my two years, if over half the kids in town are saying, “Oh my God,” it is not 100% my fault. I have to share blame with the hazel-eyed pre-teen who asked me what it meant.

In Azerbaijan, examining a family tree is like looking at a never-ending string of connecting dots. It kind of reminds me of being in south Louisiana where EVERYONE knows EVERYONE through some relative. My grandmother used to come grocery shopping with us in Lafayette, and she would start talking to people. Next thing we know, this person is a long lost relative or related to one of Momo’s neighbours. This is impressive because she only had 3 neighbours. I have relatives in Lafayette that I know I’m related to, but I don’t know how. (There are some MAJOR exceptions between family relations in Azerbaijan and Louisiana, but I’m going with the theme that everyone knows each other.)

Through my host family I’m ‘related’ to a fourth of the faculty at Mekteb 1. Considering the school’s faculty is fewer than 50 people, this is really not too hard to believe. As far as I know, I’m not related to any counterparts at Mekteb 1, but I am related to Vagif, my counterpart at the Internat. I lose track of how I’m related to most people in Lerik. I tend to default with they are somehow related to my host dad since he is from Lerik, and my host mom is from Bilesuvar. While most parents seem to have two or three children these days, my host parents always seem to come from families of four or more children.

I know that I have fallen into a spider’s web of relations, distant relations, and friendships here in Lerik, but I kind of like it. I don’t feel like a complete stranger here, but a guest who everyone knows. Like a spider’s silk, the seemingly tenuous and fragile connections I make here are much stronger than even I realize.

12 January 2009

Dearest everyone,

It’s been a bit, right? 11 January marked a bit day for both AZ05 and AZ06. For me and my fellow AZ06 kids, we completed our first month as PCVs. AZ05 kids have 8 months left. Everyone says when you hit the first year, you wonder where all the time went. Well, I’m waiting for that moment to hit me.

Unfortunately, we lost our first AZ06 on 31 December. It was a complete shock to me, and I am sorry to see him go. He is a good guy, and I wish him all the best. We all have our reasons for being here, and we all have reasons to leave.

But I aim for this to be a cautiously optimistic monologue of my life here in Azerbaijan. While a bit late, I had two Christmas celebrations here in Azerbaijan. The first one came in the form of going to Baku for New Years. I was finally settling into my life in Lerik, my routine of observing classes, my almost perpetual silence at home, and so on. School was not as scary as it once was. I can see potential in my counterparts, and I am starting to get along with some of the other teachers. Regardless, I have been living for New Years. I miss having unbroken conversations in English. I miss my Masazir crew. Frankly, I need to leave Lerik so that I can fully appreciate it. (Dismiss the last statement if you want, but I later found it to be true.)

Before the sunrises, I am up and ready to catch my 7am bus out of town. My host family tells me that there is only one bus out of town, and I fully intend to be on that bus for the next 5 or so hours to Baku. Getting on the bus, I sit down next to a neighbour. What luck, I think. But I cannot tell if it was a lucky thing or not looking back. She fed me the whole way. I brought yol yemeyi (road food) with me, but apparently, I looked like I was starving or something. Because every half hour she was giving me bread, raisins, mandarins, walnuts, etc. But then again, we had a small conversation, and sitting next to this lady, I realized that my language skills were not as bad as I thought. I understood most of what she was saying.

On a side note: please do not worry. I am not starving. Far from it! I am looking forward to spring when I can start cooking for myself and running.

Well, despite the rain, wind, and later snow, I made it to Baku and the Peace Corps office in one piece. I probably knocked Marina over when I saw here. I was so happy to see her. The AZ05’s kept looking at me with a look that said, “You haven’t seen here in 3 weeks.” I know it’s only been 3 weeks, but I saw Marina and Sara every day for 3 months. Three weeks without them was hard. By the end of the day, I met up with Sara, Hiba, and Andrea at the hotel where most of the PCVs were staying. It was a fun reunion, even if the accommodations were sketchy.

I knew that my friends here were becoming my family, but it was not until I was at site that I realized that they are my family. No one else but these people knows what I am going through (exactly). No one else can drop everything and visit or offer their floor if you need to escape. It was nice to see everyone doing well and compare new stories of host families, work or lack thereof, and our dreams of what the future will bring. There was a surprising lack of digestive issue stories, or I’ve just gotten used to them. It’s hard to tell. Baku itself was a whirlwind of sleet, strong winds, and squares with Christmas trees and people dressed up like Santa Claus, the Azerbaijani version of Santa Claus, and a Shrek. It was amusing to see what Christmas elements Azerbaijani culture has incorporated into their culture.

The three best things about Baku for New Years was the people, the food, and the people. First the people. My people, I was happy just to see my friends. I will make Azerbaijani friends; I feel like I’ve already started. Sara, Hiba, Marina, Laura, Rachel, and Corey are people that I lean on when the times are rough, good, and everything else. It’s not the place, it’s definitely the people. Second is food. Falafels, Indian food, and coffee. Need I say more. My belly was so happy. Third quality is the people. You think that I’m doing to go on once more about how I love my friends. Well, you’re wrong. The people of Baku just don’t care that you’re American. They don’t care that you are different. I just love not sticking out where ever I go.

New Years Eve, we went to an ex-Pat hang out. I met someone from Lafayette, Louisiana. I go halfway across the world and meet someone from my hometown. Small world! He works in oil and was heading back to Lafayette on the 8th.

New Years Day, we were snowed into Baku. We couldn’t leave the city; Peace Corps said no travelling, and buses weren’t running because of ice on the road. Even if the buses were running, I’m not sure how I would have gotten to the bus station on the icy roads with my bag full of books and other goodies from Tony. (Tony, you are awesome, and the books are wonderful!) I was really bummed because all I wanted to do was go home to Masazir. Ana and Ata were waiting for me. I know this because I kept getting text messages from them.

The good news is that I did make it to Masazir to see my host family. Ana was so excited that I came home that she nearly ran me over. It wouldn’t have been hard since my balance was off. The lake in front their house now was a frozen pond. Nice to see that some things just don’t change. Ana sat Sara and down, and we started talking about sites, families (at our site and stateside). Ana says lunch will be ready in 15 minutes. I thought she was just going to reheat something, which would have been great since I love Ana’s cooking. Oh no. Not with Ana. She made Sara and I dolma right then and there. Tunar walked in with a goofy grin. I cannot wait to see the little man he will become in two years. Gunay ran in and gave me a huge hug and numerous kisses on the cheek. She is still my comrade in arms. She is just the best little host sister anyone could ask for. Tunar keeps walking in and out, talking or singing. The house in Masazir is never quiet.

Sara and I after lunch go to dinner at her host family’s house. Going from meal to meal is what we kind of do in Azerbaijan. I can definitely say that I am never hungry. Being in Masazir made me realize that my Azerbaijani was not so bad. I had frozen up in Lerik or something. Maybe even convinced myself that I couldn’t understand. Ana kept saying that I know Azerbaijani so well. She was so proud of herself. Hey, she is definitely responsible for my language skills. It was hard to let go of Sara again. I was catching the early bus in the morning and her bus was late morning. But we knew we would see each other again soon, so with a hug, we went down our respective roads home.

I come home to Ata telling me that the buses probably aren’t going south. The south has too much ice on the roads. I look at him sceptically. I want to stay too, but I should go home to Lerik. Ata and I make plans to go the bus station early, and Ana tucks me into bed. I am sharing a room with Gunay tonight. Ana and Ata have taken over my room. That is probably for the best because it’s not my room anymore. AND now I really feel like one of the family sharing a room with my host sister.

As Ata foretold, my early morning trip to Baku yielded nothing. No buses to Lerik, so I am stuck in Masazir. There are definitely worse places to be stuck. Ana was happy I would be home for a couple more days. I had mixed feelings. I was happy to be home in Masazir, but I was ready to go home to Lerik, and I was curious to what home in Louisiana would be like in two years. Masazir is only home because of my host family. I know that. Lerik was quickly feeling like home: the whole community. I know the post office people, my neighbours, my colleagues, and even some of my students. Don’t be too proud of me yet. I still am very overwhelmed here.

In Masazir, I was brought from one relative’s house to another. I talked as much as I could. It was overwhelming but good. I played with my 5 and 6 year old cousins: Fidan and Fatima. It felt as if I belonged, and I relished that feeling. But I also remind myself that I lived 3 months in Masazir. Today makes one month in Lerik.

Monday, I tell myself that I am getting back to Lerik no matter what. School starts on Tuesday, and it is time to get back. Ata, Ana, and Marina’s host dad bring me to the bus station. Again, no buses to Lerik, so I’m just going to take the bus to Lənkəran and a taxi to Lerik. Ata wants me to stay home, but I tell him that I must go. Peace Corps says I must go back. He tells me that if I ever want to quit Peace Corps that I can come live with them in Masazir. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that if I quit Peace Corps that they would send me on the next plane back to the States. Ata puts me on the bus, tells me to listen to the lady next to me, and gets off the bus with what I think is a tear in his eye. Ana told me that when I left Ata was sad for a couple of days and he refuses to take my signs down in my old room. Ata is a good man. They are just good people.

My trip to Lerik was pretty uneventful. Same old, same old. The lady next to me kept trying to feed me. I kept trying to sleep. Early afternoon, I made it home to Lerik. I was happy to back in my beautiful town. Lerik is truly gorgeous. I walk in to find my second Christmas on 6 January; my Christmas packages from my family have come in! I can’t tell you how happy I was to see the package slip. I unpack from my trip and for all practical purposes ran to the post office. Well, considering the ice on the ground, I walked as fast as I could. I was super excited.

At the post office, I tried my best to talk to the people there. It is hard. The post lady told me that here in Lerik that they are Tallish. Rebecca, the PCV here before me, could speak Tallish and Azerbaijani. I just smile and keep trying. I wonder what things they will say about me when I leave. The main postman and I try to figure out the forms that I need to sign. He keeps asking me if I can carry the three large boxes. I tell him, I can do it. I’m not sure if I can do it, but I know that I will do it. These are my Christmas presents. Don’t you know that they give you super human strength?

I did manage to get my three packages home. I went into my room, put on the Christmas music Tony sent me, and opened my presents. It was honestly one of the best Christmas experiences that I have ever had. I could feel my family’s love for me. It was warm and comforting.

As mentioned earlier, I got warm clothing, yak-traks to prevent me from falling on the ice (funny story below), and coffee. It was a very merry Christmas. It’s not the things, but in my own way, I celebrated Christmas with my family. Unwrapping each gift (yes, they were individually wrapped) created a connection to Louisiana. No one could take away that feeling.

Tuesday evening I went to prayers with my host mom. Wednesday marked the beginning of Ashurah – a time of reflection and mediation during the month of Muharram. Azerbaijan is predominately Shiite. “Among Shiite Muslims, it is a day of special sorrow commemorating the martyrdom of the Prophet's grandson Hussain and his followers at the battle of Kerbala in Islam's first century. It is commemorated in Shiite communities with re-enactments of these events and is a time of mourning.” The prayer gathering was interesting. I loved being a participant observer.

The gathering consisted of women and children. When we entered the room, I was led to a staff with the hand of Fatima on it. I kissed the hand and pressed it to my forehead, and my host mom knotted a coin into one of the scarves tied on the staff. The women sat on the floor of a living room in a large circle. One older woman led the prayers. The women sang their prayers, hitting their right hands onto their legs to keep the beat. The prayers like the call to prayer were hauntingly beautiful. It was also a great way to get to know older female members of the community. I really want to be able to talk to them. They are all such sweet ladies.

The prayer leader also prayed for the women who came. She prayed to Allah that me and my American family are safe and healthy and His guidance over my future plans. I was really touched by the sincerity of the prayers. Lerik is a close community. Wednesday, my host mom and sister went to the mosque in a village 5km away. Most of the community walked to the mosque, but I decided to stay at home. I felt ok being a participant observer during prayers at someone’s home, but I am not ready to enter a mosque. Especially for a holiday that is so important.

Now for the ice story, Fridays I go to the boarding school. So I begrudgingly made myself get out of bed and started for the boarding school. I wear my Yak-Traks on the way to the post office and any other long distance, but I decided against wearing them to the boarding school because I do not wear them inside buildings for long periods of time. Of course, this decision leads to one thing: I completely bit it on the ice. I was walking down the narrow passage between the stadium and houses when my foot slipped forward. I tried to save myself, but there was no saving myself. Down I went on my right butt cheek! Ouch. I was sore for two days. As far as I know, no one saw me. However, I do not doubt that someone might have. Lerik is just as bad as Iota. I am sure there are reports of all my comings and goings.

So I did my things at the boarding school and talked with Vagif. He is seriously the cutest older man, ever. He is just adorable. We will have to work on our teaching together, but I know that will just have to come with time. I accepted an invitation to meet him and his wife the next day for lunch.

Lunch with Vagif and his wife was so much fun. They live up a hill about 20-30 minutes from my house. His wife has decided that I am her youngest daughter and I am invited to stop by any time I want. This is awesome because they are so much fun to be around and they have lots of fruit, which I am apparently now welcome to pick. I like this arrangement, for I now have someplace I can potentially live when my contract is up here in April.

Lerik is becoming home. I have neighbours, friendly people, places that I am getting used to. But here comes the kickers. I’ve only seen half the town. Lerik is built in the nooks and crannies of the mountains. I realized that I have seen school 1 and school 3, but where is school 2. I asked Vagif, and he told me that the other half of Lerik is a 30-45 minute walk from the town centre. I have places now to explore.

This week has brought the first week of teaching, and it is so exhausting. But for every distressing moment, there seem to be two or three good ones that make it all worthwhile. Today I taught 6th form conversation. I had a whole 45 minutes devoted to hello and good-bye. The children made up their own dialogues and performed for the class. Each pair was rewarded for their efforts with the class clapping. On my way home today, I heard one student call out, “Amy! Good-bye!” It kind of warms your heart.

Much love,

Amy

14 November 2008

Shall we run?

Thursday morning, Gunay tested how awake I was by asking me to go running on Friday morning. WHAT? We have been told so often that a culture of running really doesn’t exist in Azerbaijan. So I ask her again, just to clarify, yup, she is serious. She wants to go running at 6am on Friday.

Ana is sceptical telling me that Gunay likes to sleep in and that she doesn’t like to exercise. Tunar, upon hearing the plans to go running, decides he also wants to go running. I am frankly in disbelief, but I’m game.

Throughout Thursday, I keep asking Gunay if she still wants to go running. She tells me yes and seems really excited about it. It just sounds too good to be true. Well, you know what they say…

I wake up early on Friday, put on my running clothes, and whisper into her room that she needs to wake up so we can go. Sleepily Gunay gauges my running clothes, dresses, and comes outside to meet me. Tunar who is now awake quickly dresses and comes out as well.

I ask my host sister where her shoes are. Pointing to her sandals, she asks me if she can run in them. I scoff. I couldn’t hold it in. Pointing to my running shoes, I tell her these are good. She puts on her fake Chucks – good enough.

We take off shortly after 6:20a. It is still dark, M____ is quiet, and I am ready for a nice run. This would be my second time out since coming to Azerbaijan.

Pretty quickly, I can tell this isn’t going to work. Well, I pretty much always knew it wasn’t going to work. But I give Gunay and Tunar many thanks and appreciation for trying. Gunay jumped at every dog bark, and Tunar couldn’t maintain a steady pace. At different points in the run, I brought them each home and kept going myself.

It was a fun cultural exchange. I feel like they have more respect for my running. And they were curious about running and tried it. It was fun.

The final results:

Gunay- 5 minutes

Tunar- 10 minutes

Amy- 30 minutes

I don’t think Gunay likes running

13 November 2008

Do Azeris eat gumbo?

Early this week, I asked Ana is I could cook for them on Thursday. It seems like a once a week ritual now for someone in our cluster to cook. As I have said before, it is a fun cultural exchange and (at times more importantly) a nice break for our palate. Ana loves to cook, so she eagerly jumped on the opportunity to learn a new dish. She asks me what do I need.

What do I need? I have never made a gumbo before, but I know the basic premise: a good roux. I can make a good roux. And I know I will not be able to find okra around M_____ and Sumgayit.

So my ingredients are as follows:green beans (okra-ish)potatoes (don’t judge, I figured I needed a filler)ricesweet peppers (like bell peppers)onion

Thursday after lunch, I ask Ana for the green beans so I can start cutting them. She hovers around me asking to help, wanting to soak up every detail. I have never seen her so excited. Luckily, she needs to go run an errand real quick, so she cannot deem me inadequate with a knife. By the time she gets back, I have sliced the potatoes, green beans, onions, and peppers. The onions and peppers are sweating in a small pot. I know I don’t have celery to make the holy trinity, but I don’t know if celery even exists here.

It is time to start the roux.

I explain the roux is equal parts oil to flour. I am trying to impress upon her that not everything needs to be so oily. We measure out the oil, add oil and red pepper, and start to heat up the oil. As soon as it starts to pop, we add in the flour. I tell Ana that a roux must always be stirred. When it is brown enough, we add in the peppers and onions and fill pot with water. Then we place in the beans and potatoes to cook.

I cut too many green beans, and it was more stew-y than gumbo-y, but it did get to simmer for 3 hours. The roux smelled and tasted like Momo’s, so I was very content.

Ana was so thrilled to share the cooking experience, and I was equally thrilled that she enjoyed it so much. The Azeri gumbo turned out well, and even if it wasn’t a real gumbo, my cluster liked it. I will probably not have real gumbo until I go home, but the taste of home was greatly appreciated.

All the while cooking, I brought my computer into the kitchen, and we listened to Cajun music. Ana said she liked it I think she liked the accordion since it is also in Azeri music. However, I wonder if she was confused how to dance to it.

I was so happy to share my American sub-culture with Ana, my host family, and my sitemates. It was the two things Louisiana is most known for combined into one evening: music and food.

The answer is yes, if only just to please the silly American who lives with them.

9 November 2008

Dearest everyone,

Teaching Practicum is over! Hurray! Well, I guess in hindsight, it actually wasn’t too terrible. This year, Peace Corps decided to start our training in the fall. The main reason for this push is so TEFL could hold their practicum when school was actually in session. Sounds like a great idea in theory. Instead of PCT’s teaching a small class of hand-selected pupils who chose to come to extra English lessons in the summer, PCT’s had to teach real classes and use the books that we will have to use at site. The idea is for the TEFL to be better prepared when we actually get to site.

As I said, in theory this sounds like a great idea. Except the closer we got to our two week teaching practicum, I wasn’t so sure if I was keen on this idea. We have our language classes at a local school, and every day, I am assaulted with “Hellos!” and the like. I wasn’t sure how serious the students would take us. We observed classes for two days, and the reality of teaching these children was even more frightening.

The education system leaves much to be desired. In the classes that I observed, only the brightest are rewarded. And when I say brightest, I mean the children who seem to respond best to lecture based learning and seem self-motivated enough learn a bit on their own. It is really quite sad. In English class, if a student waits for two seconds after their teacher speaks English, she/he will be rewarded with the teacher immediately translating the sentence into Azerbaijani. It is really sad. Poor kids. Then again, many of the teachers have never spoken to a native English speaker. When trying to find out what lessons we needed to teach, many teachers had to turn to our language instructor to translate our requests.

The first day of teaching was HORRIBLE. I taught 8th form. I will not say that this was the students’ fault. Overall, they were a very well behaved class. It was a comedy of errors if you will. First, my lesson was to cover Armenian Terror! We’re not supposed to touch that issue with a ten-foot pole. So, I made visual aids and taught the kids such words like “massacre,” “gun,” and “peace.” Then I ran out of material. I also completely over-estimated their ability to understand English. All I wanted to do was go home and cry. It was so over-whelming.

But before you judge harshly, please remember that this was my first day of teaching EVER! Everyone in my cluster told me that I will look back and laugh. It’s true I can laugh now at it. Having a room full of kids yell “gun” at you is a funny memory to have. Needless to say, practicum became much, much better.

My favourite classes were my 8c and 5c classes. 8c only had 6 students in it. Because of a miscommunication between the teacher and I (she was more than willing to let me teach her class and not do anything), I thought I was supposed to teach Armeanian Terror again. However, I was not teaching that lesson again. So I taught them weather. I really think they got it! It was super exciting. Then 5c just has the cutest kid in that class. One of the little boys in that class is super tiny with big eyes and bigger ears. We call him the “Yemek olar?” kid. It translates into, “May I eat you?” Fifth form just is so excited by everything you do. They respond really well to all the games.

At the end of the first week of practicum, Josh, Marina, and I went to Sara’s house for a Halloween party. We kept telling our families that it was an American holiday, so they kept wishing us happy holidays. It was a bit amusing, for I am sure some of the parents are wondering why Americans have holidays based on witches and skeletons. It was fitting that Halloween was at Sara’s house because her host mom is basically the wicked witch of the west.

I know that sounds harsh, but she doesn’t really cook, she doesn’t talk to Sara (or any of us), and she is just plain mean. Luckily, the story has a happy ending. Sara moved into a new host family on Thursday. Her new host family are the sweetest people. Her host mom laughs more than my host mom. This is an accomplishment to be sure. She also has three new host siblings. One is in my 5c class. She is so smart.

Back to Halloween… We decided to make breakfast burritos. Cooking is always such a treat. It means first and foremost, we can control that which we are eating, and second, something different from the normal menu. After the delicious meal, we watched Hitchcock’s “Dial M for Murder.” Not exactly Halloween in the sense that I am used to, but it was a nice Halloween nonetheless.

Monday brought a second week of teaching. This week was undeniably better than the last. It just felt so much smoother. I am learning how to put my foot down. Monday’s teacher told me on Friday that they would be doing control work on Monday. Control work is their version of a test. However, come Monday she had changed her mind and wanted me to teach a lesson. Unlike many teachers in the states, Azeri teachers do not make lesson plans. So I guess she was rather confused when I refused to go in there and wing a lesson.

To make up my lesson, I co-taught a class with Sara on Thursday. When Sara taught this class last week, it was so awful. The students just didn’t listen. The teacher could not control them. The vice-principal came in, hit a student on the back of the head, and threw the student out of the class. It was very hard to watch. So this week, I taught with Sara in hopes that they would be more controlled. Polad – my LCF – even stood at the door looking like a bouncer. The class surprisingly went really well. We made the students do a dialogue teaching them how to greet and that the proper response to “How are you?” is “I’m fine,” not “How are you?”. The exciting part was that a couple of students really got it.

Wednesday morning, the M____ clusters gathered to watch the election results. No huddling around a radio for us, as Obama stated. We watched the election results on her host dad’s satellite television in English! It seemed a bit surreal. There we were in a seemingly slice of America only to leave later to teach the English to Azeri children.

To celebrate the finish of Practicum and the election, a large group of us gathered at Jacqlin’s house to make curry. It was so wonderful. Her host family really liked the curry. This week, I have decided that I want to cook for my family. Because of the cold weather, I want to make a gumbo for them. I think that they would really like that. Plus, gumbos are easy! And did you know that they can grow okra here???? Now, if I can only find it….

Winter has finally decided to be upon us. The wind blows, it rains, and it is overall cold. I never really want to leave the warmth of the wood-burning pec. I might eventually, but today, I skipped out on Sumgayit just to stay warm. When I told my host mom that I was going to stay home, she thanked Allah and gave me a carrot to eat.

I am fed all the time here. I am glad that my skirts are elastic. I do not even want to know the weight I have gained here.

With the cold weather, the smell of the pec, and the anticipation of site announcements, it feels like Christmas. I leave my house in a relatively good mood in the morning because each day is one day closer to knowing where I will end up. Friday, I will find out where I am going to spend my next two years! Isn’t that exciting! For those of you who didn’t already know, I have asked for a village with no sitemate. I have also asked for a site where no American has gone too. I wasn’t overly specific about north or south. But I do hope that it is pretty. I cannot wait to know where I am going.

My family asked me where I was going. Ata and Ana are curious, but I can tell Ata is not very keen on my leaving. He reminds me that I am his daughter and that I always will have a home in Azerbaijan. I told them that I will visit. It makes me want to cry thinking about leaving them. They are my second family. Marina does find it funny that sometimes I prefer to go home than to do anything else.

I was writing this letter in my room, but Ana has decided that my room is too cold, so I have moved into the kitchen where the pec is located. I guess I have written enough of a novel for everyone. Until next time!

Much love,

Amy

Questions?

9 November 2008

What would you like to know?

If you haven’t noticed I just kind of ramble. Let me know what you want to know about Azerbaijan, and I will do my best to answer your questions.

If you haven’t had a chance, please read Sara’s blog. You can find it under the blogs I follow. We have had a couple of adventures together. I especially appreciate her commentary about our marshutka ride.

9 November 2008

ODE TO THE WOOD BURNING PEC*

Ata goes outside to fetchWood for the pec.The place where Ana feedsIs now my favourite place to read.Come sit and enjoy the warmthThis is my house’s heart.

*Pec is pronounced like pech

Corny, yes, I know, but you will just have to deal!

My house in M____ does not have central heating. Rather at some point last week, my family brought in a stove and moved it into the kitchen. It looks like an old fashioned wooden stove. In fact, that is exactly what it is. It’s the best thing since sliced bread. In my last post, I was complaining how cold my house was getting. It’s still cold but that pec makes the kitchen so hot that we have to keep the door open. It’s so nice to walk into the kitchen after a cold day at school and sit next to the pec to warm up!

Azeris are masters of small talk. I am beginning to think it is because in the winter only one room in the house is warm, so everyone must gather into that room to stay nice and toasty. Personally I love spending time with my family, so I do not mind sitting in the room with them for hours on end.

The cold weather and smell of wood burning always reminds me of Christmas. So despite the cloudy days and howling wind, there air always feels like the upcoming holidays. However, the only real holiday coming up for me is on Friday when I find out my permanent site! I cannot wait to know where I am going. I will deal with wherever, but I do have my hopes set on a village.