Since I will be leaving Azerbaijan just two days from now, I'm still pinching myself to realize my life and time here is ending and I won't be returning. I think it may be a few months before it truly sinks in. You may be wondering what's next? To which I can only answer: Paris and Madagascar.

While I haven't been in the U.S. for over two years I'm in no rush to hurry back. I also feel very confident that I need some R&R in another place and culture before coming home. Another PCV friend and I have arranged to spend some time in Paris and then head to Madagascar for twenty some odd days and then back to Paris again for another week before flying back into the U.S. on December 21st. Why Madagascar you may ask? Why Not Madagascar? is what I say. It's a beautiful and mostly under-the-radar country full of beautiful beaches, lush national parks, interesting plants and wildlife and tropical fruits: many of the things I haven't seen much of while living in AZ. It's also their summertime and I would love a dose of warmer weather before the NYC cold sets in. We've also arranged to have an apartment in Paris for the last leg of our trip to truly relax and live like the Parisians do for a bit.

So while I'm looking forward to being reunited with family and friends for the holidays, I'm really looking forward to my next excursion to bridge the transition back home.

America, see you on December 21st!

I’m not much of a procrastinator (or haven’t been since high school when Sunday night homework seemed an unwritten rule) but I’ve found I’ve been putting off writing this ending. I think I’ve needed to let my mind figure out exactly what all this means before I can really write about it. 27 months coming to and end takes a bit more time to sink in than I expected. I know some people were a bit surprised when I signed up for this experience—maybe I didn’t quite fit the mold of what people think of when they think of a Peace Corps Volunteer. Sometimes I still don’t believe it myself that I have practically completed a full PC service. I guess I never considered myself that type of person cut out to “rough it” on my own with so many unknowns. But I guess we surprise ourselves sometimes. Still, I have a feeling I’ll have to keep pinching myself to realize that I will soon be a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

This week brings the first of my lasts. My last Monday morning, my last days heading to school, my last early morning runs, my last bucket baths, my last trip to the post office, bazaar, local shops, my last “salams” and my last goodbyes. My last cups of tea, my last hugs and the last (hopefully) harassing screams from the locals boys. (My last marshutka ride happened last weekend as I’m proudly taking a car into the capital on Friday morning.) During all of these lasts I try to stay present in my mind and really grasp that it’s the actual last time I’ll be doing it. As I’ve done these things so often for so long it’s hard to imagine not doing them.

This past weekend I had my last lunch with my counterpart and her family. She made sure to invite her sister, who’s been like another beloved aunt to me, and prepared my favorite Azeri meals (“lying dolma”-as in it lies because it doesn’t have meat in it.) As time has passed during my service the meals she served me generously decreased as did her fussing over how much I ate; This occasion brought out a celebration again and it was as if I was coming for the first visit, yet she knew which meals I would enjoy. There was more of a comfortable relaxedness around the table—even laughter that led to tears (rather uncommon in this culture.)

Hours later, just before her students arrived for private lessons, it came to just the two of us sitting at the table, more silent than necessary as I knew we were both reflecting how quickly the time had passed. I at least was trying to think about how exactly I will be able to say goodbye to someone so significant to my time here. I have mentioned her before but our relationship is difficult to describe in words; the closest I can come is to say we respect each other as equals in the classroom but are like mother-daughter outside of school. The truth is I don’t imagine I would have stuck around this town for very long if we didn’t work together, if she hadn’t let me into her family. It is because of her that I drag my butt to school when I really would rather stay away from the screaming insolent children. It’s because of her that when I’m not sure I accomplished as much as I would have liked I realized I’ve bridged our cultures and she know views Americans much differently than she did a few years ago.

Like everything else it’s all been bittersweet. I realize that I have to move on to the next chapter—we can only grow so much in anything before we’re just following a routine that no longer challenges us. Even though I’m a bit wary of being a foreigner in my own land I can’t put off heading home in fear of the unknown. I feel like a lot of the similar emotions I had when packing up to coming here. The difference is now I’m leaving a place I may not be coming back to, saying goodbye to people I may never see again. That makes this transition harder. I’m also heading back to a place that I’ll expect to know and understand but I will most likely be walking around blinded dazed for awhile. America has changed (as it always does) so drastically. I’ve changed as a result of this experience. I don’t know America. I know Azerbaijan. I don’t understand Azerbaijan but I know Azerbaijan. This equals me feeling like I’ll a foreigner in America for quite some time. And these are the thoughts that get me a bit panicky and putting off the ends. As much as I can’t stand some things about where I live, there are people here that I’ve come to love and it’s hard to imagine not seeing them every week.

So Thursday evening I’ll spend my last hours with Gulhanim and Nizami hopefully as we always do and not acknowledging that it’s the end. I’m still not sure how to say goodbye to them, I’ll have to figure that out when the time comes-as I’ve had to do through most of this life here. Friday early morning I’ll pack up the car and head to Baku and hug and kiss goodbye most of the people who’ve defined my time here. I’m sure there will be tears-I’ve never been good with big goodbyes. Yet I suppose in a way I’m lucky to have such tears, for the sadness shows that I was lucky enough to have something worth crying over.

Twenty-six months ago I found myself lost in Azerbaijan. I might have been a bit lost wandering around this place for some of my time but as I’m leaving I can acknowledge that I no longer feel lost. I may not have found myself here but maybe that wasn’t what I was looking for. I found many other things in Azerbaijan.

I’m not much of a procrastinator (or haven’t been since high school when Sunday night homework seemed an unwritten rule) but I’ve found I’ve been putting off writing this ending. I think I’ve needed to let my mind figure out exactly what all this means before I can really write about it. 27 months coming to and end takes a bit more time to sink in than I expected. I know some people were a bit surprised when I signed up for this experience—maybe I didn’t quite fit the mold of what people think of when they think of a Peace Corps Volunteer. Sometimes I still don’t believe it myself that I have practically completed a full PC service. I guess I never considered myself that type of person cut out to “rough it” on my own with so many unknowns. But I guess we surprise ourselves sometimes. Still, I have a feeling I’ll have to keep pinching myself to realize that I will soon be a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

This week brings the first of my lasts. My last Monday morning, my last days heading to school, my last early morning runs, my last bucket baths, my last trip to the post office, bazaar, local shops, my last “salams” and my last goodbyes. My last cups of tea, my last hugs and the last (hopefully) harassing screams from the locals boys. (My last marshutka ride happened last weekend as I’m proudly taking a car into the capital on Friday morning.) During all of these lasts I try to stay present in my mind and really grasp that it’s the actual last time I’ll be doing it. As I’ve done these things so often for so long it’s hard to imagine not doing them.

This past weekend I had my last lunch with my counterpart and her family. She made sure to invite her sister, who’s been like another beloved aunt to me, and prepared my favorite Azeri meals (“lying dolma”-as in it lies because it doesn’t have meat in it.) As time has passed during my service the meals she served me generously decreased as did her fussing over how much I ate; This occasion brought out a celebration again and it was as if I was coming for the first visit, yet she knew which meals I would enjoy. There was more of a comfortable relaxedness around the table—even laughter that led to tears (rather uncommon in this culture.)

Hours later, just before her students arrived for private lessons, it came to just the two of us sitting at the table, more silent than necessary as I knew we were both reflecting how quickly the time had passed. I at least was trying to think about how exactly I will be able to say goodbye to someone so significant to my time here. I have mentioned her before but our relationship is difficult to describe in words; the closest I can come is to say we respect each other as equals in the classroom but are like mother-daughter outside of school. The truth is I don’t imagine I would have stuck around this town for very long if we didn’t work together, if she hadn’t let me into her family. It is because of her that I drag my butt to school when I really would rather stay away from the screaming insolent children. It’s because of her that when I’m not sure I accomplished as much as I would have liked I realized I’ve bridged our cultures and she know views Americans much differently than she did a few years ago.

Like everything else it’s all been bittersweet. I realize that I have to move on to the next chapter—we can only grow so much in anything before we’re just following a routine that no longer challenges us. Even though I’m a bit wary of being a foreigner in my own land I can’t put off heading home in fear of the unknown. I feel a lot of the similar emotions I had when packing up to come here. The difference is now I’m leaving a place I may not be coming back to, saying goodbye to people I may never see again. That makes this transition harder. I’m also heading back to a place that I’ll expect to know and understand but I will most likely be walking around blindly dazed for awhile. America has changed as it always does. I’ve changed as a result of this experience. I don’t know America. I know Azerbaijan. I don’t understand Azerbaijan but I know Azerbaijan. This equals me feeling like I’ll a foreigner in America for quite some time. And these are the thoughts that get me a bit panicky and putting off the end. As much as I can’t stand some things about where I live, there are people here that I’ve come to love and it’s hard to imagine not seeing them every week.

So Thursday evening I’ll spend my last hours with Gulhanim and Nizami hopefully as we always do and not acknowledging that it’s the end. I’m still not sure how to say goodbye to them, I’ll have to figure that out when the time comes-as I’ve had to do through most of this life here. Friday early morning I’ll pack up the car and head to Baku and hug and kiss goodbye most of the people who’ve defined my time here. I’m sure there will be tears-I’ve never been good with goodbyes. Yet, I suppose in a way I’m lucky to have such tears, for the sadness shows that I was lucky enough to have something worth crying over.

Twenty-six months ago I found myself lost in Azerbaijan. I might have been a bit lost wandering around this place for some of my time but as I’m leaving I can acknowledge that I no longer feel lost. I may not have found myself here but maybe that wasn’t what I was looking for. I found many other things in Azerbaijan.

I’m not much of a procrastinator (or haven’t been since high school when Sunday night homework seemed an unwritten rule) but I’ve found I’ve been putting off writing this ending. I think I’ve needed to let my mind figure out exactly what all this means before I can really write about it. 27 months coming to and end takes a bit more time to sink in than I expected. I know some people were a bit surprised when I signed up for this experience—maybe I didn’t quite fit the mold of what people think of when they think of a Peace Corps Volunteer. Sometimes I still don’t believe it myself that I have practically completed a full PC service. I guess I never considered myself that type of person cut out to “rough it” on my own with so many unknowns. But I guess we surprise ourselves sometimes. Still, I have a feeling I’ll have to keep pinching myself to realize that I will soon be a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer.

This week brings the first of my lasts. My last Monday morning, my last days heading to school, my last early morning runs, my last bucket baths, my last trip to the post office, bazaar, local shops, my last “salams” and my last goodbyes. My last cups of tea, my last hugs and the last (hopefully) harassing screams from the locals boys. (My last marshutka ride happened last weekend as I’m proudly taking a car into the capital on Friday morning.) During all of these lasts I try to stay present in my mind and really grasp that it’s the actual last time I’ll be doing it. As I’ve done these things so often for so long it’s hard to imagine not doing them.

This past weekend I had my last lunch with my counterpart and her family. She made sure to invite her sister, who’s been like another beloved aunt to me, and prepared my favorite Azeri meals (“lying dolma”-as in it lies because it doesn’t have meat in it.) As time has passed during my service the meals she served me generously decreased as did her fussing over how much I ate; This occasion brought out a celebration again and it was as if I was coming for the first visit, yet she knew which meals I would enjoy. There was more of a comfortable relaxedness around the table—even laughter that led to tears (rather uncommon in this culture.)

Hours later, just before her students arrived for private lessons, it came to just the two of us sitting at the table, more silent than necessary as I knew we were both reflecting how quickly the time had passed. I at least was trying to think about how exactly I will be able to say goodbye to someone so significant to my time here. I have mentioned her before but our relationship is difficult to describe in words; the closest I can come is to say we respect each other as equals in the classroom but are like mother-daughter outside of school. The truth is I don’t imagine I would have stuck around this town for very long if we didn’t work together, if she hadn’t let me into her family. It is because of her that I drag my butt to school when I really would rather stay away from the screaming insolent children. It’s because of her that when I’m not sure I accomplished as much as I would have liked I realized I’ve bridged our cultures and she know views Americans much differently than she did a few years ago.

Like everything else it’s all been bittersweet. I realize that I have to move on to the next chapter—we can only grow so much in anything before we’re just following a routine that no longer challenges us. Even though I’m a bit wary of being a foreigner in my own land I can’t put off heading home in fear of the unknown. I feel like a lot of the similar emotions I had when packing up to coming here. The difference is now I’m leaving a place I may not be coming back to, saying goodbye to people I may never see again. That makes this transition harder. I’m also heading back to a place that I’ll expect to know and understand but I will most likely be walking around blinded dazed for awhile. America has changed (as it always does) so drastically. I’ve changed as a result of this experience. I don’t know America. I know Azerbaijan. I don’t understand Azerbaijan but I know Azerbaijan. This equals me feeling like I’ll a foreigner in America for quite some time. And these are the thoughts that get me a bit panicky and putting off the ends. As much as I can’t stand some things about where I live, there are people here that I’ve come to love and it’s hard to imagine not seeing them every week.

So Thursday evening I’ll spend my last hours with Gulhanim and Nizami hopefully as we always do and not acknowledging that it’s the end. I’m still not sure how to say goodbye to them, I’ll have to figure that out when the time comes-as I’ve had to do through most of this life here. Friday early morning I’ll pack up the car and head to Baku and hug and kiss goodbye most of the people who’ve defined my time here. I’m sure there will be tears-I’ve never been good with big goodbyes. Yet I suppose in a way I’m lucky to have such tears, for the sadness shows that I was lucky enough to have something worth crying over.

Twenty-six months ago I found myself lost in Azerbaijan. I might have been a bit lost wandering around this place for some of my time but as I’m leaving I can acknowledge that I no longer feel lost. I may not have found myself here but maybe that wasn’t what I was looking for. I found many other things in Azerbaijan.

I’m very happy to report that the two girls, Amina and Nurlana, who I’ve been helping study for the FLEX* exam for the past year (one for more than the past year) took the first round of testing on September 29th. Day one is a short exam that consists of a short English text and follows with 16 questions to be completely in 15 minutes. To no surprise of mine, both girls called me that afternoon exclaiming they would go on to the second test the next day. The second day is much more difficult as the first day just weeds out the all the eager teenagers who want to go to America but maybe don’t have the English skills. It also turns away those who think they can cheat their way to studying in America.

Day two is three hours long with more intense grammar, listening sections and essays. Critical thinking and essay writing (along with presentations, group work, and other American learning techniques) are not taught in Azeri schools so preparing them for this part took much more work. Furthermore, on university entrance exams students can simply not answer a question and it won’t count against them so I’ve had to show the girls how they need to answer each question by using trial and error methods. We also spent many hours with essay writing to get them thinking critically about their ideas and opinions-another big thing skipped in the educational system. I was just thrilled they made it to round two on their first try. (If they don’t go on to the next round they still have two more years to try.)

After the second round they were told they wouldn’t hear the results until the end of the month or possibly the beginning of November. So it was a surprise on Thursday when Nurlana called me to tell me she passed round two and would go on to the interview round! Amina called me about an hour later with the same news-though it was hard to understand her at the volume and tone she was speaking at; if a voice could jump up and down, hers certainly did. Obviously they were thrilled, as was I, and I gave both girls a huge hug when I saw them at club that afternoon.

Perhaps fittingly, round three will take place the week I depart Zerdab. It will consists of an interview with questions like “What do you want to learn through going to the FLEX?” and “What is the most difficult adjustment you have ever had to make?” but also, “How will you feel if you have to live with a family that has a dog?” They’ll also have to write more essays and be observed working in groups with other students.

We’ve began preparation lessons again although Nurlana and I mostly just sat and talked after club, still jittery with excitement. The school and teachers were abuzz on Friday and everyone has been congratulating them. There is pressure I’m sure, but just the fact they made it this far is a huge accomplishment. I’m already so proud of them for believing in their dreams and working hard to reach them. Again, if it doesn’t happen this year they’re lucky enough to have two more years to meet me in America.

*The FLEX (Future Leaders Exchange) program is a U.S. Government run program that brings students from former Soviet countries to the U.S. to study in high school and live with a family for one year. Students must pass three rounds of English exams and interviews but certainly don’t need to be fluent to be invited—it’s more important that they are able to work well with others and display leadership potential. Each year about 4o students from Azerbaijan enter the FLEX program but practically half of them come from the capital. No one from Zerdab has ever entered the FLEX program and I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that less than 1% have studied outside the country.

I was asked yesterday if my time here has helped me in my life. What a loaded question that I’m sure all RPCVs are asked at one point or another. I just didn’t expected to be asked so soon. I said that that was a question I didn’t think I could answer objectively for another 2 years or so. It’s difficult to still evaluate my time and service while I’m still in it. Even a few months from now when I’m reacquainting myself with America I doubt I’ll be able to look at this experience for what it is. Especially given the recent turbulent frustrations at my site.

Perhaps the most striking part of this question is who actually asked it: a 22-year-old local from a nearby village. I must note it was in practically perfectly English. (Let me remind you that the level of English in Ztown is next to nothing; I can count the number of English speakers on one hand.)

Back story: this young man recently tracked me down to help him practice his English speaking. At first I turned down his request for a conversation club explaining that my weeks were fading and there was no others his age or level to form a group. He told me he taught himself only a year and a half ago, by listening to English speaking programs and he wanted desperately to speak with a foreigner. I had heard it before but he was quite persistent and eager and honestly, I was quite impressed with his level for learning on his own. I’ve found that general interest in continuing education or self improvement is minimal in this culture. (I hate to say it, but the truth is malingerers are a dime a dozen.)

In my head I’m asking myself “who are you and where did you come from?” because surely his is not like the others. The other part of me was saying “where were you 2 years ago?” when I was searching this town for any one willing to put in a little effort to join a club. Most of my “clubs” have been strictly teaching grammar—the level to have an actual conversation is quite minimal. Other volunteers with university students have been having debates and putting on plays in their regions while I have been limited to repeating sentence structure and prepositions. Not that I’m complaining-I’m here to do what is needed, but it would be nice to have a higher-level conversation now and then. Then in walks Nasir and I find myself not being able to deny him a third time—I want to finish this race (or dare I say, marathon?) to the full. Truthfully I may be able to do more for him and his English in my last weeks than I have for most of the uninterested students in school. So I succumb to his pleas and say that I’ll form a twice weekly discussion club with a few other students (all the while wary and nervous but also really excited to have more work to do.)

I’m proud to say the six of us speak English for the entire hour and half. So far the most popular activity is debate discussions with arguing for and against different topics. After club last week Nasir and I were walking towards the end of town where he hitchhikes back to his village. For someone who has never left the country he doesn’t act much like his peers and his ideas are those of someone way beyond his years. I wish I had more time to get to know him. There are those rare individuals everywhere I realize, the feckless bums who could care less about doing anything for anyone, engage in intellectual talk or venture to learn something from someone else. But there are also others who strive for more knowing it’s out there. I found a few of those here, or perhaps they found me.

I’m not sure how I’ll really be able to describe my past 2 years in a 3 minute elevator speech I’ll surely need upon my return home. How can I truly convey what this has been like? Challenging. Dark. Trying. Frustrating. Eye-opening. Most non-PCVs think that you join PC for an adventure—for exciting experiences. People always want to know the funny and crazy stories. Sorry, but I don’t have those. Maybe some things will seem funny in 2+ years. Ask me then. What I have had is relationships. That’s what it comes down to (I hope) in the end. I’ve met people who know me now and who I know. Who’ve listened to me and whom I’ve listened to; people with whom I’ve laughed, hugged, cried and smiled. I just hope I’ve helped a few more along the way.

I told Nasir that I know I’ve already changed because I understand the people here more. I’m also much more appreciative of all that I have in America. Immediately people will think I’m referring to conveniences like showers and refrigerators (or flushing toilets for that matter!) but I can stand to live without those things. Above all else, I value my rights. I love the freedom to have my opinions, to have my rights and as a woman to be respected and have choices. That’s the way I know I know I’ve already changed. The rest? We’ll just have to see. Ask again later.

Who doesn’t love Friday nights? The workweek is over, Saturday is usually filled with something enjoyable (or errands), which is at least better than Sunday- which only brings feelings of that Monday start again. I remember loving Friday nights all through my childhood. Homework could be put off till Sunday night-procrastination being the name of the game. My younger years of TGIF shows and pizza of evolved into movies in the village with friends (being dropped off by parents) which then morphed into meeting up for happy hour and/or dinner and dancing.

Somehow about two years ago excitement of my Friday nights dropped off a bit.

Which isn’t to say that I don’t enjoy that end of the week when I pick out some movie on my hard drive to escape with only to still turn in around 11 p.m. {sigh} Still I’m so grateful that I had those memories of childhood and youth growing up in a suburb where at least I had the option of going out and being social, learning out to be awkward about boys and experience all those uncomfortable things that come with being a teenager.

When I ask the girls of my town how they celebrate their Friday nights they tell me they pretty much the same thing as every other night, minus the homework. I knew that they wouldn’t be going to the movies, any discotech (as they refer to clubs or dance bars) or even out for pizza. There aren’t sleepovers or other random reasons to get together. I feel like they are so deprived of so many of the things I was lucky enough to experience.

So for two of my students, who have become my best friends in town, I decided to make a reason to get together.

I’ve been helping Amina and Nurlana prepare for the FLEX exam for over a year now (FLEX is an exchange program that brings post-soviet country students to the U.S. to live with a family and study at high school for one year). They both attended GLOW camp, Amina last year and Nurlana this year. Both of them changed drastically after only a five day camp and have really stepped up their leadership as a result. They’ve both helped me with my summer clubs and now believe in their ideas and dreams in a way that is rarely seen in my town, especially among girls. They both are super enthusiastic about practically everything American and they now constantly talk about America. Oh and their English and improved tenfold in the last year as they are as good as many university students. With all their hard work and eagerness to keep learning and practicing (I alternate every other day with each of their 2 hour lessons) they’re undoubtably some of the best speakers in my town. They’re also only 14 years old.

Next week is their first chance to take the FLEX exam and while it’s a tough competition and only about 40 students get selected every year I am just so proud of them for working so hard and believing that they can do it. (They’ll have two years to qualify if this year doesn’t work out.)

This past Friday night I invited both of them over for a Friday night meal. They love pizza, which we’ve made together but they only have it once a year as the good cheese doesn’t often come to our town and it’s a pretty penny for even 100 grams. I decided to expand their palates a bit I’d show them how to make eggplant parmigiana instead-same concept of pizza minus the time to make the dough. (Note: Parmesan cheese—or anything even remotely close—doesn’t come close to my town so we substitute the only other meltable cheese when available.)

This week was a bit trying for a number of reasons, I wasn’t feeling so well on Wednesday and I thought of pushing off getting together until after the exam. But when I saw Nurlana at club on Thursday and she told me how excited she was for Friday night I just couldn’t bring myself to cancel. She had plans for Friday night, I thought, and I wouldn’t allow myself to crush that excitement.

They arrived at 5, went through my stash of magazines and we chatted about school and our afternoons. I showed them how to cook the eggplant and make the sauce, testing as we went to make sure the flavors were good. While we chopped, sliced and diced we chatted about boys and movies and America. After Amina grated the cheese and they assembled the dish it went into the oven. I gave them spoons while they devoured the extra cheese like American kids gooble up candy. Just about 10 minutes later it was ready and served—pictures were taken through the testing and they were quite pleased. They even said they’ll probably make it again. I told them how often this dish is served in restaurants throughout Italy and the U.S. but now I can actually make it for myself at home.

After dinner there was more photo taking, girl talk and some dancing. I was glad to provide an outlet for them to just be teenage girls. Even though they had to leave around 8:30, I promised we’d do another Friday night after the FLEX exam. Maybe we’ll even make s’mores.

My recipe for simple, 3 step Eggplant Parmigana:

[I don’t bread or fry the eggplant as is traditionally done and I think roasting it just brings out enough of the flavor. Plus it cuts down on cooking time and mess. Also you would use mozzarella cheese here as well but obviously that just doesn’t work for me.]

Eggplant

5-6 small to med eggplants sliced

1 tablespoon kosher salt

Tomato Sauce

3 cans diced tomatoes or about 5-8 fresh tomatoes chopped

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

4 medium cloves garlic , minced or pressed through garlic press

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1/2 cup fresh basil leaves chopped

Table salt and ground black pepper

8 ounces mozzarella shredded (2 cups)

1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese (about 1 ounce)

10 fresh basil leaves torn, for garnish

1. Slice eggplant. Rub salt on each slice and place in a colander or bowl. Let about 30 minutes. After liquid has drained, white excess salt and moisture off eggplant and lay on baking sheet and cover with oil. Roast in oven, flipping eggplant halfway through until cooked through on both sides.

2. While eggplant bakes chop tomatoes and garlic. Heat olive oil in pan and add garlic, sautéing for 2 minutes. Add chopped tomatoes and some red pepper (or red pepper flakes if you have) over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally. Bring sauce to boil, then reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, until slightly thickened and reduced, about 15 minutes Stir in basil and season to taste with salt and pepper.

3. To assemble, spread some of the tomato sauce in bottom of a baking dish. Layer in half of eggplant slices and then sprinkling cheese. Repeat with another layer adding in fresh basil. Bake in oven for 10-15 minutes, until cheese is melted and bubbling. Serve with garlic bread or side pasta.

This week marked the anniversary of lot of significant things in my life. I'm rather tenacious when it comes to certain dates so I thought I'd take a look at what this week has meant to me in the past. I suppose reflecting helps me see how far I've come...and also how much farther I still have to go.

This week:

8 years ago was my car accident and I was lying in a bed staring at a hospital ceiling wondering when I'd get to go back to school and if I'd ever sit up or run again.

THIS week, this year I got up and ran 4 times :)

6 years ago I started a week-long trial of eating vegetarian (pescetarian) and kept going. At Thanksgiving I recall my brother and father betting how long I'd last. One bet 2 months, the other bet 2 weeks (this being November, it had already been 2 months.)

2 years ago I first set foot in Azerbaijan and maybe wondered what I just got myself into considering three months prior I had never heard of this country.

1 year ago my parents arrived in Azerbaijan, I scarfed down one of my favorite wraps that traveled all the way from Maplewood, I got my parents to EAT SUSHI and MY mother (yes, that's Nancy Nevius) to TAKE 2 SHOTS at happy hour. I didn't sleep a wink that first evening from excitement of having gone a full year since seeing them. I STILL can't believe how lucky I am to have two wonderful parents who made such an undesirable trip to be with me.

In Just About...

7 weeks I'll finally be leaving Azerbaijan, though it's probably safe to say Azerbaijan won't be leaving me.

8 weeks I'll be taking a redeye to Madagascar; another country I probably never thought I'd go to...look what life can do.

12 weeks I'll be stepping back into the US of A for the first time in 27 months yet I’ll most likely feel like a foreigner.

14 weeks it will be 2011.

0 weeks and 0 days (meaning NOW)...

I realize how grateful I am for where and whom I come from because my family makes me who I am and I cannot wait to see all of them at Christmas. Even if it does overwhelm me, I wouldn't trade them for anything.

{If this was too mushy of a post for you, I apologize. Living in Azerbaijan has deprived me of many things and emotional connections so I compensate by [perhaps] sometimes overdoing it with my feelings. I also blame it up to not really knowing what's socially appropriate anymore. Sue me-I have no money anyway!}

One of the comforting things about having lived here for two years {my 2 year anniversary of being in-country is this Thursday!} is that I feel like I know how to play the game. While I’m looking forward to coming home and many ‘old-familiar’ things, I have to admit that part of me is a bit scared. I know how things work here—this life is what has become familiar. I know what I need to do in my routine everyday, and I feel like I’ve learned how to function properly whether it’s going to the bazaar to bargain for my weekly fruits and vegetables or how to ward off daily lurkers/harassers. I know that when the gas is out it probably won’t be back on until 8 or 9 p.m. because someone is “working” on the pipes. I know how to avoid using the ATM around the end of the month because the locals will be crowding around collecting their salaries, oblivious to what the word “line” or “wait your turn” actually means. I know how to greet people on the street and that it’s custom for the woman of the house to give a two-handed-wet-grab-of my-face-and-kiss-on-both-cheeks multiple times welcome.

I also know how to refuse food. This is a tactic I feel most PCVs should learn early on so not as to eat their way through service (or mess even more with their digestive system.) I often go to visit my host family and other local families and I make a point of saying they don’t have to feed me every time—that I come just to see them and catch up, not because I’m hungry. I’ve discovered that if I go in the afternoon around 3 they are already finished with lunch and haven’t yet started on dinner. Sometimes I’m still offered food to which I reply “No, it’s not necessary, I’ve already eaten/I’m not hungry/ it’s not really time to eat/thanks but I’ll just have tea.”

Even if it is mealtime and I’m enjoying a special favorite the hostess always offers more and tells me to keep eating. This is where I’ve discovered the rule of three. One must refuse politely roughly three times for the “eat more” requests to stop. I say, “thank you, I’m quite full. It was very tasty.” Within the next few minutes I’ll probably be offered more again to which I’ll explain how I’ve already taken 3 servings and “it was so good! Thank you, I’m full.” Once more and I’m usually in the clear.

The rule of three doesn’t just apply to foreigners. I remember the day I witnessed Azeri’s doing this each other as well and I gained a bit more insight to how they each play this game. Whoever’s the hostess does it to the guest. After refusing enough times it ends but only sometimes after “But you’ve hardly eaten!”

One day I explained to my counterpart how different this would play out in America. I said that if she were to come visit and someone were to offer her some coffee/cake or other food and she refused thinking she was being polite (but really wanted some of said food) she most likely wouldn’t be offered again. She might end up being quite hungry during the visit.

I’m sometimes offered eggs or fruit or milk from my counterpart or student’s family when leaving their house. {These are some of the few individuals who actually get that I work without pay so they try to cut down on what I have to buy.} I always feel badly accepting such offerings right away but secretly I would love to have their fresh eggs instead of paying the 20 qepik per that the stores sell. And with the amount of fruit I consume I certainly save a pretty penny hauling home my counterpart’s fruit. I think I’ve found a balance of how to politely accept by saying “only if you have extra/enough.”

I notice that there is a bit distinction in different cultures about what is said and what is meant. Americans are much more likely to stick to their word and we don’t seem to usually offer up anything we’re not ready to back up or provide for. Azerbaijan culture? Not so much. It appears they want to seem polite or it’s their duty to say certain things, even if there isn’t much behind it. It’s not uncommon for someone to say they’ll help you with something and then not come through. This was rather frustrating in the beginning and I’ve learned to not take people’s words for it in many instances but this has also shown me who I can rely on.

Here’s an example: I was walking home from school today and was passing the main road where some men are working on re-tiling {unnecessarily in my opinion} the side of the wall. Another man was walking across on the opposite side of the road and yelled over to the workers saying hello and asking if he could give them any help. They surprising replied “Yes, come help.” To which the man responded, “Oh, I’m going to help the men in the park,” (they’re also doing unnecessary re-work there) and he continued on his walk. I laughed to myself. I don’t think he ever really intended to help the men, and the workers probably knew this as they so easily accepted his offer most likely because they knew he wasn’t serious. It was one of the first and only times I’ve witnessed such a blatant fake offer.

Whenever I’m collecting a package at the post office the men usually ask if I need help, even when it’s only several pounds, and I always refuse. I think they know by now that I will refuse since I have been for the duration of my stay but they maybe want to seem hospitable/manly/proper...? I wonder what would happen if I accepted.

Sometimes the rule of three works in other ways as well. If I ask sweetly three times for lower price for those bananas I can sometimes get a bargain. If I tell the students their homework three times maybe they’ll remember and actually do it. It usually takes at least three times to explain that “No, I don’t eat meat and no, I don’t eat chicken and yes, if it’s an animal it’s not on my dinner table.”

In a lot of ways, America is now foreign to me. A full 2 years have passed since I’ve been on U.S. soil and the way American culture progresses I may have just as well not been in the U.S. for a decade. With ipads/twitter/3D movies and this sad Jersey Shore craze I feel a tad behind the times. I haven’t even been in the U.S. since Obama has been in office. I wonder what things I’ll have to readapt to. I’m sure that showering daily and orderly lines will come back quickly. But I’m certainly not looking forward to paying a hefty amount for a pomegranate or fresh figs when I’m used to pulling them fresh from the tree and enjoying them immediately. I wonder what things will be unsuspectingly easy and what surprising things will be hard. Just as I didn’t know what to expect in coming to this mysterious land I guess there isn’t much I can really expect to understand coming back home.

I wonder if the rule of three applies to landing a job?

With my 2 year anniversary of being in country and my departure quickly approaching there are many things to reflect on. Changes throughout the country are sometimes noticeable. I can easily see how much my students have grown just by looking at my old photos. More roads have been paved and some new products have found their way into my town. But having spent so much time immersed in this lifestyle it’s easy to forget what once seemed abnormal to me.

I’d like to think there has been progress since I’ve arrived and it’s remarkable what changes are going on in other parts of the country. When it’s been unbearably hot this summer some locals have asked me why PC doesn’t buy me an air conditioner. Or why I don’t have a washing machine to make my life easier. I try to explain to them that I have to live like the people of my town so to better understand their lives. Most often I’m not sure that’s this really understood but…

I do feel that I can relate people more when I’m not sitting around in a cushy lifestyle dishing out advice on how to live better. While they’re suffering without heat in the middle of winter or can’t find any decent fresh tomatoes because the crops were ruined, I also feel their pain because I go through it too.

A recent annoyance in my town has been the local government taking parts of people property. Before going on my last vacation to Georgia my landlord told me the governor wanted to take my back steps and toilet. Now in my head I’m thinking, what could they possibly want with the awkward space that is my outhouse toilet? It’s no more than 100 sq feet and is probably 500 ft away from my back steps. And what would I do without a toilet? What would I do without steps to go out my back door?

I asked myself why all of a sudden my town wants to do something with this space and yet I still have no local ID (registration) card, which I submitted in April 2009 after they had been constantly hassling me. Nothing can be easy…2 months left and yet I might not have a place to squat down and relieve myself when nature calls, I think to myself.

After returning from my trip I noticed my neighbors had taken down their front walls and fences to their yard. On second glance I saw the people who live below me and removed their chicken coop and a nearby shed. In fact, everyone around me had lost part of their yards and were open enough for all the world to see. I admit I used to dislike the soviet-style housing which blockades in people’s yards but it made sense for privacy and to house the animals. I checked to see that I still had a toilet and spoke with my landlord about who I needed to speak with. He informed me that the governor claimed he didn’t know I lived here and asked if there wasn’t anything he could do to make my stay more comfortable. Leave my toilet! I think to myself. I don’t want any special treatment-I just want my place to remain intact for the rest of my service.

The next day I went to the ex-comm’s office to speak to the head man and was told he wouldn’t return until the end of the week. So I spoke with another man and asked that he wait two months until after I leave to take away the toilet and steps. He asked where I lived and said they would leave it although I still check daily to see if it’s still there or not.

It turns out bribes is what the government is seeking in order for any property to remain. People who have just installed a new shower/bathroom and months to years of salaries to pay for it have seen it all taken away. Those with chickens had to sell them because there’s not where for them to keep them. I question why this is deemed top priority when Z still has multiple water and gas problems. Fences are taken away instead of spending efforts to repair the holes in the floors of the schools. People in my town are living at and below the poverty level in—where does this man think the people will get the money to pay him off? I feel indignant at how difficult their lives are and this just adds another reason for people to struggle and be unhappy. Yet my time here is only temporary and I will leave this life. Those around me will most likely remain.

It’s frustrating that in some ways I see so much regression; life is getting tighter and more difficult for the nationals. If this is how things continue to go where will AZ be in 5, 10, 20+ years? A scary thought…

I never thought I’d come to love my outhouse squat toilet so much.

Recently Hannah, a neighboring PCV, visited me for the weekend of her birthday. We’ve been meaning to see each other for a while and while our regions are joined it’s difficult to get to one another without going through another region-just one of the many frustrations about traveling. What might take 30 minutes in the car in the US takes easily 2+ hours (more for waiting time) in AZ.

Hannah and I are quite similar in that we both are vegetarians (she’s going vegan) and like to exercise as a means for stress release. She’s also alone at site having lost her AZ8 sitemate 2 days after he moved in and our towns are both relatively small and less developed, although Ztown is significantly smaller. Luckily Hannah has some great projects in the works, which led to her extending her service for an additional six months.

On our weekend together we roused from our slumber around 6:15 a.m. and asked each other “Do you still want to go?” I easily would have gone back to sleep had she hinted she was also tired (I still haven’t fully converted to being an early morning runner if I had any other choice) but we pushed each other to get out there. It was my first time running with anyone at site and I kept thinking about how much talk there would be about my new partner. Although we only see a few men during our run there would unquestionably be chatter among locals just as there is whenever they see me walking with any other guest around town. There are more of them, those silly runners! They’re multiplying! She has a running friend! I imagine their expressions.

I realized a long time ago that part of me being here is simply for the locals to be exposed to Americans and as much as I fight it, I’ll always be their entertainment. I do admit though I am looking forward to being around people who aren’t constantly talking about what I’m wearing, what I’ve bought, who I’m with, or detailing every little thing about my personal life to those around them. Some privacy is necessary for sanity, no?

I took Hannah on my longer route and I found that I protectively ran in between her and any cars or dogs. While I knew the dogs knew me they were a bit thrown off by the new face. It was a good run, both days and I was a bit sad after my next solo run when I found myself bored, yet again with the landscape and same old, same old. Luckily Hannah and I have planned another get together in October when I’ll go to her site and she’ll lead me through her routes. I never thought I’d enjoy a running partner as I always enjoyed the independence of running alone in the States…but too much soloing as I’ve done in the past 2 years has led me to wanting much more company with most everything.

10 week countdown starts today!

I’ve talked a lot about the simplicity of life in Azerbaijan. One thing I really looked forward to leaving behind in America is our constant need of more of the newest/biggest/fastest/flashiest—all things opulent and excessive. Is more really giving us more?

Not to say that you don’t see that sort of thing here, people really like to flaunt when they have money, maybe because they were so used to not having it for so long. But I’d venture to say this happens more in the capital and developed areas. Not so much in Z-town. Just like I’ve said when people receive anything new, whether it’s a dress, a bracelet or a new kitchen pan—people congratulate one another on it…because it happens so rarely. They seem to have a way of appreciating it more.

As my clubs have finished for the summer and my days are more empty than full I’ve used this time to do some serious baking (and giving away to friends and neighbors) and cleaning out of my AZ life. Since I have month-long travel plans between AZ and US I don’t have a lot of space to bring many things home—nor do I want to.

When I moved of my host family’s house [in April 2009] they asked if I would me give them my rain-boots when I left AZ. (I doubt my mother would approve this as she paid a hefty load for those quality rubber things that helped me survive the muddy months.) They’ve also tried to claim dibs on my water filter-as have many other locals-yet that’s PC property and must be returned. Others want my vitamins or aspirin, little things that the average American wouldn’t probably think twice about desiring. But the bulk of my stuff that I’ll donate to either the PCV community or friends around town will be my clothes.

You may recall how deathly hot this summer was—more extreme in Z than what even the east coast experienced, minus the AC—and my neighbor who graciously lets me use her refrigerator had hardly any short sleeved shirts. One day when we were discussing how hot it was, a regular conversation on hot days despite the fact that always talking about it doesn’t ever make it any more comfortable, she asked me if I could give her some of my clothes. This was a bit bolder than most locals and it surprised me but I realized how little they have, not even a house phone line. I chalked it up again to being the American who could solve everything as I’m presumably viewed (you would be too if you were here—they believe all Americans easily have everything.) A day or so after, while switching out my ice water bottles in their freezer, I handed her one of my jcrew t-shirts that I no longer really needed. She happily accepted it and I saw her wearing it to her job soon after.

Just this week I went to my counterpart’s house and upon entering her house I saw she was trying on skirts in her living room. {She hadn’t paid for them yet. It’s possible to take them from the shops, as there are no actual dressing rooms, and then bring back when you decide which one you want to purchase. There’s practically no way of stealing as everyone in town knows one another and your reputation would haunt you if you even tried.} She was trying to figure out her outfits for the school year and had bought a black and white shirt many years ago but just couldn’t find a skirt to match it. I suggested her black pants but of course that’s not an option for her to wear to school. PANTS! {gasp.} Nothing she had really matched the materials well or didn’t require some serious alternations. I thought about one of my black skirts I’ve had since probably 10th grade that I brought with me here and only worn occasionally. It’s from the GAP but in general just higher quality than most clothes made in this country and wouldn’t set her back a good fraction of her monthly salary.

Two days later I stopped by again, to drop off some cookies, a grammar book, pick some fresh figs from her garden-my latest obsession-and give her my black skirt. At first she was surprised and touched but then she said that it wouldn’t fit since she says I’m “slimmer” than her. She’s tiny and petite and I told her to give it a try. I would be leaving it here anyway so I would hope it would go to some use. As she came out of her room to display the outfit together and asked what I thought, I could tell by her strut and face that she already decided she was pleased. “Ela” she said, which means “wonderful” or “perfect”. I told her how perfectly the material matched with her skirt. It also fit her so well-no alternations necessary. She practically danced over to her husband in the yard to ask his approval but pretended it was from the shop and asked if she could pay 15 AZN (around $20) for it. He fell for it and agreed.

I felt truly delighted to make her, someone who is hard to engender such excitement, so happy. I wish I could bring such pleasure to someone everyday. Then I thought about how happy she was to receive something secondhand. Maybe I’m off-base since I haven’t been in America for awhile but I don’t think many people would be so exhilarated about receiving a hand-me-down or re-gift. Yet again it brings me back to the simplicity of their lives and that buying (or receiving) a skirt only happens occasionally so it should be celebrated! How refreshing to take joy in the little things.

It's official: My service as a Peace Corps Volunteer is coming to an end. I will be leaving Azerbaijan on November 16th and am now the proud and happy owner of a one-way ticket.

This news has helped me gather my thoughts about the remainder of my service. Although it's been difficult through the hot summer months having this actual date is motivating me to make the most of my remaining days in my town.

AZ6 2008-2010 at our Close of Service ConferenceDon't get me wrong: there are things and people that I will certainly miss, but there are many things I'm looking forward to leaving behind. While there's no way of really explaining these things are to the core so that those on the other side of the pond will truly understand, I'd thought I would make a list to sum it up:

What I will NOT miss:

1. the smell of burning trash I've truly been waking up in the early hours due to the foul smell of burning plastic and other unmentionables

2. the random alarms of roosters going off at all hours of the day including 3 am, 4 am & 5 am

3. marshutka rides never, ever again, I think to myself. travel in ANY other country feels like a breeze in comparison

4. the roads

5. the oily food

6. the dust in dry seasons/mud in rainy seasons

7. most of my clothes after being hand washed for 2+ years, I plan on leaving a significant amount of them here as I'm sick of wearing them, they're stained and worn out, etc.

8. the squatting men on any/every corner of the road they still look so silly to me

9. sunflower seed shells

10. the slow pace of life the constant waiting...to go somewhere, for people to show up...for everything to start

11. explaining to people that I'm a vegetarian. and then having to explain that means I also don't eat chicken, THEN having to answer questions about what I do eat.

12. the inconsistency of having water/gas

13. people staring/following/yelling at me there are time it's easy to ignore and then other times not so much; especially when it consistently happens every. single. day.

14. lack of privacy and just not knowing who is watching something that I'm doing no matter how mundane it is and then will go on to tell the neighbors all about it.

What I WILL miss when I leave AZ:

1. eating in season there's really nothing more exciting than seeing eggplants/tomatoes/cherries [insert other fruit or vegetable here] finally come into season and eating them for the first time in 6-9 months.

2. the random alarms of roosters going off at 10 am, 11 am, and any normal hour I still chuckle to myself sometimes about how funny it is to have all sorts of animals cackling around my town. I'm not in new jersey anymore!

3. feeding my 'adopted' cat on my back steps in the early morning after a run and knowing that at least one cat will have a full tummy for the day and at least some one/thing is glad I'm here.

4. the smell of freshly baked bread

5. random huge masses of wandering cattle who crowd even the main roads so cars have to stop and wait for them to pass still funny and foreign because I can imagine how many Americans have never witnessed such a thing

6. the feeling when I can see the light go off in a student's head and they answer correctly

7. joking with close local friends with expressions like "yag kimi" (just like butter) when describing how wonderful my shower felt

8. my favorite local shop owner who tries to scout out and bring things from the capital for me mostly this doesn't work but it's nice that he tries. and on hot days when they allow me to sit inside the ACed shop to chat with them since outside is just unbearable.

9. other PCVs who have stuck by me and understand just how bizarre this place can be

10. visiting one of my close local families who sends me home with fresh eggs/ fruits/ herbs pull straight from their garden

11. the simpleness and slowness of life and thus learning to have more patience, with people, with myself, with the system. not everything has to get done every single day

12. lack of news and media it's been nice to be away from the negativity that is American media and not constantly being bombarded with meaningless pop culture news like hearing the breakdown of Lindsay Lohan's jail time and what exactly she's eating everyday. really...who cares? ( I happily missed out on why she got herself in jail in the first place) Those things haven't been important the last 2 years and I can't imagine how it will be start having to be around it again.

13. the freedom on doing my own work on my own schedule; which has it's advantages and disadvantages

14. speaking another language while I do wish Azeri would be a useful language once I leave AZ it's still exciting to me to be able to communicate fully with locals or to be able to go back and forth between English and Azeri throughout a conversation with my friends and counterpart.

All in all, not so bad when things even out. There are plenty more I could add to these lists but this is what first comes to mind. There's just about three months left with my time here so I'm trying to soak it all up figure out just exactly I will say goodbye to some people and still try to wrap my mind around waking up in America everyday come December. Any suggestions?

that actually has little to do with running and more to do with riding a bike. But occurred during my morning run… I set out at ten after six for what I thought would be a regular (whatever that means anymore) Sunday morning run. When I passed my school I noticed a boy on a bike nearby. Without really focusing in on who it was I took the left at the road. A minute later I felt his presence and I noticed it was one of my soon-to-be 6th grade students, Elnur. Pleasant interactions with 8 to 17-year-old boys have been far and few between in my time here; I’m either usually shouted at in poor English when they’re in groups or glared at/followed when they’re alone. But Elnur is always friendly, respectful and I have never seen him without a huge smile on his face (and if you know much about my experience here you know they aren’t a smiley bunch). I said hello and waved, continued on and then indicated I couldn’t hear anything since I was listening to music so as not to be rude if he felt like practicing his English. He sped past me a minute or so later and I figured he would run off to tell the rest of his family over breakfast how he actually saw me running-just as I said I did.

About five minutes later, I was on another road and had paused my run to move two orange baby kittens out of the road off to the side under a tree when I saw Elnur come up on his bike again. This time I took out my earplugs and he offered me a ride on his bike. I knew he remembered that I said I could ride a bike when we practiced our usage of “can/can’t” in lessons and summer club. Now normally an offer from a 11-year-old boy would be easy to decline since his bike would be too small, but Elnur’s bike is much too big for him-it’s an adult male’s size. I also figured he was just so curious to see me ride but in my head I’m thinking how it’s been 22 months since I’ve even ridden a bike. I ask him if he doesn’t believe I can ride and if it would be interesting for him to which he answers Yes and Yes.

I pause here to explain a little about believing and not believing that to which I say to locals here, a cultural difference if you will. A lot of times Azeri’s will say something that may or may not be true or they may not exactly mean, to be polite, to save face or simply just because it fits the conversation. For example, sometimes people may say they want you to come visit them, yet when you go they’re surprised and a bit shocked. Sometimes students may tell a teacher they’ll come at a certain time for lessons and then just never show up. Then there are times that students will say something in class that is nowhere near being true and that’s where I draw the line. When we practice using English I stress saying sentences that are true to themselves—no lying about having a cat, doing the food shopping or saying you went to department store last week (there is no department store in our town-so that’s a big tip off.) The first time I told my host family I run for exercise they seemed to accept what I said. But when I actually got up at the crack of dawn, left the house and then returned 40 minutes later covered in sweat they were surprised. After so much time here people have begun taking my word and what I say. I will come when I say I will and I won’t come if I don’t, etc. Now they tend to believe a bit more of what I say I do/don’t do, can/can’t do. Yet it’s still fascinating to most locals that a girl can ride a bike in our town.

So I gladly hopped on the bike to cure his curiosity. I only rode a few meters—just enough to get some speed, ease my craving and prove I hadn’t lost it. I would have easily gone farther but I didn’t want to take his bike too far or push my luck—they’ve finally accepted that I run. I thanked him, said goodbye and as I ran away I told him how much I used to ride a bike when I was him age, for almost two hours everyday when the weather was nice. I turned and thought to myself how he could be the spokes boy for English club and tell them all how he saw firsthand the female American teacher really can ride a bike!

This blog should end here, or so I suspected it would have when I was writing it out in my head towards the second half of my run. I continued on past the river and down a few streets later I just happened to turn around and saw Elnur still behind me-about 50 meters back giving me space but going much too slow for him to be even enjoying his ride. Normally I really dislike being followed. When walking I usually stop to let the lurker pass me so I can walk in peace since I know they’re just trying to entertain themselves and pass the time. Yet I don’t know if it’s because I have a soft spot for Elnur or that this was the first time I had been followed by a person on a bike (minus the creepster man a few months back) but I didn’t mind it. I almost hoped he wouldn’t give up since my route was surely taking him farther than he usually rides. I turned down an unpaved road that leads out to the villages, past another school and one of my “safe zone” roads where they only people I ever come across are men who are tending to their sheep. I thought for sure the conditions of the road would lead him to stop and return home, yet a few minutes later he was still there. I wondered what he thought when he saw me pass the dog who didn’t budge from his slumber. Another point for proving I’m not afraid of dogs, just like I say so?

This road joins with the main ‘high way’ that connects with the neighboring region and it’s usually just cars and trucks driving by at fast speeds but it brings me back to the beginning of town and right near my apartment. Elnur was still there. I concluded my run and did a cool down when he came up and said hello again. I asked him again if he hadn’t believed me when I said I run but he said no, he believed but he had never been on those roads before. Then he told me I ride well (strong) and asked why I don’t ride here. I replied because girls don’t ride in this town and if I do everyone will look at me. We chatted a bit more about different roads to ride on where there are less people, I asked how often he rides and he asked which days I run. He offered to let me ride some days and he would run and I thanked him but said that was okay. Then he asked when I which day I will leave in November. I said that I wasn’t sure just yet but it’s either in November or December. Then he asked if I could stay another two years to which I responded that my father allowed me only two years and I should go home because my family misses me. But I told him he could take the FLEX test in a few years, call me when he’s in America and we will meet. Big grin. I asked if he knew how to get home and told him to say hello to his mother and sister for me.

I’ll look for Elnur tomorrow but will surely see his smiling face on Tuesday at English club. And possibly one day in America.

Since school ended at the end of May you may have been thinking I’ve been taking some time off like most of the other people around town. They all asked me, just as they did last summer, if I was returning home for the summer. Another part of my job that’s misunderstood-they know me as only a teacher and think that when the other teachers stop working, so would I. But alas, I’m not here just for working during the school year and I continued working the very next day, only this time it was for my English clubs/camps for the summer.

While a lot of other PCVs travel during the summer and visit other PCVs in other regions to help out with camps and other projects I opted to stick around town this year. With limited time left in my service I want to make the most of my remaining days and the reality is if I were to go somewhere else the kids of my town would have nothing to do. When I say “have nothing to do” I literally mean: nothing to do. I know this may seem hard for Americans to understand and it boggled my mind at first- my childhood summer memories are filled with camps, trips to the pool, block parties, carnivals, picnics, camping and other social gatherings with my peers. Life here- leaves a lot to be desired. The kids have no sporting teams, no clubs, no pool, no movies theatres, bowling alleys, shopping malls, etc. They don’t even go to hang out at one another’s homes or sit for hours on the phone. We have a river, but only the boys would ‘wade’ in the water and I doubt much of that will happen this year given the terrible flooding from this past spring. Their days consist of waking up, eating breakfast, then probably spending the rest of the day watching tv, eating lunch, and resting in the afternoon since not much can be done outside in 100+ degree weather. (I kid you not, I swear I’m boiling from the moment I wake up until I try to go to sleep in such heat. I cannot seem to find another layer to pull off. I feel like I’m roasting.)

Yet I know that as bored as I am with little to down around here it’s only because I’ve known better. I couldn’t leave the kids with so little to do. Plus making this clubs gives me something to work on and time passes much faster when I’m not sitting around complaining about all this sweat. As drained as I felt at the end of the school year, teaching in the summer is actually enjoyable. I looked forward to going to school that first day because all the kids who were there wanted to be there and wanted to learn. Gone were the kids who constantly resisted learning or trying; now I only had to work with kids who actually cared and wanted to try. I’ve learned that I can’t force anyone to believe in him or herself and work harder if they don’t want it for themselves. (You can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink. This is just so true.)

Four days a week I have clubs at school. Mondays is typing club for grades 9th and up to learn how to use the keyboard for typing. We have nine somewhat new computers in a computer lab but sadly the computer teacher cares little about actually teaching the students. I found an easy typing course online and loaded it on the computers. Unfortunately only four computers run the program but I figure four is better than none and so I arranged for three hour-long typing sessions, allowing at least twelve students to learn how to type. If they go to university it will be useful for them to know how to type-whether it’s in English or not—this club isn’t for only the strong English language students-just anyone who had the desire to learn. Tuesday and Thursday mornings I hold clubs for the 6th-8th form students to practice their English grammar, with an emphasis on speaking and listening. A lot of it has to be review since it’s likely that most of the students aren’t at the actual level of their grade, but I try to make it interesting with games and new topics. With 3 ½ months off, without any practice come September, it might feel like starting all over again to both the students and English teachers. Any practice they get, even if it’s 2 hours a week is better than nothing. (Or at least I tell myself this so I feel useful.)

After this club, one of my 9th form students, Amina, (who helped me with a conversation club last winter and probably is my best local friend around town despite being 10 years my junior) gives a club for the 4th and 5th formers. This is the most basic, very beginning instruction of English since before the 5th form most students can’t retain any English as the textbooks are way too difficult and just not arranged in any order that makes sense. Amina teaches this group for a few reasons: she wants to be an English teacher, she loves young children and she knows Azeri better than I which is necessary to explain the complexity of basic English grammar. You might think English is easy to learn-and for some it may be but after teaching it for a year and half I’ve learned how many irregularities and random rules we have. I now know and understand English much better than I ever did during Language Arts class. And I tell you I’m pretty sure there are some Azeri-English teachers who know English grammar a whole “hell” of a lot better than the majority of Americans. They put us to shame.

I’m glad to say that while I helped Amina plan for the first few weeks of club she’s doing it all on her own now and really catching on with different techniques. Sometimes I have to stop myself to realize that she is only 14, practically bilingual and doing more than other paid teachers with her summer off. If she’s this great now, I can’t imagine how she will be once she is actually teaching children years from now.

On Wednesdays I hold a speaking club for the students in the higher forms. A lot of the kids say they want to be able to speak English but just don’t have enough vocabulary or ability to put together sentences. I can’t hold complex conversation clubs where we talk about the meaning of life or their ideal worlds but I try to make it interesting and useful for them. It’s sometimes hard combining different levels since some students know a lot more than others. I had to speak privately with a few regulars who keep showing up but just wouldn’t offer a word. I know they want to speak but they are just so afraid to make a mistake. Soviet teaching style has taught most of the kids it’s better to be silent and ignored than to be incorrect and thus, criticized. It’s taken me so long to ensure my students that making mistakes is okay and that together we’ll learn from them. Sometimes I feel I’m banging my heads against the wall with how many times I’ve said “If you don’t understand, please ask me.” I think I may finally be getting somewhere since the girls I spoke to participated a bit more the following club. Only a year and eight months right? Phew. I get why this service is two years…

Besides these clubs, as it only occupies a few hours of my morning, followed by about 20 minutes in front of the fan and 2 liters of ice-cold water to cooling off, what do I do with the rest of my time? Between the hours of 1 and 5 the town literally shuts down. Shops are closed, people have eaten lunch and are napping and staying out of the heat. I try to match my schedule to this by prepping for clubs, GRE studying and reading or doing yoga in the afternoons. Most evenings I’m off to a students house to do private FLEX exam prep or I visit my counterpart and old host family. Usually I’m sweating when I get there, despite it being after 6 or 7 at night, and have to refuse hot tea and ask to use their freezer during my stay for some water.

I did take a nice break the last two weeks to visit some fabulous family friends in Italy but I’ll post on that later. This is my summer. This is my last summer in Azerbaijan. While I sometime wonder what will happen next summer when I’m no longer here I’m forcing myself to live more in the moment. As much as it sounds like I’m complaining of the heat, I’m not really. Every time I wake up in the middle of the night because it’s still over 80 degrees and my fan is just not cutting it I think to myself how much more I will enjoy that AC when I do get it. I have to live like the people I’m with to understand them. Either this summer is way hotter than last or I’m just really understanding everyone really well.

When serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer you’re often asked to do things you don’t want to do. That’s part of the experience but you know that going into it.

Before leaving the US I received a lot of reactions about giving up two years of my life to live in an undeveloped place: “Whoa, be safe!” “You’re so brave!” and “Are you crazy?! Why?!” were just a few. But I also heard others like “I’ve always wanted to do Peace Corps...”, “That’s wonderful, good for you” and “You are so strong, I admire your courage.” I’m sure they were also secretly thinking I must be a little nuts to go live in a place without knowing much about it. And that’s probably also partly true.

In the past year and half I have noticed a lot more what I’m capable of and that got me thinking that in general most people probably don’t realize what they are able to adjust to. You would probably be surprised if you were put in a situation what you’ll end up doing. Could you learn another foreign language? Could you give up a refrigerator? Could you go a week (or two) without showering? Could you give up your favorite restaurant? You probably wouldn’t like it, but if you HAD to, you probably could. Especially if it meant doing something for someone else. And that’s kind of what PC is all about. We come here, hoping to help others and make a difference, but we end up stretching ourselves along the way.

I wasn’t really sure how I’d learn another language and communicate with people. The first night in my host family I could barely string together a sentence about what I ate and resorted to pulling out a photo album and just saying things like “brother”, “mother” and “me” to try and ease the awkwardness. Now I’m able to go into a shop and meet someone and have an entire conversation with someone who knows no English. That feels pretty damn good.

I didn’t think I could without a refrigerator, especially in summer months when temperatures get up to 100+ degrees for the majority of daylight hours, but I am. I didn’t say I was enjoying it, but I’m doing it. (It’s not so difficult anyway when you only make enough food to eat and don’t have tons of wasted leftovers.)

This comes from a recent experience I had on the last bit of my run. (Are you also finding a reoccurrence of my blogs relating to my running?) I happened to be coming up on the end of my run along a main road last week when I saw seven small baby puppies scattered across the road. They had literally just come out of the womb. The mother was nowhere in site and I pulled my earphones out to hear them wailing out for their mother, for food, or just because they were in pain. I didn’t know what to do but I just couldn’t think of leaving them in the middle of the highway only to be run over by the next truck or car. I noticed that two of them weren’t making any noises. While looking around for what might be their mother, I quickly moved the others one by one to the side of the road. The last pup I noticed still had what looked like the inside of the mother’s stomach attached to it (with the umbilical cord) and I realized to move this pup with minimal pain I’d have to move this placenta as well. Now here is a situation I never thought I’d find myself in. And I guess I could have just walked away. I thought to myself how Azerbaijan is no place for a dog. They likely wouldn’t lead a comfortable life; they’d end up spending most days fighting other dogs or being eaten. They probably wouldn’t survive the heat and wouldn’t last the day without their mother or any food. Yet I just couldn’t let myself leave them in the road. How badly I wanted to take them all home with me and nurse them back to care-they were only the size of one of my hands. But realistically I knew this wasn’t possible. I can’t save all the cats and dogs here, just as I can’t change this town in my two years. Once I realized this last year it freed me from a lot of stress and pressure I put on myself. I can only make a small impact, open a few minds, create some relationships and hopefully leave an impression.

So while I wished I could have done more, I found a nearby plastic bag stuck in a bush (the one time I’m actually glad the love of plastic bags is ruining the environment). I covered my hands with the bag as I move the last pup (with the stomach tissue) to the side of the road in a more comfortable and shaded area. All I could do was hope the mother returned or they at least wouldn’t have a painful death.

I finished my run thinking how practically every day I do something here I wouldn’t be doing if I was living a more comfortable lifestyle. This wasn't a truly difficult situation and I've encountered far more unpleasant, awkward or weird circumstances. But it was something I definitely didn’t think I would ever run into. I suppose that’s life though—if we’re never tested outside of our comfort zones we might never know what we’re able to live without, how we’d react or see we’re made of. Though this has been a difficult year and half, full of ups and downs, struggles, times of learning, listening, giving up and giving in, it’s also been about letting go, reaching out and growing. I can confidently say that although I miss many things about the developed world I have never regretting my decision to forgo those things. I realize how much more I’ll be grateful for them when they are available and perhaps there will be things I can learn to live without. (In that I mean excess, not washing machines or showers. ;) )

[I wrote this post because a lot of Americans don't really know what living in a developing country is like. In particular I'm talking about the government (or lack there of in some cases). Yes, the US Government could use some changes, we can all find things we don't like about one party, we can find flaws and complain away about every other thing but in comparison to other places, we have it pretty damn good.]

Sometimes I really question the direction this country is going in. There seems to be so many systems that are working in opposition of progress. After living here for almost 2 years I’ve come to feel apart of AZ and as discouraging as some things are, I still hope for better for these people. Yet, I’m constantly wondering the government’s thought process.Besides the annoying frustrations of traveling and irregular gas, water, electricity, corruption is everywhere, genders are beyond equal and any health care is only a dream. It’s inevitable that I’ll compare AZ to the US given the disparities but I try to keep hope that one day AZ will be functioning on it’s own and people can lead happy fulfilled lives without having to worry about where their money for tomorrow’s meals will come from.

I try to remain positive but it can be difficult when the government seems to take away any reason for people to enjoy themselves. This comes from the recent forbidding any graduation celebrations by the educational ministry. Apparently it was broadcast on television—the way the government sends messages to nationals. There would be the regular ceremony at school but people were not to celebrate beyond school grounds. I asked locals why this was to try and understand the reasoning behind the decision but the only answered seemed to be that too much money was spent on children buying one another graduations presents. Suddenly giving gifts is a bad thing? Sometimes it’s beyond what I can understand. No other decisions have bothered me so much as denying the children the right to celebrate the end of the school, the end of [possibly some] hard work and get to enjoy some time together with their classmates outside of school.

My counterpart’s son was one of the graduating students this year and she wanted to let him and his friends come to their yard and dance. She asked if I would help her make pizza for them (most of these kids have never eaten pizza.) When she asked the director of our school about her idea he said no and that was that. No party, no dancing, no pizza.

After the ceremony at school last week I went to their house and it was as if it were any other day. I couldn’t help but feel like we should be something special. Her son was understandably upset when his friends had all gone to a local restaurant but his father wouldn’t allow him. Apparently the police would be around the park and restaurant and would punish anyone who might ‘celebrate’. I could understand him being upset by missing out but also I understood his father’s reasoning. However, wouldn’t it just have been better/safer if they celebrated in their own private yard where they could see what they were doing? After hours of his moping around the house his father eventually let him go to the restaurant only to receive a call from another teacher that police were in the park scouting out students.

I left in the early evening but found out a few days later my counterpart told her son to come home and bring his friends with him. They would sit in the yard and have tea together. Not exactly a party with dancing but they’d at least be together. Not long after they arrived and my counterpart was serving the boys tea and cookies the director showed up and told everyone to leave. I’m not sure how others would react to this, perhaps it’s quite acceptable to have someone come into your house and tell you not to enjoy yourself. But I could not imagine my principal from high school (or anyone really for that matter) coming into my parents house and telling any of us what or what not to do. What is the harm in the boys spending an afternoon together? It was their own private yard. Apparently they could do the exact same thing the next day and it would have been okay- just not that specific day. One might think that something is missing here, there has to be some more reasoning behind logic. But, sadly, no. I’ve asked all the questions. This is the state things are in and I saddens me. The youth seemed drained for all fun and enjoyment and I cannot figure out why.

Safety in Azerbaijan, like many other things, is an odd dynamic. Any day can bring one into various situations that could compromise one’s health or life just as it can in any country, but it’s I’ve noticed many differences from home. I don’t actually fear for my life, or feel threatened by men (just annoyed mostly.) I haven’t seen a big drug problem and stealing is pretty rare. But there are instances that still leave a question mark over my head as to how people come to conclusions about what is considered safe and what isn’t.

In the early days of living here I was constantly taken aback by the driving and road rules-as the only rule that seemed to be established was that there were no rules. (I’m confident my parents can second this observation from their taxi ride to my town. While the driver proudly and repeatedly mentioned his knowledge of police checkpoints and sped and slowed down accordingly, weaving in and out of other buses and cars along the way, my mother left nail prints in my arm.) I’m still not sure if there is an actual ‘test’ one has to take to be able to drive as I’ve heard stories of boys as young as 12 saying they’ve driven a car. One rule for sure, at least in my town, is that women don’t drive. There have been a few occasions where I’ve been walking (or running) on a road and a car passing another car comes so close to me I have to catch my breath.

Gas is another safety issue. There are frequent deaths of locals and just a few months ago my co-teacher told me of a 12-year-old boy who died from a gas leak in the bathroom. The gas doesn’t have a smell and there are no such thing as smoke detectors (PC gives PCVs so we all have, rest assure) but it’s not shocking, although sad, to hear of a local who’s house had a fire due to gas problems. In my first house, the gas was so dirty and problematic that I had a few scares myself. While I only had a two burner stove (picture a George Forman) I could only use one burner at a time. The few times I lit both burners, they would either be so low or a huge flame would shoot out from underneath the entire stove as if threatening me to blow up. I envisioned a news article titled “Peace Corps Volunteer in Zerdab dies alone due to gas problem” and promised myself to only use one burner at a time.

Besides these issues Azerbaijan is a relatively safe country to live in. I don’t fear for my life most days and although I’m not sure what the environmental impact is doing to my insides, only time will tell. I’m able to cut down on the exposure to cigarette smoke since luckily most of the families I spend time with don’t have men who smoke.

What I might consider to be a safety issue can differ greatly from what an Azeri might consider a safety issue. For example, although most people do fear gas issues, I don’t know many people who are afraid of taxi or bus rides. No one is concerned with wearing seatbelts and it’s all too common to see a three-year-old boy (or younger) sitting in the front seat leaning on the dashboard. I shutter at the sight of these every time. When the hot days of summer come along and all I dream about are ice cold drinks, most people seem concerned when I refuse boiling hot tea and warn me of a sore throat and headache if I drink a cold beverage. Also, if I go barefoot I’m given a wary look since the floor might be cold. I’m not afraid I say, these things don’t concern me too much.

Since moving to an apartment I’ve given up my nice yard, a lot of privacy and as a result, forgone any peace and quiet. I miss the days of hearing the chickens, sheep and cows of my neighbors yard and now have to listen to neighbors children running around at the oddest hours, probably hyped up on eight cubes of sugar from one cup of tea. The second floor has its benefits but that gives me a balcony that’s on top of my neighbor’s balcony. There is probably a distance of 12 feet between the two. They were building the balcony when I moved in so I’m unsure of if they meant it to remain opened as is or if they’re currently out of money to finish it. Nonetheless, they have 2 young boys probably the ages of 4 and 7 who run around on this second floor balcony with no edges and nothing to stop them should one go a little too far.

After almost two years and all the crazy things I’ve seen in this country I might be a tad jaded, things just are the way they are. I just can’t help but think to myself that they might be more concerned with this balcony issue (or future diabetes) and less concerned with being a little too cold. Maybe that’s just me, I might not be thinking logically. After all, I am barefoot at the moment.

Safety in Azerbaijan, like many other things, is an odd dynamic. Any day can bring one into various situations that could compromise one’s health or life just as it can in any country, but it’s I’ve noticed many differences from home. I don’t actually fear for my life, or feel threatened by men (just annoyed mostly.) I haven’t seen a big drug problem and stealing is pretty rare. But there are instances that still leave a question mark over my head as to how people come to conclusions about what is considered safe and what isn’t.

In the early days of living here I was constantly taken aback by the driving and road rules-as the only rule that seemed to be established was that there were no rules. (I’m confident my parents can second this observation from their taxi ride to my town. While the driver proudly and repeatedly mentioned his knowledge of police checkpoints and sped and slowed down accordingly, weaving in and out of other buses and cars along the way, my mother left nail prints in my arm.) I’m still not sure if there is an actual ‘test’ one has to take to be able to drive as I’ve heard stories of boys as young as 12 saying they’ve driven a car. One rule for sure, at least in my town, is that women don’t drive. There have been a few occasions where I’ve been walking (or running) on a road and a car passing another car comes so close to me I have to catch my breath.

Gas is another safety issue. There are frequent deaths of locals and just a few months ago my co-teacher told me of a 12-year-old boy who died from a gas leak in the bathroom. The gas doesn’t have a smell and there are no such thing as smoke detectors (PC gives PCVs so we all have, rest assure) but it’s not shocking, although sad, to hear of a local who’s house had a fire due to gas problems. In my first house, the gas was so dirty and problematic that I had a few scares myself. While I only had a two burner stove (picture a George Forman) I could only use one burner at a time. The few times I lit both burners, they would either be so low or a huge flame would shoot out from underneath the entire stove as if threatening me to blow up. I envisioned a news article titled “Peace Corps Volunteer in Zerdab dies alone due to gas problem” and promised myself to only use one burner at a time.

Besides these issues Azerbaijan is a relatively safe country to live in. I don’t fear for my life most days and although I’m not sure what the environmental impact is doing to my insides, only time will tell. I’m able to cut down on the exposure to cigarette smoke since luckily most of the families I spend time with don’t have men who smoke.

What I might consider to be a safety issue can differ greatly from what an Azeri might consider a safety issue. For example, although most people do fear gas issues, I don’t know many people who are afraid of taxi or bus rides. No one is concerned with wearing seatbelts and it’s all too common to see a three-year-old boy (or younger) sitting in the front seat leaning on the dashboard. I shutter at the sight of these every time. When the hot days of summer come along and all I dream about are ice cold drinks, most people seem concerned when I refuse boiling hot tea and warn me of a sore throat and headache if I drink a cold beverage. Also, if I go barefoot I’m given a wary look since the floor might be cold. I’m not afraid I say, these things don’t concern me too much.

Since moving to an apartment I’ve given up my nice yard, a lot of privacy and as a result, forgone any peace and quiet. I miss the days of hearing the chickens, sheep and cows of my neighbors yard and now have to listen to neighbors children running around at the oddest hours, probably hyped up on eight cubes of sugar from one cup of tea. The second floor has its benefits but that gives me a balcony that’s on top of my neighbor’s balcony. There is probably a distance of 12 feet between the two. They were building the balcony when I moved in so I’m unsure of if they meant it to remain opened as is or if they’re currently out of money to finish it. Nonetheless, they have 2 young boys probably the ages of 4 and 7 who run around on this second floor balcony with no edges and nothing to stop them should one go a little too far.

After almost two years and all the crazy things I’ve seen in this country I might be a tad jaded, things just are the way they are. I just can’t help but think to myself that they might be more concerned with this balcony issue (or future diabetes) and less concerned with being a little too cold. Maybe that’s just me, I might not be thinking logically. After all, I am barefoot at the moment.

I was visiting a local family of an English teacher from another school recently. We sat, as normal, around a table, having a cup of tea and adoring their two young grandchildren. One, five years old, the other two. The younger girl is quite good at reciting English and Russian phrases on command much to the delight of her family. Both grandparents marvel in her presence, as she looks almost Russian with lighter hair and blue eyes. In my visits, almost every time she enters the room they exclaim with glee about how cute and bright she is. The elder girl is quieter but I think just as cute and I secretly long for her to be acknowledged and celebrated as well.

It’s not uncommon for families to have their “favorite” child and they’re not shy about vocalizing which child they prefer, even in the presence of the children themselves. They may say which student studies better, which one is lazy and which one is bad. At first this was quite shocking to me, especially when I’m asked which child or student I prefer the most. I diplomatically reply that all of them are equal and each possesses different qualities that are special. Even if I have preferences they are always for the students who try hard, pay attention and show alacrity for learning, but I never display or vocalize them to the students. In the classroom I try to treat every student equally. Nonetheless, children most likely know whom their parents and teachers prefer.

This reminds me of how American families will sometimes decide “Mom’s favorite” and tease that child for most of their lives. These observations, at least in my opinion, are solely based on speculation as most of the mothers I know would never dream of choosing their favorite child-each is an individual so how can one even compare?

During my visit, the grandmother was talking to me about how wonderfully bright the 2-year-old was and how well she learns English and Russian. Although I’ve been to their house several times, it’s a reoccurring topic. This time she was telling me how weak the older girl was and that she ate very little. I asked when she would begin kindergarten and they said she would start this fall but they were thinking of keeping her back because she was weak. I saw no inclination that she had any learning disability, other than just being quiet and shy, which could easily fade following some encouragement. I said that I didn’t believe she was “weak” but that going to school would help her learn and become stronger. While the 2-year-old is cute in how most 2-year-olds are, I see no reason to ignore the older girl and wish she received a bit more encouragement to break her out of her shell.

Perhaps I have a weakness for the underdogs—I did choose to come to help AZ over staying and helping the US after all, and I’ll continue to root for underdeveloped Z over overdeveloped Baku any day—but I’ve seen too many children simply ignored in the school system, leading them to fall through the cracks. I can’t help but think that with a little more attention, more encouragement, those kids could believe in themselves and find their own way.

With the school year officially ending this week and given that by the time the school year actually gets into full swing next year (official first day is Sept 15th, though classes aren’t into gear and regular until mid October) I know my days of teaching are winding down. I’m trying to see if any changes have occurred since my arrival and I can gladly report sincere progress in the 5th form. Some of the children may have parents, neighbors or siblings who help them with their homework/do it for them, while there are others who do it themselves and have come such a long way. One of the students is a quiet boy but he’s eager to learn and has no one at home to help him. In the beginning of the year I could see his eyes light up during the lesson. As the months went on he seemed more confused and began to give up doing his homework for fear of making mistakes. I spoke with him privately one day and told him that he needed to continue to do his homework and even if he made mistakes, he would learn from them. He’s been consistent ever since and although he still makes errors he doesn’t give up. He can’t hide his smile after answering correctly though, which I mirror. He has grown so much since September and I’m glad he kept at it and enjoys class.

Gulhanim and I worked tirelessly to develop their listening and speaking skills and I’m so happy to be able to speak these 11-year-olds in English, see the wheels turning in their little heads and wait for their response in English. There are noticeably some students who have disabilities and need much more one-on-one care than the system offers but they are never fully left out of our lessons. Last year I couldn’t say that. Most teachers are comfortable ignoring those who can’t answer and never try. They leave them be. Gulhanim does a wonderful job moving to include everyone as she knows that even if they won’t enter university or leave this town, she can still help them learn something. I’ve seen a lot of changes in her teaching but this may be one of my favorites.

She’s also grown a lot in the past year and I’m comfortable leaving in a few months knowing I’ve helped the most motivated English teacher in the town go beyond what she thought she could do. I’m faithful that she’ll keep it up after I leave. We need more people like her rooting for the little ones, the undeveloped places, the underdogs. After all, like someone once said: you’re only as good as your weakest player.

I’ve spent a lot of time talking about AZ’s trash problem and the terrible environmental outlook through the country is. But since there are a number of things the locals do that is actually environmentally friendly and many Americans could learn a thing or two from life here. Here’s a list of some of the green ways AZ’s live:1) Unplugging electronics when not in useSince most home’s I’ve been in have few more than one outlet in a room it’s easy to be conscious of electricity when you don’t have much to plug in. Most of the electric bill on most Azeri’s tag comes from the television, refrigerator and cell phone chargers. When they’re not watching TV most will unplug the cord since even if it’s not turned on an electronic will still gauge power through the cord. Some Azeri’s even unplug their fridge in the winter when it’s cold enough not to need one (I could get extra points for going a whole 2 years without a fridge!)2) Not using lights during daylight hoursMost people simply live by the daylight and only turn on the lights when necessary in the evening and more often in the winter with fewer daylight hours. Also, with the irregularity of lights and sometimes having to go for a few hours without any electricity it’s easy to be green friendly when you have a forced blackout a few times a week. 3) Reusing everything possible until it’s completely worn down Whether it’s clothes, jars, shopping bags or socks, nothing gets tossed until it’s used to the full extent. Clothes are expensive so they’re worn for years and mended and reused or passed onto others. Bottles and glass jars are used like Tupperware is in the states, storing leftovers. Which leads me to…4) Not wasting foodLeftovers are always eaten. When you live off so little and cooking takes so much time it makes sense that someone will eat all of it, and if the bread is old, at least it’s a meal for the animals.5) Being conscious of water useSince showering occurs once a week in cold months and sometimes we are forced to go without water for weeks at a time in hot months, Azeri’s are ever careful with how much they use. There’s no flushing of the toilets, no dishwashers and no washing machines. Dryers? Forget it-it’s line drying all the way. The one use of water I still have yet to understand is the pouring of water in the street or in front of one’s house. It appears they want to clean this area yet the dust/mud is so much that this act is ever temporary. 6) CarpoolingOr I should say marshutka people-packing. This isn’t my favorite since I have come to dread most of my traveling in this country. It’s so erratic and doesn’t follow a schedule that makes sense but it is logical to travel with as many people as possible; versus one person driving an SUV car wasting all sorts of gas.

So yeah, they have their obsession with plastic bags and oil but they do manage a few things that receive high marks in environmentalism. When you have little, you learn to work with and live with little. And that’s definitely not a bad thing. Maybe we Americans could learn a thing or two.

With every day that passes I’m reminded that this time next year I will no longer be here. Time to make the most of the last remaining days. Since last year’s Earth Day was one of my first “successes” so to speak (and I’m being rather generous when I say success-at the time I considered any participation a success,) I figured I’d follow up with something else this year. Figuring I could use Earth Day to instill some education while simultaneously making some school activities for the too many bored youth around town. Have you noticed yet that there’s pretty much nothing to do around here?

I created a simple art poster contest for all the students to participate in. Through lessons I see how much the younger students enjoy any coloring and drawing related activities. Any color and creativity leaves much to be desired in comparison to US schooling. I like to give them every and any reason to express and think for themselves and again, used Earth Day as the excuse. The contest was to create a poster with a drawing of the environment and description of what you do to keep the earth healthy and clean. Not wanting to get my hopes up, I wasn’t sure how many submissions I expected but decided just a few would satisfy me. I was delightfully surprised when I arrived in the teachers’ room to more than several posters.

While conversing with two other teachers over the winners, I noticed a hurdle of 5th graders hovering outside the doorway eager to see our reactions and hear the winner. I had to disappoint them by saying I wouldn’t announce the winner until the following day, but secretly I was jumping up and down at their obvious interest. It was difficult to narrow down winner because some of them were quite impressive given such few opportunities. We gladly displayed all the submissions to laud each student and I created certificates for the top three. I’m not sure if they like receiving their name on a certificate or having their picture taken more; despite their lack of smile (part of the culture) I think most of them feel it’s quite official to have their picture taken, just as they do in receiving a piece of paper I colored. The prize for the first place also received a puzzle with the animals of the world (sent to me by a dear friend back at home J)

Borrowing an idea used in a camp last summer, I decided that besides just a trash pick-up, we’d use the trash to create something fun and make a “trash monster.” Luckily I didn’t have to really instruct them on what exactly to do as they remembered from last year and they ran frenetically through the streets surrounding school gathering litter and explaining to the local men standing around [staring] with question marks on their face. Dividing among two groups they competed for the best monster, got creative using plastic bottles, cookie and sunflower seed wrappers and other odds and ends that included a banana peel. All in all it was a simple after school activity that let them be creative, use some energy and work in groups. A small but simple thing that anyone could have really organized but I have a suspicion none of the other teachers would have on their own. Still, after two years here I like to hope that next year in my absence maybe one of the students will step up and make something happen.

After a year and seven months maybe I’ve made an impression. In such a little town with so little contact and information about the outside world, I’ve been a great wonder to the people here. You’d think that after awhile people might stop staring at me wherever I go and commenting on what I do but sadly, that’s not the case. I figure it’s because of the lack of entertainment or things to do around here.

A long time ago I lost count how many times I was asked, “You’re a vegetarian?! But what do you eat?” Then when being asked who I “stay” with (i.e. where do I live) and I reply “I live alone,” people would ask me, “aren’t you afraid?” and “how do you live alone?” (quite comfortably I’d think to myself. )

One of the trickier questions is “aren’t your bored/don’t you miss?” Let me clarify: To be bored and to miss are the same verb in Azerbaijani. It takes some decoding to figure out which one they actually mean and how I should respond. When they ask if I “miss” they mostly mean “miss for” as in my family back home, to which I should certainly respond, “of course” and try to explain that it’s difficult to be far from them. If they’re asking if I’m bored then I have to say something along the lines of “no way, I’m so busy, there is always so much to do” which is usually the case as things here take so much longer to do (washing clothes, cooking meals, preparing activities for class, going anywhere since I have to walk, etc.) Most people don’t seem to understand when I say I’m busy. Why would I be? I am single and in comparison to Azerbaijani women I don’t have any children to care for, wash their clothes or cook their meals. And the only person I’m rushing to bring tea to on command is myself. But people seem to think I’m free at almost every moment of the day. When I explain that I plan my lessons every week and have to prepare things for class they probably think I’m all talk. Teachers here don’t plan any lessons, bring any worksheets, activities, books or games to school. They simply take one of the student’s text-book (thus leaving one student without one to follow along with) and read what is written.

I’ve also gotten a lot of on the spot invitations to “guest” an someone’s house for a meal. I politely reply since I know this is just their way of being hospitable. I also know that if I were to accept they would worry frantically about what to actually serve me since I don’t eat meat. I have to say that after some time most locals begin to see how easy I am as a guest because preparing vegetables is rather simple and, I might add, much cheaper. It’s just not traditional for them to serve a guest non-meat dishes. Then people will ask me randomly, “Why haven’t you come to us?” As if I was supposed to know when to come without them telling me. (According to my father, that lesson in my mind-reading class is coming up soon.) I explain that I need an invitation: a day and time to come and I will gladly be there. I think this would be convenient for them as well, so they can figure out what non-meat dish to make. Then I try to explain that in America we set dates and times with invitations so that I can know (and not mind-read) about when they would like me to guest. Again, planning things in advance is just not part of tradition here.This technique has actually had some effect. My counterpart completely understands this and when we plan to do something together she knows I need a day and time and I’ll be there. This week she asked me to go with her to visit a friend and we pulled out our calendars and schedules, found a convenient time and plan for an afternoon next week. She even steps in when explaining to other teachers who pull the “When will you come to us?” question at school. I know she also secretly advises them on a few meat-free dishes that I enjoy.

The unplannedness of guesting does cause a bit of a frantic state upon the hostess and I’ve seen this firsthand many times. When someone shows up to a house, unexpected, the woman is supposed to whip up a meal, usually multiple courses including salads, dolma or plov (national meat meals) serve tea, fruit and dessert. Of course there’s bread and there should be plenty of it. Recently I was at a student’s house for her birthday dinner, which I had been invited to beforehand. I offered to help with the preparations since I miss out on family holidays back home, when suddenly family members for another region showed up. It was shower day so that also caused a bit of hectic-ness because the family was taking turns in their weekly shower. The mother needed to tend to the guests, continue preparing the meal, all the while tracking down her 6-year-old son for their shower. In serving the guests tea, she of course needed an accompaniment and thus, had to cut the cake early and without song. The relatives were not even aware of the girl’s birthday, thus, never wishing her a “happy birthday.”

Usually during this “guesting” the hostess never even sits, talks with her guests and sometimes she doesn’t even eat with them. There have been times I’ve “guested” at a home never to actually see the woman who invited me, she was just rushing food in and out of the room. Since practically everything is compared to America when I’m around I’m usually asked “Do you have this in America?” or “How is (insert something here) done in America?” everything from foods, to weddings, to cars to electricity problems. The mother told me that she knew that this wasn’t how things were done in America because we need “invitations” and I tried to assure her that everything was wonderful and she was doing a great job. I also explained that in some cases you could even higher people to come to your house to cook meals and serve the food so you could enjoy your time with your guests. That’s a bit beyond their realm of scope though, but they usually enjoy hearing how something could be so out of the ordinary in other places.

Backing to living alone. My personal space and quiet time (mostly, when the neighbors aren’t blasting their television and letting the children run wild around the house) is my saving grace most days. Since I’m never really sure who’s watching exactly what I’m doing, inside my apartment is my one true safe space. I can do what I want, wear what I want (tank top!, shorts!) and eat/listen to/watch what I want. Still, I’ve been asked to move in with close local friends because people think I’m bored/miss when I’m alone. I don’t know how to explain that this aloneness keeps me balanced and it relaxes me. After being at school with screaming and running children I need some quiet time or I just might go mad.

My 2nd counterpart teacher and I were planning our lessons for the week recently and a revelation occurred. This woman has one of the toughest situations I’ve come across here. Her entire family (husband, son and daughter-both university students) all live in the capital, Baku, a good 4 hour bus ride away. Each week, besides teaching at school, she gives private lessons to students in the afternoon, as well as weekends and she—get this: cooks meals for the entire week for her family and SENDS TO BAKU. Can you imagine? When she told me this last year I was shocked. Could they not find something to cook for themselves there? They are, after all, in the capital of the country with bounds upon bounds of markets, shops and restaurants, yet she has to find time in her schedule each week to prepare their meals. I get exhausted just thinking about all her work. Not to mention the cleaning of clothes, going to the bank to collect paychecks, hospital and pharmacy for medicines and taking care of her mother-in-law who lives with her. This past week her mother-in-law had gone to stay with other relatives in the village and she has been alone in the house. I asked if she felt lonely, since she mentioned she was in the past, but this time her response surprised me: “No, when I am alone I feel myself calm.” She went on to say that when she heard that I had moved into my own house last year, she asked herself how could I live and wouldn’t I be lonely?, but now she understands. She can relax and do what she wants when she is alone. She enjoys the quite and peace. I was so exhilarated for her to finally have some time for herself. So few Azeri women get this chance and have such a difficult stressful role to fulfill, I rejoiced in this news. Then I thought to myself, someone finally gets me. Well, at least in that respect.

In Azerbaijan, voices for democracy strive to be heard. Here's a link to a recent Washington Post article about Azerbaijan's government situation. I found it to be an accurate description of this situation here but most importantly it was written by an national.

The difficult part of my town is that it’s one of the least developed regions in the country and, as I said overwhelmingly ignored by the leaders. People here simply don’t know what’s going on in other places, and they certainly don’t know of opportunities elsewhere. Last year was the first year any girl from this town even heard of GLOW camp, while more developed cities have had attendees five years prior.

Similarly there are many studying opportunities and scholarships abroad but to take part in these opportunities one has to know they exist. This is where I come in. I figure there may not be a chance for a lot of students from my school to be able to reach the level of leaving the country but if they at least knew about what’s out there they could try and perhaps in a few years more and more students will work harder. My goal was simply to encourage the students. I feel that sometimes people walk around and live their lives here never knowing what could be, and never try for anything better.

The FLEX (Future Leaders Exchange) program is a US Government run program that brings students from former Soviet countries to the US to study in high school and live with a family for one year. There’s an English exam that students must pass but they certainly don’t need to be fluent to be invited, it’s more important that they are able to work well with others and display leadership potential. This is earliest of programs but an organization called IREX offers many other opportunities to nationals that range from university, graduate and teaching exchange programs. Each year about 45 students from Azerbaijan enter the FLEX program but practically half of them come from Baku (which is as developed as most other European cities) and the rest come from other more developed cities. No one from Zerdab has ever entered the FLEX program and I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that less than 1% have studied outside the country. In general the majority of the people here will never leave the country and most of them rarely even leave these town. You get the picture.

Alumni FLEX students are forever changed and grow in ways that would never be possible otherwise. If you were to meet an FLEX student after they studied in the US you would swear they were American, right down to their dress, their accents, their “likes” and “shut ups!” They’ve gotten to experience all there is to being a teenager in America. As much as some of us might never want to relive adolescence, there are so many things that teenagers here really miss out on. I recently coordinated with the members of Young Vision (a group composed of Alumni of FLEX and other graduate programs) to come to Zerdab and speak to the students. I was nervous that no one would show up or that those who would cause a ruckus but we had a good turn out from my school as well as another school in town. They spoke (in Azerbaijani) about their experiences in America, what the test is like, how to steadily convince your parents to let you go and answered a variety of questions. Some teachers even sat in and asked questions to learn a little more about the educational differences. Overall I think they were fascinated and the session even ran close to 3 hours when we had only planned on an hour and half to 2 hours. All the kids seemed to be really interested and even some of the 5th formers were asking if they could take the test this year. Unfortunately they'll have to wait until the 8th form but that just means they have even more time to prepare. I was so glad to get them motivated and excited to keep working hard.

I tell myself that the first step is awareness. Now that some of the younger generation are more informed about what’s out there they can begin to work towards a higher goal. If nothing else it will give them a better perspective and something to ponder. I considered it one small success and was glad to bring more information into my small village-like town.

The winter here is rough for a variety of reasons but the past month has been quite trying. With limited time left it’s easy to look back and feel like I haven’t been able to do as much as I’ve wanted to do. I suppose it’s inevitable to have days where I questioned my time here, my efficacy. When I find myself going to school only to see the teachers and students leaving early, yet again, I wonder if anyone is really serious about anything learning, and if I have any purpose here.

There seems to be excuses for everything: in the winter-it’s too cold, in the spring-it’s holiday season and kids only think of being outside, in the summer-it’s too hot, it’s too rainy, too many headaches, etc. the list goes on. There isn’t much in my town, there’s hardly any employment and it’s easy for people to feel hopeless. The government ignores this part of the country so much so that while other regions are getting new organizations, more jobs and roads paved, we’re simply ignored.

Perhaps because I’m an American I need reassurance in times of despair. It would be nice to hear occasionally that someone is “glad I’m here” or “the lesson was really helpful today” but Azeri culture isn’t as sensitive, touchy or emotional as what I’m used to. When I’m having a bad day and feeling pretty down, no one around me really picks up on this or reaches out to ask what’s wrong. They simply don’t talk about their emotions or give one another reassurance. I suppose they are just thinking about something else. It helps to talk with other PCVs to realize I’m not the only one feeling this way, but when so much alone it’s easy to question myself.

Even though I’ve been here a year and a half I continue to learn about the differences between these cultures and I’ve realized that Americans are more vocal in expressing praise for good work while people here [the school system here at least] tends to only criticize. I’ve instilled rewards for good work in lessons and always encourage students to try. It wasn’t until recently that I realized I also needed some direct recognition to keep me motivated. I’m not looking for adulation by any means, but feeling appreciated would help lift me up out of the ennui I’m feeling on a listless day.

The problem with this is that while they don’t tell me how they think or feel about me, they’ll most likely talk about me to one another after I leave. I may never know what they like or appreciate, and that’s a difficult thing. A volunteer may never really know their effects of their service but a following volunteer may never hear the end of them. I’ve heard a lot about the previous male volunteer since I moved here, and continue to be asked about him as if I knew him. Since it’s a small town it’s not surprising that everyone knew who he was but everyone acts as if they knew him really well, says he came over to their house everyday, which I know is not true. (Said volunteer left early due to fraternizing behavior, though the locals may not be aware of this.)

Recently, I went with PC to interview another school for a future volunteer. This was the school where the other volunteer was and the teachers there were strongly against having another male volunteer based on their impressions from the last one. They asked if I could stay here and work at their school and kept saying they “wanted a volunteer like Sara.” I attribute this praise to part of their culture—they don’t really open up their true personal opinions until a trust is built. But sometimes this is frustrating because people most likely will say what they think you want to hear instead of what they really think/believe. My director may praise my work to my PC supervisor but he has never set foot inside my classroom. So it’s hard to know when praise is really meant or simply said to follow the higher order protocol. I’m glad I learned this cultural trend early on but it would feel more deserved if he actually wanted to learn about what I’ve done at school.

I tell myself I do see some changes and progress, even if some days it’s more than others. It’s taken me a year and half to get where I am and I’ve learned to depend a bit more on myself than I ever thought I could. I’ve posted various quotes for inspiration and reread letters from home to remind me of why I’m here. So even if I don’t get the encouragement from the people around me at least I have some reminders and people at home to keep me pushing on.

I've commented quite a bit about the environmental problems in Azerbaijan. I'm planning another Earth Day clean up at school and coordinating to have some environmental activities this month leading up to the big 40th anniversary. But the question is would YOU like to help? Here's an opportunity for you--albeit not Zerdab directly but another city that some friends of mine live in. They've organized and planned for a multiple week session to teach the local children about the environment, their affects on it, etc. Activities include a trash clean up and a mural-It's all very exciting! I hope to help out and only wish that years from now something similar could be possible throughout the country. Little by little right? If you would like to donate feel free to pitch in as little as $5. It's tax deductible :) Earth Day Project

The previous photo at the top of my blog was a bit of imprecise, thus I've decided to change it. Considering that picture was taken during my parents' visit to another region, Sheki, where many tourists go, lush with green mountains and fresh air it doesn't accurately capture my daily life.

This is more like what I see everyday.

Recently a volunteer friend of mine came to visit for the first time. After a walk around the town she said, "Well, Sara, Zerdab is a whole lot of...nothing." No offense to the people, but it is true. I doubt many nationals would argue with that.

Today marks every Azerbaijani’s favorite day of the year: Novruz. Novruz takes place on March 20-21st but the entire month prior to today people are preparing and anticipating the holiday.

Novruz means “new day” and is the start of the New Year in the Iranian calendar, welcoming spring, new life and a fresh start. It’s technically an Iranian holiday but celebrated by many Islamic cultures. Throughout the past month Azerbaijani’s have been cleaning out and painting their houses, planting trees in their yards, cooking special dishes and visiting friends and relatives.

During the Soviet Union Novruz was prohibited and people were persecuted for following the traditions. Now all Azerbaijani’s proudly celebrate and look forward to this time of the year.

The four Tuesdays prior to the holiday each have a name: Water (to purify), Fire, Wind, and Earth (new life). On each of these evenings at dusk families make small bonfires in their yard and everyone takes a turn jumping over the fire seven times reciting “Give me your redness and take my yellowness” which means “Take my hardships, give me your lightness.” As they jump, people leave their troubles behind. The number seven is relevant throughout Novruz because Muslims believe Allah (God) is connected with the seventh layer of the sky.

Perhaps the symbol most associated with Novrus is the sprouted wheat called “samani’. These grass seeds are grown on a plate prior to Novruz and can by close to half a foot tall on the holiday. Each family usually places the samani on the center of their table with a red ribbon tied around it.

Pakhlava and shekerbura are the two most essential Novruz desserts every house should have. Since most all cooking takes a very long time, both desserts are made sometimes two weeks in advance, as I witnessed in my host family last year. Pakhlava (like Turkish baklava) takes an especially long time and team-work. Female relatives and neighbors get together to contribute to the baking and lighten the load. Both are made with dough that is rolled out and filled with ground nuts and sugar; sherkerbura is like a cookie with the filing inside while pakhlava is layer upon layer of thinly rolled dough with sugar, butter and nuts in between.

Children really enjoy this holiday because of traditions such as “hat throwing.” In the evenings, they sneak up to neighbors’ doors, knock quickly, throw a hat and run away to hide. Those who answer the door usually put in candy, nuts or treats for the thrower. Many boys also play a game with eggs. One holds an egg while another boy holds and another egg beneath, then the one on the top lightly taps his egg to see which egg with produce a crack. Whosever doesn’t cracks, wins. Similar to Easter, many families will also color or decorate their eggs for the table display.

As spring is also my favorite season in AZ I’m certainly looking forward to the sunnier weather, new life of fruit trees and baby animals roaming around town.

Happy Spring!

In thinking about readjusting to America in just a few months I’m always curious as to how different people respond to returning home after having been away for so long. PC warns that sometimes readjusting to America is, in some ways, more difficult than adjusting to your placement. In joining PC, one expects things to be different wherever they are. One doesn’t usually expect to have trouble adjusting to what is or (at least used to be) familiar.

In talking with RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers; PCV “alumni,” if you will) or even chatting with current volunteers who have taken a brief vacation home, I’ve found time and time again the same story that expresses their cultural “shock” in the U.S.: the supermarket. Maybe it isn’t always the supermarket, perhaps it’s a Target or Walmart—but really any big retail store. It overwhelms us to a great degree because it’s probably safe to say that any PC country lacks a consumer heaven/nightmare (take your pick).

The story usually plays out like this: the volunteer is with family/friends and is doing what is thought to be normal behavior among Americans, goes into a regular supermarket/Target/Walmart and reaction ensues. The site is overwhelming because of a few factors: the largeness of the store, the amount of people in the space and probably most of all, the vast number of options available to them. Some are sickened by the idea of so much consumption after having seen people living on so little; some are just in awe of being able to easily choose little pleasures like granola bars or salad dressing again after having been deprived for so long; and some panic as if the walls are closing in and abscond the store gasping for air. I kid you not.

On a recent out of the country trip I had the pleasure of meeting my mother in quite a lovely city. While there were no Targets, Best Buys or Bed, Bath & Beyonds, I constantly found myself wandering into the small supermarkets purely to view all that was there. Packaged goods that are so common to most people were a friendly site to see. Oreos? Cheerios? Peanut Butter? And so many vegetables I used to take for granted but hadn’t laid eyes on in months: Mangos?! Cauliflower?! Sweet Potatoes!? Broccoli!!!!! Lettuce! (seriously!)Balsamic vinegar, maple syrup, heck-even spices like oregano and thyme or paprika were all in my reach. I longed to take it all back with me. Even if I didn’t necessarily need Oreos it was just a nice thought to think how easy it would be to light up another volunteer’s day.

That’s not to say that the capital here doesn’t carry some of these items. But a volunteer has to pay a hefty price and decide if they really want to spend a small fortune on that bottle maple syrup, brown sugar or popcorn or use that money for a few days worth of local food at their site. My town is quite small so most of these things don’t make it out to us. Some fresh fruits and vegetable that are imported can be found in other regions (avocados, zucchini & asparagus) but I’ve only just seen milk begin to pop up in stores around here. Canned food is always expensive—most people don’t even have a can opener. Beans are bought dried and must be soaked before cooking. A fresh salad with vinaigrette? Forget it. Salad here is doused in mayonnaise or sour cream. Recently I had been looking for cinnamon and a several shop owners hand me caraway seeds or cloves indicating they don’t know what cinnamon is.

Perhaps we’ll be come more grateful for the options available once we come home. Perhaps we’ll change our diets completely or revert to eating out every single day for a month until we accept that fact that these restaurants aren’t going anywhere. Me? I’m sure I’ll overdo it on the sushi, overspend at Whole Foods, buy out all their cheese and be sure to cook up a storm of international food and force my family to eat it for the first weeks of my return. But I’m also enjoying learning how to prepare more things from scratch, work with what I have and eat more fresh foods instead of pre-packaged and frozen convenience foods Americans are famous for. That being said…there’s always room for some Samoa’s now and then.

My counterpart and her two sisters. It's safe to say that they've become like aunts to me reminding me of certain someone's back at home. They prepared and nice birthday lunch for me.

A student's music recital. Nurlana is playing the piano.

My adopted outside cat that greets me most every time I open my back door. First, to be pet and receive any kind of affection and second to get some real kitty food.

The view from my back door. Spring is coming! (And yes that boy in the neighboring yard is holding a chicken above his head to entertain his little sister in the carriage.)

I was asked last night if I preferred Azerbaijani boys or American boys.

Guess my answer.

Let me begin by saying that I put in effort to earn the respect of the local people during the first year: dressed appropriately, didn’t talk to boys my age and refused all offers of alcohol. I’ve developed the “good-girl” status and can now have more open conversations with people I’m close to. So, I answered honestly-I preferred American boys. I explained that in America boys and girls (and men and women) can be friends without it being romantic. I said that I had friends who were boys (but stressed that they were not fiancés) in America and that I enjoyed hanging out with them. We could go to the movies, out to dinner, laugh and talk but that it was difficult because here that’s not allowed. If I, or any local girl, were to do such a thing we’d gain a bad reputation and, this being such a small town where everyone knows your business, it would be shared with most everyone else by the day’s end.

This brings me back to the random running man who tried to partner up with me. While I’ve seen him since (and he wasn’t running but either walking or biking to his shop), I had to ignore him at first and tell him I couldn’t speak to him. This saddened me. In other circumstances it might have been nice to have a running companion, yet here it wouldn’t be appropriate and certainly wouldn’t help any matters for me. Besides, my runs alone in the morning are my only time to feel somewhat free and unwatched outside of my apartment.

In response to my answer, the women said that in Baku (the capital) boys and girls are allowed to be friends and seen together in public. I already knew this but wanted to dig a bit deeper so I asked why that was. We’re in the same country and only a mere 4-hour bus ride away-why are so many things allowed in Baku but not here? Who makes such ‘social rules’ and if people don’t like it why do they continue to follow it? Other examples of things girls are allowed to do in Baku but shouldn’t do in Z: wear tight jeans, short skirts, be seen after the sun sets-even alone (!) if she so desires, eat in a restaurant, be seen anywhere near a hotel, walk and or talk with a male close to her own age. They had no real answer except to explain that this was a “small-town” and everyone knows one another, which I also knew.

This was a tough adjustment at first. Since growing up surrounded by mostly boys, I became comfortable being around the opposite sex casually. I found they offer up a different perspective, which continues to intrigue me. While I’ve been grateful for getting to know the females here and bond over our similarities and differences, I know I won’t be allowed the insight to other side of life. I guess that’s just the way things are. And yet, another thing to look forward to upon my return!

I gravitate toward motivated individuals because at times it seems there are few people who want to step up and make a change. This can be said about many cultures: it’s easier to sit back and let someone else do the work. And I find many locals think that since I’m the American I should be doing the work. Transitioning what I’ve done over the past year onto the locals is the key to making what I do here last and hopefully continue after I leave.

When I’ve doubted my efficacy I always turn to my students. Their generation still has an open mind and can vision potential progress for themselves and their country. It’s not about just learning English but life skills, critical thinking, and wanting more for themselves and a better life.

I remember meeting Amina back in December 2008 when I was first observing classes. She stood out in her class, consistently quietly raising her hand while other students were flailing around in their seats calling out to the teacher to pick on them. It wasn’t just that she spoke English well. While most students giggled and stared as I walked through the hallways and shied away at the prospect of actually speaking directly to me, Amina felt brave enough to approach me one day and ask if I was going to make a conversation club.

I could sense she would be someone I would remember.

When I began distributing GLOW applications last summer I encouraged Amina despite the fact she was only in 7th grade when most attendees were in the 9th or 10th. She applied, was chosen and attended as one of the youngest girls. Despite being shy the first day and confiding in me that she missed her family the first evening, after the camp was over she said, “GLOW changed my life, I miss all my new friends.”

When she told me she wanted to become an English teacher I told her about the FLEX program which is a U.S. government program that works with former Soviet countries to bring students to live with a U.S. family and study for one school year. I began helping her prepare this summer and had she been old enough to take the first round of tests in September she would have. Yet, we agreed that with another year it would only allow us more time to perfect her test taking, listening, and interviewing skills. Since she’s only in the 8th form this year, she’ll have 3 chances to pass the exam.

Always eager to speak more English and help her friends this fall she asked if I would help teach her classmates, many whom are far behind. I told her I would love to help her create a conversation club but said she would teach and I would just assist her with planning and the lessons. This would give her practice speaking English, while also learning how to prepare and teach lessons. We began the weekly club in October and had 1 ½ hour to 2 hour lessons with roughly 10-15 students. After we had our private FLEX prep lessons we would plan for the club, deciding which grammar to teach and which activities and games for speaking. She learned how to write a lesson plan, manage the time, bring necessary materials and how to review each week. By brainstorming and recalling what activities she has enjoyed through learning she incorporated them into her lessons. Taking ideas from her experience at GLOW she wanted to use groups with names and she suggested having a “Most Active Student” at the end of each club to whom we gave a prize for trying the hardest and speaking the most English.

When I told her I would be away for 2 weeks over New Years she said she didn’t want to have club without me because “the students won’t come if you aren’t there.” I told her that she didn’t really need me because she knows English well but to follow her lesson plan and to remember to only speak English. She was rather hesitant. After New Years after class at school one day Amina came to me and said she taught a club while I was gone. I was ebullient and told her how proud of her I was.

We ended the club this past week as the weather is turning colder and their regular lessons are piling up. I suggested having a party to tie up all the things they learned and to play a few games. Perhaps it was also just an excuse to let the kids hang out and eat some not-so-good-for-you food. Each student brought something, mostly it was a combination of different cakes, soda and sweets but they seemed to have a blast while trying to use their English. Amina gave out certificates which she proudly distributed and everyone gave a huge smile for the photos while saying “cheeeese!”

Despite having more than 10 years between us in age Amina has become one of my closest friends. She makes me remember what being a teenager was like. She’s constantly curious about learning and America. I tell her how I dream of meeting her again in the States when she comes for FLEX. Last year I might not have said that confidently. And she probably wouldn’t have believed it either, but with GLOW, our private lessons and her club, she has improved immensely and her confidence has grown. Amina is part of the generation that can learn new techniques in teaching, she can come back to teach children in creative ways and make learning fun. I’m grateful to have met her here and Azerbaijan is lucky to have such a motivated young woman among the next generation. The power is in their hands.

I don’t have a shower. I go to the bathroom in a bucket. I have to hand wash and hang dry clothes. I’m stared at everywhere I go, sometimes followed, sometimes yelled at by obnoxious tween boys. I wear 2-3 layers of everything to keep warm. I can’t drive. Or walk outside after dark. Some days I don’t have electricity or heat for a few hours. Some days I really dread going to school. Sometimes I just really want a latte from Starbucks, a salad from Whole Foods or to be able to go to the movies.

Some days I’d just really liked to be understood.

But wait- this is a positive post.

I say all of this because despite all of these annoyances and hardships, sometimes I’m really comfortable with my life here. Some days I even feel content.

This thought occurred to me last week after I returned home from a long day of helping a close friend with a funeral service, before and after I taught lessons alone.

I may not have a beautiful site placement or site mates. I often have to defend myself with nationals about why I chose to live here (I didn’t have a choice.) And like many PCVs, I feel extremely misunderstood.

Around the year mark a lot of us start to realize what we’re capable of doing in our service—most of us have to downscale our expectations. No, I can’t change this town on my own in 2 years. I probably won’t make every student I teach learn to speak, read or write English well. I won’t be able to fix their water system or bring more jobs here. But I can inspire some and hopefully make life a little better while I’m here. I’ve learned to concentrate my energy on the people who do care for more and those I’ve grown close to. With less than a year in my service I’m growing more aware of how quickly the days will turn into months. I honestly can’t imagine saying goodbye and not seeing some people everyday. Foreseeing this I’d like to do as much as I can for those who’ve done so much for me.

My counterpart’s birthday was this past weekend. She doesn’t tell anyone about her birthday and told me she only celebrated when she was in the 10th form. On Friday I brought cake and organized a surprise in class. Each student made her a card. She’s a hard one to move emotionally, but I really think she was touched. They each read their card aloud, some struggling, but all making the effort to express how glad they are that she’s their teacher. Since her birthday was on Saturday and knowing she would still be giving private lessons I decided to drop by beforehand, with cake and some gifts. I explained that although they’re ashamed with celebration of birthdays, in America we like to celebrate the day of someone’s birth. I told her how grateful I am for her and her family, whom I honestly couldn’t imagine my time here without. This was such a small gesture and just a mere 2 days…but I won’t be here with her next year so I wanted to make it a birthday she does remember.

As I’ve talked about so much before, the schools here leave a lot to be desired. I’ve tried to make learning more fun and interesting for the students. Some schools are allowed parties during holidays and even birthday celebrations. Some get to take a trip in the summer. The director of my school doesn’t like these things therefore he doesn’t allow. I’ve used my position to do some activities without asking permission, in the beginning not really knowing that I needed it. One of the drawbacks of being “the American” is being taken advantaged of with some things. One of the benefits is getting away with other things. One of the classes organized a trip to another region last summer, received parents’ approval and collected money to pay for the transportation. The director simply said no and that was that. This year, I’m determined to make this trip happen and I believe I can go to the right people to help me. I can’t remember how many school trips I went on in my schooldays and these students deserve at least one. I’d like to make it a reality.

One goal I believe I have achieved: I have changed some locals’ views of Americans. The previous PCV didn’t leave a great impression, which was challenging in the beginning. Yet now I believe the people here may view Americans in a more positive light. They realize that women can live on their own. They can even learn how to speak another language and figure out how to light a pect! They can carry a heavy bag or packages on their own. They can exercise, not be afraid of dogs and even have different tastes in food.

I’ve enjoyed learning about life here and as a result learning about America. I’ve enjoyed teaching them about this one American and that there are varieties among varieties and vast differences among all of us. I’ve enjoyed when they see similarities but are also intrigued by the differences. It’s been such an insightful experience.

So while I go to bucket bath since I went running in the dark in 3 layers this morning…and I soak some clothes in water to try and instill a detergent smell… and while I cross my fingers that I’ll find some decent cheese or fruit today…and while I wait for the dial-up connection to slowly bring me to this webpage I think to myself: yeah, it’s a hard life sometimes, but today, I’m content to be here. If I can continue to open minds and bring smiles to those people around me I think I’ll be okay. After all, this isn’t about the destination but the journey.

I’m beginning to think I should change the name of my blog to “Running In Azerbaijan” as it seems I keep adding updates to the experience. Perhaps running is just one of the cultural differences I’m constantly intrigued by (or actually the reaction to my running is what I find interesting) but hopefully you find it as enjoyable as I do.

This one isn’t so much about animals, but alas, they do play a big role.

I motivated myself to get out this morning despite somewhat frosty temperatures; layered up, got my music and was on my way. Towards the end of my run, past the graveyard (not as scary as it sounds-though after life here I’m not sure what will scare me anymore) I passed someone who was on their way to work. A minute or so after I was startled as someone came up next to me and began to talk. I pulled out an earplug and once I caught my breath from his presence I realized he was telling me not to run this route because there “are dogs.” I kindly tell him thank you but I’ve run this route many times and I never see dogs. He then asked who I was and where I was from. I’m still shocked when this occasionally happens because most people in town know me even if I don’t know them. I’m American, I’m the English teacher I say. You don’t know me? No, he says, and continues to point in the direction down the road where I was headed and told me I should go back the other way. In the middle of explaining that I run often and have run here all summer and am never bothered by dogs I realize that he probably won’t let up until I give in. I decided not to fight it and turn back the other way. I thank him and then say goodbye to start back along another more public road.

Then.

A minute or so later I noticed that he is running next to me.

Um.

Wait a second. I think to myself.

He starts chatting with me as I’m trying to grasp the concept that an Azerbaijani is running alongside me.

For fun.

I don’t think I heard what he said just because I was utterly in shock that this was happening and yet he didn’t burn out after 30 seconds. (No offense to the Azerbaijani’s, but I have yet to see or meet a single local in my town exercising for fun.)

So we jogged along and continued to chat about how often I run, which school I teach at and how old I was… then it came: Was I married or single? Straight to the point. There’s no subtle way this question is asked-most men here ask it within the first 3 questions. I told him I had a fiancé. He asked about my ipod, thinking it was a phone. He pointed out that I had frost on my hair and expressed concern about sweating. No, sweating is good, it’s healthy, I say. Without giving up a minute or so later he asked for my number and when I explained I wasn’t allowed to give it out and he offered to give me his I explained and showed I had no pen or paper. I asked what he wanted to talk for (the plus part of the language is I can be direct to) and he said to talk-and to meet again for running. So I said I’d be here again on Sunday at the same time. We’ll see if he shows.

I recently came upon this article through searching for information on Azerbaijan's environment. It's no secret that with all the oil and waste the pollution is a huge problem here. In 2008 Baku was rated #1 on Forbes as the Worlds Dirties City. It's still distrubing to me as I walk around and see trash everywhere. It still makes me cringe when I'm on a bus and someone simply sticks their hand out the window to discard their trash. Though a lot of the countries pollution problems come from air and water pollution the trash problem seems most obvious to me in the regions. We don't have any industrial plants where I live, but we're still greatly affected by the polluted river and pipe problems. The first step in any change is providing awareness. I've hit various walls in this area but I continue to try and set simple examples.

This picture is on a road in my town that I look and think to myself how without the endless amount of trash it could actual be beautiful.

This article comes from NationsEncyclopedia:

"Azerbaijan's current environmental problems result in part from the effects of the economic priorities and practices of the former Soviet Union. General mismanagement of the country's resources has resulted in a serious threat to several areas of the environment. UN agencies report severe air and water pollution in Azerbaijan, which ranks among the 50 nations with the world's highest level of carbon dioxide emissions. In the mid-1990s, carbon dioxide emissions totaled 63.9 million metric tons per year, or 8.76 metric tons per capita. The combination of industrial, agricultural, and oil-drilling pollution has created an environmental crisis in the Caspian Sea. These sources of pollution have contaminated 100% of the coastal waters in some areas and 45.3% of Azerbaijan's rivers. In 2001, only 78% of the total population had access to safe drinking water. The pollution of the land through the indiscriminate use of agricultural chemicals such as the pesticide DDT is also a serious problem. Azerbaijan's war with Armenia has hampered the government's ability to improve the situation. Due to the severity of pollution on all levels, the country's wildlife and vegetation are also seriously affected. From the mid-1980s to mid-1990s, the amount of forest and woodland declined by 12.5%. As of 2001, 11 species of mammals, 8 species of birds, 5 species of fish, and 13 species of reptile were endangered. Endangered species include the Barbel sturgeon, beluga, the Azov-Black Sea sturgeon, the Apollo butterfly, and the Armenian birch mouse."

my kitchen-I had just baked cookies

my livingroom-the silver thing is my petch which keeps me warm

the other side of my livingroom-now with christmas decorations!

my bedroom-no closet so I use this handy clothesline my father put up for me :)

It hasn’t felt much like Christmas so far this month. That may be because there are no decorations, no rushing around to find that perfect gift for everyone. No nagging Mom to go and find the perfect tree and no baking dozens upon dozens of chocolate chip cookies. I’ve avoided listening to any of the few Christmas songs I have on my computer so I won’t be homesick for all the festivities I’m missing out on at home.

But Christmas came to me today… I received not one, not two, but three(!) packages. I had to take a taxi from the post office for fear of looking even more ridiculous than I normally do. (I don’t mind really, but I know it would have created quite a stir if I were seen walking ¾ of a mile with three boxes on top of one another.)

I admit it doesn’t take much to make me happy with goodies from home. I get excited at just seeing familiar handwriting on the box. So it was especially exciting to open the packages and find a miniature Christmas tree, with a set of lights, ornaments and garland, Christmas towels and treats for my shoe from St. Nick. I also got a stocking and put some of the candies and other treats inside.

(the little tree-the lights are on though it doesnt look it)

Just when things were started to get a bit colder and somewhat lonelier I was sent a reminder of all the wonderful people (some might call them angels) that I have in my life back at home. Anne Zagar never ceases to amaze me with all that she can do and how caring she is to think of everyone-no matter where they are. She has been my St. Nick this year. Thank you for everything: from the goldfish to the incredibly soft blanket—I will cherish it all and think of you every time I look at my little tree. You’ve brought a bit of Christmas spirit to my home. Thank you to Fran and Joan for the goodies and Christmas music-just thinking of you both brings a smile to my face.

I’ll surely be sharing the goodies with my class this next week if only to show them how we celebrate at home and they’ll see how lucky I am to have such a large extended family. As the days get closer to Christmas this year I think to myself the lyrics to a song “I’ll be home for Christmas” (Only just next year.) Thanks to everyone at home—I hope you all have a wonderfully healthy Merry Christmas!!

"You were only given this life because you were strong enough to live it, don't give up."

I used to be an avid collector of quotes and this is one I recently found and keep re-reading. Mostly to remind myself that every battle I face I can overcome and it will ultimately make me stronger. The hard part about rough times is that you can’t look objectively and see what will come of everything when you’re still inside it. A lot of volunteers feel this way during service and yet once they come home and years later, they only look back on the fondest of times and memories. I like to believe it will be the same for me.

Through the ‘downs’ I sometimes ask myself “Why am I here?” and that’s quite scary. Yet, I knew that coming into this.

One of the most challenging things about working in this country is the endless corruption. It sometimes feels as if one is constantly surrounded by it. It’s within the government, the school system, the markets, the police….seemingly everywhere. Teachers pay bribes to receive more teaching hours because their salary is based on the number of hours they teach. Students pay bribes to receive good marks. Graduating students pay bribes to pass university entrance exams. Patients pay bribes to be treated by doctors. Shop owners pay bribes to keep their store open. Drivers pay bribes to police. This is all rather discretely done-an outsider might never know. But these are the only ones I know about, I’m sure there’s more out there.

I recognize that I was somewhat naïve about corruption that went along in The States but in learning about how much it happens here I’m saddened by all that it seems to hinder. On various occasions I’ve had conversations with some locals about this and how they try to fight the system (sadly the majority don’t try or know how to fight it.) This man is one of the more intellectual individuals I’ve met. He doesn’t pay bribes to receive more teaching hours and truly wants progress for his country. In a conversation one day he asked me “How many years behind America is Azerbaijan?” which is rather difficult to answer. How can one measure this when most nationals have satellite television but don’t have indoor plumbing; some regions have Mercedes but unreliable heating or electrical systems? And yet how can there be progress with people paying their way to the top position? How will students learn if they can simply pay a teacher for a good mark?

There are those who fight the system and I know of students who work hard and refuse to pay bribes on exams. I gravitate towards those individuals. One man told me of a time when his region had such terrible electricity and he decided to write a letter to the government requesting improvement and included a petition. He said many people were too afraid of signing their names in fear of consequences. He was a brave individual. The government responded with a threat of firing his sister-in-law who worked for the electrical company. What’s the result of this? People being afraid of their government?

This culture has a hierarchical system with most people fearing those above them. Most directors at schools (principals) are highly respected (feared) and they decide who teaches which classes, who should have the best classrooms (or warmest in winter), which teachers receive extra pay to have afternoon clubs, etc. I was unaware that there were any clubs at school until one day last year someone mentioned that there was an English club. I learned this after I created my English conversation club, which was on Tuesdays. Apparently this English club taught by a local teacher was also on Tuesdays…yet I never once saw come, thus, the students missed out. She receives money to have this club but never shows up. I then understood why so many students constantly beg me to make another club for them. Still, I work for free. I wonder who would help these children if I didn’t? Who will have this club after I leave? I wonder why I sometimes feel that I want development for this country more than some nationals do?

Sometimes I feel helpless in fighting the system—it feels too large. Sometimes I think that if I’m am example is that enough? Can I really make a difference here? I try to remind myself these challenges are why Peace Corps is here: To help this country improve and eventually to stand on its own. I also try to remind myself that I’m only apart of the 6th group of PCVs in AZ and some countries have had hundreds. “Yavaş, yavaş progress olacak…inşhallah” (Slowly slowly, there will be progress…god willing.)

So far I’ve mostly just written about silly and sometimes awkward encounters of life in Azerbaijan. Initially in any time overseas one feels excitement in the differences in comparisons and enjoys soaking it up. Yet like any extended period of time overseas the novelty wears off and culture shock sets in. The difference here is that I’m not an ex-pat living in a nice apartment working a plush job in a developed country. I’m working for free, and mostly being misunderstood by most of the people I’m here to help.

I was well aware of the ups and downs one’s service is bound to take. When you’re the only American at site it’s quite easy to start to believe that what you’re feeling and experiencing is only happening to you. So it always helps to talk with other volunteers who have similar frustrations.

The truth of being a volunteer is that there are many disappointments and frustrations throughout your 27 months. The funny, stuffed marsrukta rides aren’t so fun after awhile. They’re actually quite hot and annoyingly long. And the “celebrity” attention you get starts to take its toll. You find the more you’re stared at and followed the more you want to be left alone. And you miss a lot of the things you didn’t realize you’d miss. The little things, like a favorite granola bar or an episode of Will & Grace, a letter or magazine become a small escape back to a place I feel far from.

I’ve been searching for a new place to live since the beginning of the summer and have been spreading the word and talking about it to practically everyone I meet. Having my own place helps with privacy that I don’t get anywhere else in town (most of the time.) And it’s my retreat: the one place I can walk around in shorts and a tank top if I want, cook and eat what I choose and sit directly on the floor if my heart should so desire. Over the past couple of months there have been several potential new abodes and then almost a minute later they were gone (i.e. the owner changed their mind, there actually isn’t a working shower, they want to charge me more than double what’s normal because I’m American and therefore assumed loaded.) People say they’re going to look and help me and then three days later it’s as if they’ve completely forgotten. Either that or they just pretend they’ll help me. (This culture has more face-saving than I’m used to in the U.S.: people will say something but not actually mean it, they just say what you might want to hear, thus, decoding is often needed.) I never enjoyed nagging, but it seems necessary to get anything accomplished. I find I need to say things over and over to be taken seriously. Despite explaining that I need to live “alone in my own house” does not mean “alone in a room of a house where a family lives” somehow I’m still brought to a house and shown a single bedroom where I can reside.

While I’m known as “the English teacher” I constantly feel stuck to this title. Since I originally wanted to do something besides teaching I was hoping that other community projects would really make my service meaningful. I’ve found a lot of difficulty in doing other community work. I can explain “community” to locals over and over but it doesn’t register. Zerdab is so small that people’s idea of community is their family and surrounding neighbors. They rarely gather for common interests or meetings. Many people don’t know where the few main buildings are and few can draw a map of the town. I’ve had many brainstorms and conversations with different residents to try and find out what I can do to enhance life here. I’m willing to do what it takes to bring these people what they need and to show them how they can do it themselves, yet no one wants to help me. Everyone thinks I will do it myself. Teachers are busy, women have families, university students only rarely come back from Baku and students are busy with their lessons to prep for university entry. Everywhere I turn I find more excuses.

My language ability limits me to doing projects alone but more importantly it’s not sustainable if I do anything here alone; my time is limited and once I’m gone, so is whatever I do.

I’ve learned about the Soviet affect and that a lot of people suffer from the lack of motivation from being in a post-soviet country. Zerdab is exactly the place PC needs to be, but I’ve found that any of the motivated and eager Zerdabians who strive for a better life leave Zerdab, study in Baku and usually don’t return.

It’s frustratingly hard to accept, to see potential but to feel it’s out of reach. How can one make people grow if they don’t want to grow or want to see things better themselves? How can I force them to work with me so that they’re own life can be better? How can I force growth in a place where most growth or change is rejected?

I’ve come close many times, but haven’t given up. (I think Italy helped me to get a breath of fresh air). I somehow came back and have started stirring up some new ideas (health conference/forum, a resource room for English reading, a reading and writing club in the library, fitness group for young girls, a Halloween party). I’m afraid I’ll end up doing most of this alone and as frustrating as that feels I try to remember it’s for the kids—some of them really do want better for themselves. I also like to think that simple but important life skills can be taught and transferred through different projects. For example, being on time, working hard, committing to something and sticking with it, being honest, helpful, reliable and giving are meaningful traits for progress in any society.

I may have become more introspective since being here, it’s probably a side effect of being a PCV. With the AZ5s leaving, the AZ7s coming and my 1 year in country coming up I’ve done a lot of self-reflection. I’m glad that I’ve adjusted to the ups and down and can let myself feel whatever way I’m feeling and then move on the next day. I’m glad I’ve gotten used the annoyances and have learned to let the little things roll of my back. I’m glad that I’ve also started to stand up for myself and not allow people to use me as their entertainment.

I’ve also readjusted my expectations for what I can accomplish. I may not affect many of the teachers I work with. I may not change their minds about effective techniques or show them it’s okay for students to make mistakes and okay to have fun while learning. I may not reach every one of my students and get them to speak English in a way that will be useful for them. I may not even get all my students to be interested in studying. But I will reach some of them. I will (and have already) shown some of my students that learning can be fun, that making mistakes is okay because they’ll learn from them, that you can think for yourself and have an opinion different from others. Even if I don’t teach some of these students that they can reach their dreams, maybe what I do here will change the way they raise their children. Progress is slow-I keep telling myself that. One of the toughest things about being a PCV is that you don’t always get to see the changes or progress you’ve made. Perhaps it won’t be this generation, or the next, but maybe my students’s children will have different lives, but I’ll be long gone and may never see that. I can only hope and keep trying. I came here in a big way: it was a huge decision and a long commitment. But maybe the things I’ll leave behind will need a second glance, or time to grow.

Teachers in general are lucky to have summers off. Yet, being a PCV is a 365 day job, as we’re reminded that even though we may not always be doing projects, we’re still volunteers here representing America. As a TEFL volunteer we’re still encouraged to run projects in the summer. Since the kids have a whole 3 ½ months of nothing to do by the time September 15th roles around they’re very much out of the “school mindset”. Creating clubs this summer was just as much for the kids as is it was for myself-with nothing to do I might have gone out of my mind. I’d much rather be busy-it helps pass the time and leaves less time to sit and think of what/who I miss at home.

At the end of the school year I passed around sign up sheets for different clubs to be held in the summer. Despite my ideas to have art and sports clubs all the students jumped at the idea for an English conversation club. Since most of the kids interested don’t have conversational level English yet I organized an English club as simple lessons to build on what they already knew with hopes of teaching them some more. A lot of these kids aren’t in my classes but want to improve their English and I give them a lot of credit: their teacher probably doesn’t speak much English during their lesson and sadly probably doesn’t let them speak much either.

the 6th and 7th formers

I held the three different levels of clubs on Monday and Tuesdays for an hour each. The first week I was surprised at how enthusiastic some of the students were to attend. It had been the first week of no school yet here they were, mostly 10-13 year olds coming to school. I remember rejoicing in the fact that school was finally out—why would I want to go back to school for more lessons!? But that just goes to show how culturally different we are as in America there were plenty of other things to fill my time-yet here, in Zerdab these kids are itching for things to do. And I’m so proud of them for wanting to learn.

the littliest ones, soon to be 5th formers. Humay all the way to the right was my host-sister

I was afraid that some of the kids, seeing that it was a bit more work than play (I still managed to have games to keep it interesting) wouldn’t come back after the first week. But they did, at least the ones who cared and those are the ones I’ve learned to concentrate on. They would even remember to come back in 2 weeks when I was out of Zerdab for other GLOW and other camps. They’ve stuck it out, learned some new words and I believe improved on their grammar structure and got a chance to speak more about themselves. On the last day I gave out certificates and treats to all the kids who came. I’m so proud of them and only encouraged more to recreate another club come the fall.

soon to be 8th formers

After a good 8 weeks of camp I’m off to take my own vacation (sadly not to a familiar lake with fishing and egg sandwich goodness) but to Italy. It’ll be a wonder if I make it back here…I’m pretty sure the wine and cheese will a tad better!

While it’s been quite a wet summer back at home in New Jersey, here in Texas, Azerbaijan (as I like to refer to Zerdab for it’s flatness) it’s been hottt. How hot you ask? 40 degrees. Celsius. And for all of you without your pocket converter I’ll save you the trouble: that’s a nice 104 degrees Fahrenheit. While I’m used to the mugginess of New Jersey’s humidity, Texas, AZ is dry.

It’s so hot that no one leaves the house between 11 a.m. and 5 p.m. I can roam the streets in privacy and not worry about who’s staring or following me, yet no matter where I’m going I’m pretty sweaty once I get there.

You may recall how Azeri’s love their tea. This love affair does not stray in the summer…and it doesn’t cool off their tea either. They still drink it piping hot. And fan themselves while drinking it. Since I’ve been living without a refrigerator, and thus, no cold drinks since the middle of April I often find myself daydreaming of cold drinks, ice cold water/soda/milk.

Twice a week I tutor two of my students and I have the pleasure of walking the 30 minutes to their house to arrive at 5 p.m. with very little shade along my way, and am greeted with a nice cup of tea. Wiping the sweat from my forehead it usually takes me 20 minutes to cool off and drink one cup if I even managed to finish it. One day I explained iced tea and they seemed to understand. They accepted it nicely. And low and behold, next time I arrived, again sweating and reveling in their lightly ACed house I was greeted with [iced] tea: a cup of steaming hot tea and a bowl of three little iced cubes.

I smiled at the thoughtfulness and politely declined.

After months of running in dark mornings covered in layers to hide myself and keep warm, hiding from cars and switching to walking mode once I’d see another body in the road I’m proud to say progress has been made.

I now have to get up earlier since it gets lighter earlier, but more so because it just gets hotter earlier and I’ve moved to wearing shorts and (gasp!) a tank top. I no longer get strange stars from people (mostly) and the dogs don’t bark or run at me (some simply walk away while others continue to lazily lay where they are—they’re used to me just passing by). I used to get some stares from the cows and sheep but even they’ve seemed to adjust. The other day I was running and a woman walking by didn’t give me a weird look but actually warned me of a dog up ahead.

“There’s a dog up there,” she said.

“I know,” I smiled in thanks, “I’m not afraid,” as I proceeded to continue my pace and pass what was probably a 40-lb mutt who simply barks and then runs his little self away.

I was at the bazaar one day and a few men seemed proud to tell me they’ve seen me running early in the morning. “Do you run?” I ask them while I usually know the answer. Some tell me they do, but I’m unsure if this is true or if they just mean they run away from dogs/towards their car/after the straying sheep. One of the shop owners nearby and I talked about our runs quite often. He says he runs every morning and I believe him—he gets up even earlier than me.

It’s taken some time for these changes to occur but I’m glad that I no longer feel the need to hide that I’m female and I exercise. And it’s taken time for the town to accept them, just one of the reasons that PC is a service of 2 years…changes take time, especially among a culture that hasn’t been exposed to much variety. I try to keep all this in mind with my service in other ways.

Just keep running…everyday, just keep running.

One of the best things about summer in Azerbaijan is that you can be sitting around your table eating a meal and any given moment and notice that all of the food has come from your own yard. Animals included (although not my table.)

I was eating a meal at my counterparts the other night when I noticed this. She had made boiled corn, fried eggplant and the never-ending [in summer] tomato and cucumber salad. We also had fresh cut up watermelon that can be eaten even before and sometimes during the meal. I asked her if all of the things had come from her yard (she grows everything from chives and basil to beans, pumpkin, corn and tomatoes). She looked around and said that the watermelon was bought and although she’s growing corn the ones we were eating were from the bazaar, everything else had been pulled form the garden and made directly into the meal we were enjoying.

my first eggplant

Earlier this summer I had been working hard at getting my yard ready for planting some seeds. Many nights I would come home exhausted and think of some excuse not to go water them with multiple trips of pale to water-pipe to plant and back again…but I made myself do it. And getting my sometimes-lazy butt up to do it has finally shown its reward. My zucchini seeds have grown into huge plants and small zucchini are just starting to grow-I have yet to pick and eat but am intensely anticipating. One large eggplant has formed on one of the plants—I’ll probably prepare within a week. And my peppers, whilst I thought they were sweet green peppers when bought from the bazaar they actually are hot peppers and I picked and ate with a salad the other evening.

It’s nice to reap the rewards of hard work and see things come together. And I can see myself still desiring a vegetable garden and fruit trees to continue reaping these benefits when I come home.

Recently I’ve done a lot of thinking about how differently all Peace Corps volunteers experience their service. I’ve thought about what different countries bring to different people: some people are in a country with only 9 other volunteers, some with 200+. Some see another volunteer daily while some can go months without interacting with an America. Some people are the first group of volunteers while others are in countries that’ve had PCVs for years and years.

I figured I’d have a similar experience to the members of my group AZ6 (the 6th group of volunteers to service in Azerbaijan). Yet, even among us, we all do and will experience something different through our time here. Older volunteers have a different experience than fresh-out-of-college volunteers. Married couples have different interactions than single volunteers. People living in cities experience drastic differences than those in villages. And then there are those who have other volunteers around while some are the sole American in their site.

Tall volunteers may get more attention, as do other ethnicities, and blondes stand out in a country of dark hairs and eyes. Curvy girls may get more attention, as does anyone with glasses. We’re told to blend in as much as we can—to not draw any unwanted attention to ourselves; we which try to do- to an extent. But we have to find a balance in doing so without really losing ourselves.

I’ve talked to different volunteers in different regions and am always amazed at what I learn. Some places people get more harassment; some people are simply left alone. Some places people can go running in the middle of the afternoon, others get up in the dark, and others simply give up because they get rocks thrown at them.

It’s sometimes surprising the amount of variety here, even in the small country the size of Maine.

I can travel to another city just 2 ½ hours away and feel like I’m in another country. They may have real cheese and variety! It’ll be a different climate zone altogether. And I can walk outside after dark. Other sites even allow women to go to a café and I’ve seen men walk around with their children. In one city they used to have a Chinese restaurant! (Sadly this closed down much to the dismay of PCVs.) Other PCVs have showers; flush toilets and washing machines while some don’t have running water or refrigerators. Some see snow fall from October till April while others may have one day of snow the entire year. Some volunteers work with college age students who speak English and are motivated to study abroad; other volunteers are struggling to get their 5th forms to form simple sentences. Some volunteers have complete privacy among their site while others are followed wherever they go. Some are greeted by name pleasantly by every passer-byer whereas others can walk for 10 minutes among a city of 300,000 and never run into anyone who knows them. There’s a give and take for each scenario.

In Azerbaijan elder volunteers usually get more respect and married couples praise for being married, yet if childless, there’s the constant question as to what’s keeping them from extending their family. If you’re blonde you’re assumed to be Russian, yet if you’re brunette, sometimes you’re told your German. If you have darker skin sometimes they mistake you for one of their own.

Visiting other PCVs have helped me gain perspective on my experience here. Because whatever I might be going through, although different in some ways, many other volunteers are experiencing their shares of frustrations, struggles or unwanted attention.

But all PCVs in all countries share one unforgettable similarity: we’re all giving our time to help others. And I’m pretty sure we’re all hoping to make a difference, even if it’s in the smallest way.

It’s easy to say that at another site we’d each be happier: “if only I had a sitemate,” “if only I was in this city,” “if only I wasn’t this tall or had to wear glasses.” There is always another scenario where it might appear easier. But the toughness, I suppose, is part of this experience. We hope to help the people here grow, but I think we also hope to grow ourselves. It’s not easy. We’re tested nearly every single day. And we’ll all take something different from this experience. We just need to play the cards we’re dealt. I just hope in the end I feel that my cards help play in my favor..

On a recent Friday afternoon I decided to go for a walk to take advantage of the gorgeous weather. I couldn't help but think to myself as I checked the time and saw that it was 5 p.m. that a year or so ago I'd probably be heading out to happy hour. Yet, here I was, strolling around Zerdab and thinking about what I'd make myself for dinner and which movie I'd choose to watch. Yes, life is quite different and I'm so very far from the life I used to have--yet surprisingly satisfied. (at least today :) )

here's what I captured:

Some sheep doin' there thing on the side of a hill.

The cows...it's a bit creepy at first but you get used to it. It's funniest when the animals are weirded out watching me running.

When I saw this it reminded me how far away from home I am yet I was so glad to capture the beauty of my site.

This is my road. I've grown so accustomed to seeing random farm animals out in the street, free as [birds] yet I'm always amazed when I remind myself that I would have NEVER come across this, even in New Jersey. At least there are no squirrels in Azerbaijan!

May has arrived and it burst in today with a warm and sunny, gorgeous day that rivals New Hampshire’s August weather. I’m relieved yet amazed that it’s already this time of year again. Winter felt long and four days of cold and rain last week were brutal.

a view of my house from my yard

This week Wednesday was the day of the week. And I have Mrs. Ceccacci’s 5th grade class at Clinton Elementary School to thank. I received the photo album that they must have spent hours working on, writing about and putting together for me to show my students here at school. I was beyond amazed/thrilled/ecstatic/on cloud nine after I sat and looked through it over my lunch. It’s safe to say I’m worlds away from home here and without internet, television and only a brief weekly chat with my parents I don’t really see much of what’s going on at home. I had been informed that there was a News Record article written about the WWS program connecting Mrs. Ceccacci’s class to me and my experience here but I had absolutely no idea to what extent. To know that the class is rewarded for good work with “Sara time” was touching. But I then learned how much outside work the students have done learning about Azerbaijan, their culture and economy and the Peace Corps in general. (I wish I could get brownie point system from PC for spreading their message!) And they even shared it with other students in the school by making posters in the hallway. To know I’m reaching even more people with what I’m doing here means more than I can say.

There are many days that I’m not sure my message is getting across or my students aren’t interested. I often feel the local town people don’t understand why I’m here, what a volunteer is and that just because I’m American it doesn’t mean I have a lot of money… this album will help make up for that.

I’m so excited to show my students this week-lessons are always better when there are real people/things behind it. And they will see how much the 5th grade class back in Maplewood, N.J. cares about them. And I’m excited to look through this album again on the tough days, to remember why I’m here. For even when I can’t be excited I can be reminded that there are others who are excited for me.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! You’ve filled my Wednesday and my entire week with smiles. I sincerely look forward to meeting all of you when I come home. J

Moving always brings another adventure in peace corps life. And since I’ve just moved into my own place (the 3rd in 1 1/2 weeks and hopefully he last for awhile) I thought I’d document my new life as an independent Zerdabian.

8:30 a.m. Wake up to the sounds of roosters (not new) and an owl (a new sound). Relish in the thought that although there are farms at home in the states I cannot recall waking up to this sound. Lay in my hammock of a bed and thank peace corps for the warm sleeping bag I’m tucked in. Think about how normal things have become: my daily routine, the sounds around me, the atmosphere and landscape and pretty much knowing what I’ll encounter everyday.

The day is overcast but not cold—perhaps the only perk of living in the hottest region. I get up and walk the 100 meters to my bathroom (outhouse) making sure to switch house slippers to yard slippers as I go (another normalcy.)

8:45 a.m. Sweep the outside steps and carry some water from the tap in the yard to my electric teapot and begin to boil. A funny smell and some discoloration comes from the teapot so I decide to wash it in the tap. Washing dishes is now a squatting activity that occurs out in my garden where the water runs through a pipe. Your initial reaction may be “how annoying and inconvenient” but I have running water. Some volunteers do not and must lug water from a well, boil and then clean between 2 buckets. I consider myself lucky.

8:55 a.m. Clear out the shelves from my kitchen (or what would be a kitchen if I had any kitchen essentials) and begin sweeping what seems to be 10 years of dust and corner creatures. I think to myself how if I wasn’t grateful for my girl scout camp training then I certainly am grateful now. All those duties at camps and adjusting to the various musty smells that come with camping have helped me prepare for today.

downstairs porch

9:10 a.m. Develop a list of things I need to buy: Gas stove, light bulbs, towels to dry dishes, bucket for washing dishes and clothes, sharp knives for cutting, matches. Only the essentials for today. I still need to buy an oven and small refrigerator. I cringe at the thought of what this all will cost me. I decide to head out to the store in hopes that the earlier I go the less people will be out on the streets and thus the fewer glares I’ll attractive.

9:20 a.m. Arrive at market I’ve seen gas burners in before. I ask how much it will be and am shocked to hear 35 manat in response. My host mother said she thought I’d only have to spend 10 or 12 manat for two. Ugh. I decide to put off buying for another day to make sure I can’t find a better deal. I buy 2 light bulbs and some gardening gloves.

9:44 a.m. Talk with the owner of a nearby market. Ask where he knows of another market that sells 2 gas stove burners and if there is one cheaper than 35 manat. Explain that my friend has moved (Hiba lived nearby and was good friends with this owner). I leave knowing he’s going to ask a shop at the other side of town and find out the price of a small fridge, gas stove and oven. I’m sad I have to return home without a gas stove today and will have to put it off another day. Decide I can heat up the leftover food my host family gave me on the petch.

10:06 a.m. Return home. Install 2 light bulbs: on the porch and in the kitchen. Gather some dishes and wash in the new bucket I’ve bought. Encounter a bird flying around my kitchen and back away as I let it out the door. Note that I should purchase some curtains to hang outside the doors so that I can leave the doors open to let in air but not animals. Light the petch-only takes 2 matches and I’m satisfied with my success as my host family is seriously worried about my safety alone. “Etiyach ol!” they’ve said numerous times. (“Be Careful!) I wash a large pot and carry to the petch to boil water for tea. Do another round of dishwashing and set up some newspaper on the shelves to place the clean plates.

10:58 a.m. Sit down to write in my blog. Wish the water was already hot for tea.

11:13 a.m. Receive a call from the post office that I have either a letter or package. “Geliriam” I am coming.

11:27 a.m. Check to see if the water is boiling on the petch. Not yet -am hungry and really wanting some hot water for tea. Patience may get the best of me. I decide to head up the mushroom and egg dish my host family gave me. I try to avoid the grease but it’s rather difficult. I think to myself how many times I said I’d be eating healthier and less greasy once I had my own place…

the river just a block from my house

12:39 p.m. I’m beginning to put away some of my clothes into the wardrobe in my bedroom when I hear someone calling for me from the yard. My host mother, father and sister have come by to check on me. I know they’d be worried about me and ask if I’m afraid to be alone (this question gets asks daily.) Shirla also asks me if I miss them-despite seeing them yesterday, her helping me set up last night and her calling me last night-I say of course I miss them. She inspects the house to see what I’ve done. I show her how I’d cleaned the dishes like I said I would and I bought light bulbs. She asked what I ate today (of course) and I told her the mushroom dishes he gave me yesterday. When she asks how I heated it up without the gas stove I told her on the petch. She’s impressed I could do this on my own and again tells me “Etiyach ol!” I show her how I turned off the gas once I was done. I think she’s beginning to see I can handle some things on my own.

1 p.m. Get back to unpacking my clothes. Really hoping I don’t have to do this again. I’d be happy staying in one place for the next year and 9 months. This is asking a lot though. Find a kitkat, junior mints and peanut m&ms that I bought back before leaving the states. I remember thinking I would need some American comfort candy on the bad days. Ironically you can find m&ms and kitkats in certain regions (not Zerdab) but despite not having eaten them so far, I’m glad I at least have them.

Listening to music I go about my work most of the day…and if there’s one thing I’m grateful for having here it’s my computer. It was the #1 thing on my packing list and I am amazed at volunteers who don’t bring one. I turn on my computer everyday if only to just listen to music or watch some tv/movie at night. I don’t know what I would do without it.

2:28 p.m. Finish up unloading one of my boxes of food and goodies from care packages I received from home. Most of the stuff I’ve been trying to save for when I have my own place. Take out a Stretch Island Fruit Co. fruit roll up Anjali sent me for valentine’s day/my birthday. Most of my candy and sweets I haven’t been able to eat since Lent. I bite into it thinking of her and wondering when the last time I had a fruit roll up was. Ahh to be a kid again.

3:05 p.m. Wander through the garden and notice all that needs to be done to clean it up. Spring has let many green little plants sprout and I’m unsure which are weeds and which are edible plants. See all the old vines and branches that need to be cleared out—it’s obvious no one has lived here in awhile. Pick up a large stone to use by the water pipe and am reminded of my father who’s constantly finding rocks around New Jersey and bringing them home for our yard. Really wishing I had his gardening skills and green thumb. I suppose that the yard will take up a lot of time and I’ll learn through practice. Maybe by the time I leave here I can teach him a thing or two about growing vegetables!

my eggplants!

3:18 p.m. Gather up my things to head over to the post office on my way to my host family’s and then to my counterparts to plan for this week’s lesson. Excited at the thought that Earth Day is this week and hopefully I can find some interested students to participate in an Earth Day activity with me.

I’ve had 24 others, and they all stood out in different ways, but this year my birthday is obviously unique to the prior years. In many ways I never really believe it’s my birthday; it creeps up on me. Out of all the days in the year it takes about a day for it to sink in and by the time it does it’s already the 18th. This year has brought a lot of reflection for how it feels to be 25, similar to the way that New Year’s causes me to reflect on the past year. But because it’s the quarter century and feels bigger than many other years I’m reflecting on all of my years, not just the last one. Turning 20 felt huge to me. Only because I remember being 6-years-old and thinking that 20 was so old, such a great age and it felt so long away. My how time flies. I say that almost everyday now. And even though 20 felt like a big deal…here I am, already five years later. Where will I be next year?...and where will I be five years from now? Sometimes I just want to slow down time and let it soak in. And sometimes I want to go back. I feel like we get so busy doing things with life that we don’t actually realize that where we are right now, is where we’re supposed to be. As far away I am from home and so many people I love and care about and want to hug and be with…I know I’m supposed to be here. It feels really incredible to be in this experience turning this age. I know I’ll forever look back on my 25th birthday and remember I was here, hopefully helping someone and remember this day…and the coming year.

Today I had my 5th form class. We have just learned birthday and we sang the happy birthday song to some of the students who had birthdays last week. Today the students sang to me, without being asked to. I brought cookies to give out and explained that in the U.S. when it’s our birthdays we bring sweets to share with our classmates. A few students gave me cards and stickers and one girl even gave me a flower. It was so sweet and touching. After class I went to the bazaar to splurge on some bananas (yes, they’re super expensive—I will forever be grateful to eat a banana or two a day when I’m home again.) Hiba and I made banana pancakes for lunch. I have my conversation club on Tuesday afternoons and although some volunteers take a day “off” for their birthday I actually really enjoy this club and the kids in it. I went to the club and was a little concerned when only one of them had come at just a little after 3 p.m. They’re all usually on time, if not a little early. I was worried that they might had forgotten but at about 3:05 Hiba went downstairs to look for some students and one of my students in the 7th form came in and asked me to come with her. I locked the door and went downstairs to see all the students in the club and 5 teachers in another classroom. They sang Happy Birthday to me, had a cake and tea and wrote a very nice message to me on the board. They each gave me a few gifts and we decided to cancel English club for the week and just hang out. I was really touched and actually quite surprised…I wasn’t aware they could fool me and keep it a secret.

After the party, Hiba and went back to my house and had more cake and tea with my host family…they think I look more like 15 than 25 which is flattering but when I show them a picture of me the summer before high school I’m amazed that it was already 10 years ago! Then Hiba and I baked some cookies (nothing like too many sweets on a birthday!) and curled up to watch a movie. This has become our tradition in celebrating holidays away from home: cook a good meal and watch a movie.

Just in time I received a package from Anjali last week and a card from Meg and package from Rachel yesterday. (They all came within just 10 days!) I waited to open each of them today. As I sat in my room this morning, I have to say it was really great to feel like I had three of my best friends here with me on my birthday. What incredible friends. J There is nothing that is more important to me while I’m here than feeling supportive by the people at home. And while I’m reflective of this year and my life now and life ahead I’m still kind of bewildered at how my life led me here. How just 2 years ago I would have never imagined I’d be here doing this. But how now I can’t imagine being anywhere else.

I look at what’s happened in the past 5 years and I’m kind of amazed…the personal changes I’ve gone through, the person I’ve become. I can’t take any of the credit though because I really owe everything I am to the people in my life..

So I want to send a truly heartfelt thanks to everyone who has written, emailed or just read my blog. You’ve made my day because just knowing you care helps me in more ways than I can possibly explain. To anyone who is spreading the message that there is a country called Azerbaijan and that you know someone in it: you’re helping me achieve one of the Peace Corps goals. To Anj, Meg & Rachel: thanks so much for the CDs, pictures, letters, magazines and snacks! To my sitemate, Hiba: I will probably continue to say for the entire 2 years but I’m SO grateful that she’s here with me as a friend to lean on and huge support system (a happy birthday to her since her big 23rd was this Saturday!) And of course to my parents: they have guided me to make some really great decisions thus far, and I thank them for trusting me in making this decision for myself. I know it wasn’t easy for them but they mean so much to me and I look forward to their visit later this year…as do many of the people in Zerdab!

Here’s to the next chapter… miss you all.

This week marked the beginning of my teaching. All the preparations and training from PST, three weeks of observations and lesson planning came down to Monday morning and it’s safe to say I was nervous as any of my first days of school. But being nervous is normal in the beginning (according to my father, and he is indeed right) because it just means you want to do a good job.

I’ve chosen to begin teaching with two English teachers (counterparts) and if time allows possibly work with more. By concentrating my time with just two teachers I’ll [hopefully] be more successful in improving their teaching strategies, thus being more effective. If I work with too many teachers I’d just be spreading myself too thinly.

The first day went much better than expected. I'm grateful because my first/primary counterpart understands lesson planning and is actually interested in working together. (Some other volunteers work with counterparts who simply want the volunteers to do all the work, thus, not wanting to improve their teaching techniques or sustaining anything the volunteer does.) My belief in coming here initially is that I’d help the students speak better English, however now I’m focusing more on helping the teachers improve their teaching approaches. And if this should (hopefully) work then the children will benefit, improve their English, now while I’m here, and the teachers can continue to use these techniques after I leave, thus continuing to help future students speak English=sustainability! The teachers don’t know this though. It’s just easier to act like my goal is to improve the children’s’ speaking abilities, which it is, I’m so excited when I see growth, but the primary goal is to get the teachers to include more: visual aids, class exercises, games/activities, speaking conversations and getting the children to learn how to speak about themselves.

My primary counterpart is really great. She studied English in university and graduated in 1986. I’m amazed at how well she speaks and the fact that she studied so long ago when English wasn’t as popular. She was able to maintain her language ability since then just by studying herself. She knows so many grammar rules (pretty much what the teachers here live by while we focus more on conversation and practical language). I was also excited when she told me she used to do songs and poem translations in her classes. She even has some old visual aids that she drew herself. She wasn’t currently using them in her classes possibly because other teachers don’t use anything creative, prepare work after school or teach a lesson without the textbook (which has numerous errors and terrible exercises.) So I have to show her how we can incorporate these things back into her teaching. A little bit of encouragement and she seemed excited/flattered that I liked her ideas.

While I’m only teaching about 12-15 hours a week, lesson planning takes so much more time. On Sunday night my counterpart and I planned for three 45 minutes lessons and it took about 2 hours. That was only one day of teaching. We had to meet again on Tuesday night to plan for the rest of the week. In the beginning it takes longer and hopefully we’ll be able to plan in less time once we know how we flow together, different activities that kids understand and are effective.

I decided to work with the 6th, 7th and 9th form (grade) with my first counterpart and the 5th form with my second counterpart. These classes were the best behaved and seemed most interested in actually learning English. The 10th and 11th forms tend to give up learning as their either preparing for their university exam or just ready to be done with school. My first goal was to have the kids make name cards so I can learn their names and they can practice speaking. I also let them color them and they were a bit taken aback at first—coloring? In school? Is that allowed?—but they loved it and seemed excited at the chance to be creative. The next class while I was handing out their nametags, I saw some students had made another one at home since I hadn’t told them I would bring them back. This was so heartwarming to me! They enjoyed it and wanted to make a nicer one than the class time had allowed! Small victories…and baby steps.

The biggest challenge I’ll have besides encouraging my counterparts will be to get the students to speak more about themselves. Their current lessons are based around reading and memorizing a text that sometimes has nothing to do with their own country. They may learn about the history of England and the food British people eat but none of that memorization is practical for them to have a conversation in English. They can memorize a dialogue between a Bill and Mary but they can’t talk to one another about their own names. They know a lot of vocabulary words but when I ask them to make a sentence with these words they’ll say something like “My father is a car.” It’s actually hard not to laugh at this but it’s not their fault. And it’s not the teacher’s fault either. The system hasn’t shown them proper and effective ways for these students to speak English—English that will be helpful to them in their own lives. In our lesson planning I’m trying to encourage my counterparts to leave out things that aren’t relevant from the text, include things about Azerbaijan and have students write sentences about themselves.

I also am really adamant about using activities and games to help them learn. Getting the students out of their seats, working in pairs and groups and letting them be creative. I show my counterparts that if students are interested in the learning they’ll be more likely to do the work and thus, will learn more. If they’re bored, (which I was quite often while observing some of the lessons, though I didn’t say this to them) then they won’t enjoy learning and will probably learn much less. Plus, I loved coloring and activities as a child and it upsets me that these kids are deprived of that through their learning.

Most of these are my long-term goals because after just one week I see how much I have the work cut out for me. The next step is showing my second counterpart that we need to lesson plan together outside of school. All the teachers here don’t make much of a salary and give private lessons everyday of the week to make more money. Plus they’re mothers/females of Azerbaijan, which means they do all the cooking and cleaning of the house… which, in turn, leaves little to no time for…me/lesson planning. So far, with the first counterpart I’m glad we do the lesson planning together and seem to flow pretty well in the classroom, but I’ve been making the visual aids and full preparations myself. The trick in the end will be to get her to do these things too. I’m starting out small though since I don’t currently have a family to take care of.

Besides teaching…yesterday and today’s weather was rather warm. The high was in the 50’s and today I played kickball and volleyball with the kids of my host family and two neighbors. I was so thrilled at getting them outside of the house/away from the TV and getting them to be active-as kids should be! Plus, it was encouraging to know that this spring/summer the sports camp/club that Hiba and I want to start will have interested participants.

As PCVs we have ups and downs/highs and lows. But I’m proud to say that so far my lows have only been brief but my highs have lasted much longer, or at least I’m letting them. Starting slow…but with some patience…hopefully progress.