It's Saturday evening and I'm trying to study for the GREs. I'm exhausted despite the fact that I woke up at 2 in the afternoon. There's bags under the bags under my eyes. They're so dark it looks like mascara is running down from my bottom lashes but I haven't even brushed my teeth let alone put on make up. It's hot enough for the plastic cover on my living room table to be sticking to my legs but not hot enough to become dependent on the AC just yet. As an alternative, I keep the windows open and listen to the music stream in from the wedding hall across the road, the whirring wheels of boys on their bikes, crickets chirping, and the pak-pak-pak as neighbors walk by sleepily in their shap-shaps, plastic sandals. I'm exhausted, but I'm happy. This could quite possibly be the first time that I am completely happy with my life here. I'm happy with my work, with the friends I've made, and the life I am currently leading.

This past Tuesday was the start of Neftchala Summer Camp round Two. I couldn't be happier with the results. It was so much fun, and not just for the kids, but for me as well. Last year's was satisfying but I was a frustrated, stressed out mess. I couldn't even enjoy it. However, this time around, everything ran almost perfectly. The group of kids this year have just been so great. They help each other, play and work well with each other despite the age gaps, and are in general, much more respectful. It's gratifying to watch kids mature and grow after you've known them for some time. It's completely apparent year to year. There are some projects and events that take a while for you to recognize the effect and change you've made. This isn't one of them.

Now I want to share a few anecdotes from this week so that I can brag about my kids :)

Day 1:

In the original schedule, I had alloted 45 minutes to design and paint team flags. We ended spending close to three hours on it. This resulted in two beautifully painted and collaboratively decorated flags.

Day 2:

In a game of Elbow Tag, our youngest girl, Nargiz, kept on being picked by accident to be the person getting chased. She ran around squealing in both delight and fear of being tagged. The older boys recognized that she was getting tired and began looking after her and offering her help in the game.

Day 3, Excursion to the Absheron Peninsula:

The bus driver kept on getting lost on the way to all the sites. None of the kids complained. Not once.

When we arrived at Yanar Dag, the fiery mountain, Tehran, a 9th form boy, offered his hand to me as we climbed up the steps above the hill.

Elnur, a 10th form boy, bought his cousin, Ferid, lunch at McDonald's because he'd never eaten it before.

Ramazan, a 7th form boy, bought my counterpart and all us volunteers ice cream.

The kids were all accountable for each other every time we began to drive off. They all knew where the others were and that's how I knew, that they'd never leave a classmate behind.

They all said, Thank you, it was very, very nice, to me when we got home.

Day 4:

Everyone was exhausted after the 12 hour day before but they all were willing and excited to play games. It was a rough day for me. My Azerbaijani language wasn't coming out too well due to the fatigue. This resulted in a lot of confusion and some chaos. But despite my obvious frustration and my one freak out moment on them, they were still excited for Monday so we could start all over again.

I've worked a lot of camps in my short life. Inshallah this will be the last one. It'd be a great one to go out and retire my camp career on. I'm even looking forward to next week.

Goodnight friends. I'll be out of commission for the next 10 hours for beauty sleep. Again, Happy Summer.

I have never been a religious person. Not because I’m cynical and not because of science. I just have never been able to make that leap of faith that religion requires. I believe in the good fortunes I’ve received in my life, in my family and friends, the places I’ve been and seen, and the experiences I’ve encountered. I’ve also never fully understood religion. It was something for other people, but not me. I don’t look down upon it or avoid it. It was just always there; affecting many around me but not me. These past couple of months I have been helping my counterpart prepare for an English teachers program in America. It’d be an amazing opportunity for her to not only see the States but also learn new teaching methods from an American university and meet countless of other English teachers from all over the world. A year and a half ago, she could barely understand when I spoke to her. A year and a half ago, this would not have occurred to her to be in her realm of possibilities. But here she is today, in the final six. The application was a tedious process. We spent nights together writing it, asking for recommendations, and finding the proper documentation. She was the underdog. We come from a small town with few resources and little support. Many of our teachers couldn’t care less about improving the education they provide. It was a long shot, but I knew she had great potential. She didn’t tell everyone that she was applying. Only I, her family, and a select few knew what was happening. The select few were the people who do nimaz, those who prayed five times a day. “Pray for me,” she told them. She was so nervous when she hit the send button for the application. She knew I wasn’t religious. She also knew my father wasn’t religious. “Please Claris, asks your mom to pray for me.” And I did. A week later she received a phone call from the US Council requesting an interview in Baku. We took a taxi early in the morning. Arriving in the capital three hours before her appointment, we grabbed breakfast at McDonald’s. She could barely sit still. Then we left for the embassy. I waited for her in the Turkish café across the street with a cup of Ceylon tea. When she was done, I watched her cross the street from my window table on the second floor. I could tell right away that she didn’t feel comfortable about her performance. “It will be okay,” I assured her. “I’m sure you did great.” “I just pray to God that everything will be okay,” she replied.While waiting for the bus to leave home, she received a phone call. “Yes?” she asked. A smile began to curve its way upward. “Yes? Yes!” I grabbed her arm, heart pounding. “Thank you so much!” She hung up. “Claris, you can’t believe!” We both would have jumped up and down in celebration if it weren’t for our cramped seats in the back of the bus. Everyone turned to watch our explicit excitement. She began to call her friends and family. “I made it to the next round! Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for praying for me.” And when I left her, “Claris, please thank your mom for praying for me. And can you ask her to pray for me for the TOEFL test?” And I did. The next few weeks I helped her study for the TOEFL exam, but it was difficult. The material was just too difficult to cover in such a short time. I have never seen her look so worried. My parents sent her a Barron’s prep book. A couple days before the test she told me, “I think everything will be good. Because I have you, I have my book, and I have many friends to pray for me.” She hugged me.I get it. I completely get it. Religion is comforting. In a place like here where life can be so unpredictable, religion gives warmth and security and hope. It’s faith in someone that will answer you; who will take care of you. It’s support. Watching her, at times I wished I had that unwavering faith; that I could make that leap. But without that faith, I can’t say that I believe in God. But can it only be God that we put our faith into? Because I have faith; I have a lot of faith. In fact, I have a lot of faith in people like her. And that should count for something.

I recently received a few guests into my adopted country. My mom, dad, and Nate came for a visit over Novruz break. It was such a revitalizing way to recount all the things that I do enjoy here and a reminder of all the things I have had to grow accustomed to. While in the Peace Corps community, Azerbaijan is dubbed as “Posh” Corps (reference to the DSL internet, cell phones, convenient living arrangements- running water and electricity), a quick glance at my mother’s face as she gingerly stepped into my living room, hands in pocket, and discontent in her inspections, shed a glaring truth that I have not reflected on in over a year. My living room, Little America, is not actually America. As it turns out, second nature can develop in a short time span. Water conservation, avoiding goose poop, kissing strange women on the cheek in greeting, drinking five cups of tea without having to use the restroom, and wearing the same clothes for over a week are natural reflexes… now. But watching my mother, (I’m sorry Mom) whose emotions can be read like the letter “E” at the top of an optical examination, made it clear to me that these are foreign ,cultural, everyday actions. Before they came, my counterpart asked me what she could do to make everyone feel more comfortable when we went over for dinner. I told her they might ask for a knife to cut meat with. She laughed nervously and said she only had large kitchen knives and dull butter knives. I told her that I used to ask my host family for a knife when we ate meat, but had quickly fallen out of the habit. She asked me, now, when you eat dinner at home by yourself, do you use a knife? I paused a moment, started laughing, and answered, no. Laughing again, she said, You are like us. Besides pointing out the bizarre daily habits I’ve acquired, my parents and Nate were also able to show me all the great things that happen in my life here. Watching them interact with my adopted families and friends, re-experiencing the great abundance of Azerbaijani hospitality, and witnessing the expressions of appreciation from both sides were incredibly rejuvenating. It was a great culmination of both of my worlds and I’m so happy to have had both of them meet the other. Of course, it could have just as easily gone the other way. I know of PCVs who’ve had visitors who pointed out all the negative things in this country; things that we have let slide over time. But this wasn’t the case. It was a great visit filled with numerous cups of Ceylon tea, pastries and sweets galore, courageous and accommodating taxi drivers leading us through the desert, plov, plov, plov, mayonnaise salads, broken toilets, fumbled translations, and fantastic company. Now, all I can hope for, is for part of my world here to experience part of my world over there. That being said, all I can say is, please send good luck over to my counterpart. She deserves every bit of what she is currently working for.

**To be very fair indeed, my mother did an exceptional job roughing it PCV style. She flushed down her own poop all by herself, ate lamb, didn’t get sick, rode the night train which is not the easiest thing to do, and kissed dirty bazaar women. You did very well Mama. So here’s to you: Kudos!

Besides the obvious of course, such as internet, cars etc. here's a list of my personal favorite inventions that have either helped me out in so many ways here or I have painstakingly longed for:

1.Spin cycle of a washing machine

2.iPod dock

3. Bleach

4.Hot water bottle

5.Plunger

6.Mummy sleeping bag

7 Ear plugs

8.Non-stick frying pan

9.Cement side walks

10.Electrical water heater

Mom, Dad, and Nate all arriving in less than 48 hours!!! Yipee!

It was the final step. I was sitting in the local notary office with my landlady waiting for the small, shrill, overly authoritative woman to give us the hand written document. I had just spent the last four days running around to various places to collect all the bits of documentation I needed to renew my foreigner‘s residence card. It all started when one of the three zaroofs of my school, (translation is principal but the position is more like vice-principal), spoke to me for the first time. This year this position was filled by a teacher I had not previously known. He’s an elderly, bespectacled man, with a permanent scowl on his bushy browed face which sits atop his lush, green velvet suit covered body. He told me the police station had called and told me to come down to renew my ID. I asked him what I needed. He shrugged and replied that he didn’t know. I called Jeyhun, our fantastically efficient head of security for Peace Corps, and he informed me that I needed a local’s passport and proof of their house ownership so I could be registered under their home. It was simple enough. The following weekend, I paid a visit to my host mom’s sister-in-law who I give my rent to. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon which I spent playing with toy guns with her two overly rambunctious sons. She gave me her passport and the documents I needed. Done and done. On Tuesday, I put on my contacts for the first time in months, put on make up, brushed my hair and wore a respectable sweater and scarf combo. I had to take an ID picture. This time, I found it less difficult to not smile in the Soviet-ski fashion. Although, I admit I practiced the expression in the mirror a few times before heading out the door. On Wednesday, I met with my director at school. He drove me to the Police Station in his wide, burgundy Mercedes. It was raining again as we walked up to the small side building that takes care of the region’s registrations. In the back room, we chatted with a friendly. elderly gentleman who introduced me to his new employee and asked if I had remembered the last woman who filled that position last year. I hadn’t. After making copies of all the items I had brought, he explained to my director that he needed a notarized letter from my landlady explaining who I was, what I do here, and that I live with her. The following day, I found myself meeting her in front of the notary. We shuffled our way in into the small waiting room with the other 20 people waiting, papers in hand, to receive the stamp. After 15 minutes, my land lady pushed me out the door and told me to come back at 4 o’clock. There was no one there at 4 o’clock except for one man filling and signing a form. We went into the office, sat down politely, and my landlady began to explain what was needed. The woman impatiently listened, then went on with a long speech, much of which I couldn’t understand but could tell through my landlady’s reaction that the gist of what she was saying was that she didn’t understand. Finally she called the nice man from the police station in a telephone call that lasted about 10 minutes of friendly, personal exchange and not the professional information she required. My landlady intermittently gave small, soft sighs of exasperation. I smiled back sympathetically. Finally she told my landlady to write sentences she would dictate on a blank piece of printer paper. This would be the official document she would stamp and notarize. At this time, an electrician came in to install an electrical line in the corner of the office. He brought in two worn out plastic bags filled with wire, plugs, tape, and screw drivers. He took out a long chord of electrical wire, still completely encased in rubber, an electrical outlet, a screwdriver, and a kitchen knife. While my landlady wrote the letter, I watched the electrician’s fingers which were thicker than they were long, expertly scrape off the rubber at the end of the chords with the knife letting the pieces fly at my face and feet. He quickly twisted the small chords together and inserted them into the outlet. Fumbling with the small screwdriver in his massive, almost clumsy fingers, he tightened the wires into place. My landlady had just started on a new piece of paper because she made a mistake writing the previous letter. On Friday morning I went back to the police station. I handed the notarized letter to the nice gentleman and he began to fill out the form for my new ID card. While I waited to give him my signature at the bottom of the form, the two ladies who also worked there offered me a peroshki and a cup of tea. I didn’t hesitate with my acceptance. Thirty minutes later, the gentleman finished translating my name into Azerbaijani letters with precise, sharply, slanted cursive (for example, he replaced the “C” to a “K” because “C” is pronounced like “J”.) I signed the form and he told me to return on the following week to pick up the card. I said thank you, see you soon, and skipped out the door. I walked across the bridge to the avtovagzal, backpack on, iPod in hand, and headed to Baku.

**I started writing this on the day of Peace Corps’ Anniversary, March 1st, but shortly after became deathly ill and therefore stayed in bed for three days watching last year’s Oscar Awards which I have on DVD hoping to make myself feel better by pretending that I was in America. Now that I’ve escaped the deadly grasps of bronchitis, strep throat, or maybe even TB (it was unclear at one point) I will continue with the over abundance of praise and admiration I have for the Peace Corps until you begin saying to yourself, “What a company girl she is.”**

Today is the 50th Anniversary of Peace Corps. When I’m sitting at home alone at site, huddled around my gas heater clutching a big mug of Ceylon tea, with the closest volunteer more than an hour away from me, it’s hard to remember that I’m a part of a momentous, historical legacy involving over 200,000 present and returned volunteers. I forget that I am part of this huge government agency that embraces true grassroots efforts, local self-determination, and the most basic transfers of cultural exchange. It’s a humbling realization. Personally, I haven’t done anything that will have a large impact over this country, but as a collective, I stand next to people who have prevented HIV/AIDS, improved agricultural techniques, taught thousands of children, built houses and community centers. It’s empowering. The world is never going to recognize my name, but I’m a part of something great that is in fact, changing the world. And that’s enough. It’s often a thankless job. A large majority of the time, I even forget to commend or even acknowledge my own efforts. But the times when a small thank you comes my way… Do you know that movie The Back-Up Plan? Terrible movie except for that hunky hunk that Jennifer Lopez unrealistically falls in love with after being artificially inseminated resulting in twin red headed girls that look nothing like her. Sorry I digress. But there’s a line in the movie about children that goes something like this, “Well first it’s bad. Then really bad, then bad, bad, and bad. But then something happens that’s just so amazing… And then something else happens and it’s bad, it’s bad, it’s bad.” That’s how I feel all the time. It’s like my body has been injected with an extra dose of every human emotion that leaves me crumpled up in bed diving head first into a pan bigger than my waist of brownies or unexpectedly walking ten feet above the ground, the radiance of my heart reaching out to the Caspian Sea. It can be pretty exhausting. But at times like this, I just think, around the world every volunteer knows exactly how I’m feeling right now. It’s such a unique transition. Before I applied, I saw a sign that said “Peace Corps: The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love.” I wanted it. Right away, I wanted that. In a commemorative video, in an old black and white advertisement, the same exact slogan tried to reach out to Americans across the country. Fifty years ago, did those volunteers feel the same things I am now? It’s very likely. It’s easy to indulge in the isolation, but I am not alone. I am very much, not alone.

Congratulations President Kennedy and Sergeant Shriver. Happy Birthday Peace Corps.

Commemorative videoPresident Kennedy Announces Executive Order for Peace CorpsPresidential Proclamation for Peace Corps 50th Anniversary from President ObamaPeace Corps' Legacy Video

A few weeks ago, the group of us in AZ7 had our Mid-Service Conference. It was the first time we have all been together since we completed our training in Sumgayit over one year ago. It was a big deal; a huge indicator of our time here. After this conference, we have one more, and then we're home. It's hard not to think about the progress I have or haven't made here; to analyze and evaluate the work I have and haven't been able to do. If you've been keeping up with the blog, you'll find that adaptation is the on-going theme here and a motto I continually refer back to. I have shifted and adapted my goals, perceptions, and sentiments about my service so many times, that's it hard to remember and compare how I felt about it in the past. Coincidentally, our bi-yearly Volunteer Report Forms (VRFs) were due and we were forced to sit back, reflect, and process our services in a way that was tangible to headquarters in DC. We were asked to list our projects, the number of participants, to recount cultural adaptation strategies, and success stories. This may seem like a, though tedious, menial task. It's just basic paperwork. But for us PCVs, whose work is a constant ebb and flow of personal relationships, cordial greetings, and the constant maintenance of our reputations, this paperwork was a frustrating and impossible act of recounting our service through the checking of boxes and fill in the blanks. Needless to say, there was some tension at our conference.

Without going into detail, a discussion of what is considered a "success" (yes, this word "success" again) by PCVs and our VRFs was brought into debate. For the entire organization of Peace Corps, sustainability is the greatest goal. This is the reason why we're all here. We don't become members of a community just to build houses, give computers, and walk away. We're all about skills transfer. Peace Corps is definitely founded on the basis of, Give a man a Fish and you have fed him for Today. Teach a man to Fish, and you have fed him for a Lifetime. I'm all about it. Sustainability is the ultimate achievement. This is why my relationship and the work I do with my counterpart is the most important to me: skills transfer. However, in Azerbaijan reality, the large majority of the work we do will end when we leave. It's the sad truth. Many of us begin our service seeking for the one big project we can leave behind. Many of us leave without accomplishing it. And the few who do leave something, often learn later, when they have returned to their snug homes in America, that the project collapsed immediately. I've seen it happen. We've all seen it happen. I'm painting a depressing picture, I know and you might think, Then what's the point of it all? I used to sit at home and go over in my mind all the different projects I could try to start and they all ended in a dead end. It used to depress me as well. But then a friend said the wisest words I've heard yet: Memories are Sustainable.

And so I leave you with a snippet of my VRF. It's about my most sustainable work here which, as it turns out, has been the easiest. The work consists of chatting, watching romantic comedies on Friday afternoons, shopping for birthday presents and of course some English teaching. About my wonderful counterpart:

My biggest success is my relationship with my counterpart. Since the beginning of this school year, we have built a strong friendship. We often spend time together outside of school, share personal interests, and have worked more diligently on a supplemental curriculum for our students. She is the person I am closest to at site and is a true counterpart. Neither of us would be able to achieve the kind of work we are doing without the other. She has a broader view of what is possible within and outside of our classroom and is in the practice of asking for more. This is a person that I already know I have had a positive reaction from. I can already tell that she is becoming a better teacher due to our joint progress.

Last but most certainly not least... Auntie Liza, we will never forget you. Not only did the you make the average height of our group taller by at least 10%, you were hilarious and caring in a way that all people should be. You'll always be a part of the Four. I'll be sure to share a Corona with you every Valentine's Day... <3

Here are a few fun links to help commemorate Peace Corp's 50th Anniversary. They're pretty accurate descriptions of what life is like for PCVs. I think they're hilarious.Enjoy!

Peace Corps Challenge from Peace Corps Mongolia:

https://docs.google.com/fileview?id=0B2YDS7Pm6kwEOWY5MGI5OTctN2E0NC00Yjk3LTg3ZTItNWQwYTg0ODdmNzk2&hl=en

Definition of Peace Corps from Urban Dictionary:

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=peace+corps

Bread is never thrown away. If someone sees a piece of bread on the ground, they will pick it up and place it on a higher platform, for example, fences, window sills, stair rails. Men will always give their seats to women on the bus. Bathrooms are split into two rooms: the hamam (shower) and the tualet (toilet.) Sandals are always worn in the hamam. Tea is always drunken with cubes of sugar or candy. Tea is thought to be healthier than water because water will either make you fat or sick.When you go to someone’s house, you are always served at least one cup of tea.Guesting (a term coined by PCVs) consists of going to someone’s house, drinking tea with them, sharing a meal, drinking more tea, watching Turkish soap operas, teaching their kids several words in English, maybe playing some games with them, meeting their extended family, and possibly offered the option to stay overnight.On average, guesting is a four hour activity with the minimum lasting two hours and the maximum lasting days.Bringing a small gift, such as chocolate, is a cordial offering for guesting. However, your hosts will never open it and share it with you. Being overweight is thought to be ugly, but if you become thinner, they think you’re not eating enough and become concerned for your well being. Women are typically incredibly skinny until they are married. Once they are married, it’s the time to gorge. The only people who exercise in this country are adolescent boys and young men. The boys play football all afternoon and the young men are soldiers. Shoes are never worn in the house.Shoes are always spotless. In the winter the roads are covered with at least one inch of mud from the rain.The everyday clothing for males between the ages of 8 and 30 are dark, tight jeans, black shirts, and thin, black, down jackets, and black pointy dress shoes. For men over the age of 30, the day to day dress is a suit. In the home, men wear dress shirts and track pants. For young girls aged 8-30, the day to day wear consists of dark fitted denim, black high heels, and camel or black short trench coats. For women older than 30, they wear long mid calf black skirts, black boots, black leather jackets or dark brown faux fur jackets.For women of all ages, “house dresses” are worn in the home. These are long, terry clothed material, zippered house robes with neon colored trimmings often decorated with cartoon animals or misprinted English words.With the exception of the hottest months of summer, socks are always worn in fear of becoming sick.There are more hair salons for men than for women.Only men drive cars. Driving requires the full spectrum of senses. Honking is the strategy to alert people of your presence. Ladas account for the largest percentage of cars here. Mercedes is the second most popular.Both are made into taxis. In most places, taxis are 1 manat to get anywhere in town.Women are not allowed to sit on the bare floor because it will freeze their ovaries. After a couple is married, the bride moves in with her husband’s family.If the couple lives in a different city than the family, the woman lives with the husband’s family for the last couple months of her pregnancy until the 40th day birthday of the newborn.On the 40th day after a baby is born, the family holds a party and breaks a large sugar mold to share with family and friends.When there is any kind of celebration, a birthday, an engagement, a newborn, chocolate is brought by the person celebrating to share. For example, children bring chocolate to teachers and classmates on their own birthday.New Year’s is celebrated like how we celebrate Christmas due to the Russian Orthodox influence upon a Muslim country. Therefore, Santa Claus comes to Azerbaijan on the 31st and not the 25th.The language of Azerbaijan is Azerbaijani which is closely related to Turkish. However, most older generations speak Russian from the days of Soviet Rule. In fact, Cyrillic was adopted as the alphabet but was changed a little over 10 years ago.People only listen to music and TV at one volume: Loud.Forks, spoons, and fingers are the only utensils used for eating. Meat is picked off bones with fingers. There is usually only one butter knife in every house and if placed on the table, shared by everyone.Amongst women, nothing discussed is off limits.Arranged marriages between cousins are not uncommon.Gold caps are used for all dental issues.Everyone has a cell phone and multiple SIM cards.When an Azerbaijani knocks on your door, they will do it repeatedly for about 5 minutes until you answer the door or realize that you are not home.When an Azerbaijani calls you and you do not pick up, they will call you 10 more times immediately after that.Popular TV programs are soap operas, usually coming from Latin America, dubbed in Turkish. Currently the most popular one is set in Brazil and India to portray multiculturalism interacting with each other at its best.Most Azerbaijanis have not travelled outside of their home town except to go to the capital, Baku. However, when you mention a region they will tell you all about the one thing that it is famous for. For example, my region, Neftchala is famous for its fish therefore I must eat a lot of fish. Lenkeran is known for its lemons and Quba is known for its apples. I’ve never bought fish here.If you tell an Azerbaijani of any future plans, great or small, the response is always Inshallah, God willing or Allah Qoysa, If God Allows. And anything good in your life is received with an Allah Shekur, Thanks to God. Small talk happens in this sequence of sentences and questions. (Literal translations) Hello. How are you? What do you have? What don’t you have? You’re good? Good. Yourself is good? Good. Thank you. Safe travels. This entire conversation usually happens without stopping and within 30 seconds shouted along the street.When asked “How are you?” The typical answer is “Thank you.” I guess there just isn’t time for “I’m good” or “I’m ok.” But they do have the time to say “thank you” at least twice.Since it is winter, an extra question is added to the basic small talk. It happens after around “What don’t you have?” The question is “Do you have gas? You do? Thanks to God!”After you shower, someone will say to you “Hemishe temizlikde” which loosely translate to, Always be Clean. **Bonus: When you greet someone, if they are the same gender as you, you kiss them on their cheek once, sometimes twice. Men will shake hands at the same time as the kiss. If it's someone of the opposite sex, depending on the degree that you know them, you might just say hello, shake their hand, or kiss them on the cheek as well. Azerbaijanis don't hug in the American sense.

Most of these are just part of everyday life for me. It took me two days to finally fill a quota of 50. Really, what’s strange anymore?

Consider all your successes a big success, no matter how trivial or menial.

I left site for a few days for a much needed vacation to Tbilisi for New Years. It was perfect timing and a perfect way to escape the HUGE disappoint and failure that was Fall 2010. After wasting so much time and effort trying to convince my school’s director to give my counterpart and me our own room, we were denied, simply and blatantly. I ended the year with anxiety, disappointment, and self doubt which is sharply juxtaposed to the way I had started the school year: motivated, confident, and energized. In a short three months, complacency had sunk in its sharp, contagious claws and took hold. (If counting successes is a survival tool, complacency is THE defense tool.) I was stuck and little by little my heart was falling apart.

I honestly didn’t know it was this bad… until it became the time to leave for my trip, and I realized I was running, full speed ahead, without looking back. New Year’s was amazing. It will be one of those that’ll I keep recounting and reminiscing about in my old age. I came back rejuvenated, yet still apprehensive about returning to the mess, or actually to the nothingness, that was waiting for me at site. But then I remembered, Count your successes. In the first two days that I’ve been back, I’ve received so many.

Success. Having the boy that works the evening shift at your favorite store defend you from a group of insignificant, immature, cultureless boys who are throwing out disrespectful words at you. Success. At the post office, you strike up a conversation with three ladies, one of whom is the mother of one of your students, and discuss better teaching methods. Success. Aforementioned student told her mother who then told you that she now wants to become an English teacher, just like you. Success. Having your apple guy explain to two separate people that you’re not a seller of random things but an English teacher from America. Success. A student of yours excitedly tells you that he came in first in an Azerbaijani literature competition in the region. You didn’t have any helping hand in his win, but if he felt the need to tell you, then you are now a part of the group of people that he wants to share good news with. SUCCESS.

Count your successes. They matter, every single one of them. My students say “Hello! How are you?” to me, not “Salam.” To me, that’s a success. I’m not lowering my expectations. I merely have a broader spectrum of appreciation. That is the big lesson learned of 2010.

Here’s to the year 2011! May it be filled with countless successes that keep your heart full day to day and every day. Happy New Year!

This afternoon, class had finished and I was walking out of my school. On either sides of me were streams of students happy to be done for the day. The men, as usual, were standing on the side of the doors at the front of the steps, smoking and conversing with each other. I turned to two of them, said hello, and continued down the steps. Several students saw me and shouted out a quick “Hello!” as they rushed out. All of a sudden I heard one of the male teachers I had greeted begin to yell something. I turned behind me to see who he is yelling at with such eagerness and excitement. He is turned to the right side of the school by the gate the director drives his burgundy Mercedes through each morning. It’s usually never open. Right then, it was definitely open. The teacher was yelling at a student close to the gate. The small boy runs towards it, feverishly swinging his backpack every which way through the air. And that’s when I see it. A cow was attempting to make its entrance onto the campus. As chaotic and nervous as the student was with his wild, almost delirious, movements, the cow was completely calm and gentle in its. It took a few steps past the gate, chomping on something as it entered, saw the boy and simply turned around and walked out.

Cows are everywhere in Neftchala. I saw two of them just lying along the big main street yesterday, just hanging out. They looked so peaceful. I wonder how their owners keep track of them. Usually they’re milling around the trash bins. The trash bins here are these two feet tall, stone walls that are built on the side of the roads. They are three walled and usually do not do a good job containing the trash in any fashion. The trash spills out in every direction. When the garbage truck comes to collect it, about half of it gets left behind. Cows, ducks, geese, chickens, cats, and dogs fight over their meals here. The cows are the most intelligent and ruthless. They can see you coming with new trash bags and immediately begin eyeing it down and walking towards you. The first time a cow started making its way towards me, I panicked, made a big yelp, threw it as far away from me as I could and RAN all the way home.

I used to notice the cows more. I used to notice every single one standing in the street, lying in front of buildings, and rummaging through the trash. I don’t any more. I almost walked into one a while ago. It was sitting on the small dirt road I take to school and was the same brown color as the path. It was a gloomy day, I was rushing to class, and I almost ran into it. Who misses a big cow? When I return to America, will I be just as aware about the lack of cows as I am unaware here of all the surrounding cows? I ask myself these kinds of questions all the time? “Am I weird?” seems to be the recurring one.

This time, friends, I’ll be home…

Like this boy. But it won't be Folgers. It'll probably be Peets.(Youtube)

I meant to post this a lot sooner but then my internet stopped working for two weeks but it's back again! So for your birthday I'd like to give you this little number. I originally submitted it to the AZLander, a little PCV magazine run here in for us. But apparently the PC Staff deemed it too... expressive shall we say and massively edited it down. So for your present Gu Gu Rita, I give you the un-edited, not watered down version! Enjoy!

(Sook Gung, you're not going to become too excited about this one.)

Caution: Do Not Read While Eating… Or If You Don’t Like Reading About Poop

Neftchala has never been a popular gathering place for PCVs. For one thing, Neftçala translates to Oil Pit which does not appease to anyone’s desire unless you’re Tony Hayward of BP. It is also, what my host mom calls, a “dead end” geographically (although she means metaphorically as well) as you have to pass through the desert sands of Salyan in order to “keç” (cross) over. The Neftçala mashruts don’t even leave from the normal Titanic vağzal. (The main bus station in Baku is modeled after the Titanic. It literally looks like a ship on land.) You have to travel across Baku to the Sederek Ticaret (a huge market), another horrible place where they hustle you to sell things. (No wait, that’s only if you’re me/look like me as “all Asians do.”) However, there has never been a better time to visit Neftchala. This good fortune can be attributed to many factors, not excluding more winning personalities in this town than has been seen thus far in PC AZ history. So without further a due, I’d like to tell you about… America.

America is, no, not the country of coffee, avocados, bacon, real showers, driving cars, short-shorts, Dairy Queen, and anything-but-Xan based drinks. America is my dining room. America is on Heydar Aliyev Prosp. Bine 5b Apt. 36. America has, for starters BBC, Al Jazeera in English, and another French News Channel in English. Not to mention a sometimes working Disney Channel with which you can fantasize about the Jonas Brothers to your greatest delight. (I’m pretty sure they’re all legal. Maybe we should clarify on the youngest one because he’s the most qesheng (cute) anyways.) There is also internet in this room. Currently, just at dial up but it’s a dial up with unheard of speediness; fast enough to skype without video. And if I haven’t convinced you enough yet, I have in my America, the most coveted item of a PCV’s service in this country: AIR CONDITIONING. That’s right folks. Salamelekum America-stan!

Of course, this paradise does not come without a price. There are the typical, but apartment specific water issues and right across the hallway of America-stan is… Azerbaijan: the tualet.

Two weeks ago, I housed a few girls who came to help with camp. One of the girls, who shall remain nameless immediately landed between my couch in America and the tualet in Azerbaijan due to dysentery issues. Three days were spent making the treacherous journey between the two nations. My poor little tualet. However, it does not end there. That week in the bazaar we found lettuce. Real lettuce. (Another reason to come to Neftçala.) The only bad thing about finding this lettuce in the bazaar is finding the lettuce the next day in the tualet. Let me just say that 6 girls eating more fiber than they had in 8 months made the trek to my little Azerbaijan a popular one. In addition, one of the girls was eating a crap ton of American fiber bars (pun intended) and another who already had shifty bowel movements before she came. Needless to say, the week’s biggest conversation topic… actually it was the second biggest, was about poop.

I come from a big poop conversation family as they all see it as an important health indicator so it’s nothing unusual for me to talk about the outings of your body in a social manner. (Let me further this statement by pointing out that I’m even writing an article about it.) However I do realize that most people don’t consider this kind of openness the greatest in good conduct. But my argument is, once you become a PCV, it must become important. Since coming to this country, the very way in which you have to position your body changes, not to mention your diet, stress levels, time difference, deciding between toilet paper or water canister, and of course, squatter or Westie! I know that some of you might feel embarrassed or scoff at all this poop talk, but I have to be honest here and say I feel antsy when I don’t have a good go every morning for two reasons. 1. Because I don’t know where I’ll be when I do need to go (I refuse to touch my school’s bathroom with a twenty foot pole) and if I’ll have toilet paper or not. And 2. Because I know something is wrong with my body. So in conclusion, don’t diss the poop talk. It’s important. And if you do plan on taking a little vacation to my America, bringing a little Russian Drain-o would be nice. My little Azerbaijan has never been the same since the discovery of lettuce.

Do you eat to live or live to eat?

Guess how I answer that question. You are 100% CORRECT.

I'm hosting my first Thanksgiving meal in two weekends and I'm so excited! I just planned the menu. Unfortunately, I have limited options of ingredients here. I've just spent the past hour or so browsing epicurious.com and noblepig.com (Thanks for the link Marisa!) I've been able to come up with a decent, if not edited, Thanksgiving-spent-in-Azerbaijan menu. But browsing these sites made me miss the following food items:

-brussel sprouts

-fresh sage

-pork sausage

-fennel

-mushrooms of all kind

-yams

-oysters (more specifically oyster stuffing. Oh! And now oyster stew.)

-goat cheese

-spring salad mix

-lobster

-asparagus

-cheese souffle

-bacon

I want to be a rollie-pollie when I come home...

I was never crazy about Halloween. In fact, it didn't even occur to me right away to host a Halloween party this year. I just thought I'd half ignore it and try to pretend I wasn't at home to celebrate yet another American holiday. Last minute, I started the preparation and had never been so excited for Halloween. It only took 40 Azerbaijani kids who'd never celebrated it before to get pumped up about making a costume.

Here're some pictures of us carving pumpkins, playing games, dressing up, and eating treats! Next year, it's going to be even better!

http://picasaweb.google.com/ClarissaW.Chan/HalloweenParty2010?authkey=Gv1sRgCLTJ0Z2Z2JTq1wE#

This week I caught a cold and it wasn't fun. I haven't been sick like this for a while. My counterpart was also sick so she kept calling to check up on me which is so sweet of her. She said to me, "I keep thinking, I have my mother here to take care of me, but Clarees (She drops the "a" on my name) is alone. Who will take care of her?" She's so thoughtful.

Monday was the worst so I took some nyquil and knocked out for 12 hours. It was so nice. But when I woke up, my bottom lip was drooping. So I looked in the mirror and saw that it was swollen! I felt like Bill Murray talking about the Dalai Lama :)

(I keep reminding myself that I once was an attractive girl and will return to be once I leave here again haha)

One of the challenges I’ve been struggling with is stopping my counterpart from spending, what I think of as wasted time, lecturing students individually in Azerbaijani in the middle of class for minutes at a time. If a student doesn’t do their homework or talks in class, she goes on a rant in Azerbaijani while the other students look on. This doesn’t happen in American classrooms. Teachers do not spend a lot of time reprimanding one student. It was so frustrating in the beginning. Now, fortunately, she does this less although it still happens frequently. I used to feel sympathy for the students and resentment towards my counterpart when this occurred. I came to a realization today though. I realized that while this kind of discipline would never work in the American education system, it does to a certain degree work here. I still don’t believe it is the most effective or efficient form of teaching, but in this context, it’s worth trying to consider it as almost necessary.

Today one of my 6th form boys had a stomach ache. He sat in his chair wincing, holding his torso. Könül, my counterpart, asked him what was wrong. When he told her, she asked him why he didn’t go home earlier. He responded that the form teacher (think homeroom teacher) didn’t give him permission. Könül told him to go home. “Go straight home,” she said. My mind began to turn. This scenario would have never happened in the States. Where was the trip to the school nurse, the call to his parents, his waiting in the principal’s office while his parents left work to pick him up with a bottle of children’s Pepto, Red Punch Gatorade, and Saltines in hand?

Könül made a decision for the student that an American parent would have to make for their child. An American teacher would not be able to decide that. Here, it’s completely acceptable. No questions asked. Teachers call their students “my daughter,” “my son,” and “menim balam,” my honey as a term of endearment. Relationships are close here. Teachers talk to parents all the time. They don’t just wait for the yearly parent/teacher conference. They see each other at the bazaar, on the street, and call each other on their house phones. The problem is, the adults all talk to each other, but somehow the communication lines do not run back down to the student.

I just read this book called Outliers which discusses how social and cultural backgrounds and the advantage of being in the right place at the right time provide a foundation for success. It described a study of certain parenting techniques. One method was to be incredibly involved in the child’s activities and using everyday events to create a teaching opportunity. Think soccer mom. The second is to let a child “naturally” grow in his or her environment freely. This means less involvement, less supervision. The Azerbaijani parenting method is most definitely, unequivocally the latter. I see 5 year old kids walking by themselves and playing in the street. Let me just say here that the book emphasizes that neither is better or worse and I’d agree to that. In general, Azerbaijani youth are more polite and well-behaved and do not need constant attention or reward. However, in the academic sense, it’s unfortunate. The concerned parents will ask how their child is doing and the teacher will discuss it with them. But the parent will not help or ask about the child’s work. They might yell and punish their kid for receiving a bad mark but if asked what their child is learning in their classes, they will not know.

I’m not saying that I should start yelling and scolding my students. I come from a very different cultural background in which that kind of discipline does not prove to be effective. My teachers didn’t chew me out when I did poorly in my classes; my parents did. What happens to children who don’t have parents who give them the discipline at home? They get it from somewhere else. I’m not advocating or disproving this kind of classroom conduct. I just think it’s important to look at the entire environment here. It’s all relevant. A child really does need a village here and that village most definitely includes educators.

My little Turkmen group arrived one year ago on this day. I'd say that it's almost on the hour but honestly it was all such a whirlwind that I don't actually remember what time we arrived. I know it was dark and it's dark now right now. So here I am, a little more than one year to go!

Heading straight to the hotel right after being picked up from the airport. Look at how tired yet excited we were back then.

Breakfast at the hotel on our second full day. This was taken right before loading up on the bus to meet our PST host families.

Happy Anniversary friends!

This week we taught the passive voice in my 9th form class. They had the homework assignment of turning passive sentences to active. While checking their homework, one of my boys wrote on the board "Justin gave the dog food" for "Food was given to the dog." He turned to me, pointed at the board, chuckled a bit and said "Boy. Justin." I smiled and said, "Yes, like Justin Timberlake." He looked at me quizzically and said, "No, Justin Bieber."

I'm irrelevant. I'm only 23 years old and I'm already not "in the know." I blame it on the fact that I'm living in Azerbaijan and not on the fact that Justin Timberlake was my school girl crush ten years ago. I'm currently saying goodbye to my self image as a cool, young, hip teacher and waiting for the wrinkles and cellulite to settle in.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about immigration: the personal investments that it requires, the cultural and political divide that is created by it, and the individual strengths and courage it demands. I am a product of immigration. As a first generation born in the States, I can see how the decision to immigrate has directly affected my life and the possibilities that has been presented to me because of it. Who knows what my life would have been like if my grandparents and my mother hadn’t made that, literally, life-changing move. I would definitely not be in Azerbaijan, that’s for sure. I’d probably be in Hong Kong, a rich little brat who didn’t know how to make instant noodles. (Well really non-existent since my parents met in California.) The fact is, I wouldn’t have joined the Peace Corps because I wouldn’t have felt the need to help others and offer back the hard work that has been provided for me. (It’s kind of a karmic thing isn’t it?) And thus, I wouldn’t have met my gracious host family in Neftchala whom I adore so much who has finally in fact, immigrated. So there it is. It is my life’s fate to be surrounded by immigrants and the more immigrants I meet and experience immigration through, the more my deep founded respect grows.

Riding in the mashrutka (little bus) over to Neftchala for the very first time with my host mom Leyla, I remember vividly our conversation about her husband. She told me about his cancer, about his leaving within 2 weeks, about their comfortable life together right before he found out about his illness when he was an oil driller in Baku, and how she had to get to France as soon as possible. She told me how difficult it was to raise her two daughters now and support her mother and how she had to keep on a good face about it. She told me this as she was crying and her older daughter was sleeping on the other side of me. She told me she was going to leave in March.

March came and went. When the weather turned, Leyla started to get all her documentations in order, showed her mother’s house to a couple people to rent, and tried selling her car. Then a huge setback occurred. First she had to receive documentation that showed she owned her home. I’m guessing that when the Soviet Union disbanded, people’s homes were distributed but there were no official records of ownership. Her father had given her this apartment years ago and as long as she lived in it, it was hers. But if she left, after five years the government would take it back. When she went to get the documentation for that, they told her that there no records of anyone under her name. She had changed her last name when she got married but they only had her maiden name. So first she had to change her name, then get her property ownership. In order to receive these, she had to pay a fee just to process them. This is how Azerbaijan works. You pay people to do their job that they already get paid for. A month later, she went to Salyan, a town north of ours, to get her international passport for her and her daughters. In June, her husband called her and told her to get here as soon as possible. I left for Spain and she told me that it might be the last time we saw each other. Two weeks later I came back from Spain. They were still here. Finally in July, a visa opened up for her older daughter. She only knew two days before the actual day of her flight.

I was travelling around Azerbaijan when all of this was happening. When I came back to Neftchala, Leyla was still here: more desperate and concerned than ever that she would never be able to leave. At this point she had been waiting for half a year. She told me she had gone to Baku and given them all the required paperwork and money to leave three weeks ago. She kept telling me “It seems to me I will never leave Azerbaijan.” Her bags had been packed all summer, she had given them verification of property and job, and she had paid more than 3000 manat for her and her daughters to leave. She finally got a call for an interview with the German embassy two weeks ago. It was a Friday. She got her visa on Saturday. She left on Tuesday at six am.

When I came back from Spain, she asked me, “Did you have to get a visa for Spain?” Ashamed, I said no. I didn’t need a visa for a lot of places. This is the real advantage to being American. We can leave our country whenever we want and go to most countries unsuspicious and hassle free. I can leave Azerbaijan whenever I want. I can meet them in France. I can go see the rest of Europe. I can go wherever I want just because of the passport I have.

Witnessing her situation, I thought about what it took for my parents to go to America. Did they need sponsors? How much money did they have to pay? Did they only carry the airlines weight limit? Did they cry? Did they look back at their old house longingly, scared? My younger host sister is the same age as my dad when he left Hong Kong. I called her the night before she left. She couldn’t finish the conversation. Her life is going to have such a different outcome because of this move. The world has just opened up to her in ways that it couldn’t have if she finished the rest of her adolescence in Neftchala. I’m just in awe whenever I think about what she is able to achieve now. She’s such a smart kid. I am so happy for them. Of course, the reason for leaving is not one to be happy about at all. I pray every day that Leyla’s husband recovers well after receiving his whole family. But they left. Leyla was so resentful in the end. She had had such a difficult time navigating her way out of this country. I know she’ll return at some point though. This is her home after all.

Best of luck to the Hemidbeyli family! I think about you every day. I’ll take care of your house and make sure it stays clean. See you in Nante, France 2011!

It happened! I'm online. This means more posts more often. Promise.

I went to Tbilisi a couple weeks ago for three days just for an end of summer vacation. I went with my friend Ze. We left Baku and took the "midnight train to Georgia!" After getting there, we spent a miserable three hours in line to buy the returning tickets but after that traumatic experience we had a great time. The first night we ended up bumping into other PCVs from Azerbaijan so we planned the rest of the trip with them. We spent the next day accidentally finding an amusement park, relaxed at a Turkish bath and sauna, had a fantastic meal, drank a lot of wine and vodka, and danced into the wee hours of the morning. The next day we woke up to pouring rain outside. So we left our hostel, found a nice little cafe, did some souvenir shopping, had a mini wine tasting, went to the train station, went deliriously happy in a super market, and boarded our train. It was a great trip. I want to go back as soon as possible. Did I mention there's a fantastic gelato place?

Pictures:

http://picasaweb.google.com/ClarissaW.Chan/FirstTbilisiTrip?authkey=Gv1sRgCLyusbj3267HkQE#

So I live in Neftchala and well, it's kind of a pain in the ass to get to. The only buses that leave to and from are from Baku and from Salyan. This is the reason why I go to Baku pretty often but it also means that I have a hard time visiting other sites because the bus to Salyan is the SLOWEST bus in Azerbaijan. I hate it. I had traveled through my neck of the woods in the south but had never visited the magical lands of the north. So Jade and I took advantage of the idle days of summer to get a'travelin! It was fantastic. Eight places in sixteen days. We hailed down mashrutkas, carried our livelihood on our expertly packed backpacks, ate watermelon, had dance parties, and brought bad water luck everywhere we went. Gedek! (Let's go!)

Day 1, August 5, 2010:We left Baku and went to Goychay. Took about three hours to get there. Met up with PCVs Megan and Rikki. They invited us to see an International Music Festival in the neighboring region of Qebele with a FLEX alumni who had just returned from studying in the states. He had studied in a high school in Minnesota and therefore had, a slight Minnesota accent. We watched the London Philharmonic perform. When we took a bathroom break, we let one of the performers take the stall in front of us. She thanked us and then asked, "How do you have such good English?" Nice lady.

Day 2, August 6, 2010:Stayed in Goychay. Went to the bazaar in the morning. Visited Rikki's host family's house in the afternoon. We made pizza, got a water scare (meaning we weren't sure if there was going to be water for the day), Megan gave us haircuts, took showers (the water finally came), watched an episode of Glee and went to sleep. Goychay was such a cute little town. It's known for its Nar (pomegranate) production and has a Nar parade every fall. A great way to start the trip off. Thanks nar girls!

Day 3, August 7, 2010:Woke up early and headed out to Mingechevir. Somehow my backpack was smaller than when I first left Baku. This phenomenon continued throughout the whole trip despite my acquiring more and more things. Katie came and met us and we all headed out to the reservoir to escape the blistering heat. We met up with Beca, Todd, and Sarah in front of the mashrut and swam for 3 hours or so. Somehow we bumped into Jeff who was hanging out with people from the Ministry of Agriculture. We made dinner and invited our old Language and Culture Facilitator, Gulshan over.

Day 4, August 8, 2010:Checked out the produce bazaar, clothes bazaar, and random things bazaar. Bought a watermelon and back to Katie's apartment to try to ward off the heat.

Day 5, August 9, 2010:This was kind of a day in shame. Didn't really leave the apartment and had an embarrassingly long marathon of an ABC Family show that shall remain nameless. Then went for an evening walk along the little 'boardwalk" of Mingechevir.

Day 6, August 10, 2010:Left Mingechevir and went to Sheki. Met up with Jenni, who lives in Sheki, and Amanda for lunch. Went to the Sheki Chicken Shack (as named by PCVs) for the only item on their menu, barbecued chicken slathered in a tomato based sauce with onions and cilantro. So delicious. In the afternoon, went to have tea, then met up with old cluster mate, Irene for dinner and the Sheki saray, a NICE western hotel with a restaurant that served chicken Caesar salad. Delish.

Day 7, August 11, 2010:This is where the bad water luck for REALLY bad. Jade woke up several times throughout the night to use the bathroom caused by dysentery. This continued throughout the day followed by dehydration and fever. We aren't too sure what the cause was but have a theory about the water source (or lack of one) in Jenni's bathroom. Both Jenni and Amanda had gotten sick two days apart of each other that weekend. This bad luck had also spread to the rest of the city with no running in water in any of Jenni's sitemates' houses either. That night, we returned to the Sheki Saray to meet up with Tim and his visiting brother Tom for dinner and drinks and to use their shower.

Day 8, August 12, 2010:Met up with Tim to go site seeing. Went to the Xan Saray, which is an ancient palace filled with murals and stained glass. Then we went to the village of Kish which had an old Albanian church. After we met back up with the girls, had tea in the Karvan saray (another hotel and historical site) and then dinner (for the third time) at the Sheki Saray. That's where things got kind of weird... and we will leave it at that.

Day 9, August 13, 2010:Left Sheki and went up to Qax (which was, in my opinion, the best place on the trip.) We met up with our friends Lori and Stephanie. We had dinner with Lori's Georgian friends and walked around the Heydar Aliyev Park.

Day 10, August 14, 2010:Jade, Lori, Steph, and I woke up early, made a picnic lunch and set off to the Pilgrimage church. This is a Georgian church up in the hills that twice a year many Georgians come on a pilgrimage to visit. It was beautiful up there. After we met up with Lori's Georgian friends and went to church. Service is usually hours long and you're standing the entire time so people come and go to take breaks. The inside walls were painted with murals of various saints and scenes from the Bible. After service we went back to the Georgian family's house and cooked them pizza. It was a great evening filled with good company, good food, and decent homemade wine. This was my favorite day of the trip.

Day 11, August 15, 2010:

The four of us decided to go shopping at the bazaar so we walked around for a couple hours but unfortunately did not find anything. Then we went to a Georgian restaurant for Xengel, dumplings, and lots of (guess again) homemade wine. Another great night was had.

Day 12, August 16, 2010:

This is the infamous day of the watermelon eating competition. The four of us took a mashrutka (little bus) to Zaqatala where we met up with a few other volunteers. We had decided to hold a watermelon eating competition in which we would try to eat as much as possible within half an hour. We bought a bunch of 8 kilo watermelons, smack talked the whole time and went to sit on the curb in front of the school for the event. Turns out, I'm a slow eater. I came in last BUT in my defense I feel like I could have continued eating whereas my competitors were all feeling sick at the end.

Day 13, August 17, 2010:

In the morning, we walked to the bazaar to do a little food shopping and then walked around the town for a bit. Zaqatala is a nice looking city. Parts of it reminded me of an old gold mining town. In the evening everyone went back to Loki's (a PCV who lives in Zaqatala's) house for dinner and a movie. Loki, by the way, was fasting due to Ramazan. This means that she had to wake up around 4am every morning to eat a hearty meal before the sun came up and had to wait until the sun went down to replenish. This includes drinking water. It was pretty impressive and watching her, I realized that it was something that I most likely could not accomplish.

Day 14, August 18, 2010:Jade, Jon, and I took a mashrut and headed to see another PCV, Amy, in her village, Danachi. When you think of Peace Corps, this village is what you think of. The village had one "big" street with three stores, barely any cars, houses stocked with hay stacks and drying tobacco, and horse drawn carriages pulling stocks of wood. It was fantastic. I loved this place so much. Her host brother took us out to pick blackberries to make a pie for the night. We made dinner, made the pie, and sat on her porch playing card games and looking out at stars.

Day 15, August 19, 2010:

The three of us headed back to Zaqatala in the morning. Jon took a bus out and we took a mashrut to Balaken, the most northern city in this part of the country that has a volunteer. We met back up with Stephanie who lives there, hung around her house for a bit and went to dinner. We went to a friend Xengel (the Georgian dumpling again) restaurant with the other volunteer there, Bailey. After eating, we went to the Heydar Aliyev Park there. This one had a huge man made hill with a large statue of the late president presiding over it. There are a few flight of stairs leading up to the top but a gondola was built because people would not climb the steps to see the statue. We went up and had tea at the top then took the gondola back down.

Day 16, August 20, 2010:

This was the last official day of the Trek. We spent the morning with Bailey in her compound. There are three houses there that have two other families. One of them had a sweet old Russian grandma that was clearly suffering from some bouts of dementia. Her granddaughter, the woman of the house, was a terrible woman who was abusive to the grandma. It was depressing actually. Fortunately Bailey has since moved out of that terrible place and hopefully shamed the woman in the process.

We went back to Zaqatala, spent a few hours at an internet source then went to the train station. The night train is the most inexpensive way to get from the north and the west back into Baku. We bought tickets for a coupe, a cart, that consisted of four beds. It was decently comfortable. We had the top so we were next to the open window but there was 2 hours where it was plain misery. The train is incredibly loud and sometimes when another train would pass by, a huge cloud of fumes and diesel would come streaming through the window. It was also UNBEARABLY hot. We were both just melting. After that passed and it cooled down though, the rest of the trip was quite pleasant.

Day 17, August 21, 2010:

We arrived in Baku around 8am. No one was on the streets as walked back to Ze's. I felt disgusting though as I had sweat for a good 6 hours straight. Jumped in the shower the minute we walked into Ze's and went to sleep on his couch. The next week was just full of living in comfort and pretending like I was in America. This was getting to the end of summer and it was such a great experience being able to see the country and see how my friends were faring in this place together. The Turtle Treks live on...

Here are some pictures. Enjoy!

http://picasaweb.google.com/ClarissaW.Chan/TheTurtleTreks?authkey=Gv1sRgCPDY04zu4o-0kwE#

These are basically all the pictures from the Talent Show, one of my counterpart's wedding, Son Zeng (the Last Bell, graduation), and Neftchala Summer Camp. There's a lot of pictures in here so take a breath, take your time, and enjoy these (many) images of Azerbaijan.

Follow this link: http://picasaweb.google.com/ClarissaW.Chan/ClarissaSAzeriAdventures?authkey=Gv1sRgCIXevfLBkbjnpgE#

I just got back to Azerbaijan on Saturday and back to Neftchala two days ago. I have been sweating non-stop. I have been in a perpetual state of stickiness for the last 48 hours. When does it stop??There has also been no water because Grandma forgot to turn on the tap so showering has not happened either. Why did I leave Spain? Oh right, because it was burning a whole in my pocket. No wait, that's not why I left Spain. Seriously, why did I leave Spain? Bad decisions are made everyday I guess.

Spain was seriously AMAZING. It was definitely one of the best trips I've ever had, and no, not because of Nate. Ok, because of Nate. It was the perfect break from such an intense 9 months here. It was really difficult leaving though and I'm still trying to readjust.

Flying back into Baku was not that bad though. Fortunately I had Ze to hang out with and tag along in his charmed ex-Pat non PCV life. We went to a water park that had swimming pools and water slides and vodka. Before going I was apprehensive about what to wear. I asked Ze and his response was, "Whatever you normally wear to go swimming. " My response? "You mean a t-shirt and shorts?" If I had even worn a one piece I would have gotten strange looks. I wore a bikini in this country! What? And it definitely wasn't the smallest one. I'm still discovering that Baky is a strange, strange place. Or wait, is it me that has turned strange to think that a two piece swimming suit is a big deal? The changes aren't grand but they're present.

And so we meet again, Azerbaijan...

This was by far the easiest week of camp. We only had six kids… and our best kids at that. We spent one hour on theatre, Jordyn was in charge of that, and then one hour on dance, which I was in charge of. Then at the end we gave them so crafts to do. So easy. I loved it.

Monday June 28:

Jade started the morning by stretching the kids out. Jordyn and Stephanie did some warm up theatre games and started working towards skits. I played a rhythm game with the kids then started teaching them a short dance to Kanye West’s Touch the Sky. Beca and I split the kids into two groups of three. They “battled” each other. Then they made mosaics and masks.

Tuesday June 29:

Jade gave them breathing exercises. The kids tried but didn’t really get how to meditate. Jordyn and Stephanie gave the kids words to build “pictures” out of it. They worked in pairs. Beca and I continued to teach the dance. We ended by having a soul train and a dance circle. Then they made lanterns and collages. Elnur made one of George W. Bush and a terrorist with bubble captions saying, “Neftchala Summer Camp!” And the terrorist saying, “I like it! I approve!”

Wednesday June 30:

Jade skipped the breathing and just went into stretches and jumping jacks. The kids started writing their own dialogues for the montages to build real scenes. Steph and Jordyn did some improve examples. Steph had studied theatre at NYU. I could have watched her perform all day long! Beca and I finished teaching the dance. The kids were already so good after just three days! We skipped the art project.

Thursday July 1:

The show had arrived! At first we were going to perform in an outdoor stage in the park but it was next to some chayxanas (teahouses socially exclusive for men) so the girls didn’t feel comfortable dancing there. We decided to have it at the youth center instead. Spent the first hour rehearsing theatre, the next hour rehearsing the dance, then did a sound check on the three songs that were going to be sung. Show started at 12:30, finished a little before 1. The kids were amazing! They had accomplished so much in just four days. It was incredible to watch. After, they said an unexpected “thank you” to Jordyn and I for the summer camp. I could have cried… that is, if I cried in front of people.

I should feel this great sense of accomplishment, and believe me, I do. I think the biggest emotion I feel though is just pride in these kids at their willingness to work hard and try something new. I do have to be honest that at times, some of the boys gave me a reason to call them little sh*ts, but the kids that stuck in out… they’re my kids, you know? They’re the ones that have been to my conversation clubs, were in the talent show, run to me on the streets and now I feel like I have a real relationship with them and that feels AMAZING.

Along with these grand emotions of success, I feel… nervous. I was hit with some bad news today. My host family really is leaving. I’m happy for them. They get to see their husband and father, but I’m selfishly going to miss them. At first they told me that today might be the last time they see me before I go visit them in France next year. Fortunately they aren’t leaving til after I return but still, what is it that I’ll be returning to now? I currently have three homes. My home-home is in Berkeley, thousands of miles and a 36 hour trip away. Nate’s my other home but we’ll only be able to see each other for 12 days this year. And then there’s Neftchala, my home for these two years. I really thought of it as home, just because of this family. They are my family now. After 23 years, I finally have sisters… and a Russian grandma. What I always wanted! If they left while I was in Spain, I would have nothing to come back to. My final home would be gone. So much of my service is about them. I was lucky to have met them. They were my allies in this journey; my liaisons. I attribute most of my accomplishments as a volunteer to their help. I have been able to work more in these initial months than any other AZ7 I have talked to. I just got lucky. I got lucky with great daring students, a nice enough and supportive enough director, counterparts who speak good English and want to do more in the classroom, and a host family who helped me with everything from reserving a stage to buying yarn. It’s such a hard thing having people you’ve grown to love continually leave your life. I’m pretty sure at this point I’m going to have to reevaluate how the rest of my service will continue. But at this point I guess I should just move on and just say one thing: good luck is what you make of it and I think, I mean I hope, I’ve made the best of it.

Thank you Hemidova family! You’ve changed my life and I’ll be eternally grateful.

This was the week that 75% of the funding went to. Most of the kids here have never been out of Neftchala. I have seen more of this country than my host mom has. It’s unbelievable the amount of travelling that is NOT being done here. We only invited our older students and limited the group to 17 as that was how many seats were in a small van. A fifth day was added when the incredibly generous head director of the sturgeon hatchery we went to offered the company bus to take us to Shirvan National Park, the home of the infamous Azerbaijani flamingos.

Monday June 21: Mushvik

I was surprised when I saw this beach. It wasn’t too… bad. We had rented a big bus for 40 manat which would take us to the beach and wait for us to return. Unfortunately there was a big miscommunication problem about whether or not we were letting the kids swim. So the boys swam because my site mate said they could and the girls didn’t because I told them that they couldn’t. (Just for the record, and not to be petty but well, yeah kind of to be petty, I was right.) Anyways it was still a good time for everybody.

Tuesday June 22: Qobostan

Left Neftchala at 8 in the morning for the 2 hour drive to Qobostan: the oldest archaeological site in Azerbaijan. It is a vista of ridges and mountains with rock carvings dating back thousands of years. None of the host country nationals with us had ever been there before. One of the boys even went to Qobostan village every summer because his aunt lived there but had never gone to look at the site. Even while we were there, the only other site seers were foreigners. After our tour we had lunch under a gazebo and climbed one of the ridges for a great view of the desert reaching out to the sea.

Wednesday June 23: Xilli Sturgeon Hatchery

We took public transportation to the hatchery. We met with Zaur, the most generous man I’ve met here and the head director of the hatchery. He gave us a tour of the plant and talked to the kids about the process of raising the fish. The kids were all so excited to see them. Most of them were courageous enough to try to pet them and all got splashed in the process. It was after the tour that Zaur offered the bus to go to Shirvan.

Thursday June 24: Lenkeran

We met at 6:30 and were on the road by 7 in the morning. Our plan was to take a visit to the university but when the university student we met up with asked for permission to let us inside, it was declined. Instead we went to another park that some of the boys had heard of. Took a little mini hike and was lead to this beautiful lake amongst the small hills heading towards Lerik. Then we went to a restaurant to eat levengi, Lenkeran’s famous local dish which consists of chicken stuffed with a puree of walnuts and onions. Then we went for a short walk around the central part of Lenkeran, bought some milkshakes and ice cream, then went home.

Friday June 25: Shirvan Milli Park

The company bus picked us at 1. Had only 13 seats; we squished in 17. Thank god Azeri adolescents are tiny. The bus driver was a grumpy man who had a wedding to go to in the evening and only wanted to stay at the park for an hour. When we arrived a man greeted us and took us on a driving tour through the park. Only in Azerbaijan will you find oil jacks in a national reserve. We weren’t able to see the flamingos (due to the grumpy driver) but we saw herds of gazelles. They were so fast; faster than our car at times. The man said that Azerbaijan had the biggest population of this breed of gazelles in the world. They were magnificent.

On a personal note, I’m zonked. I’m so exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally. So looking in hind sight (or maybe towards the future for next year’s camp) I wish we had ended it at three weeks. Although, next week is Arts week and I’ve choreographed a little dance to Kanye West’s Touch the Sky. Kind of fitting… an inspirational song, right? Maybe not, but I’m sure it’ll be fun for the kids and in the long run that’s all that matters.

This week we focused on teaching the kids how to take care of themselves and the world they live in. In comparison to Western standards, both of these needed a good amount of explaining. As I have mentioned before, the average showers per week the typical Azeri gets is a bit farther and fewer in between than the typical American. Brushing teeth is also not a daily concern, but maybe rather a special occasions concern. All the men here smoke cigarettes which starts at a young age and being a former Soviet state, alcohol consumption (by men only of course) can be considerably high. And there’s of course the diet which I have griped about enough already.

The environmental concerns are simple actually: Just don’t litter. Many villages and towns don’t have a reliable waste system. They merely burn their trash when there is enough of it to burn. The smell of burning trash has become the smell I hate the most… in life really. Fortunately in Neftchala, we do have a sort of trash system. There are these small, three walled enclosures that function as public trash pick up sites. Every couple weeks a garbage truck comes to collect. Unfortunately the chickens and cows get to these trash sites and dig through them, spilling trash out into the streets leaving plastic bags mixed into the muddy roads. Therefore, not everything gets picked up and disposed of. It also just leaves a terrible smell. However, environmental issues that we have in the States are somewhat irrelevant here. People naturally recycle all their glass jars and plastic bottles. Electricity and water are used conservatively due to financial concerns. It is just the trash but it is completely frustrating seeing people throw their plastics and napkins right out onto the street without thinking of the repercussions.

Monday June 14: Health

We decorated plastic bottles and prepared sunflower seeds to sprout. We talked about totems and choosing an animal that would represent each student’s connection to the earth. We talked about what they brought as a snack and discussed the food pyramid. Then we had a race on which team could complete a food pyramid the fastest.

Tuesday June 15: Hygiene

Made a list of what consisted of healthy living style and non-healthy living styles. Talked about drugs, smoking and drinking. Drew anti-drugs, smoking and drinking advertisements. Created and performed mini skits about situations that had to do with peer pressure. Fed them granola. Wrote and signed a pledge to live a healthy life.

Wednesday June 16: Earth Day

Showed a power point about different types of landscape. Gave them easy tips to help conserve the environment. Watched some of Day After Tomorrow and 2012 with the intention of scaring them with Hollywood’s overly dramatic special effects. Drew our animals and made our camp totem.

Thursday June 17: Scavenger Hunt/Bonfire Day

Had a variety of stations. Split the campers into groups and rotated them trough the stations. These included making a volcano, drawing the food pyramid, finding natural objects with different textures, creating a tornado with water and plastic bottles, and shading leaves. Then (the absolute best part… no actually the best part was after this part) was we started a little bonfire (only in Azerbaijan can you start an open fire in the middle of a football field and have no one even look twice at the legality of it) and made…s’mores. They don’t have regular marshmallows here but they have these little strawberry flavored twist marshmallows which were sufficient. We got them all sugared and hyped on this traditional American snack and then (now really here’s the best part) handed them… a toothbrush! It was like a Crest ad; kids all over brushing their pearly whites and being happy about it. I’ve been told by some of them that began to brush their teeth twice a day now. What more can you ask for as far as effectiveness huh?

First a BIG shout out: Thank you so much if you donated for this camp! You have helped bring a new experience to these kids’ lives that wouldn’t have been possible without your contribution. Every day I ask them, “Yaxshi vaxt kecirsen?” Are you having a good time? And they always respond with an “Ele!” Super!

Saturday June 5, 2010: First day of Training

We had asked our most responsible older students to be counselors for the camp. Our first day of training we asked them what it meant to be a leader, gave them basic methods for working with children, explained what American summer camps usually consisted of, fed them pizza and sent them on their way.

Sunday June 6, 2010: Second Day of Training

We finalized camp rules (Number 9 was Give us ice cream everyday. We had to scratch that one.), taught them basic first aid, gave them a list of situations and had them prioritize, put them in their pairs to get to know each other. Fed them ice cream and sent them on their way.

Monday June 7, 2010: First Day of Camp

In the morning, I panicked a little when only 8 kids showed up. More than thirty had signed up. But with our counselors included we had about 25 kids to play games with. We did name games, sang Boom Chick-a-Boom, went over rules and headed over to our field. We played kickball, made a flag, did a group sit, and did the human knot.

Tuesday June 8, 2010

This day we started with a competition of Over Under, where you get into groups, line up, and pass a ball alternately over your head and under your legs. Throughout the field you could hear the word “qac! Qac!” “Run! Run!” being yelled to teammates. Then we played Sharks and Minnows, a simple tag game, Cat and Mouse (which the kids renamed Tom and Jerry) and SPUD. SPUD is not really a competitive game. It is loved by American kids but we learned really quickly that non-competitiveness does not really fly with Azerbaijani youth.

Wednesday June 9, 2010

This was our American games day. We taught them baseball, which they loved, then tried football which they did not. It also might have been the heat. It was only the third day and we were reaching 100 degrees already. We couldn’t get the kids out in the heat for longer than 15 minutes at a time and had to stop for several shade and water breaks. I’d also like to add right here that I have the worst tan lines ever right now.

Thursday June 10, 2010: Carnival Day

The last day of camp for the first week! This was Carnival Day. We had intended it to be like a fair in America. We set up a bunch of different booths like a friendship bracelet making station (no summer camp is complete without friendship bracelets), origami, a pebble counting jar, bowling, throw the pine cone into the basket, and a What’s in the Box? We cut holes into boxes and I put various things into them for the kids to feel without looking such as a sliced tomato, toothpicks stuck in an eraser, a pine tree branch, and a cotton ball. Then throughout the day we had various little races like egg on a spoon race, three legged race, and flour sack race. At the end of the day everybody was wearing bracelets and went home with certificates for completing week 1.

What was great about these kids was, unlike American kids where you constantly have to provide them with something to do, if they had some down time, they would just pick up a ball and start playing volleyball together. It was so easy. They didn’t ask what was next or if we could end break. They just played. No complaints. And since we didn’t have as many kids as we had expected, we couldn’t break them up into groups and have our counselors be counselors. But regardless some of them actually took what we taught them in the training and used it. They helped along the younger kids as if they were in a group they were leading. After the first week, the ones who had only signed up for that one said, “I’m coming back for the rest of camp.”

Note: I am sorry for not updating this as much as I should be. Life in Neft has been crazy daisy so my plan is to bombard you all with everything that has happened in the last two months or so. This is Part 1.

Three months ago (has it already been three months ago?): Elnur, my best student who I am tutoring for a program to study in the US, says to me, “May I question?” This is the sentence he says most often to me. I always respond with an “of course.” He continues by saying, “I can sing and I can act. What can you do for me?”

I had no intention of doing anything big this year. My plan was just to sit tight with my conversation clubs and observe what the kids needed and, more importantly, wanted. But here was a kid, four months into my service, demanding that I do something with his talents. Without hesitation, I say, “We are going to have a talent show.”

At this point I had about a month and a half until the end of school. I had to act fast. I wanted it to be a really low key production. It would be short, simple, and be seen by a small gathering of family and friends exclusively invited by the students in the performance. I also decided that I would help with a small play in all of my conversation clubs and the rest of the talent would come from what they already knew. With my 5th from club, I had them memorize Five Little Monkeys. They would all shout out the poem while the kids who played monkeys jumped across the stage. In my 6th and 7th form, we performed The Shoemaker and the Elves. Every kid would read two sentences in English and then the translated version in Azerbaijani. They were each given small roles to act out as the story was narrated. It was the easiest format I could think of. There was no dialogue and no pressure to get the timing of motion and lines correct. They simply narrated the story themselves and provided a visual at the same time.

In my 8th form club, we performed The Nutcracker. Let me just say here that I did not have any sway in this decision. It is actually pretty humorous how we came to that decision. With this class I told them to write a story and we would perform it. I told them that it could be any story that they wanted so long as they wrote it themselves. As usual, the boys and girls naturally split up into their own groups. The boys didn’t make the deadline so theirs didn’t make it into the show. But the girls went something like this, “One woman live in castle. She has daughter. Another woman came and give daughter doll. Doll woke up. Fought King of Mouths. King of Mouths die. They go to far place. The end.” I read it over and over again and still could not understand it. But finally I broke it down with them and realized first, that the doll became alive when the pricess was sleeping. Second clue was that Mouths was actually Mouse meaning Mice: The king of Mice. Then it clicked! They wrote The Nutcracker! That’s when I saw that the title was Edward and Barbie. They had seen the Barbie version on TV just a few days before. I laughed hysterically that, even though I was thousands of miles away, I still couldn’t get away from The Nutcracker even for one year.

My 9th form club was the most active in this. They all had ideas to sing songs, do magic, and had asked me to help them prepare a Michael Jackson montage. They all wanted to do something. I only helped them with the dance so I didn’t know what was going on with the other acts. One of the boys, Parviz, couldn’t decide what he wanted to do. First he was going to help with the magic show, then he was going to beat box and finally he said “I don’t know what I can do.” I asked him, “What are you good at?” He thought about it for a while and finally he smiled sheepishly and said, “I talk a lot.” “You’re the MC.” He grinned even wider.

Week of the Show: I had asked my director if I could be in the Act Zali (auditorium) for dress rehearsals. IT was the first time that all the clubs would see each other’s performances. I don’t’ think the younger students really understood what a talent show was. So when they saw that they could do other things besides what we had prepared in class, I suddenly had them lining up telling me what other spectacular things they could do. We started the week with eight acts. By the night before the show, we doubled that. All of sudden students were pulling out piano pieces, dances, and sweet singing voices.

The greatest part about this whole production though was seeing my older kids step up to the plate. I had told Parviz to write jokes if he wanted. He showed up the next day with little skits that would be inserted between the acts. They were little corny jokes, plays on words. He directed the other students himself and they all decided where each one would go. They didn’t need my help in any of this at all. The lot of us stayed in the Act Zali for four hours every day that week. They only complained when I said that I wanted to go home because I was hungry and approaching 8 o’clock. They even helped me translate and quiet down the younger kids. When I needed a person to take the tickets, they found me one. They were incredible and I felt so proud to see them take these steps towards the future adults that they will eventually become.

The Day of the Show: About 100 people came. I had first imagined 60. I told all the students they could invite up to 5 people, no more. I emphasized that they ask their families since parent support is so few and far in between. Also this way, the audience would be more attentive as opposed to having just a free for all open house. It went perfectly. We started a little bit late but other than that, everything went as smooth as possible. All the small plays went well. No one forgot their lines or where to go. There weren’t long waiting periods between the acts for setting up. I can’t describe the amount of accomplishment I felt for these kids. They were so excited afterward. Even now, writing about it a month later, I feel a small lump of emotion in my throat. I know exactly what it feels like to be finished with a show and wish that it could go on forever. I have had that feeling every year for the past 15 years of my life. I know how incredible it could be. However this time was even better because this thing that they did, this thing that they had never done before, it wasn’t mine. It was theirs; through and through. I simply gave them the guidelines and they ran with it and made it into something much better than I could have given them. It was truly a magnificent thing to see and be a part of. The greatest thing is, if they wanted to, they would do this by themselves again and again and again so it really could go on forever. I was never even on stage, but it was the greatest performance I’ve been in.

I come from an incredibly clean family. My mother brings surgical gloves to make the tent when we go camping. My aunt won’t let me touch anything but the handle of her stainless steel refrigerator door. My grandmother has been known to clean her windows for a full day. My dad hates it when food isn’t put into the fridge immediately for fear of bacteria. This upbringing has been known to affect me in ways that, to friends, seemed excessive. (I’m talking about an infamous moment four Halloweens ago where in a dingy hotel deep in a sketchy neighborhood of LA someone touched me on the shoulder after touching the remote control which resulted in me dropping big fat tears of horrific disgust. I died a little bit that day.) Since then, well really since coming here, I have had to make big attitude adjustments towards what I deem clean and safe and what I don’t. Shamefully, I must say, I have had to turn a blind eye every single day because if I didn’t, I would be rocking back and forth on my bed in panic.

1. I’m going to brush my teeth every morning and every night. Instead of just doing this little task every day, Azeris will just wait for a toothache and go to the dentist to get a big old gold cap. They ask me how my teeth are so clean and white. Somehow the connection between eating four pieces of candy a day and the need to clean your teeth is not made.

2. I forgot what a bread plate is. Bread plates are found on the table, the kitchen counter, my lap. Students (this I swear I will never do) put it on the little shelf underneath their desk.

3. I have made the theory that if you’re not washing your clothes by hand, you’re not in the Peace Corps. This is my least favorite thing I have to do. I HATE washing clothes by hand. I have blisters from doing it. Anyways, some of my clothes have (I write this with my head down, tail between my legs) gone without washing for weeks at a time.

4. I’m a lucky one. I get to shower every other couple days. My host grandma makes it to the hamam (shower room) once a week. Also Head & Shoulders is the most popular shampoo brand because of the dandruff that develops between weekly showers. Gross.

5. Most leftovers are left on the counter.

There’s more to list but the point is there’s a different mentality when it comes to what I consider clean. What they find matters more, is the appearances of clean. There are large markets for 1. Perfume 2. Shoe polish and 3 wet tissues.

The perfume is used to mask undesirable odors which could simply be removed by a quick shower. Women carry it in their purses and it is an uncommon practice to spritz each other without question. Yesterday one of my host sisters had stinky feet due to wearing a pair of shoes without socks. We all complained. Instead of washing them, she spritzed perfume on them.

I have never used shoe polish in my life, but clean shoes are incredibly important. I’ve never had to think about whether or not my shoes are clean because well, it’s easy to keep clean shoes when all the streets are paved. It’s not so easy when I walk on dirt roads between geese and cow dung every day. In the rainy seasons I don’t even bother. All throughout training I trekked round in this muddy brown boots that appalled Azeris wherever I went. But then coming up the same road behind me, were some impeccable shiny, clean black shoes. Azeris are probably the most incredible walkers in the world.

The moist towellettes come in handy not only for shoe cleaning, but for all things. They come in lovely nauseating scents like strawberry cream. A Saturday a few weeks ago I took some kids to play games in the park. One of the boys fell off a swing and got a bloody nose and lip. I gave some money to some kids to buy tissues and water. They came back with dry tissues and wet tissues. I tried to tell the boys to apply pressure to his nose with the tissue. He was only interested in wiping the dirt off his jacket from when he fell. Priority number 1.

In a country in which reputations are built on first impressions, appearance appears to be everything. I thought I was going to have to trade in my eyelash curler for a pair of Chacos. Who knew?

This afternoon my host sister was baking a cake and I was sitting in the kitchen with her watching how she made it. I wish I hadn’t seen it and just eaten the damn thing obliviously. Now I must eat it (and I say “must” because well… regardless of what I know I’m going to eat it) knowing that I just took a year off my life. The actual batter was okay. But then she cut off a huge chunk of butter equivalent to about two and a half sticks. I gasped. She said “What?” I said “Chox yag!” (Lots of butter!) My host mom looked up the recipe and said “No that’s about right. Lots of cream.” I am going to have clogged arteries tomorrow.

I have this kind of rivalry with a cleaning lady at my school. I guess I shouldn’t say rivalry. She kind of just hates me. My old director had given me a room in the afternoons without really checking the schedule so in the beginning I had a lot of spatial issues that I needed to work out which resulted in using a different classroom every day. At first it was fine. I would try to explain how long we would be in there and she would leave. But then it started getting to the point where she would make me leave and then make me wait for her to clean the room first. I think it was just seeing me in different rooms that ticked her off and also, she just never looked the nice xanim (older lady) that would invite you to chay anyways. At about the same time, she also started ignoring me despite my greatest efforts to communicate with her. Then one day, she busted into my room during my fifth form club screaming at two boys. Not one person told me what was going on. She hustled the boys out. I found out what had happened when they came back. Apparently one of them had peed on the wall. They had to clean it. Not good. She hates me.

Have you ever met anyone from Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, or Uzbekistan? I haven’t but apparently I look like them. I was buying a doner (Turkish sandwich) when a man came up to me and simply said “Kazakhstan?” I said no. He walked away.

I’m organizing a talent show for my convo clubs in May and for my 8th form kids I asked them to write a plot for a play. I was reading the girls’ and it went something like this, “One woman, daughter in castle. Other woman give toy soldier. Then, soldier wake up and fight King of Mouths. He kill King of Mouths. They went to other land far away.” I was so confused, but as I worked it out with them slowly I realized what story they had written. They had seen the Barbie version of The Nutcracker on TV!! (mouths=mouse meaning King of Mice. Get it?)

Yesterday I had a break between classes which I had scheduled to lesson plan with two of my teachers, Figume and Govher. This rarely happens because they tell me “Have a rest teacher. Have a rest.” I found them with another English teacher, Billura, in the hallway. The bell rung but still they stood and chatted. Govher’s son had just gone to the army so Billura cooked him some plov to take with him. Turns out Billura had a class to teach but it was 10th form so no one came. They were acting so secretively. Suddenly I was being shuffled into her classroom with the three of them glancing nervously behind and giggling. They sat me down, put a small container of this plov in front of me, and ordered me to eat. Students finally came trickling in and every time the door opened, they hid the plov. Finally, Govher and Figume were too scared to stay, worried about the director catching them in there. I stayed and talked with Billura. She told me that the three of them have been good friends for 20 years and calls them “The Three Musketeers.”

The past few nights, my host family and I have been having major dance parties. Since I’m having a talent show in May, I’m choreographing a Michael Jackson montage for three of my 9th form kids. Being the MJ aficionados that they are, my host sisters and host mom have all offered their help… by watching MJ music videos every night for two hours and trying to copy his moves. We’ve been trying to learn Smooth Criminal, Thriller, and Bad. It’s been pretty hilarious watching my Azeri women try to hip thrust and moon walk every night.

I think if you ever proposed the idea of the Atkins diet to an Azeri they would probably propose the idea of death. Bread is a life source for people here. Everyone loves bread. It’s like air or water. If it could be a scientific element it would be because for Azeris, bread is essential to existence. It is eaten at every meal. For breakfast, it’s bread with butter and a salty cheese. For lunch, bozbash (a meat based broth with potatoes, onions, and greens) and bread. For dinner, same as lunch with more bread. Even if there is already a starch, such as rice or potatoes, there is still a large quantity of bread on the table. NEVER throw away bread in front of an Azeri. NEVER. It would be the greatest insult to injury. Basically, you’re telling them that you don’t appreciate life itself, because if you are following this bread=life. When the going got rough here, bread was pretty much the only thing that people had to eat so it’s a sign of incredible wastefulness if you throw it away. One time in Saray, at my old host family’s during PST, I held on to a piece of bread for a week until it went moldy just waiting to throw it in the trash without them noticing. And so you ask, what do they do with the bread they don’t finish? And in response I ask you this, What bread don’t they finish? Was there ever uneaten rice at my grandparents’? No. It doesn’t exist. Azeris buy at least one fresh loaf of bread every single day. A LOAF. EVERY.SINGE.DAY. Atkins diet? Death, zehmet olmasa (please). The thing that gets me (and this is a recurring conversation between me and Jade-dir) is if a country LOVES bread as much as they do here, couldn’t they have come up with better bread? Clearly, healthy eating is not a priority here so wheat with whole grains is not something that will happen soon in this country, but how about a nice batard or baguette or even a delicious naan? I feel like that could easily be made here. There is some variety of bread (one of which I must admit I do enjoy quite a bit but it’s not the go-to bread which baffles me. Just baffles me.)

“Factory Bread” These big round heaps of dough are the usual fare sitting on the typical Azeri dining table. They cost between 20-30 qepik. They taste like nothing. They’re dense and expand in your stomach. Can be exponentially improved if toasted but of course, that doesn’t happen often. They’re purpose is to clean and soak up all the oil on your plate so washing dishes with a real sponge is a lot easier. I only use it for bruschetta and bread pudding.

“Tandir” This is their best bread. It is like a naan. A bit crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside. If I could, I would only eat this for two years.

“Lavash”

This is their flat bread. Not unlike a tortilla.

“Factory-Tandir Cross Bread”

This is what my family usually buys. It’s wider and flatter like the Tandir but it doesn’t have that outside crunchiness as much. Decent. I mean I eat it but what choice do I have anyways right?

Novruz, could quite possibly the best holiday ever… Or maybe the most weight gained in such a short amount of time holiday ever. That’s right… Move aside Thanksgiving! I got me a new eating holiday to love! Seriously now, Novruz is great. Ask any volunteer here and they’ll tell you, “Just wait until Novruz. I’m bringing that back to America.” Novruz is a sort of welcoming of the spring season and a new year. Living in always-sunny-California, I never really appreciated spring. Of course I loved all the flowers and blooming trees but I wasn’t crazy about it. Now that I’ve experienced the Winter Blues (and let me tell you, they’re real, these Winter Blues and should not be dismissed) I am ecstatic that spring is here! I have never been happier to see young green leaves, flowers blossoming on fruit trees, or even, THE SUN! Have you ever missed the sun? Now I have. I didn’t even know I missed it, but the day it came out I was so confused by all the light and finally realized that I have been living without it for MONTHS. What a downer right? Anyways, all I’m saying is, a holiday to commemorate spring is SO necessary. It’s really worth rejoicing over.

The date of Novruz is March 21st but it’s on the eve when all the festivities take place. Let me backtrack though, because the start of the holiday is four Tuesdays prior to the 21st. Also let me just add a quick disclaimer right here: there’s a lot of historical and cultural information as to how a pagan holiday (it really is pagan and you’ll understand why in a second) got to be the biggest holiday in a Muslim country. It’s celebrated all around this part of the world though. A dozen countries celebrate it all with different faiths. I’m not going to write about that. You can Wikipedia it. I’m going to tell you how my Novruz experience went down. Hazirsiz? (Are you ready?)

The four Tuesdays before Novruz each have a theme: Water, Fire, Wind, and Earth. (Pretty pagan right? Wait for it, there’s more.) These Tuesdays were celebrated by cooking Plov of course (rice pilaf.) When it got dark, all the action started. Looking out across Neftchala I saw fire everywhere. Before sunset, kids everywhere had set up little bonfires out of plywood. After the sun went down, they were all lit. The smallest kids were doing this. I saw a group of young boys the age of 9, completely unsupervised with their own tonqal (bonfire.) Then they all started jumping over the fire. (Pagan? I think pagan.) Now I’ve been told different things, but apparently you have to jump over three times for your wishes for the new year to come true. Another volunteer in Lenkeran told me it was seven times. However many, you gotta jump. Anyways, I did this for the first three Tuesdays in Neftchala, visiting different tonqals of my students’ every week. Then on the last Tuesday, I packed my bags and headed to Saray to see my old host family.

That Tuesday was the biggest of the Tuesdays. We had a tonqal first at their new house that is in the process of being built, then we had one at the house I lived in with them. We ate plov, they had samani (a little platter of grass) decorating their table, and for dessert had an assortment of nuts, bhaklava and shekerbura (a pastry filled with nuts and sugar.) After eating, we went to my old host mom’s aunt’s house where we (surprise surprise) ate again. They also had some colored eggs on the table that we played a game with. Two people hold an egg each and you hit the other person’s egg. If theirs breaks, then your wish will come true. Then we went papaq (hat) throwing. Me and Turana, my host cousin, took little Aysel to a house across the courtyard. We dropped our hats in front of their gate, banged on the door, and ran to hide around the corner. Minutes later, the gate opened and closed and then opened a moment after. When we went to pick up our hats, there were nuts and chocolate in it. Trick or treating!

Jade and I had planned to stay in Baku for a couple days before returning to site in time for the 20th. The day we were leaving, there were a lot of preparations for Novruz by the Maiden Tower (the most famous historical site in Azerbaijan.) People were dressed in national costumes, live music was playing, children were dancing, police were shutting down streets, and camera crews were everywhere. Turns out, they were preparing for Ilham Aliyev (the president) to speak there the next day. As we were walking around and taking pictures, a camera crew approached us for an interview. They asked us what we, as foreigners, thought about Novruz. That night, my host family called me and told me they saw us on TV!

The night of the 20th, I ate plov and had a bunch of bhaklava then met up with some of my students to go hat throwing. I was feeling sick and it was cold but it was really awesome. We went from apartment building to apartment building dropping our hats and running to hide. It was just great seeing people out at night. The streets were just filled with kids and it was so good seeing that they had something to do. Even if it’s just for one night, it was something. A time and place to socialize. The following days were just filled with guesting at relatives and friends. I ate bhaklava for days. Bhaklava is Delicious but there’s a problem when you squeeze your food and butter oozes out. Leyla made some bomb bhaklava with lots of oozing.

Novruz was magic. A couple days later, I took a mashrutka to visit Jade in Boradiga. On the bus ride down, everything was just so green and beautiful. The sun was out, the sky was blue and just like that it was spring. I felt light and happy and I felt a spark of something that I hadn’t fully felt yet in this country. It appeared out of nowhere, and just as quickly vanished. But the point is, it existed. It first came as a little spark deep down in there, like a match that immediately blows out when it is lit. Then, slowly, it grew stronger and stronger, and as it chugged along, I couldn’t contain it anymore and it sat bubbling in my throat. It went something like this… “I love my life” first as a whisper. Then, “I Love my Life. I LOVE my Life. I LOVE MY LIFE!”

Happy belated Novruz everyone. I hope you jumped over.

So here’s my day to day. I work at School #1 in Neftchala. (School’s don’t have names like Martin Luther King Jr. Middle School or Berkeley Arts Magnet. They’re simply numbered.) My students are in the 5th to 9th form. I have five different counterparts (teachers that I work with) and teach 19 hours. I meet with each teacher once a week for an hour to lesson plan although most of the time everything’s sort of improvised due to unforeseen events. I have one main counterpart that I teach all her classes with. The others I teach with only two or three times a week which makes it a bit difficult because I’m not a constant presence for the kids. Teachers are the ones that move from class to class. When classes are too big they split it into two for some subjects and half of the students will go to another room. (They often split English classes.) My school has a little over 1,000 students and many students come from surrounding villages. I have a good school meaning that the director does not take bribes from teachers so that he will give them more classes. (The more classes you teach, the more you get paid.) And the teachers do not take bribes from students to get higher marks. Both of these are incredibly common practices. Like my host mom, Leyla said, “In America you pay to learn. Here, you pay NOT to learn.” It’s discouraging but there are people who don’t accept these kinds of bribes and my school is one of them. My school is also divided into two sections. One section teaches in Azerbaijani and the other section in Russian. There are two shifts: one in the morning for students between 5th and 11th form and the second for 1st to 4th forms. I only teach during the first shift which starts at 8 and ends around 2. The second shift starts around 1. I teach between three and five classes a day. I usually finish around one. Then I go home, wait for my host grandma to finish making lunch and my host sister and host mom to come home and eat around 1:45, have tea, then go to my conversation clubs at either 3 or 4. I have four conversation clubs: 5th form, 6th/7th form, 8th form, and 9th and up forms which meet for about two hours every week. Most of them we review and play games that will improve their English skills. I’m starting to evolve them into something else though. For example, I’m trying to make a movie with my 8th form kids and now that the weather is getting better, I’m taking my 5th form kids outside to play games. My little bit of glowing light are my 9th form and up kids. They make me feel like what I’m doing is worthwhile. They’re some good kids and have a lot of promise. It’s when I’m teaching them, I remember why I’m here and that yes, in time, I will (Inshallah- God willing) make a difference for someone.

Some of my 8th form boys.

Boys making a bonfire for Novruz holiday.My 5th form girls that I play elastic jump rope with.

That Nargiz knows how to pose :)

Silly 5th form.

More silly 5th form.

Elastic jump rope (that's what I call it anyways.)

My 9th form Convo Club drawing their houses.

My 8th form class. They're crazy but I love them.

One of the boy's birthday so we got to have cake and tea!

ing I’ve just finished my second full week of teaching and it’s certainly been… a learning experience. There have definitely been good days where I walk out the gate thinking, “They learned. I did something.” Then there are those days where I walk home pouting. It’s not even the kids. The kids are great, for the most part anyways. At least 80% of all my classes are enthusiastic about learning. They try, they participate, they are excited to speak and even more excited when they understand. My biggest challenge is trying to get my teachers to change their views on teaching the curriculum. They want different methods and different outcomes but, like they say, it’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks. (Well, none of them are old, but you know…) They’ve just been teaching the same things, the same ways for years and I need to break this pattern. The books are terrible and provide no actual production. Teachers only focus on one student at a time by drilling them with endless questions and translations. Little English is spoken inside class and if a student doesn’t understand them, they get viciously reprimanded. (Don’t worry, by “viciously” I mean chewed out. There’s no physical contact thank Allah. Just the typical self esteem shattering yelling.) Questions only have one standard answer. Students who don’t have strong motivations in class are ignored and cast to the side. Texts are memorized and regurgitated. Material is presented and then never revisited or used. Sometimes I just loathe the co-teaching. This morning I met with one teacher and I told her “Be patient. Let them try and make mistakes. We will only speak English to them. Don’t translate. Eventually they will learn.” An hour later, she was yelling at them in Azerbaijani… for ten minutes. I almost wanted to walk out. The thing is, like the students’ English skills, the teachers’ skills will come, slowly but (this is where I have to put in my faith) surely. Everything in this country is a slow process, but I just have to remain optimistic that if I work hard and remain determinedly persistent, change will come.

I also started my Conversation Clubs this week. They were large but it wasn’t that bad and I think students understood for the most part. Let me tell you though, even I need to learn how to be more patient. It’s hard for them to understand when the whole thing is in English and they are used to trying to get everything perfect instead of failing a little bit. I talked about Valentine’s Day and Chinese New Year and gave them little red envelopes with sweetheart candies in them and we talked about ice cream, a topic that all kids in every country like. Then at the end two really great things happened. One girl gave me a pair of earrings and a plastic flower barrette. Then as I was walking out the gate, all the boys jokingly held open the gate for me and ushered me out like a queen. (We just read about Queen Elizabeth.) It was great and exactly the kind of interaction that I have been aching for with these kids. I’m not their peer, but I’m not their teacher either. This country just isn’t quick to move. An interesting linguistic attribute is they always say, “maybe.” When I lesson plan I tell them, We will go over new words. They say, Yes maybe. I say, I will be here for two years. They say, Yes maybe. I say, I am having conversation clubs this week. They say, yes maybe. Nothing is for certain. Nothing is a commitment. In the US, everything is yes or no. There is always a decision made. No walking around an answer. It is or it isn’t. There is always a result. Forget about my surprise with those dirty potatoes, this is the real culture shock. This is my real adjustment. I just know now that I’m going to have to push, and I’m going to have to push hard.

PS. Happy Aniversary Nate Dogg!

In the past three months I’ve been on 12 different planes so I’d like to share some traveling tips that I have found helpful and made my miserable stays onboard or in airports bare-able.

1. Drink as much water as possible. The air is super dry and it’s better to stay hydrated than not pee.

2. Bring a shoulder pillow, sleeping mask, ear plugs, Benadryl, an empty water bottle to fill on the plane, and your own headphones.

3. Save the headphones that they give you for free on flights. Many times you need a two prong adapter and on domestic flights they don’t give these to you for free.

4. Wear enough warm clothes because the cabins are usually freezing. Scarves can double as blankets.

5. If it isn’t a full flight and there are empty rows, jump at the chance to grab them! This is valuable real estate because it means you can lie down and your feet won’t be as swollen.

6. Don’t wear a belt. Some airlines take extra security measures and you might have to go through a metal detector at multiple security check points.

7. Pack a lunch. American airlines are cutting costs and don’t provide meals on domestic flights less than 6 hours or even provide enough food at all. Plus airport food is gross and expensive.

8. The air is really dry on a plane so lotion, chapstick, and cough drops help.

9. If you have a long layover and are planning on bringing your computer, load a movie onto your flash drive or splurge on a 5 dollar cup of Lipton tea at the internet café to make the time go by faster.

10. If you’re arriving at your destination in the evening, try not to sleep on the plane to avoid too many issues with jetlag. It you’re arriving in the morning, sleep as much as you can.

For those who don’t know, I was back home in Berkeley last week for my grandfather’s funeral. We were tight and it was the right thing to do for me, for him, and for my family. It was the much needed closure that would have eventually happened if I stayed in Neftchala but being able to be with my family brought a greater sense of healing. This is the third time that I’ve left home thinking that I wouldn’t return again in the next two years (which this time, is probably as true as it’s going to get.) And while it is easier to say goodbye and step on that plane, it doesn’t make it less difficult. Somewhere in between New York and Istanbul, I found myself wetting my sleeping mask with falling tears over a combination of the permanent loss of my grandfather, the temporary loss of Nate, and a deep sense of yearning for a life that I can’t have for two years but loved so much for 23. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I am doing here and wouldn’t trade it for anything right now, but the reminder of being in the company of people who know me best was comforting and I miss that feeling of connection, contentment, and security. So here I am, starting over again, hoping for the best like always.

Second part of this entry, as requested by my dear Uncle Bill, is less of Mimi Chan (get it Me Me) with a cultural note about public transportation as I saw it during PST. Hope it gives you a better sense of the organized chaos of getting from Point A to Point B. On Avtobuslar…

As far as I can tell there are about four different kinds of buses in Azerbaijan. They used to really intimidate me but since I had to take at least four buses everyday during PST, I got a little more comfortable riding them. The buses here aren’t just a mode of transportation, it’s a complete facet of Azerbaijani culture.

First kind of bus: The Big Highway Bus

These look similar to the Grey Hounds we have at home. Big, spacey, lots of seats, very new. They go back and forth between Sumqayit and Baku and come every ten minutes or so. They only stop at the front of each town in between.

Second Kind: Big Mashrutka

These are the local buses, the ones that go between and through the back streets between towns. These look like your standard old buses. The insides have seats but also a lot of room for standing with poles running along the length so that passengers can death grip as the driver swerves and brakes around cars. Another defining feature, is the man that stands in front of the door that collects your money and tells the driver when to stop. He has your change and he’s the one you tell when you want to get off and he in turn, yells it up to the driver. He has no uniform or distinguishing feature. You just kind of have to know that he’s the one you give your 30 qepik to. Sometimes he’ll collect money from everyone starting at the end of the bus and wedges himself back up to the front. And sometimes, he’s not on the bus the whole time. The driver might stop in the middle to pick him up and that’s when he starts his shift.

Third Kind: Small Mashrutka

These are just smaller versions of the big ones. Usually a collumn of seats on the driver side and a row in the back. But these look more like longer versions of serial killer vans. There’s also no money collector man.

Fourth Kind: Sitting section only Mashrutka:

These for me are the most intimidating. They are like the long serial killer vans but there are many seats and only allow for one standing passenger. There is an aisle but when all the chairs are full, folding seats are pushed down to fill the aisle. So in order to get off the bus, the people in front of you in the aisle have to get out as well. Usually all the passengers are going to Baku so no one has to worry about trying to get out when the aisle is filed. But when I’m on, I need to get off before Baku and I hate bothering people to get out. Although part of the bus culture is, people don’t care. Also, at some point in the trip, the driver yells out something I can’t understand, and people take out their coins or bills and start handing them up to the front. While driving, the driver counts and calculates how much money is due, how much is given and by asking riders, who needs change. It’s really quite impressive the amount of multitasking that takes place.

Common features on all the buses are that men always give up their seats to all women and elderly men. Although it is not respectful for a woman to sit in the back row of the bigger buses. If you are carrying a bag, whether it’s a purse or a bag of groceries, someone sitting will always offer to hold it for you. Also buses are filled to maximum capacity. It is never a smooth ride and I am usually holding on for dear life. What I love the most about the buses though is when a mother comes on with multiple children and if there are no seats available, some nice xanim (older lady) or older gentleman, with no spoken agreement, will simply pick up the youngest of the children and hold them in their lap for the duration of their ride. The mother offers her gratitude and the child just sits there, perfectly content and unbothered by this stranger who has plucked them from their mother’s grasp. It’s all so natural and so… Azerbaijani.

I haven’t written in a while and really there’re so many things that have happened and need to be said but instead I would like to write about nothing today.

This afternoon I made tuna melts for lunch. They were delicious. I toasted some chorek (bread) in the red soba (electrical oven) face down with a little bit of butter. Boiled two eggs, diced an onion, some garlic and a homemade pickle and mixed it all up with some of that delicious 100% percent fat mayonnaise that they love so much here. Then I added some pimenton, spread the tuna salad on the chorek, placed some sliced gouda cheese on top, and stuck that bad boy back in the soba. Like I said, it was delicious. But midway through, the only thing I was thinking of as I jammed in one bite after another was, man, I really wish this was an open faced ham sandwich instead. I’m in a Muslim country. Awesome.

I have such a dedicated cleaning regiment these days; one that I never had at home. Before I go to sleep, I use an astringent and face moisturizer. In the mornings I use one that has UV protection. After I shower, I always use a mix of lotion and baby oil (a really great trick I learned from Nate’s mom and to answer your question yes, I do feel like I have baby soft skin afterwards.) I even make sure I floss my teeth every single night and brush with my electric toothbrush for at least two minutes. I’ve become neurotic with this last act. Regardless, my third to last tooth on the right side hurts and has been hurting for some time now. I’m pretty sure it’s a cavity. Sorry Uncle Chester, but it’s probably caused by the 10 pieces of candy I eat in between the brushing.

I eat nuts now. Like walnuts. Like raw walnuts. They’re pretty good with raisins. Who am I?

I also eat beans. Seriously who am I? If I was in a country that ate tofu, I’m pretty sure I’d have to go see a shrink due to displacement of identity.

Baku is a seriously deadly place for PC Volunteers. It is deliciously evil and horribly wonderful. I ate ham there.

I was going to introduce myself as "Teacher Clarissa. Long lost relative of Jackie Chan" to my students but I didn’t have the guts to. I’m hoping to spill it out sometime in the two years I’m here.

I’ve only washed my underwear twice since I’ve been here because I brought so many. One for everyday for more than two months. On a clothes line, from end to end, they stretch out to about eight feet. My little host grandma got a pretty good kick out of that. They looked like Tibetan prayer flags. I mean, I thought it was kind of a transcendental moment seeing my undies fluttering in the wind.

My new favorite thing: bread, cream, and fig jam. Heaven in my mouth. I refuse to leave this country without learning how to make fig jam.

The new cheese this week: smoked gouda. I can’t believe I spent so much time thinking of ways to send cheese from home. So far I’ve eaten a feta type cheese, kind of Swiss cheese, havarti, and this gouda (yes, Nate, I know that made you think of money haha and yes, I know you that well.)

My host mom gives me these little squares of insect repellent to burn every night before I go to sleep and every night I think, how many carcinogens am I breathing in right now?, as I’m trying to look across the room through the smoke. But then I think about that time when a mosquito bit me on the bottom of my right foot and on my right left toe and I woke up from the painful itch and how I seriously thought I got athlete’s foot for days and was completely mortified with how gross my body had become until I finally saw the two little bumps. Then I just don’t care about the breathing in of that smoke. I’ll take that over these little predators any day. Hunting them has become a real hobby of mine.

My host sister asked me to write down the lyrics of Thriller for her. When I got to the word "creature" I stumbled a bit and finally wrote "creecher." Did you know I was here to teach English to these kids? The US government deemed me qualified so that is good enough for me!

I think I want to be Suzie homemaker when I get back to the States. I am going to make my own jam which I made with the fruits that I planted in my own garden and spread them on the bread that I made. Everyone does this here you know? It doesn’t look difficult. I’m pretty sure I could as well. (Right now, in my head, I have an image of my aunt doing one of her exasperated why-bother eye rolls that she’s so good at.)

Here’s one more that’s really not a footnote but needs to be penned out there somewhere: I don’t know if you’ll ever read this but Jen, you’re my girl. Whatever has happened or won’t happen, we shared some real emotions out there in Philadelphia; probably the greatest range of human emotions that I’ve ever shared with any one person in such a short amount of time and for that, you’re my girl. I hope to see you again.

The other day I wanted to cook potatoes for my host family. So I went out to the little porch and picked five small potatoes from the big bag they have out there. As I was picking them, I was thinking, What kind of potatoes are these? The skin is so dark. I couldn't hold all of them in my hand so I put them in my lap as I picked out more. When I brought them back to the kitchen, I realized there were dark marks on my jeans... from the potatoes. I realized (and I'm really embarassed that I had this private moment of realization and that Idid in fact have to think this through) that the marks were from the potatoes because potatoes are grown in the dirt so therefore are covered in dirt when harvested. So I guess deep down I am a spoiled American brat. They don't wash their potatoes before selling it here and place in neat little pyramids at Safeway. Ahh... I was hoping to avoid moments like this. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

The country director.

Actually swearing in...

It's official friends!

My old host family with my new host family

Last night I was packing up my big luggages for the third time in the past two months, but this time was different. This time I was actually in a different country, this time it was with a headlamp in the dark because the electricity was out, this time my clothes were drying next to a gas heater in the living room. This time, it wasn't easier to say goodbye. I am leaving for Neftchala on Thursday. I am scared, excited, happy, and sad. I am scared to be going to a new place, I am excited to start another new adventure, I am happy to be done with PST, and I am sad to be leaving the friends I've made. However, after tomorrow, I AM a Peace Corps Volunteer. It's the real deal. My dream since I was 16 just arrived. It's pretty wild. There's so many of those chest tightening emotions collecting in that place right below my throat. I am here to do what I came here to do and hopefully, hopefully, I will be successful at it. Hopefully people will understand me and will want to work with me. Hopefully students will find me an effective teacher. Hopefully I will be able to co-write, co-produce, co-choreograph the next big Azeri musical. There's so much to think about all the time. Part of me still thinks, "Where am I? What am I doing here and why aren't I at home cooking good food with Nate?" but another part is thinking, "I really might just be in love with this place." It's an uphill battle but I'm trying to have it all.

I will be getting my new address soon. I am living with one of the English teachers at my school, her mother, and her two teenage daughters. I've met her and it seems like she has a lovely family. I don't know when I'll be getting internet again, but when I do, you'll all get an update. Til then, gorusherik... See you soon.

Our yummy lunch of burgers. Love them.

The Museum of Literature.

There's construction going on everywhere.

Site of Baki.

The Eternal Flame.

Lover's Day was declared after this married couple became victims of the invasion.

A memorial of January 20, 1990 when Soviet troops stormed into Baki.

The place where Heydar Aliyev is buried.

Jump time.

In front of the PC office in the capital Baki.

Still cooking and of course with... butter.

Thanksgiving dinner cooking time.

My amazing birthday cake covered in GLITTER!

My birthday dinner. Yum Yum Dolmas!

The Turkmen girls and our LC, Gulshon.

Site Announcements! I'm going to Neftchala.

My language cluster walking up the wind tunnel of a highway on ramp.

Shirvan's statue of the former president Heydar Aliyev

Sorry, it’s a long one. So much has happened in the past two weeks and I know that the next two are going to fly by even faster. Last week we had the much dreaded mid-Language Proficiency Interview. Fortunately I did well and scored one of the highest levels in the group at Intermediate Mid. I am honestly quite proud of myself as it was much unexpected. It really only made me even more confident and determined to become fluent in Azerbaijani.

Last weekend I went on a site visit with Jade (my homie from Seattle) to Shirvan where we stayed with Denny and Linda, a lovely couple from Kansas City. Shirvan is about two hours south of Baku by bus and is a mid sized town. We took the bus on Saturday morning and returned on Sunday night. Unfortunately I slept through the whole ride up due to an unfortunate encounter with Grey Crane (their Grey Goose except it costs 2 manat. You see where things can go wrong with 2 manat vodka.) and sinus congestion medicine. Anyways, it’s great there. Shirvan was so much cleaner than any of the towns I have been in so far. There are public parks, a college, and a great bazaar. We were able to get a good sense of what a PCV life is like and Denny and Linda were just so hospitable. It was a much needed getaway from the rigorous daily grind we have been accustomed to.

THE BIG NEWS!! Last Wednesday I found out where my placement was. I couldn’t sleep for four nights because I was so excited/nervous/anxious/ scared! The night before between the hours of 2am and 5am I actually thought long and hard about what my face would look like when they announced my site. (Imagine beauty pageant winner. “What?! ME!! I’m going there! I WON!” Something like that.) It goes without saying that I was delirious day of. The reality of the situation was when they announced my site, I had no idea where it was until I went up to put my pin right on the map at: NEFTCHALA! It is in the south close to Lankaran. It is next to the Caspian Sea and while the summer’s are quite hot the winters are mild. If you talk to anyone here, they can tell you that I’ve been dreading a freezing site. I will have a site mate, Jordyn, who I met last week. He seems to be doing quite successfully down there and I can only hope to be as well integrated into the community as he is. This is another motivation for learning the language well. It is a more conservative region. I’m still not sure how that will translate for me as a foreign woman but we’ll see. I am just so excited to get there!

Today I met with a teacher from the school I will be working at. It is school number 1. I heard that the students there are a little unruly and I am trying to rouse myself up for the challenge. The teacher, however, was more than I could hope for as a colleague. I could tell right away that she will be open to new ideas and is looking for improvement in the school’s approach to teaching. At first it was a little awkward because neither of us really knew where to start. But by the end we were joking with each other. I asked her to let me know if I ever do something that is “olmaz,” not allowed, a word that is often heard around this country. And she said laughing “Everything is olmaz.”

I am really happy with so much that has happened here so far. It was a rocky start but everything always turns out for the best. It’s interesting to see how people react to such high stress environments. Someone recently said to me, “You’re Clarissa. You never get disappointed.” I’m pretty sure that’s not the accurate answer. The Peace Corps is such a bizarre situation to be in. It’s not real life but you’ll have the most humbling learning experiences in it. Your best bet is to prepare for the worst, expect the best, and do your best every single day you are here. That does not mean you’re happy and enthusiastic and eager to do EVERYTHING the entire time you are here. It means you put in what you can even when you’re tired, overwhelmed, frustrated, and homesick. If you do everything that you possibly and humanly can do, you cannot be disappointed by the outcome. There’s probably about 80 percent of every situation that you’re responsible for and if the other 20 percent fall through, then they fall through and it’s not your fault. You showed up and you did your work. Be proud of that.

Tomorrow’s my birthday, my first of three birthdays in Azerbaijan. I am homesick. I miss my family, my friends, and my Nate. I already want to see them. However, I also feel so charged with motivation. I am so close to starting what I came here to do. Sometimes my finger tips tingle with excitement. Sometimes I eat my feelings and can’t sleep for days. Or sometimes me, Jade, and Jen do a sprint up the highway exit ramp while it’s raining with winds at the speed of 100 mph to catch a bus but really because it is so exhilarating and liberating. (Also culturally inappropriate hehe) Azerbaijan has been so welcoming and I can only hope that I can be just as welcoming of it into my life.

Menim iyirmi uch yashim var – Literally means, I have 23 years. Happy Birthday me.

Right next to my school in Masazir.

The cutest little girl you could ever hope to meet. My soon to be 2 years old host sister, Aysel.

Irene taking a picture of a chicken in a tree!

Mosque in Saray.

Just some train tracks on the way to the mud.

Mud Volcanoes!

More mud volcanoes (they are much cooler than in the pictures.)

That's a large herd of sheep behind me.

The super sketch ladder we climbed to get to...

... a view as amazing as this.

The Girls: Me, Jen, and Jade at Qobostan.

Rock drawings dating back before the Pyramids.

In front of my bus stop in Saray.

Sunset next to the highway.

My GREAT host family.

1. Never have I ever eaten so much candy, sugar, and butter in my life.

2. Never have I ever eaten just potatoes for so many meals.

3. Never have I ever walked in so much mud.

4. Never have I ever walked up an off ramp of the highway to wait for the bus on the side of the highway.

5. Never have I ever hung out of a bus door while it was driving down the street.

6. Never have I ever had a donkey tied up to my front gate.

7. Never have I ever been so aware of getting home before dark (attributed more to PC's policies of traveling at night.)

8. Never have I ever been so happy to see a glass of wine.

9. Never have I ever eaten food straight off the table and not cared.

10. Never have I ever been so scared of a small little old woman yelling at me to take my muddy boots off before I go into the school.

I've been here for about three weeks now and I feel like I have done a lot but at the same time have not seen much of the country. I have training six days a week for about 8 hours each day. Language for half the day (which is coming along quite well but the sounds of the language are so different for English.) Then I teach for half the day which is chaotic but going well. The weather is getting cold and rainy. There's a lot of mud everywhere and I'm constantly nervous about slipping. My host family is still great, but my little host sister was running around with a knife the other night aggh! Her hand's are still always sticky too from the candy she eats. Since the minute I landed here it's been nonstop. But there are definitely things to look forward to. Next weekend I'm going on a site visit to Shirvan where I will spend two days with some PCVs from AZ6 just to see what it will be like. Then on the 18th I will find out where my permanent site will be! Then my birthday! A visit to Baku the following weekend and then swearing in soon after that. I actually only have four more weeks til training is done and I can NOT wait! Training is intense and while I know it is completely necessary, I want it to be over and start doing what I came here to do.

Next time I promise to put up pictures.

This afternoon I watched my host dad nail a large sheet of plastic to the outside of my bedroom window to block the wind and the cold from getting in. The chair he was standing on wasn’t tall enough to reach the top of the window sill so what did he do? Make a ladder from the extra 2 by 4s in the front yard. Took him five minutes. In Azerbaijan, you adapt. Can’t find the teacher you’re working with to review the lessons for the day? Adapt. Still waiting for a bus because the ten that just passed you were too full? Adapt. No toilet paper? Adapt. You don’t like drinking soup made out of oil for dinner? Now you do.

A typical day (Except I haven’t had two days that were the same yet)

**All Azeri words are written with English letters and not in the correct Azeri way**

Every morning there’s a donkey tied to my front gate. It’s not my host family’s. I don’t know whose it is but have yet to see the owner. It is gone by the time I come home. Next a herd of goats and two cows walk down my street followed by a large flock of small black birds flying across the still rising sun. Next I wait for about twenty minutes for a bus. Sometimes they understand perfectly where I want to go, sometimes they don’t and make me get off, and sometimes they do understand, but I don’t understand and I get off and then the driver honks at me to get back on. Arriving at school means having a throng of students say, “Ello! Ello! What is your name?” or they say “Ni how! Ni how!” a trillion times because they don’t think I speak English. Either or. It’s all same-same. Chai at every meal. I can never get tired of chai. However, my host family asks me why I don’t drink it with a lot of sugar or candy and I say “Chin, yok.” Chinese don’t. When I get home (lately it has been before dark, thank god.) I am greeted by my almost two years old host sister who says “Baji, baji, baji!” (“Sister. Sister, sister!”) Then we sit together and eat a lot of candy and she gives me hers with her constantly sticky hands. (Azeris love candy and sweets and this loving relationship with sugar starts at an incredibly young age. Makes me wonder what the diabetes and cavity rate is here.) Then we go to my room. She sits on my lap. I give her an index card and a pen. I study and she draws. Dinner is around 8:00. Sometimes I help Ayten, my host mom cook. Faiq, my host dad, comes home from his shop which is two blocks away around 7:30. We watch Turkish, Russian, Azerbaijani, and American “mega stars” music videos as we have dinner. Food has been really tasty but really oily. There’s a lot of carbs (potatoes and bread at every meal) but not much vegetables. Dolmas are amazing. Tonight we’re having macaroni. Then more chai and more sweets. My host dad taught me to drink tea by sticking a cube of sugar in my mouth and then taking sips with the cube still in there. Then I try to study more but really I just try to talk to my family using the dictionary and the little grammar I know. My host mom and I have figured out a system of hand gestures and a mixture of English and Azeri. I think we both get most of it. I try to go to sleep early every night, but I always end up staying up with them. I finally go to sleep (Aysel, my host sister almost always stays up later than I do. My host family all go to sleep late and wake up late.) Then the next day starts again and it is a day that is so similar, yet so different than any I have experienced previously here.

I am finally getting a better grasp at life here. It is hard to imagine two years but this past week I have been here feels simultaneously like one day and like a month. The language is easy to understand grammatically but difficult to say and use. I am still trying to figure out the gender dynamic and how I fit into it as a foreigner. I have taught English classes for the past two days and I say this humbly yet proudly, I am surprised at my success with it. There is more than enough room for improvement but they went much better than I ever expected. I found that strict but friendly teacher tone deep down in me. However, tomorrow is a new day and I have classes with 8th graders which is the age I absolutely hate in all cultures.

To be honest, since I’ve been on constant overload the whole time I haven’t even had time to think about what I’ve left at home. This does not mean that I don’t miss home terribly and love the ones out there less. Maybe that affection has actually grown due to the fact that I am actually here and doing this with the support of those there. Just the Peace Corps, being in a different country, fully absorbing a new culture, and teaching English is all so… real. This is REAL.

I thought last week was an emotional tumultuous. I was not quite expecting this week. I am also in complete disbelief that I have only been in Azerbaijan for a week. Today made it official.

So much has happened that I don’t know where to begin. I think the best way may be to split the days into two categories: good day; bad day.

Friday and Saturday: good days. We stayed at this amazing hotel that had wireless internet, hot showers, and a lot of food. It was incredibly luxurious. The hours were spent with orientation sessions ranging from health, safety, language lessons, and culture. We also received a few immunizations. There was so much information; it was at times very overwhelming. We crammed four days of material into one and a half. (But this cramming of information and being overwhelmed is the story of my Turkmenistan-turned-Azerbaijan group.)

Sunday: good day. I met my host family! They are the nicest people and I feel so lucky to be with such great people. It’s a young couple (in their 30s) and a young girl who is almost two years old. She is the happiest and most precocious child I have ever met. She comes and just sits on my lap and repeats words that I say such as “This is umm…” When I came back from getting a cell phone (!) I was greeted by a large extended family.

Monday: Good day. My host mother took me on bus number 12 to Karvan market which is at the gate of Saray, the town that I am living in. All trainees are living in towns that are the suburbs of Baku, the capital. From there, I met with the two other trainees in my language class (or cluster as PC calls it) to go to Masazir, the town where are language lessons are. Usually, you live in the town where your school is but they were not able to find host families for us. The buses are terribly crowded to the point where the door is open and people are hanging out it. Fortunately I haven’t had to be one of those people yet. The language lesson was fine. We just learned more conversational sentences. There is a lot of curiousity as we pass by. Teenage boys yell things (fortunately I don’t know what they’re saying ha), young kids yell out “Hello! Hello! What is your name?!” But the biggest crowd getter is another trainee in our former Turkmenistan group because he is African American. When he is around, the rest of us don’t exist. Most of them have probably never seen a black person before and they are always surprised when he turns the corner. He’s such a kind person though that he takes it all in stride. After language class, we have to take another bus to Jeranbatan (spelling?) which is where our technical classes for TEFL is. In total I take 6 buses a day which can be wearing but do-able.

Tuesday: Bad Day. Language lessons were frustrating. There has been quite a bit of confusion with our LCF (Language and Culture Facilitator) in our Azeri class and also with the logistics of things. It’s been difficult to get our questions answered… with the right answer. I understand that the arrival of our group has been a bit of scramble and an experiment, but the communication lines are not clear all the time. The technical class was also frustrating and all the little things that added up that day and the addition of one HUGE transportation disaster which included walking along the highway for an hour and a walk home in completely darkness (fortunately I was not alone, for a large majority of it anyway) made me think “What the f*** am I doing here? I am going to die” feeling for a minute. But then I came home to a happy little girl and I felt better again.

Wednesday: Good Day We went to observe two English classes. The first one was awful. The teacher never looked up at her students, made them recite a dialogue one by one (This is my father. Nice to meet you. Nice to meet you too. This is my Mother etc.) She never spoke English except to correct them when they forgot a line in the dialogue. The second one was much better. The teacher was engaging and corrected the students by telling them why their answer was incorrect instead of just feeding them the answer. Then we had Azeri lesson and actually started on some grammar rules. The biggest triumph of the day: I got home before sunset and got off at all the right stops!!!!!!! This is HUGE! The greatest feeling of accomplishment I’ve had yet. Then a lot of family members came over and we ate and had tea. BUT the best part of the day was the phone call I received from home!! SO EXCITING and it was so great to hear my parent’s voices.

Thursday: Bad Day Language lessons are so frustrating. Not because the material is difficult, but because our LCF does not know how to present the material to us and many things go without explanation and require asking her five times for the information. Then we went for our technical lesson where we would meet the rest of the TEFL volunteers. It was… depressing. They had gone to visit current PCV sites and experience what is was really like to be in one. I’m terrified that we won’t be able to experience that during training and I think it’s such a crucial element to our understanding of what is to come in the next two years. We also were not introduced to the group by the facilitators either. It’s just frustrating because I feel like we should be given an adapted version of Pre-Service Training but we’re not. While they condense our tech lessons, logistics, and language are left for us to sort through almost. I feel like we’re always getting the short end of the stick and we are neither in the this group or in our own. The only good part of the day was that I made dolmas with my host mother. They were delicious.

My impression so far has been good. It’s just the tasks that I have to do that are PC related that are difficult. And again. (and also not to point fingers) not because that they are difficult in general, but because I am not getting all the information that I need. It is hard, but it is worth it. I am eating a lot of bread and a lot of tea. My house is more than comfortable. I can shower every day. I have a toilet that doesn’t require sitting (haha) A host father that does not ignore me and the cutest little girl to play with. My AZ 7 and a half group is wonderful and I already feel like I’ve known them for a lifetime. I know things will get easier and I can only tell myself that this will only make the hard things that do come in the future easier to deal with. I am so happy to be in Azerbaijan. The people are friendly and welcoming. I feel safe.

I AM HERE IN AZERBAIJAN!!!!

It's happened. I reached a foreign country. After all the disappointment, chaos, and stress I have finally made it to a Peace Corps country and my new home for two years... Azerbaijan.

I left for DC early Wednesday morning (was that really only four days ago??) and after a nerve racking conversation with the lady behind the check in counter and an emergency call to SATO about not having a ticket issued out for me, I boarded the plane with 10 minutes to spare. There. I met up with some fellow trainees and an old camp friend. By the way there is nothing to do in northern Virginia. I repeat... nothing. Good thing the hotel had a complimentary wine and cheese hour.

The next morning we met with the rest of the AZ7 (or AZ7 1/2 as we like to call ourselves) group and the Ukraine group in front of the Lufthansa counter at Dulles Airport. We were given our passports, tickets, and instructions on what will happen when we arrive. We were still all hopeful that we would arrive without any more mishaps.

Our flight to Frankfurt left around 5:30pm. So we had our last American meal (unfortunately airport food) made our last calls (I was the biggest phone slave as I was on the phone for two hours calling various people) and said goodbye to America. The flight was uneventful. Eight hours later we landed. Unfortunately us Azerbaijan bound had a five hour layover which was spent watching Gossip Girl.

I had decided not to sleep on the plane but during the four hour flight to Baku I passed the eff out. We were all exhausted. When we got out of customs, a great cheering group of PC staff and a couple AZ6 volunteers came to greet us. We actually made it. We stuffed all our luggage and ourselves in a van and headed to this fabulous hotel. (Seriously it's fabulous.)

Today was spent with an intense training/orientation. We had to cover two and a half days of material into one and a half. This included safety, medical safety, emergancy action plans, langauge, getting vaccinations, learning Azeri customs, and finding out where our host families are. I am tired. Excited, ecstatic really, but tired.

Tomorrow we leave our fabulous hotel to meet our host families. Since they had to scramble to find homes for us, we aren't all in the same town or even language cluster. Us five girls (out of seven with the other two being boys) are in one language cluster but three of us (myself included) will have to travel to a different town for language and another for technical training. So I will be living in Saray, my language lessons will be in Masazyr, and the TEFL lessons will be in Dzeyranbatan and will be taking the bus to travel to all these different places. Each of the day I'll have four hours of Azeri lessons and the rest TEFL. Training will commence on December 9th with us swearing in as volunteers. The next day we are moved to our sites.

This is just as thrilling as I had hoped it would be, maybe even more. I am ready. I just wan to jump into everything. I am a little nervous about living with a host family due to the gender divide and implications it means for me. As an Asian, they also might think that they didn't get a "real" American. (Funny related side story: In the hotel bar in Virginia, this man came up to me and another trainnee and asked "So where in Asia are you originally from?" I said, "America." He asked again, "What? Beijing?" "No. UH-mare-i-kah." "What was that? Shanghai, Taiwan?" "Sir, Shanghai is not in Taiwan. It's in China." We've been laughing about this since. This just proves that Americans desperately need other countries to do a cultural exchange as well. Back to the main story...) I am also nervous about finding my way around the town and getting the unwanted attention for being American and I think more importantly in my case Chinese. But like I said, I am so excited and so emotionally and mentally prepared!! Hopefully I'll get some internet soon to keep posting about these next events. I might not be able to get until Sunday when I have a break though.

Always thinking about and missing you all!

Monday September 28, 2009 (9:30am): Fly out of San Francisco to Philadelphia

Tuesday September 30, 2009 (1:30pm): Register and turn in paper work to Peace Corps

(3:30pm): Orientation begins with introductions of all volunteers

(4:30pm): Director of Central Asia, Europe, and Middle East enter and tells us as of nine hours ago we were uninvited to serve in Turkmenistan by the Turkmen government for undisclosed reasons.

(6:00pm): We were given itineraries for our flights home the next day.

(8:00pm-Wednesday, September 31, 2009 3:00am): An evening drowned in Gyro platters, vodka tonics, depressed volunteers, kamikazes, jukeboxes, and walking all over the Historic District looking for a pack of cigarettes that nobody wanted.

Wednesday September 31, 2009 (6:30pm): Fly out of Philadelphia to San Francisco

Thursday October 1, 2009 (1:00pm): Call received from Peace Corps offering a new invitation to Azerbaijan

Friday October 2, 2009 (9:00am): Accept invitation.

Friday October 9, 2009 (11:30am): Call Peace Corps to make flight reservations for Washington D.C.

Wednesday October 14, 2009 (6:00am): Fly from San Francisco to Washington D.C.

Thursday October 15, 2009 (1:30pm): Orientation Take Two

(5:30pm): Fly to Frankfurt, Germany then on to Baku, Azerbaijan

Life definitely makes itself unpredictable. I have never felt so disappointed, stressful, and joyful in such a short period of time. Things happen for a reason. This is my country. This is where I’m supposed to go. Here’s to the next best thing that turned out for the best.

Mailing Address:

(Volunteer's name)

Peace Corps Azerbaijan

Sumgayit şəhərı

Azerbaycan pr. 15

Mərkəzı poçt

Azerbaijan

As have been mentioned many times before, I am soon to be a Peace Corps trainee and within three months a Peace Corps Volunteer. I am leaving for the country of Turkmenistan, a country that up until being invited, had never heard of. I can only make assumptions at what life is like in Turkmenistan. I could write on here facts and history about this country but I won’t, because it won’t be accurate. I don’t know this country yet. I have not met it’s people or experienced their culture… but I am now more than ready to. I am tired of guessing at what it will be like. I want to know. The only thing I am certain of is the life that I have led for the past twenty two years with the people who matter to me in the town that I was born in. The only things that I know are the things that I am unavoidably going to be thinking about, missing, every minute for the next two years. Of course there will be wonderful and exciting encounters that will fulfill these absences and I am beyond grateful for the chance to experience those. The Peace Corps has been the only thing that made sense to me to do since high school. It was the only part of my future that I could predict or hope for . The rest will have to present itself in due time.

I will miss the small stone path leading up to my house. The smell of the Gourmet Ghetto and Cheeseboard pizza wafting up in the afternoons and early evenings. The fog that unpredictably curls up to Grizzly Peak making it impossible to drive through. I will miss seeing Charlie’s head popping up above the window sill as I come up the driveway. My mother’s stews and soups and her ability to listen to everything and nothing at once and the good humor and practical optimism that she carries with her everywhere. I will miss watching food and cooking shows with my father and listening to his endless stories about everything and anything because he has that incredible ability to know something about everything. I will miss the countless hours I have spent sitting in my aunt’s living room and uncle’s garden with my whole family making fun of each other with the most brutal and loving honesty possible between such a tight knit group of people. I am not ready for the heart wrenching absence of the one I love most and the moments we spend doing everything and nothing together, playing thumb war, consoling each other, inspiring each other for more. I will miss the murmur of excitement I get every time I come out of the tunnel on the Bay Bridge and look directly into the city. The friends that have shared moments of celebration and disappointments: whispered secrets with Kelly spoken in Cantonese, Myclarinique time, shared bottles of wine with Rob and Jeremy, pool time with Annie, hour long conversations about food with Marisa and Courtney, just to name a few. These are the things that I have come to know as the things I love. Tomorrow, I am leaving on a jet plane… but I will return again. Two years is a short blip and when I come home we will all be a little bit older and (hopefully) wiser and more experienced in the ways of the world. And we will all be more ready than ever to live out our lives... together.

With all my love,

Clarissa