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!

I did it.

Moo-licious.

I ate a cow head. I actually ate a cow head.
As you might imagine, it was a horrible experience.

Sumgait

Now that Pre-Service Training is coming to a close (I get sworn in on Wednesday) I have to think back on the twelve weeks I've spent in my settlement of Saray and all I've learned here. I'm glad to say that Training was a worthwhile and beneficial experience for me; language has been a breeze, I've made good friends, and I have plenty of hilarious stories. But nothing has been more central to this Training experience than the mysterious metropolis of Sumgait. Sumgait is the third largest city in AZ and is situated in the center of our Training villages, so that whenever the entire PC group meets up, we meet in Sumgait. It is every PC Trainee's internet, beer, and entertainment haven. And as crazy as it sounds, I'm going to miss this place when I leave in four days. What can I say about Sumgait, the city of escape?

Sumgait is a purely Soviet town that is just now discovering its Azerbaijani roots. It is on the Caspian Sea, and once served as the USSR's capital of chemical engineering. This era of chemicals has come to halt, thereby slowing economic growth but ironically alleviating the high rate of infant mortality and sea pollution. According to my Travel book, Sumgait used to be the world capital of infant mortality and one of the top ten polluted places in the world. Yet I have to say, even as you peer into the evening smoke haze from the nearby factories, there is something eerily charming about the town's winding pipe mazes and rusted metal fixtures. Every now and then you find a candid glimpse into the Soviet era; in the form of an overgrown theme park, countless Technicolor apartment buildings, modern art sculptures made of cement, old men doing their daily Soviet exercise routines by the seashore, a corroded Cyrillic sign inviting citizens to enjoy the "City beach," or the giant red rusted hull of a ship still idly waiting at the dock. It's a very nostalgic place, and if I were more of a solitary person, I could easily spend hours by myself wandering around. I'm not sure I'll ever come back to Sumgait, but I will leave here with very fond memories. Partly because of friends and family, but I think mostly because of Sumgait itself. It's good to be here.

All aboard!

One and two and three and four!

Sag ol vermek!

Not exactly a turkey and mashed potatoes

Or Thanksgiving. Actually, there is no direct translation for Thanksgiving, though Lorena, a fellow PC person, valiantly attempted to use this phrase. Alas, all she got were blank stares and horizontally shaking hands (Americans shrug their shoulders when they don't understand; Azeris shake their hands horizontally, kind of like half clapping). So many of you have sent me letters and cards (extra thanks to Mrs. Lois!), and I want to reassure you all that I did indeed celebrate Thanksgiving, and no I wasn't (too) lonely. On the day of, about 15-20 Trainees got together at Lorena's house to celebrate this very American holiday. Since narrative format is so boring, I'll just summarize with witty bullet point remarks.

• Lorena's house was a mansion!
• Thanksgiving also turned out to be Linda's 60th birthday. Sorry Linda for making that information public, but it's OK; you look damn fine for 60 years old.
• We each brought our own food contribution.
• I brought a veggie platter, because I can't cook. This deserves its own paragraph.

The story of the veggie platter:

So I first decided to bring chips and salsa, but soon realized I had no idea how to make chips, or salsa. Woops. I thus begged to change my item which turned out to be no problem. I did, however, have to go into the central city and purchase some veggies. I bartered with the friendly bazaar man for peppers, tomatoes, and olives. He was nice, but was probably the 54th person to ask me to take him to America. My response to this is always: "Inshallah (God willing!)" and a big, American smile. Works every time. Anyways, I got home and cut those bad boys up with my host mom's help (she didn't like my cutting technique. Or my arrangement patterns on the dish. Or the pace at which I was cutting. In fact, she did most of it), and voila my first party food contribution. I hope next time it will actually involve cooking something, but baby steps. Baby steps.

So that's pretty much it about Thanksgiving. I'd have preferred being home making fun of my grandparents for having voted for McCain, but alas, life is tough. Not too exciting, but it was great to spend this holiday with other Americans. Christmas will be another story…

Azerbai-journal #2

There is perhaps no better cross-cultural activity than PhotoShop. No matter where you're from, it's still funny to see your head grafted onto someone else's body. This is precisely what I have been doing the past few days as a way to entertain my host family. What started out as a recreational pastime has now turned into a full time job. "Jeremy, I don't like the guy in this picture, can you take him out on your computer?" or "Jeremy I don't like my smile in this picture… can you fix it?" Since most of the undesired photos are in hard copy format, I've ended up taking pictures of pictures and then going from there.

I'm glad to say I'll be retiring from this position in a few weeks, though I have to say I've gotten pretty good.