Frustration

Frustrated today, but everything is OK. Just gotta hold out to my Turkish vacation in four days...

Thanksgiving, a l'azerbaidjanaise

I've received a few emails and messages wondering how my Thanksgiving was spent, so I figured I would type up a quick post to keep everyone updated.

Last week, the embassy had a party for us at an employee's house. All the volunteers went to Baku with their own homemade dishes for our turkey feast! After the delicious meal, there was a talent show... where I deftly handled the nose-flute. And by deftly handled, I mean "was unable to play." That is a difficult instrument to play!

On real Thanksgiving, which was Thursday as you well know, the Barda volunteers went to Lexi's house where we ate stuffing, mashed potatoes, spinach and other fine Thanksgiving treats. But Thanksgiving doesn't end there. In fact, in Muslim countries "Qurban bayrami" or Sacrifice Holiday takes place for about a week at the end of November. This Sacrifice Holiday commemorates Abraham's sacrifice to God from the Old Testament (a shared story among Jews, Muslims and Christains by the way). People remember the sacrifice by slaughtering sheep or cows and giving the meat to poorer family. My counterpart is fortunate enough to have enough money to buy meat, so she and her husband bought a sheep and slaughtered it.

Of course they waited for me to come over before they did the deed. A year ago this would have horrified me, but since I pass five butcher shops on my way to school every morning, witnessing the slaughter was hardly shocking. After they cut up the sheep into little parts, they gave portions to various poorer people in the neighborhood. It was really nice to watch the generosity and see how similar our traditions are despite being so far away from one another.

Of course not all traditions can or even should be loved by a foreigner. For the next morning, we ate the head of the sheep for breakfast! BARF- eating animal heads is one tradition I have never liked but always seem to get stuck doing! Happy Qurban Bayrami!

Return of the cow head

I came home one day, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I spotted a strange box in the middle of the yard. Intrigued, I decided to open the mystery box. This is what awaited me:



YUM YUM YUM!

The host father, Arif, came home shortly thereafter to get to slicin’ and dicin’. I just can’t escape this cow head. Oh well… as they say, “When in Rome….”

Halloween

Halloween is a time of fright, fear and … grey pumpkins? Besides this last irregularity, I spent this year’s Halloween surprisingly normally. Halloween began when I taught the kids everyone’s favorite song: “Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!” For some reason, they loved “smell my feet” the most.

On the eve of All Hallows Eve, I carved grey pumpkins with my host sister, Nurana. I couldn’t believe I was actually carving pumpkins in Azerbaijan… but I also found it ridiculous to see a grey pumpkin. It just AIN’T NATURAL!!! Anyways, my pumpkin turned out great, as you can see below:




On Halloween, we took the kids to an event at another school. They bobbed for apples, trick or treated and the like. It was completely new and incredibly interesting for them! I also was able to watch everyone's favorite Halloween comedy about the Sanderson Sisters: Hocus Pocus! A very good Halloween, indeed :)

The day I fell out of my mother

Anadan olmaq = Azeri for “to be from mother” otherwise known as “to be born.” So when Azeris say “I was born on October 16,” they are really saying “I fell out of my mother on October 16.” Kinda funny, huh?

Anyways, I am now the big ole’ iyirmi uch, or 23 as we say in the English tongue. And because this is Azerbaijan - where adventure lurks round every corner - my birthday was an interesting one indeed.

It all began on the 14th. The English teachers gleefully told me they would take me the following day to buy a suit for my birthday. I told them a million times to not buy me anything (money is very tight here) but they insisted, saying they would be upset if I didn't accept. That night, I must have eaten something parasitic because I was sick as a dog for about 12 hours, unable to eat and head a-spinning. I was sure it was swine flu until I watched the state news, which benevolently declared (and continues to declare) that swine flu has not come to Azerbaijan yet. *sarcastic eyebrow raise* Nevertheless, the morning of the 15th, I dragged my sorry rear out of bed to go get my suit. And what a suit it is! It’s from Turkey, which over here is equivalent to Paris or Milan-like quality. It fits me surprisingly well and I feel quite chic in my Turkish threads. As I put it on in the sad little bazaar stand, I instantly snapped out of my sickness. The rest of the day involved: a surprise birthday party at school, cake, preparing Azerbaijani food for my dinner party (wrapping dolma SUCKS!) and the dinner party itself.

The 16th was equally exciting. The teachers were so happy to see me wearing the suit that a few of them may have teared up. You think I’m joking, but I’m not. The teachers weren’t finished with me yet, though. They threw me a birthday lunch at Tofiga’s house where I danced (alone?) and ate until I just about exploded. Somehow word got out to all the kids at school and I was showered with gifts as well. I didn't want to take them but I had no choice. I have to admit though, I’m glad to have them. Some of my favorites include:

a giant evil eye
a “Rulex” watch
a cigar kit
a cup and saucer kit of Mecca
a ceramic orange complete with dessert forks
a plug-in rainbow colored watermill, that spins a glass sphere

All in all, I had a great bday! I was amazed and humbled by the school’s attention to the date where I was out of my mother. They say next year will be even bigger… stay tuned! Thanks also to friends and family who wrote messages, letters, sent packages and called. Made me feel warm and tingly!

The mid-way mark

Are people still reading this blog? If so, congratulations! You have been reading this page for about 13 months, or in layman’s terms, half of my PC service!

It is interesting to think that in another 13 months, my time will be over and I will return to the ole US of A. At this halfway point in my service, it is tempting to ask myself: What have I done? That question seems a bit self-centric (not to mention depressing due to the lack of results!), so I have been trying to think of a different question: “How have I developed?” Sounds corny, I know, but you’re still reading aren’t you? I won’t bore you with this journey into my conscience; just know that I am in a state of self-reflection that a Confucian monk would be proud of.

A little funny story to end this semi-serious post: On my way home the other day, a man called out to me from across the street. Because this sort of thing happens every day (despite my apparently “Turkish” looks, I tend to stick out like a sore thumb), I ignored him and continued to walk home. Eventually, the grown man trailing after me in my peripheral vision merited some sort of response. Mustering all the coldness in my face that was able to be mustered, I awaited one of the following three, typical questions: 1. Will you teach my child English? 2. How much money do you make? or 3. Do you know (insert name here), my brother’s daughter’s uncle’s grandfather’s cousin’s neighbor’s step-mother’s son? Luckily, I was wrong. The man was chasing me down because he saw I was wearing a tie, and needed someone to knot his son’s tie for school. I happily knotted the boy’s tie, received a brief thank you, and watched the man run off to give his son the tie. Peace Corps is truly all about the little victories.

Xinaliq... "the middle of the middle of nowhere"

In order to grab some precious fresh air before school begins in a week, a few friends and I escaped on a final vacation into the middle of the middle of nowhere: Xinaliq. Xinaliq, pronounced like: [hocking a loogie noise] + [in] + [a] + [lick], is an ancient, isolated village located in the north of Azerbaijan, nestled in the barren roots of the Great Caucasus Mountains. Despite a small population of about 500 people, the village boasts its own culture, architecture, traditions, language and religious practices.

The middle of the middle of nowhere.

The road to Xinaliq was dangerous at best; snaking around mountains, cliff faces and roaring river beds. One false move in our LandRover and we would have literally fallen off the side. We even found a wreckage of a car that wasn't so cautious: five people died in what was apparently a case of drunk driving that had undoubtedly resembled drunk flying. Sad. Nevertheless, the scenery was amazing. Breathtakingly amazing. The weather was foggy, which provided a view that was both eerie and beautiful. There were some parts in the road where clouds of fog rolled so quickly that mountains appeared, disappeared and reappeared in a matter of seconds - right before your eyes.

This is one of those mountains.

Once we arrived in Xinaliq, we hiked all around the village and met with the locals. My favorite was the shepherd girl (pictured below) who watched us take "jumping" photos, like the crazy tourists we were. We stayed with a host family and ate on the floor, which made us feel very Eastern. I had some Montazuma's Revenge that night which kept me up until about 2 AM, but luckily there were primo toilet facilities. And by primo, I mean a hole in the ground with trash around it. It's always good to have reminders that you're in the Peace Corps.

School is overrated, anyways.

And that was Xinaliq. The next day we descended from our magical, hobbitish fairy land in the mountains and returned to Baku and Barda. This week I may have access to wireless Internet (!), so you may just see a video here soon enough. Stay tuned!

Da svidanya

I woke up with a cat on my head today and screamed.

The title says it all. I sleep with my door open and a cat must have come in the middle of the night and found my head to be a comfortable resting place. When I woke up, I thought it was a rat and screamed at it, provoking the host family to run upstairs, thinking I had been stabbed by some midnight assailant.



The rest of my day was normal enough.

ABLE Summer camp

ABLE summer camp, or Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience (Azeri: Azerbaycan oglanlar ucun liderlik tercubesi), has been in existence for four years now and is still going strong. This past week, I had the honor to participate in ABLE camp and see the great work this program does for Azerbaijani youth.

ABLE camp brings children from all over the country to a central location; this year we met in a small mountain village in the center of the country. Peace Corps Volunteers and counterparts work together to plan, organize and teach lessons & activities about leadership, community and teamwork – values that weren’t the most important during Soviet rule. I brought several kids from my region to participate and saw a change in their attitudes and composures almost instantly! Clearly, being in a positive environment with a bunch of Americans and exemplary Azerbaijani young males motivated the camp participants to set goals for their futures.

Happily, this past week was like a dive into my Scouting past. We dug through the woods for firewood and made bonfires, ate questionable food, played football (well I just watched, but you get the picture), sang around the campfire, hiked through mountain trails, etc. Despite my resolve to live in some sort of city when I’m 30, I can see myself retreating to some foggy, craggy mountain dwelling… granted the modern conveniences of the 21st century are within a few miles. I’m sure such a place exists, right? My favorite part of this camp was the 4 hour hike to a 7th century AD castle, named “Young Lion Castle.” It was, without exaggerating, hidden in the woods among ruined stone walls and worn footpaths. I felt like I had stepped into the Middle Earth of LORD OF THE RINGS! My task, which was to ensure all the kids stayed on the path, was slightly complicated by the copious amounts of wild berries along the side of the road. Every time I got someone back on the path, another kid ran off in search of an elusive berry. Then a rather portly child fell off the side of the steep, zigzagging mountain trail. Luckily a tree prevented him from falling too far.

I had often heard volunteers saying that this experience was the most meaningful thing they had done all service. I now understand why!

Barda sunrise after a storm

I see this every day when I go to work...
too bad the mountain you see is occupied by a certain neighboring country.

The Russian border

Swim lessons... from HELL

This is what the people at the pool look like... in Malibu.

I began teaching swim lessons to young children today at the local pool. Yes, we have a pool in town though it leaves much to be desired. I am fairly sure I will contract some sort of topical disease before the summer's over... but that's OK. Nothing a little penicillin can't clean up.

Of course, I knew that swim lessons in Azerbaijan would be different. Nevertheless nothing could have prepared me for that moment when I walked in the door to the pool. One teacher with... THIRTY FLAILING CHILDREN struggling to stay afloat. The children weren't waiting patiently at the wall for my instructions. Instead they were doing whatever they wanted despite their limitations, namely the fact that they can't swim. Swim lessons last for an hour and a half, and I am fairly sure this hour and a half cost me a few years of life. The lifeguard in me was surveying the pool, which means I couldn't devote all that much time to actually teaching.

This will be an interesting two months. If I don't make it, tell my mom I love her!

Turksen?

"Turksen?" means "Are you Turkish?" I think some of you might know where this post is going. I apologize in advance.

It goes without saying that I don't look like too much Azerbaijanis out there. My hair is far too bright, my skin far too light and my clothes far too... different. I definitely do not mind looking so different, but it is always interesting for me to hear people talk about me. Throughout my time here, I have been mistaken for a: German, Englishman, Russian, Georgian and even a Korean. Very rarely do they guess I'm American. However most of all, surprisingly enough, I am mistaken for a Turk!



*Cue the confused looks*


I have yet to see a Turk that resembles me, but I think part of the reason I am getting more and more confused for a Turk is due to my clothing and hair choices... courtesy of the local bazar. Here are some samples:



1. Pointy shoes. These are horribly uncomfortable, but horribly cheap. Plus there's something inherently manly and fashionable about having points at the ends of your toes.

2. Euro mullet. I'm nowhere near as dapper as this young man, but my hair looks pretty similar. Thank you to the $2 haircut! Actually, this hair gets me so many compliments I almost think that it looks good!



Don't worry, my hair doesn't have that much party in the back... yet. :$

3. Tacky... TACKY shirts. Mine don't quite have the "Ruffles" as immortalized from that Seinfeld episode, but I do have some worthy numbers in my wardrobe including, but not limited to, a brown stretch oxford with gold trim and vertical lines. It is my dress to impress shirt. Lord help whoever has to walk with me when I come back Stateside.

Azerbai-journal 4: All for the story

My parents always told me two things: don't go home with strangers and don't eat something that is unsanitary. I'm sorry to say, living in Azerbaijan has not only silenced these two golden rules in my mind, but it has actually made me rebel actively against them! My new mind set, however anti-Darwinist it might be, is to go pretty much wherever someone takes me and eat pretty much whatever is put in front of me. The thought process being: it's all for the story.

So here are a few examples of such stories:

1. Beer and old fish:

Yum yum yum.

I was walking home the other day around 8 pm. Since it is June, the weather is only mildly Hell instead of sweltering. Suddenly across the street, a random person yells out for me, using the now-familiar "Jamil" instead of Jeremy... which is just too hard to pronounce anyway. I really wanted to get home for some food, but his offer of "beer in the cool place" just seemed too good to pass up. A voice in my brain futily called out for me to check my surroundings, or at least to call a friend, but that was quickly pushed aside in the "name of the story."

When we got to the cool place, which was actually a dusty poorly lit basement (yikes!), we got some beers. I was trying to drink it as fast as I could, in order to get out of gross basement, but my host would have none of that. Thus, he bought some dried (but slimy) fish in a bag! While munching on the treat, we chatted about Michael Jackson, religion, and Muslim concepts of the sun and moon. I really spaced out after Michael Jackson, partly due to the rampant bones in my fish and partly due to the beer I suppose. I am just assuming we were speaking about Muslim concepts of the sun and moon because I heard those three words (Muslim, sun, and moon) a lot of times.

2. "Good morning, Jeremy. Come to a three day wedding, you have an hour to prepare!":

A few weeks ago, my counterpart called me at 8:00 in the morning. Salam Jeremy, she said, wake up! Slightly confused, I asked if we had had a meeting or if I was late for something. No, no she replied. "We are going to a wedding a few hours away and you must come."

AZERBAIJANI LANGUAGE NOTE: As far as my limited knowledge, the Azerbaijanis use the same word (mali or meli) for the English must, should, have to, ought to, it is necessary to. Thus English speaking Azeris often have a hard time choosing which to use and almost always use the word "must" which makes you feel like you are being yelled at all the time.

"A wedding?" I asked, kind of tired and not in the mood for blaring clarinets. "Yes, you must come. You have one hour to prepare. Hurry." *CLICK* At this point I could have called back and said, no I don't want to come thanks... but the adventurist part of me decided to ride out this storm. What I didn't quite know until I got there was that I would be at this wedding for THREE DAYS. It turned out to be a blast despite having to sleep in the same bed with random people, not shower, and watch a few lambs being slaughtered. The best part was the wedding itself. This was an araqsiz wedding (no vodka wedding), much to the chagrin of the men. So, as any high schooler would, we sneaked it in! I felt literally like I was 15 again, but was somehow comforted by the fact that men three times my age were casting furtive glances inbetween hearty swigs of clandestine bottles.

Me with the 'bad kid' table. Some may have drank more than me.

The (happy?) bride and groom. Bet you can guess what the red ribbon is for.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The messenger bag

When school was ending last week, one of the students told everyone that he wants to be like Mr. Jeremy when he grows up. Intrigued, I asked him why. "Why?" he asked. "Because then I can have a big cool bag!"

I've never been a fashion forward person, though here in Azerbaijan it would seem I'm more en vogue than Calvin Klein (I'm assuming thats still a famous brand). Most of the attention goes to my handy dandy messenger bag, which I never paid much attention to myself.

THIS belongs on a Paris runway.

As I walk down the road, some people compliment this practical companion strapped on my back, while others scream "green monster" at me and shake their head. Now that classes are over, the bag has retired much to the distress (and relief!) of Barda denizens. "Dostun hani?" they ask (where is your friend?), or "Yakshidir ki getdi, sene yarashamadi!" (It's good that it's gone, it didn't suit you well).

I personally feel as if a large tumor was removed from my back; nevertheless, I miss that big green bag.

"Qardas, can you help me?"

A warning that the squeamish turn away from this post!

An artist's rendition of my weapon.

As many of you know from reading my posts or from talking to me, life is full of surprises here in Azerbaijan. Yet, yesterday was most likely my most shocking - and random - occurrence to date. The sun was shining (aka blazing hot) as I was walking home from the post office. Children were playing in the streets, the smell of kebab hung thick in the air, and I was humming along. You could say that if Penny Lane had been playing somewhere in the background, it wouldn't have been out of place. Yes, mesdames et messieurs, tout allait tres bien a ce moment-la.

But the random adventures I've come to love always come at such times. This time was no exception. As I was strolling along in my personal Penny Lane, I spotted an old lady in the street, armed with a knife and live chicken. In the States this may be enough reason for policemen to open fire, but here I didn't so much bat an eyelash. However, this lady called over "Qardas (brother) can you help me?" Being the Boy Scout I am, I of course went to help... not quite realizing what I would be asked to do.

CULTURAL NOTE: In Muslim countries, meat must be prepared "halal" or else you are not supposed to eat it. This involves killing the animal correctly, and a man must do it.

I told the woman I was a foreigner and had never killed an animal before. She waved away my pesky murder virginity away with an agitated hand and showed me the proper way to stand on a chicken as you kill it. In case you were wondering, its one foot on the wings, and the other foot on the legs. I think a year ago, I would have stopped at this point. But there's something about the absurdity of the situation that motivated me to go ahead and finish the job... and the doomed chicken. Of course the knife was the dullest blade in all of Azerbaijan, which means I had to saw away at this poor animal's neck for what seemed like a century!

Finally the job was finished, the proof of my savagery all over my shoes. The lady took her decapitated hen and walked away with a quick "thank you." I walked home... a different man, no longer strolling on Penny Lane.

Let there be light!

Today at school, electricity was finally installed in all the classrooms! I am not sure how many years it has been, but this is a clear indicator of development. I know it is very small, but it is important for both the teachers and the students. It wasn't very fun to teach in the dark.

In other news, summer is coming! The weather is getting beautiful, but its gonna be hot in a few weeks. Really hot! I am planning a camp for some of the IDP students in the area, we'll see how it goes. Swimming lessons might also be a part of my summer time here.

Just a quick update... short and sweet.

Ecology project - success!

Well, my first project as a PCV has been deemed a success! :) I just wanted to type a quick message to express my happiness and as soon as I have the pictures I'll be sure to post them.

Essentially, the Barda PCVs gathered 30 children from the town and ran an interactive ecology training program. It was interesting, fun and good practice for us PCVs trying to figure out the best way to work in a country in Azerbaijan.

In other news, I finished the DVD my family sent me from the States. Lost Season 5 was really crazy at the beginning, but quickly became addicting once that annoying time travel flashing stopped.

Stay tuned for some good pictures!

Some picture updates

Its been a while since I've posted some pictures, so here are some snapshots of my school! Its not in the best condition, and there are people living in it, but its a great place.

My sixth grade class and counterpart.

The school courtyard, which has been converted into storage for the school residents.
The front of the school.

Math party!

Feeling red, white and blue

Can you believe it’s March already? That means this is my sixth month in Azerbaijan, marking the longest consecutive period of time I’ve spent in a foreign country (even though I’ve been in France longer, it was at two separate times… not all in a row!). And I’m pretty sure Azerbaijan is as foreign as you can get for an American from rural Maryland!
I have so much to update, while at the same time so little. So in keeping with the theme of today’s post (red, white and blue), I’ll tell you what I’ve been up to.

Red. The color red implies happiness and excitement right? Let’s go with that. Every day is full of adventures, learning experiences, and of course… ridiculous happenings! These daily experiences keep life interesting and enjoyable, and make me feel like I’m not only a successful volunteer thus far, but a busy one! Here is a list of random stuff I’ve done in the past few weeks:

• Corralled lambs in the village
• Bonded with my host father over vodka
• Cooked potato pirozhki
• Danced, danced and danced some more
• Ate lamb guts
• Went to the graveyard and was told that I will become a mullah, by a mullah (a Muslim priest)
• Almost blew myself up in the washroom… we have a new gas water heater that’s hazardous to say the least
• Taught the Star Spangled Banner to my kids. This deserves its own paragraph, because I have become quite the singing sensation in Barda.

We are having an English party soon, where all the students perform English skits, songs, poems, etc. and there was interest in performing the American national anthem. So, I took it upon myself to teach the kids the song and… the TUNE! Now, if you’ve ever heard me sing, you know I am no Frank Sinatra. Nevertheless, the kids think I have the greatest voice in the world. No lie! One day as I was walking in the dark crumbling staircase, I hear a familiar voice singing around the corner. Yes that’s right… MY OWN VOICE!

Apparently the kids recorded my voice in class on their cell phones… and listen to it for ENJOYMENT!!! Not even to mock me, but because they actually enjoy listening to my pathetic attempt to sing our nation’s red white and blue. Now is that cultural exchange or what?! Not to mention a great confidence booster.

White. My skin is really pale, some might even say whiter than Michael Jackson. While that’s certainly not true, I have had my skin color pointed out to me twice in the past week… so it was worth mentioning. One little girl stared at me for a good five minutes before informing me of my “condition.” I tell people that in the summer I’ll be OK, that I’ll turn brown. I can’t wait to see everyone’s reaction when I turn lobster red.

Blue. I got the blues! Well, no not really. The sky is starting to turn blue and the winter weather (read—no heat in my room!) is finally leaving! These next few months should be beautiful until May, when the summer heat (and mosquitoes) comes to town.

The IDPs

Today I visited one of the surrounding villages of Barda, where many IDPs from the disputed Karabagh region reside. First, a quick lesson on international relations: IDP is an acronym for Internally Displaced Persons, meaning someone who has been forced to settle elsewhere in their own country for reasons of war, famine, natural disaster, etc. Many people refer to IDPs as "refugees," but this is actually incorrect usage of the word. A refugee is someone who flees one country and takes residence in another for the aforementioned reasons. That being said, I may slip up a few times and say refugees while referring to the IDP population in Barda; just know the difference and I'll be happy.

This visit was eye-opening to say the least. Just as in my own host school, many IDP families live in classrooms, twig and stick houses, or small shacks. Others live in rusted train carcasses, which have also been converted into classrooms, or in bombed-out factories that no longer operate after the war. The village has a very temporary feel to it, as if everyone could pack up tomorrow and be ready to move back to their homes. But what is most striking is that this situation has existed for fifteen years. Others say they have been like this for twenty years... basically it depends on who you talk to. For example, it's not unusual that a child born in one classroom will attend math class in the adjoining room.

As always, I was touched by the warm hospitality I received from my hosts. The director literally stuffed food in my messenger bag for me to take home! Although it's still too early to begin any community development projects, I have a sneaking suspicion that the IDP question will be a large part of my service in this country.

Azerbai-journal 3

Lately, I've been feeling like a little baby. Not because I'm helpless, wear swaddling clothes, or need diaper changing (though there was that one time on the marshrutka… nevermind!), but because I'm constantly surrounded by crowds of women kissing me and pinching my cheeks. In fact, my daily arrival in the teacher's room more closely resembles a baby shower than a professional workplace. About 90% of the teachers are middle-aged females, and it seems they all want me to marry their daughter, niece, granddaughter, whatever. Some just like to smile at me, but that's okay. Nevertheless there's only one Jeremy, thus a sort of friendly competition has arisen. This competition for my affection has taken various forms:

• Candy. We're always told not to take candy from strangers… but I forget this cardinal rule every time a teacher holds out a tasty chocolate treat. I actually don't eat the candy, but save it in a bag in my room in order to give it to kids later.
• Qonaqliqs. Qonaqliq is Azerbaijani for "guesting," a common and enjoyable Azeri pastime. It essentially means I go over someone's house, eat delicious food until I feel ill, and dance. The 20 minute do-nothing-after-you-eat-or-else-you'll-get-a-cramp rule is generally ignored here. I have been to several teachers' homes already, and my goal is to get to everyone before my service ends.
• Compliment my messenger bag. My messenger bag has become a legend in School #4. It's so big, oddly colored, and yet… so practical! "Jamil, (my name has been Azerbaijanified to make it easier to pronounce) show us what you have in your bag today!" I then proceed to empty its contents on the table, and I'm always surprised at what I have managed to cram in there that day. I undoubtedly picked this trait up from my darling mother, the queen of all mother-shovers :).
• Hold popularity contests. "Jamil! Who do you like more, me or Teacher X!" or "Jamil! Who is a better mother to you, me or Teacher Y!" Although I would never answer this sort of question due to my diplomatic demeanor, the teachers enjoy asking this question in front of their matronly rival. I always say "I love you both" or "I won't say!" with a big American, toothy smile, which always results in a few cheek pinches and candy.

I definitely have a great time with the teachers. Even though they may baby me a little bit, they all respect what I'm doing and are eager to learn from me. Should be an interesting two years!

New Years in Baku

A year ago, I wouldn't have imagined spending New Years in the oil-boom capital of the Near East. At least, that's what I was thinking as I stood shivering in the sleet/ice/snow mixture while waiting for a bus on the frozen streets of Baku. Many of the Volunteers came to the capital city to spend the holidays together; the plan was to spend one night together and return to our respective sites the following day. Let's say that plans are made to be broken, and we all learned a valuable Peace Corps lesson: You can't plan for everything! And by everything, I mean a blizzard on New Year's Eve. Despite this unaccounted occurrence, and an extra night at the "Canub" hotel, we managed to enjoy ourselves and spent the holiday happily and in each other's company. Just like from that movie Touristicos. You know- the one where all those Americans go to a developing country and have a great time, only to get hacked into pieces and have their organs sold to the highest bidder? OK, well maybe minus that last part.

Traveling between Baku and Barda is always an interesting experience for me for several reasons. First, the duality between the capital and the regions is striking. One of my friends calls the trip "Time Travel," because returning to the regions is like jumping back in time 50-100 years. Though I don't quite agree with this comparison (I don't recall reading about cell phones, TVs, and computers in history class), there are certainly some time-warp aspects to the five hour trip. Second, there is a clear distinction between city and region life. Of course, this is true anywhere… after all, I don't recall seeing any drag queens parading the streets of Jarrettsville, MD or for that matter hillbillies in New York City. But here, the difference is even more remarkable. In the regions, everyone knows your name, your family, your business, etc. but in Baku… I almost blend in! I thought I might spend a few days without people staring at me, but the last day someone slipped on ice while trying to watch me from afar. I laughed.

All in all, New Years was a fun time, but I couldn't help but miss friends and family back home. Just think, one more New Year's celebration here and then I'll be home before you know it!

A winter update

Finally, right? I apologize for the incommunicado these past weeks (or is it months?!), Internet access in my community is not the easiest and I rarely have time to zone out in front of a computer screen at the local Internet Klubu. Thus, photo updates may be a while- next time I get to Baku I'll be able to upload a few pictures for you to enjoy.

Let me first reassure everyone that I am alive and happily content in the town of Barda. I simply couldn't ask for a better, more excited school, director and teaching counterparts. It's only January, but I have plenty of work and can already begin connecting the dots for future projects I'd like to initiate. This update post should bring everyone up to speed on what it is I do every day. I thus present to you "A day in life of Jeremy Jeromovich… Part II":

7:00 – wake up; my attempts to do some push-ups and sit-ups usually end in disappointment

8:00 – eat breakfast; begin the 20 minute walk to school. I affectionately call this walk the "fashion runway" because it seems like most of the town watches me as I strut my stuff down the main road.

8:30-1:00 – lessons. Every day I have a different class schedule, but generally I am team-teaching, sitting in the teachers' room, or drinking tea during this time.

After 1:00 – For now, free time. However some days I have language tutoring or lesson plan with my teaching counterparts. In the spring, I'll most likely be running conversation clubs during this time.

All in all, not a horrible schedule, but it is definitely exhausting. The constant fatigue of using another language, cultural differences and lesson planning certainly wears on you!