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!