I rarely (never) get to sit in the front seat of most cars and buses. Why? Well, because it’s not culturally appropriate. Although, if the driver of a bus is older, sitting in the front seat can be ok as he is able to look after me. So when the bus driver offered me the front seat - I jumped at the chance. I have traveled back and forth on the same road to and from my site many times. I have never really been able to take in the full panorama view. Instead of putting in my headphones and nodding off I forced myself to stay awake and take in the view. At some point along the way, I decided that you all might like to enjoy a bit of the view that I was enjoying. So, I whipped out my new ipod with a video camera and every so often took a few secs of the scenery passing by. My intention was to try to show how the landscape changes over the roughly 2.5 hour ride.enjoy,Jessica

What can I do for my mom’s birthday...last year amazingly she was with me and we had a quiet and relaxing day as she wanted. It was great to be with her on her birthday. This year, I just spent an amazing time with her in the Ukraine. (See previous blog post.) It was great spending time with my mom and our dear family friends. Unfortunately, I wasn’t organized enough to bring her a gift - shucks. So, I’ve decided to do a little photo montage and let the world know that it’s my mom’s birthday and how amazing she is. Mom,Thanks for all that you do for me. Your unfailing support and love gets me through the ups and downs of my life. I am truly blessed to have you as my mom. I hope you enjoy these pictures....with much love and gratitude,your daughter, Jessica.That’s the two of us in Durham. We left a few days later after a hectic time packing, finishingmy Masters, telling friends bye. Then we set off on a grand adventure acrossthe country. The joy you see in my mom’sface here, she always hasthat joy with her andit’s infections. I love it!My mom has a sense of humor too.Here she is petting a bull fountain in Baku.Do you see that twinkle or hint of mischief in her eye... that twinkleleads us down some crazy pathsbut life with my mom is never dull.That’s mom with papa or her dad.While I’ve been gone, papamoved to an assisted living home. He’s in his 90s so that’s to be expected. Even though mom lives away from her family she visit them often in Idaho and she taught me the familyis important.There’s mom buying a picture in Ukraine. Yes, it’s another picture of Irises. The lady she’s with is the artist. She was quite nice....Well, mom I hope you have a very Happy Birthday. I look forward to our next adventures together.Lots of love,Jessica

So, I wanted to get a few pics and thoughts up of our trip to Ukraine. It was a great trip - spent time family and friends, relaxed, ate great food, saw beautiful environs and historical places, played card games, etc. I include here just a few of my most cherished pics. I will post some of the rest (for those who know me, I take lots of pictures) when I have access to high speed internet. This post is being posted old school - dial-up. The Carpathian Mountain foothills - outside of Lviv. We took a drive and came to this lovely area and a went for a bit of a walk. It was very nice.A night train from Lviv brought us to Odessa where weboarded our ship. We were given the opportunity to attend a ballet at the Odessa Opera House. The Opera House is pictured left.The Black SeaYalta Harbor and my feet in the Sea.Up the Dniper River we go. We were ferried to this island, Fisherman’s Island, where locals wait to sell us all sorts of goods.Our boat and our captain...and my two favorite picturesin Kiev........Well, hope this post won’t take forever to load, but I do hope you enjoy the pics. Catch you on the next post. Jessica

I just returned from my fabulous 16 day vacation to the Ukraine. I feel rested and rejuvenated. A future blog on my trip is in the works:)Of course, returning to my Peace Corps life after spending 12 days on a river cruise boat with every meal prepared for me, my bed made and unmade for me, running water, and indoor toilets, has been a bit of a shock. I am back to water 4 hours a day, walking outside to my toilet, walking everywhere to get where I want to go, cooking my own meals, etc. However, as I ventured out into my community yesterday and today, I realized that I was missed. My fruit and vegetable stand guy and my market guy asked me where I had been. My market guy even joked with me asking where his present was. When someone else in the store remarked that he shouldn’t be so bold as to ask me, he responded that we were friends. It’s pleasant and reassuring to know that at least a few Azerbaijanis with whom I’ve had contact notice my presence or absence, as the case may be.My Azerbaijani friends all welcomed me back and were eager to hear about my travels. And it also feels like no time had passed at all. As I walked home today, I ran into the same neighborhood kids I often run into. I was greeted with Hello or Hi Jessica, same as always. They have become accustom to my comings and goings through their play area. I guess I have a place here, a special carved out little place. The only way I got this special carved out place though, was to be here. BE just BE for a long while. There really is something to that 2 year commitment and to that magic second year. Now is the time to DO, though. I am on my final stretch and I need (want) to do and see and accomplish all the things I set out to do. But I hope I don’t ever forget that whatever success I come across some if it is because I just WAS for a while. I encourage each of you to just go and BE.Hugs,Jessica

I am eating my words. Just about two years ago a friend, mentor, professor, colleague of mine at Duke suggested that I would at some point during my service as a Peace Corps Volunteer ask my family and friends for money. I said nah, I would never do that. And yet I find myself doing just that. Farqani returned to my site in September after spending a year in the States studying Educational Leadership in Fargo, ND and interning in DC through a US government sponsored Muskie Fellowship. Since returning he has been invaluable to me as a translator and counterpart as we work on different projects in our city and in Baku. When he told me that he was accepted to attend this conference but he couldn’t go because he didn’t have the money get to the US, I decided to help. The Details:What: International Leadership Training Programme: A Global Intergenerational Forum.Objectives: • involve young leaders in finding solutions to emerging human rights problems; • nurture individuals to be effective leaders in the field of human rights; • promote the sharing of experiences and understanding; • provide an impetus for, and the empowerment of, youth leaders that will enable them to play a crucial and constructive role in the development of human rights in their communities; • build a network of solidarity among future leaders in the field of human rights; • hone the skills and expand the knowledge relevant to human rights practice; • provide tools and a platform for open debates about policies, programmes, activities and processes necessary for human rights leadership.More information about the Forum can be found at:http://www.unescochair.uconn.edu/upspecialevents.htmNeed: Airfare from Baku to Bradley International Airport, Hartford, CT (code: BDL), my current research suggest that he needs approximately $1600 to buy a ticket. Why: I feel this experience will further enhance Farqani’s ability to give back to his community while also connecting him with like minded individuals from around the world. I chose a few excerpts from his essay to highlight:“It is impossible to speak about democracy in a country where people as human beings lack their basic civil rights. As great Azerbaijani son Babek, the leader of liberal movement against the Arabic invasion of the 9th century mentioned, it is better to live one day free as a human being than 40 years as a pitiful creature and slave.”“Through my volunteer experience for this center, I came to realize that the lack of quality education on human rights among people and especially youth is one of the most key reasons of why their rights are being violated. How can they stand for their rights if they do not know what their rights are? ... It is my understanding that education is key to developing capacities latent in our human nature and only through quality education it is possible to develop those latent capacities for the progress of human beings and societies. “Today, as a growing educational leader and with firsthand knowledge of human rights problems in my country and community, which resonate deeply with me, I want to dedicate my time and energy to educating people and especially youth about human rights through various small-scale project implementations.” If you would like to help Farqani get to the US and attend this conference, please contact me at jesspcaz@gmail.com Thanks for reading....Jessica

Ok so I finally have a little more perspective and can write about this crazy experience. About a month ago I managed to catch my right big toe in the pant leg of my left pant leg and yanked it pretty hard, hard enough that I heard a pretty loud pop and felt a fair bit of pain. Didn’t think much of it though until the next day when I noticed that the bruise which started near the top of my big toe was half way down my foot. I was in Baku and I decided to be on the safe side and call my Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO). Now, honestly I thought the PCMO would just tell me to stay off of it, ice it and she would look at in on Monday (it was Saturday). Instead, she suggested that I go to the hospital and I should go by myself as it would take her a long time to come in to the city. Luckily I was with a great PCV friend of mine and she agreed to go on this hospital adventure with me. So, with the PCMO en route to the hospital, my friend and I also headed off to find out what was wrong with my big toe. We walked up to the main street and got in a taxi. The taxi driver had not heard of the hospital we were to go to. Call #1 to the PCMO so she could tell the driver where to take us. As we got in the general vicinity, the taxi driver had to stop and ask for directions several times. Now at the hospital we were to bypass the line at the front desk and ask for a woman who would take us to the doctor’s office. Luckily there was not a long line as I hate being a pushy American. The woman at the reception walked us 10 steps to the doctors office where we were met by a doctor and our translator/guide. This translator was very excited to speak English as she does not get much practice. However, since she has not had the opportunity to practice, her English only got us so far. Throughout the course of this experience we used equal parts English, Azerbaijani, and Russian to communicate. The doctor and guide asked me what happened. I tried to explain. Then the guide took us up stairs (literally I walked up stairs) where we waited for the trauma specialist. The trauma specialist finally came after about 10 minutes and looked at my toe for about 30 seconds. He wanted an x-ray. So down the hallway an up yet another flight of stairs. Now I was walking ahead with the guide. She was practice her English with me so I missed the opportunity to use the elevator that the doctor who was walking behind me offered. When my friend pointed out that we could take the elevator the guide said that stairs were better for our health. (??) Into the x-ray room, shoe and sock off once more, and a few funny moments of everyone trying to figure out how to tell me how to sit and where to sit on the machine. Then everyone is cleared from the room but myself and the doctor. The doctor straps on all the appropriate protective gear; I get none. A minute or so of the doctor positioning and reposition my foot and then he turns to me and says, “your finger is broken.” Now up to this point I was convinced that it was not broken. Coupled with the fact that he said finger (in Azerbaijani there is not a separate word for toes they are all called the same thing, fingers), I exclaimed “Broken!!!” Ah geez. Then he kept saying “fixture” and I quizzically exclaimed “CAST?!” Oh no.So my friend and the guide/translator come back into the room and yes the guide explained to me that they wanted to cast my foot. I immediately get on the phone with the PCMO, call #2. She speaks with the guide and then with the doctor. She then speaks to me and explains that I have broken my toe and then need to cast my one toe. I try to explain to her that typically toes are just tapped together in the US. She explains that the location of my break necessitates a cast. Then I ask what the cast will be like, where will it be? She responds, “on one toe.” Ok, not able to envision this I just give in to the idea of a one-toe cast and hang up. Now we are waiting for the cast specialist. Finally he appears. Next thing I know he is wrapping gauze around me entire foot. I try to get him to explain to me what he’s doing to no avail so call #3 to PCMO. I tell her that it appears they are casting my whole foot and just want to know what is happening. I hand the phone to the cast specialist. He says two words to the PCMO and then hangs up. The PCMO calls me back and says, “You are making him nervous.” To which I respond, “Uh, I am making him nervous, I am the one with a broken toe getting a cast on my foot in a developing country.“ “Yes,” the PCMO states, “You are making him nervous.” At this point I realize that I am not in any pain, the cast is not hurting me in anyway and I know that it is easily removed. So with a sigh and a giggle (nervous laugh) I resign myself to being casted. A very short time later, my foot is half casted. There’s really no easy way to explain this: looking at your right foot, the cast started about at my 3rd toe in from my big toe and wrapped around my foot to the other side and then stopped at my ankle bone. The cast itself was just held on by gauze. Maybe the picture above helps...So with the cast done, they just tell me to go. No crutches, no boot, no nothing AND they send me down stairs. So flummoxed by the situation, I hobble, hop, and walk on this crazy half cast down the stairs (yes stairs!!) and back into the original doctor’s office and place call #4 to the PCMO who is apparently still on her way, a half an hour away. I tell her that I am not happy with the situation, but I want her to see for herself. So, we wait. Finally, the PCMO arrives. She talks to the guide to get the update from her and then looks at my cast. She tells me this cast is perfectly normal and that I really need to stay off of it. Well that’s dandy but how am I supposed to get around. Her answer, “Crutches.” Uhg no. At this point I sort of shut down. I know that crutches in my town will be impossible and that I will be stuck at home. So the PCMO asks the guide for crutches. Nope, none in the hospital. So off to the Peace Corps office to get crutches. Crutches handed over, I head back to where I am staying in a lovely home with a great American family. I spend the rest of Saturday and Sunday thoroughly frustrated with this half cast and crutches and really not sure how I will get by in my town with this cast on for 3 weeks. On Monday I headed into the Peace Corps office and talked with our Medical Assistant. She stated that the doctor wants to see me again in 10 days so Peace Corps would like me to head back to site and then return. We then discussed how I might be able to get by in my site unable to leave my house for that long and we satisfactorily worked out all of the details.I spend the next 10 days holed up in my house, longing to be able to go out and walk around. My trips to the bathroom are that much more annoying and I must plan even farther in advance. The days do manage to roll by fast...ish and I head back into Baku. Determined that this cast must come off or I will not be able to get any work done, ever never. Luckily the cast specialist agreed with me that the cast could come off. Phew. So a few days of hobbling and then a few more days of walking slow and still more days of just not being able to walk a lot and then well and my toe is basically ok. It hurts sometimes but I can get around just fine and as my mom said I have now had my Peace Corps hospital experience ;). stay healthy!Jessica

Recently, I had the most amazing chance to meet and spend time with my host sister Irina (Ira) Shvets in Baku. She first became a member of my family and a sister to me seventeen years ago. Below is our account of how we met and how our relationship has impacted our lives.I remember the day clearly when my mom first proposed the idea of hosting an exchange student; she was sitting in her chair by the window as she mentioned to me an advertisement in the newspaper to host an exchange student from the former Soviet Union through the Future Leaders Exchange (FLEX) Program. She asked me if I was interested. It was 1993 and I would be a senior in high school when the exchange student would arrive. Since returning from a short school trip to the Soviet Union in 1991, I had remained interested in this unique part of the world (especially since it collapsed a mere month after my visit). I was interested. Over the next few weeks, we completed our application and picked our student: A young girl from Ukraine, Irina (Ira) Shvets. Ira writes about when she first learned our names, “Mourine and Jessica Anduiza – I remember when my Mom brought these names written in Ukrainian spelling on a piece of paper. I couldn’t have guessed back then that these two names would become so important for me.”Ira arrived one day in early August. I remember a young, frightened girl who looked completely overwhelmed. My mom and I opened our home and our hearts to Ira. Ira and I would laugh and cry over the tumultuous teenage dramas that took place in our lives. I organized a sweet 16 birthday party for her and she was with me when I opened the letter to learn that I got into the university of my choice. By the end of the year I considered Ira my sister and my mom considered her a daughter. Ira recalls this year in her own words, “Jessica and her Mom have always inspired me and made me feel very special. I adored their house, I loved my room, I enjoyed the frequent grey clouds over Bremerton… These memories kept me going through some really rough times as I always knew that life can be better.”Nine months went by incredibly fast. Soon, the school year was over and it was time for Ira to return to Ukraine. “When I left America my heart was really broken, Part of my soul and my heart remained with people I love and admired,” Ira remembers. Through tears we said our goodbyes. We had no idea when or if we would see each other again. It wasn’t until I was registering for classes in university that I decided to enroll in Russian language classes. At some point soon after I decided that I would spend my Junior year in Russia to use this language that I was spending so much of my time learning. While living in Russia, I took the time to visit Ira and meet her family. Ira’s family welcomed me with open arms and took care of me. They even provided me with a winter coat for my time in St. Petersburg, Russia. Ira describes how truly intertwined our families are: “Yes, Mourine (Mo) and Jessica Anduiza have become Mom and Sister for me. My relatives perceive them as part of the family and we often talk about Jessica. When I visit them in my hometown they ask about Jessica somewhere between my son and my husband. It has become natural for my mother to talk of Jessica as her own child. My grandma follows all the world news and gets really upset if some kind of natural disaster happens somewhere in the US. She asks me then whether Mo and Jessica live close to the place… Small episodes but they tell a lot.”When my mom came to visit me in Russia we spent some time in Ukraine visiting Ira and her family. Watching Ira’s mom meet my mom was like watching two old friends greet each other even though they had never actually met before. Tears flowed freely for both of them. We all spent a wonderful week together until it was once again time to say goodbye. It would be twelve years later that our paths would once again cross. Through a series of circumstances that are truly hard to fully grasp, we met in Baku: I serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer and Ira in her role as a Program Assistant for OSCE in Kiev which requested that she travel to Baku for training. Ira writes about this chance encounter: “I am not even going to try to analyze the most amazing circumstances bringing the two of us to Baku because it is overwhelming and hard to perceive with one’s mind. It can be felt by heart only.”I waited at the appointed hour and place in Baku and hoped I would still remember what she looked like. Many memories floated in and out of my mind; wonderful, happy memories of times spent together. Finally, she came out of no where running towards me and flung her arms around me. It was my turn to be the frightened girl. She’s the closest family member I have here and I felt like I was grasping a piece of home. I clung to her and cried. Ira, held me, strong and mature. Our roles had truly reversed. As we spent a very short night together trying to catch up on the last twelve years of our lives and that of our families I found myself looking at Ira in awe. I remembered Ira as a shy girl. While the young woman sitting before me had many of the same mannerisms and speech patterns as the young Ira I knew, she had matured into an amazing, confident woman. Ira now had a career as well as a husband with whom she shares a 3 year old son. She had grown and it was wonderful to see her as a woman with purpose and happiness. If someone had predicted that Ira from Ukraine and I from the USA would meet in Baku, Azerbaijan sixteen years later after she first arrived and became a member of my family I am sure I would have called them crazy. I still struggle to find words to describe the experience of this chance meeting. However, this meeting did remind and reassure me of one thing: Ira will always be my sister and a part of my life forever. Ira’s own end to this story: “Miracles happen… Mourine and Jessica Anduiza have become miracles of my own. Thank you, Jessica. Thank you, Mommy Mo. Note: Ira and her family have just received their Canadian visas to immigrate to Canada. They will be moving there sometime in the next year. The world is a very small place. This story is a perfect example. Happy Spring!Jessica

What a day!Technically, I’ve been living in this country sort of illegally. I, along with many other PCVs, have not been able to get our registration cards. Think of this card as the Azeri version of a driver’s license, a national ID card. This registration card has been hard to obtain because the laws have been in flux since we arrived in country. Peace Corps has been working on this issues tirelessly. Finally I received a call from our Safety and Security officer (aka Superman) that I needed to go to the passport control desk in my town to complete the necessary paperwork so that I could receive this ID. This process includes my landlady coming with me and showing her house papers and passport. Superman told me to go to this passport control desk at 9AM. So a little after 9 my landlady and I head off to this office. We arrive at the appropriate place and find that we are now in a line with about 15 other people in front of us. All of these people are sitting (women) and standing (men) in a room about one and half times bigger than a standard US bathroom. At the front of this line there is a door. After sitting and waiting and nothing happening for 10 minutes are so, I realize that no one is behind the door. The person we are all waiting for has not yet arrived. I text Superman. Superman calls me back and tells me that he has just talked to the passport control chief and he will be there in maximum 5 minutes. I relay this information to my landlady.Over the next 30 minutes more and more people cram in this small space. I happen to be sitting and at one point I thought a woman was going to sit on me. For a typical american such that I am, my personal space was in a constant state of violation and I was doing my best to not leap up and run out of the room screaming like a crazy lady. So that you have the full picture: The room is filled with 85% males, all of whom are wearing black everything. It is the only style in Azerbaijan for guys. The remainder are a smattering of young and older women some dressed nicer than others. Since the room is small and there’s a lot of people in it, the air had a certain odor. To use myself as an example, I have not showered in a week. Ok so there I am packed in like a sardine, waiting and waiting for this passport control guy to appear. After 30 minutes I decided it is time to alert my Safety and Security Officer, superman, that I am still waiting. After a minute or two superman calls me back. He tells me that he is very mad at this passport control officer and tells me to leave immediately as he will arrange to have the necessary paperwork delivered to my house. So I tell my landlady and we leave. I get about 15 steps down the street and superman calls and asks me to wait just one more minute. He has just spoken again to the passport control chief and he is on his way. So, we head back into the building. Well at least we try. Since we left, the guards have locked the building. Now, I am standing outside the building with a pushy crowd of people behind me and doors that won’t open. Again, I call superman to alert him that I am standing outside the building and can’t get in. He tells me to hand my phone to one of the guards. So I start to knock on the glass doors and try to open them. The doors are slammed in my face and they refuse to take my phone. Superman tells me to wait. After a few minutes superman calls me back and says that the passport control chief should come out right now to find me. At this moment the doors of the building swing open and a flood of people push their way into the building. My landlady and I let the first fierce wave by before walking in. At about the same time a guy wearing a uniform yells who’s here from Peace Corps. “Me!” I yell. He gestures me to follow him.I now follow him and my landlady through this crowd of people. I am having to push my way through as if I am at a rock concert trying to work my way into the mosh pit. As I get to the door, a man from the inside slams it on me. I try to push my way and he slams it again. Desperate to get in, I push back and slightly stumble in the room and say out loud and in English, “Idiots!” Not my best moment, I realize. At least I am in I think to myself. The passport control guy takes my passport and pictures and looks at my landlady’s paperwork. Then he hands my passport with pictures to a guy in uniform and gives him some instructions. The passport control dude then tells us to follow the guy in the uniform. I follow the uniform guy through the crowd of people and across the street to another office crowded with people. The uniform guy pushes he way through the crowd and receives a blank form. Then I follow him back across the street and go into another office, thankfully not so crowded. (and yes I did just cross the street for an application form.)Now, my documents and this blank form are handed to a nice young woman who proceeds to complete this application for me. My landlady, who has also been along for the back and forth across the street adventure, is now asking this women a bunch of questions. I am just standing there listening, when the women filling out my application form asks my landlady when I was born. To which I reply in Azeri, the answer she was looking for. The women looks at me with wide eyes and says “You speak Azerbaijani?” I reply, “Well, not fluently, but I can tell you when I was born.” Armed with the knowledge that this american can speak Azeri, this women proceeds to ask me some of the more typical, mundane questions. Why are you here? Are you married? etc. Luckily this questioning does not las long.Now my application is completed and this women is telling my landlady that she must pay 10 AZN. Peace Corps has made it clear that we are not to pay anything for this, so I say no. She says we must and so yet again I call superman. Superman asks to speak to the women and after a brief conversations she confirms that this ID card is free.Really, I wish this story ended here and if you are still reading this I am amazed, but there’s more. Now this women hands all of the documents back to me and tells us to go back to the passport control office. This means that I must once again push my way through this crowd of people. Phew. Through the crowd of people. The Chief looks over the documents, asks if I speak Azeri and then tells me to sign the form. Forms signed. I am done, I think. Wrong! He then tells us to go get photocopies made of my passport and Azeri visa, my landlady’s passport and house documents. Back through the crowd of people and across the street. There’s no power so no way to make copies. After a brief moment my landlady and I decided we could stand around all day waiting for the lights to turn on, so we head into the center of town. After about a 15 minute walk we find a place to get our copies made. We head back to the building, back through the crowded room and once again into the passport control office. The Chief takes my documents and tells me to return in one week. to pick up my ID. We shall see! My landlady states that she’s tired and is heading home. I decide that I need to get a coke and snickers bar. After purchasing these items I too head home, tired. I get home to discover that I do not have power nor gas. I have no way to cook or stay warm, etc. AND I am pretty darn sure the reason I don’t have these utilities is because my town has decided to dig up a street and plant palm trees. What a day.My power and gas did return around 5PM. I’ll let you all know when I get my registration card. Fingers crossed.Enjoy your utilities!hugs,Jessica

Weddings are just very different here and I thought it might be interesting for you all to hear about my experience going to an Azerbaijani wedding. First, I had to get ready for the wedding. My host sister agreed to do my hair and make-up. Here’s a self portrait of me ready to walk out the door.Then here’s my host sister getting ready and her brother.The bride of this wedding was a neighbor. I should mention here that this wedding was for the bride. The only people attending this wedding were family and friends of the bride. As we were getting ready for the wedding the extended family came to pick the bride up. This ritual includes a procession of cars honking their horns. This procession takes the bride to the wedding palace.We arrive at the wedding palace.Instead of gift registries, they collect money from all attendees. As you enter the wedding palace families give money for the bride and groom. Each donation is written in a book, who gave and how much. The first thing everyone does is sit down to eat. People typically sit down with people they know. Women and men sit separately. We are brought a series of traditional Azerbaijani food.\At some point after people have finished eating, a small ceremony is held with the bride and groom standing on the dance floor saying their “I dos” and then they sign a marriage certificate. The couple then dances while balloons drop from the ceiling. And that’s basically it. In a few a weeks a similar ritual will occur with the groom’s family.Hope this installment was interesting!:) - Jessica

This week I was faced with a (long) period of time without power. I lost power some time around 11AM on Monday and it was fully reinstated to my house around 5PM Thursday. I am typing this blog entry on Friday and have had two, 20 minute, periods of time without power. Please, please power stay on!It would be one thing if my entire town or even a section of town was also without power, but my power outage was limited to my house and that of a few other neighbors. Therefore, it was up to the collective will of the neighbors to pay for and fix the problem causing the power outage. On the 2nd day of powerlessness my landlady learned from one of her neighbors that her husband was out-of-town and she was reluctant to do anything in his absence. Finally on the 3rd day the neighbors collected money and asked a “master” to come and fix the problem. In the meantime my landlady sought to provide me with a bit of power. She did this by asking her brother who lives in a house adjacent to her house for assistance. As her brother’s house receives power from a different line, he had power. So, when I returned home on Wednesday afternoon, I was greeted with a really long extension cord that went from my landlady’s house through my window into my house. This extension cord was attached to yet another extension cord that went from my landlady’s house to her brother’s. While I knew that this set-up was against all safety rules I’ve ever come across in the US, I was overjoyed to have power. You see, through this experience I have come to realize just how dependent I (we?) are on electricity. My main source of entertainment and communication is through my computer which requires electricity. Yes, I was able to use this electricity-less time to read books, magazines, work on projects, etc. And for a short period of time, I thoroughly enjoyed this break from my ‘realish’ world. However, at some point within those days without power, I realized that I was anxious and feeling generally unsettled. Without my computer, I wasn’t able to relax, unwind, or escape. Hopefully, my long periods of time without power will be few and far between. What I take from this experience is that I took my computer and electricity for granted. Well, no longer. Also, and maybe more importantly, I’ve come to realize I rely on my computer too much and need to work to lessen that dependency. I wish you a wonderful electric day!Jessica

I have found myself saying this statement in my head many times in the last few days. This time next year I won’t need to dance in my kitchen to keep warm while cooking. This time next year I will not be forced to walk outside (in the cold) to use the bathroom. This time next year I won’t be here to help organize a summer camp. (sad)This time next year I will not need to plan 4 hours in advance to take a bucket bath (oh and I won’t be taking a bucket bath). This line of thought, though, always leads me to wonder where I will be this time next year. As of now I have tons of ideas, but nothing definite. Somehow though, the ambiguity of my life this time next year doesn’t bother me, it strengthens my resolve to finish my service and hopefully do a few things I set out to do along the way. Now I am off to take a bucket bath in the hamam I started heating four hours ago and did a hand washed load of laundry in two hours ago. Happy Valentine’s Day!Jessica

...with my blog at least.Time seems to be flying by. I am not complaining, but it’s a little weird to realize that I haven’t written anything in this space since April. I want to blog and I want to connect with all those who are interested in following this roller coaster ride that is Peace Corps and so I will start again. We just finished our Mid Service Conference. It was the first time since swearing-in that we were all together, all 53 of us. Our group has lost 6 (a very small number) since swear-in and we had two members that were absent for medical reasons. It was amazing to see and get to hang out with everyone. Plus the weather cooperated with us with have snow so that we all were able to spend an extra day in the hotel. After the conference, my friend and I headed to our embassy family’s home where we were greeted with hot cups of tea. Throughout the next two days we were spoiled with amazing food, good fun, hot showers, and even a chance to sled (see picture above).I am heading back to site today. Actually a little excited to be going back to my home and my normal life. I feel full of love and support from my fellow AZ6s as well as re-committed to my work. Jessica

And so life goes on here for me in the AZ....A few quick things to keep you updated:On March 31 my organization closed it’s doors in my city. They nicely donated a few pieces of furniture for my new home (see note below). I am currently discussing options with Peace Corps. Don’t worry! I do have other places I can work just working out the details. And I have plenty of things to keep me busyLosing my organization also means that I lost my almost daily access to decent internet. So, hang tight if you don’t hear from me as often as you are used to. I am currently staying the evening with a DCID staff member and their apartment has wireless, high speed internet. (Thanks DCID!!!)On April 4 I moved into my new digs. I now live in a small, yet comfortable home. I share the yard and bathroom with the landlady. The landlady is a spitfire and is quite fun. The one down side is that my new digs did not have much furniture, but my organization nicely gave me a bed, desk, and a chair. Finally, this weekend I head to Kazakhstan for a week to get trained to be a FLEX Pre-Departure Orientation teacher. This summer I will help to facilitate the pre-departure orientation for all the of high-school students from the AZ the will spend next school year in the US through the FLEX program. Through the use of this amazing high speed internet, I have uploaded pics....enjoy! See link below. Stay in touch ! - Jesshttp://web.me.com/jessicaja/Site/My_Peace_Corps_Albums/My_Peace_Corps_Albums.html

Well, it should actually say that my life is out of MY control, but that’s not as catchy. The Peace Corps warns you about many issues that may arise during your time as a volunteer such as intense boredom, complete lack of a familiar support system to help you through difficult times, the fishbowl affect and dealing with cultural adjustment. I have already experienced every one of these issues. But the one thing that I am pretty sure no one told me about was the feeling of your life being for the most part out of your control. Yes, I do have some control if I think really hard: I choose what clothes I wear in the morning, I choose when I get up or if I just roll over and go back to sleep, and I choose how I handle these different issues which make up part of my Peace Corps experience. But the reality is such that not much else of my life is in my control. I eat when my family prepares the meal and I eat whatever is served to me. I shower when the family decides that the hot water can be heated. At work, I am told whatever it is that needs to be done at the moment it needs to be done. When guesting (yes that is a verb), I am forced to wait for a family member to return from wherever to give me a ride home (it is not culturally appropriate for a woman to be alone on the street at night here). The reasons for these scenarios stem from a tangled web of cultural differences weighted down by my lack of fluent language skills. I have a great little story to illustrate this point. Read on if you have another moment or two...Yesterday, my hostma was working the day shift instead of her normal night shift as a nurse in the local hospital. On the day shift she works 12 hours, from 8AM - 8PM. My host sister and I visited her before we headed home for the day. At the visit I told her that I would make fried potatoes. I was actually looking forward to making friend potatoes my way - crispy. Upon arriving home I was informed that my host dad had purchased all the ingredients for me to make pizza. I explained to my host dad that it was too late tonight to make pizza as it takes many hours and besides, my hostma usually makes the dough for me. “Is it ok if I have it tomorrow?” I ask. He agrees that yes it would be ok.At around 6PM I return to the kitchen to start making the fried potatoes and I find my host dad making the dough for pizza, proud as a peacock. He explains that he called my hostma and was able to get the recipe from her. He reminds me, once again, that he is a trained chef. Sigh.Even as he has his hands in the dough, I try to explain to him that we won’t eat till 9 or so; that the dough needs two hours, that the sauce needs to be made, that, that, that....nope. He bought all the ingredients for tonight and tonight we will eat pizza. And so instead of making a simple dinner and eating it at a reasonable hour, I was somehow compelled into making pizza. My evening went from being my own to being a cook to the family. The next 3 hours I spent in the kitchen area fixing the requested pizza or waiting for things to be done so I could make the pizza. My life, once again, was out of my control. Here’s how my thought process and pizza making process went...Frustrated or maybe annoyed, (both?) I begin the process of making the sauce. Chop onions, garlic, fry - breath - think he’s trying to do a nice thing here. Add tomato paste - wait not enough paste. Need some more tom paste, please. Host sis runs off to the little store to get some. Chop tomatoes. Add tomatoes and paste to onions and garlic. Why was he so insistent, why did I give in. Oops, don’t forget the sugar. Stir, simmer. Chop green onions, find spices. Host sis appears with a bottle of Coke (my host fam knows I like Coke with pizza)... Are they trying to do something special for me today? Add green onions and spices stir, simmer. Chop topping - red peppers. Grate or is it shred cheese. Has two hours passed....not quite. Dough needs more time. Sauce simmers - oops might be getting too hot push off to one side (the open electrical coil burner does not have various settings, it’s either on and hot or off and not). Just give in, life here is what it is, go with the flow, float.... Dough is done enough. Spread dough on oiled cooking sheet, poke or is it prick with fork, prick, poke, prick, poke, prick, poke, bake first dough. Wait. Spread the remainder dough.... prick, poke, you get the idea... Wait. Oh I am so hungry. A little bread with sauce will do the trick. Dough done. Take out, let cool. Put other in oven. Wait. It’s 8:30. Add sauce, cheese, then topping. Wait for other dough to get done. Hostma walks in. She asks what I ate for dinner. Cooking it I say. Hostpa wanted me to make pizza. “It’s late!” she exclaims. “I know!”, I exasperatedly exclaim. Whoa careful Jess - the fine dance that men and woman do here, each in their specific roles, is best not pushed too much. At least not in this setting. The male in the house wanted pizza and thus pizza is being made. Other dough is done, put pizza in oven to bake. Almost there, hang in there Jess. Make other pizza. Spread sauce, add cheese, toping. Does the pizza look burnt yet?? That’s when I know pizza is done, when it’s almost too done. Too often just done pizza is not quite done pizza, which is not good. Pizza is finally done.... hooray!

“Why am I here?” is a question the runs through my head more often than I care to admit and my answer to this important question for the last several weeks has been only an empty abyss. My reasons for joining the Peace Corps seemed so clear; to live and breath another culture, to help others; to spread a little person-to-person diplomacy; to just plain have an adventure. Now as I look towards my 6 month mark of being overseas and my 3 month mark as a true volunteer I ponder this question, “Why am I here?”Each volunteer faces his/her own challenges in the first several months of service. One of my challenges has been and continues to be that come April 1 the branch organization to which I was assigned will close. (Other branches around Azerbaijan and the headquarters in Baku will remain open.) With the support of Peace Corps, I have decided to remain in my assigned community instead of moving to another community with my assigned organization. However, staying in this community brings a very different challenge of finding a new organization in which to work. Luckily I have options. I have found places to work or people to work with, but it’s difficult to fully explain my purpose here and what I am actually capable of doing. I had one woman during the course of a dinner offer to “pay me under the table” for teaching English classes when she discovered I was a volunteer who receives only a modest living allowance and then later on ask me if I knew anyone with $50k to invest in a newly built factory. In case you are wondering, I, of course, flatly refused the “under the table” option in as many words, languages, and gestures as I could muster. Ultimately, I realize the emptiness I feel stems more from my concern of being a good volunteer and wanting to make some difference here and not knowing yet what that difference will be. In reality the question I am asking myself to which I have no answer is, “What is my purpose here?” I must work for this purpose, find it, mine it, chip away at it, step-by-step, day-by-day...I know why I am here. I am here, no matter how difficult it seems at this very moment, to live and breath another culture, to help others; to spread a little person-to-person diplomacy; to just plain have an adventure. The problem is that sometimes those clear reasons seem so distant from the day to day harsh realities of living and working in another culture.

For a variety of reasons, I have not been the best blogger of late. I am going to make a concentrated effort to blog from now on as want to stay connected to you, my family and friends back home, as well as provide a glimpse into my life as a Peace Corps Volunteer. To get you all caught up on my life, I picked a few (very few as dial-up is s...l...o...w...) pictures to share. I hope you enjoy. Stayed tuned for more updates.

There’s something about living in Azerbaijan; I always feel that I am living and seeing life in all of its glory. Sometimes I feel it when I see yet another car loaded full to the brim with apples or sheep riding in the back seat of car. (I saw both of these today.) Needless to say, if you are willing to look around and take part in life, living here is never dull...The word on the AZ street is that the cheapest stuff can be found at the bazar near the Baku airport. I and a friend of mine wanted to go see this bazar and hopefully purchase coats and other items. Yesterday, I asked my mom if she would take us and she agreed to take us next week. Apparently this information was mentioned to my dad and it was agreed, instead, that he would take us today. Now, yesterday evening I was told that my hostdad, hostma, me, my friend, and a friend of my hostmom who knows the bazar well would go. It was also explained to me that my host brothers were not to be told as they would want to go, but then would not want to shop. Ok. We agree to leave around 8. The next morning, my hostdad gets up, says he’s going off to work, and leaves. I get up, eat breakfast and wait for my hostmom to get ready. She comes into the kitchen, still in her robe, and asks why I am not hurrying. Confused, I mention that she is still in her robe. She explains that she’s not going and that my hostdad is waiting for me at the end of the street. Huh? Still confused, I quickly text my friend alerting her of our immediate departure, grab my stuff, run out the door, and down the street to the waiting car. In the car is my hostdad, his brother-in-law (my hostuncle) and his daughter who’s 16 years old (my host cousin). Slightly different group of people than I originally thought was going. We then go to pick up my friend. A little over an hour later we arrive at the bazar. It has been raining and so the ground is quite muddy. The bazar reminds me a bit of the exhibit halls at fairs (e.g. Puyallup) where there are hundreds of booths selling things. First, my hostdad takes us to a store that is owned by relatives. While the store has coats, they are all leather and fur. Neither myself nor my friend are interested in these type of coats. After several awkward minutes we excuse ourselves from the store and move on. Now excuse the gender stereotype here, but shopping with your own father is often an interesting experience. Most guys want in and out of the store as quickly as possible. Now add to this gender stereotype two fathers, a different culture, and three languages (Azeri, English, Russian). Imagine the fun and confusion we had.We went into several booths/stores to look for coats. The coats we liked did not come in our sizes. The store owners wanted us to try on other coats that were in our size, but we did not like them. At various times both men where holding our coats, purses, scarves, etc. while we tried on coats. Finally, we found a store that at least had a small selection of reasonably looking coats for women with some curves. We spent some time deciding on the right size and color. Then we negotiated a price. Through all of this my host dad managed to find patience. I think his eagerness to help his american daughter and her friend outweighed his desire to get out quick, although I could tell it was against his grain. ;)After agreeing on a price, we were asked to sit down for some tea while the coats were whisked away to be ironed. After about 15 minutes the coats reappeared, we paid, and left. We spent the next several hours searching out shoes and sweaters for my brothers, slippers for the house, a hat and scarf to match my coat, Azeri turtlenecks, shoes for my hostcousin, etc. Finally, we returned to the car and made are way through the rain-created lakes and rivers that made up the bazar parking lot. However, we were not done. Apparently, my hostmom had instructed my hostdad to return with a rug (room-size). We stopped off at rug-lane. An entire lane of nothing but booths filled with hanging, rolled, and stretched out rugs. It was suggested that we stay in the car. We passed the time by having my host cousin teach us the body parts in Azerbaijani. We then tried to sing “head, shoulders, knees, and toes,” with our newly learned words. Again very funny!After some time the two men returned carrying a rug that was placed in the trunk and off we went down the road towards home. Of course upon returning home our secret was out, my brothers knew that we had gone shopping. My hostdad had hoped that the new things would smooth things over. For my older brother this was true. He seemed unmoved by the fact that he was left out of the shopping excursion and was excited about the new clothes. My little brother was a different matter. After several minutes of angered pouting and words, he finally came to the table where the rest of us were enjoying a warm lunch. Still acting upset, he refused all food. This behavior went on for a bit until someone made a joke. My little brother tried hard not to laugh but with a little extra encouragement from me, he finally smiled and all was well. All in all a great day...

Family and friends,The newness of the AZ is wearing off and the realities of this locale is settling in. Thanks so much for the comments and questions either on my blog or via email. A few answers: The weather here is averaging 70. It rains every 5 or so days. There’s often a lot of wind as I am relative close to the sea. There has been a few days that the temperature has not hit 70. They say that any day now it will turn quite cold. Peace Corps gave us our sleeping bags last week. Huge, brown, plaid and flannel. Update: It is now never 70. It hovers around mid-60s or so. So the buildings in my town at least, I have learned, are built without any sort of heating capabilities. Each person who lives in an apartment must figure out how to heat their place. My hostma gave me a tour of our 4 room apartment’s heating options: Parent’s bedroom has a gas stove, living room has an electric heater that’s installed in the wall near the ceiling (resembles a window ac unit except that it’s not in the window), my room has an electric portable heater very similar to ones you can buy in the states, and of course the kitchen has the gas stove. Now, the kitchen and the parent’s room use gas while the other 2 rooms use electricity. It’s not unusual for the electricity to go out on a regular basis so there goes the heating options for my room and the living room. In addition at least once since I arrived the gas has gone out. I’m just hoping that both don’t go out at the same time ;).Did I pack right? Sort of. Not in desperate need for anything that I can’t get here. Would like more clothes, but I certainly don’t need them. Plus I bought a skirt here! I wore it today in fact. My hostma pointed out to me that the skirt was really for the summer and the village. Oh well. The handiest things I packed this far is my little clip on light, my stash of mechanical pencils (which I use for my language classes, the shawl my mom crotched for me, and french press/coffee grounds. I will move at least 2 more times so I am guessing what I need now and what I will need then will change. Malls: In fact there is a rather large and overwhelming mall type place here that has a rotunda. It’s is close to the US version of a mall except that the amount of space each store takes up is a great deal smaller. Maybe the best way to explain the mall is it is a cross between a typical mall in the US and a typical antique mall that has different booths with different owners. Grocery stores such as kroger are a different story. A grocery store that those of you in the US are accustom to are rare here. There is one chain here that is very close, but it is more expensive. They other product stores vary in size and type of products. In addition, typically the products are behind the counter and you must ask to see something if you want to look at it or purchase. This set-up makes buying things quite interesting when you have limited language ability.Well, a few questions answered. I know many of you asked about my host family. I hope to introduce them when I can involve the whole family n the process. At the moment my hostdad is away for work so the introduction is on hold for now. I will say that yes Peace Corps gives me money to pay my family for my food and other items. It is a reasonable amount. The funny story (I hope you see the humor): So, my friend and I went to the bigger city near us for a walk. She needed shoe polish so we go into a shoe store. After looking at the shoes, she finds the polish. It is clear to the customer and the shop keeper that we are foreigners. After trying all the Azeri we know, I finally break down and use my Russian to try to explain what we are doing here. Peace Corps is not well known or understood here or least by the people that I run into. My friend is finally able to buy the shoe polish, but the shop keeper does not have any change and we don’t have any change. The shop keeper goes off to the store one spot over but no change their either. So she tells my friend to sit. Then the store owner explains to me, in russian, that I am to go to the store with products a few doors down, purchase a box of matches and bring back the change. She hands me a manat (an azeri doller). Amused, I go down to the store. In Azeri (I am trying hard to use it whenever I can) I ask if they have matches. Ok so apparently I asked for one match. Which to all in the store and of course to me, was pretty funny. After clarifying that I would like a box of matches, still in Azeri, I give the shop attendeat the one manat. She looks at me and asks if I have any change. Nope. So then she decides that it’s just best to give the funny foreigner the box of matches for free so she hands me the box of matches and the one manat back. Uhg! Giving in I turn to my russian again. I explain , a bit exasperated, that I don’t need the matches but that the shop owner just down the way is in need of change. The whole group now standing around me (a mixture of customers and store workers) laughs. The cashier asks for the matches back as well as the manat and hands me one manat in change. Finally. Back I go to the store change in hand. Phew.

So I was wondering what I should write about, what would be interesting to you to read. Quite frankly I am not sure so please send me suggestions. I thought that I would start with describing a typical day for me. I live in a small town north of Baku. It is near the Caspian sea. I live with a host family who I will introduce later. I get up around 8AM. Wash my face and brush my teeth, etc. I have the good fortune of having a bathroom that is quite similar to what you may be accustom to in the US. I then go back to my room to dress. When I emerge from my room my hostma has tea and breakfast waiting for me. Breakfast is bread (freshly baked white, round loaf cut into large chunks as needed), jam, butter, cheese, and eggs, typically hard boiled. Usually I eat in the living room/dining room/bedroom. My two young brothers, 8 & 11, as well as my hostpa have already left for the day. I then finish getting ready, grab my back, slip out of slippers and into my street shoes and walk to school. I attend languages classes from 9-1 at a local school. It typically takes me about 5-10 minutes to walk depending on my speed. I walk by a preschool, Soviet-style apartment buildings as well as individual homes surrounded by fences with a variety of doors. Typically I see someone selling milk in water bottles and apples from a car. It is not unusual for me to run into a flock of geese or sheep or a herd of goats eating whatever they can find on the street. I am in language lessons with 4 other people. These 4 other people and myself make up what Peace Corps call a cluster. We do a variety of activities and tasks to help us learn the language. We also manage to take a few breaks during which we sometimes run to the local mini-market to buy whatever we are having a hankering for - soda, chips, snickers, etc. Around 1 I head home for lunch. For lunch I am typically served soup, salad (not the american green-leafy salad, but the Azerbaijani salad with veggies in mayonnaise or just cut up tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and herbs. Since my hostma knows I love fried potatoes I usually have them waiting for me along with some meat. Then I drink more tea and am served sweet cakes or chocolate. We also have a lot of fruit - apples, pomegranates, and grapes are usually lying around the house. After lunch I may have sessions that cover my particular sector - Community Economic Development - or there’s time for my group to work on assigned projects. I spend the evening with the family watching tv, working on homework, eating dinner, drinking tea, and talking. My hostma spends a great deal of time with both of her sons going over their homework and I have now been added into the fold. My brothers try to help me too. Then I usually go into my room around 10 or 11 and have some “me” time. In my room I study, try to get organized for the next day, read, watch part of a movie on my computer, play a game on my computer and/or write in my journal. I am asleep around 12 or 1 if not sooner. And that’s it. So let me know what you would like me to write about.