April update

So it has been some time since I've updated, and I wanted to check in with all two of my readers. Nah, I'm sure there are three of you.

Anyways, I've been keeping incredibly busy these past two months since my surgery, as working has been a good distraction from the fact that I can't exercise. In the next few weeks, I plan on having some posts on the following subjects:

• World map project for Earth Day
• The construction of the SPA-funded English Resource Room
• AZETA, Azerbaijan English Teachers' Association
• Some daily adventures

FLEX-Ability Workshop, end of March

Skyline of Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia

A wooden icon of Mary in a church from the 5th century

At the end of March, I was in the land of milk and honey... otherwise known as Georgia. No, not the one next to Alabama - the country! I was one of three PCVs chosen from the Caucasus to help lead the first annual FLEX-Ability South Caucasus Workshop, a four day training program for about 50 youth from Azerbaijan, Armenia and Georgia. This workshop aimed to teach participants about Program Design and Management, create several frameworks for simultaneous community projects to take place in all three countries by August 2010 and forge stronger connections between participants for the three countries. The workshop was organized by American Councils, an organization that sends youth from former Soviet republics to American high schools through a US-govt funded program called FLEX (Future Leaders Exchange). Consequently, all participants in the workshop were former FLEX students, meaning they were talented, bright and, most importantly, fluent in English.

And when I say fluent in English, I mean these kids were telling Chuck Norris jokes and saying things like "everything's bigger in Texas." I kid you not.

Texans, or kids from the Caucasus? Don't be fooled!

Revenons au sujet. So what's the big deal about a workshop like this? As many of you know, the Caucasus is not one of the most peaceful regions in the world. Azerbaijan and Armenia have been officially at war for over 15 years, with Armenia still occupying a handsome chunk of Azerbaijani territory. Russia invaded Georgia two years ago, strewing chaos in the northern regions of the country. Couple these conflicts with the general neighborhood (Chechnya in the north and Iran in the south) and you have quite the precarious place. You also have a place where cultural differences are largely imagined and exploited by media and politicians. It seems that every nationality lays claim to every Caucasian type of food, dance or music.

After the first night, it was clear that the workshop would be a success. We sat in mixed groups at a Georgian restaurant, some participants clearly less than excited to sit next to their "enemies." Yet as soon as the music began, our Georgian hosts got up and performed their national dances. Surprisingly (or not surprisingly), it looked raaaather similar to the dances of Armenia and Azerbaijan. Within minutes, all three nationalities were flailing about Caucasian-style on the dance floor, leaving us poor Americans guessing who was who. In fact, many participants ended up asking themselves the same questions. It was pretty neat to see pre-conceived notions being broken down in the face of the truth. And the truth was, the people of the Caucasus have so much in common it's scary!

The other two PCVs that led the Program workshops. Turns out Armenia has Holland cheese too!

My job during the Workshop was to teach a group of 15-20 participants how to structure projects and write grant proposals effectively in order to improve their local communities. Together, we wrote a project to take place by August 2010- no small task considering the participants had just met each other and were from different, warring countries. But by the end of four days, I am positive my group gained the skills necessary to bring change home. I am so proud of them and inspired by their example. It gives me hope that one day, OUR VISION of a peaceful Caucasus will be OUR REALITY.

Success.

Eek!-KG

Me.

Well, my surgery went fine and I have returned to Baku safe and sound (though missing part of my abdomen muscle!). Hardly anything eventful happened during my hernia surgery, so I won't write about that. I would, however, like to recount a quick tale of some preliminary tests that reminded me I was not in Kansas anymore.

The day before the surgery, I had to do some tests to make sure I was fit enough to handle the procedure. One of these tests was an EKG, which measures your heart rate. Please look at the picture below for a visual representation of what an EKG should look like:

Notice the nodes placed around the body.

When invited to sit down on the bed, I removed my shirt and socks as usual. Everything seemed to be according to plan until the nurse removed these from the beside table:

Some jumper cables. To be used with car batteries and human hearts.

Uhhh. What? That's right. Instead of placing dainty nodes around my wrists and ankles, the nurse used HUGE jumper cables. As she muttered to herself asking "Red to right and black to left," I couldn't help but snicker at the absurdity of being jump started. As she turned on the monitor, I braced myself for the voltage. Luckily, only the pleasant hum of normal heart readings came.

Besides this peculiar event, I found everything else normal, clean and professional. Staff were great (I got to practice my Russian, as apparently no one knows how to speak Azeri in Baku), watch satellite television and read some War & Peace. Looks like I've lived to die another day.

Azerbaijournal #5: The one - or five - that got away

I'm not sure what happened, but I think my host family has run out of money for the month. As far as I know, they haven't made any radical purchases... though now that I think of it, there IS a new meat grinder in the kitchen. Hmmm.

So how did I discover we're out of dough? One day as I came home from school, our dog began barking at me. Considering I had been living in the same house for 17 months, I thought it was strange that the dog would suddenly strain to break off its leash and attack me. Then I realized that the dog wasn't barking at me, but instead at a strange, little box shaking violently outside the cellar.

"Now what, praytell, would this box be?" asked Pandora.

Upon closer inspection, I discovered this box was a cage, rigged to a string hanging out the kitchen window. You know, like in Dennis the Menace. Cheep cheep cheep, in little bird squeaks, cried from the prison-box in agony. Indeed, these sad little voices belonged to not one, but FIVE imprisoned sparrows vainly attempting to escape. I then suddenly realized the origin of all the small yet tender meat we had been eating for about a week. Yes, my friends. That happy little sparrow you see fluttering outside your bedroom window is quite delicious AND nutritious!

That evening, we went out to capture our helpless prey. Like a pack of wolves, we circled the cage and placed a potato sack over the cage. OK, well maybe wolves don't use sacks. Here is a video of our desperate attempt to hunt and gather in our back yard:

Hélas! The sparrows, liberated from their bonds of iron (or were the walls of that cage perforated cardboard?), sprang forth into the wind like speeding bullets, taking with them our hopes for meat and crunchy bones.

That night, the four of us ate three potatoes. I love this place.

Güzel Türkiye (Beautiful Turkey)

Over the New Year’s holiday I met up with Sergio in Istanbul, the cosmopolitan and ancient city that links East and West, Asia and Europe. I can safely say that the week I spent in Istanbul was one of the best, if not the best, weeks of my life. I’ve definitely got to get over there again. Surprisingly, I was able to communicate with my Azeri much more than I thought! Who knows, maybe my future lies in Turkey? ;)

Here are a few pictures of what we did in Constantinople:

Jesus mosaic in the Aya Sofiya, the oldest cathedral-mosque-museum in the world.

The skyline at sunset.

Blue Mosque by day.
Everyone would speak to Sergio in Turkish and would get thoroughly confused when he didn't answer. Why is that?

The Twelve Days of... New Year's?

New Year’s Day, New Year’s Day comes but once a year. On New Year’s Eve we celebrate and ring it in with cheer.

With these profound words began the hottest event this side of Azerbaijan: Barda New Year’s Party 2010. On December 24, 2009, approximately 200-300 people from all over Barda came to School #8 to watch an event organized by my counterpart and 20 children from our school. We prepared the students for several weeks, overcoming school rivalries, corruption and a lack of funds. In the words of a close friend, “Having this concert was like the victory of 1945.” In an attempt to keep my blog positive and free of negativity, I won’t go into too many details right now. If any of you are interested, however, in all the struggles that had to be overcome to hold one itsy bitsy concert, feel free to send me an email. I will literally type your ear off.

Some fun highlights from the concert:

• The Education Department leadership made it very clear that this New Year’s Concert was to have no mention of Christmas. Azerbaijan is a Muslim country, after all. To circumvent this tricky situation, I replaced all Christmas lyrics with the word “New Year’s.” Children thus sang classic Christmas… erm, I mean New Year’s hits such as: “I’m Dreaming of a White New Year’s,” “I’ll Be Home for New Year’s,” and, my favorite, “Twelve Days of New Year’s.”

• I was Santa Claus for the concert. Yes, Santa Claus is in vogue in Azerbaijan and in all former Soviet Union countries. If these countries don’t celebrate Christmas, then why do they have Santa Claus, you ask? Answer: The Soviet leadership, in order to squelch the religious undertones of the Christmas / New Year’s season, made sure to associate Ded’ Moroz (Father Frost) with the New Year’s holiday instead of Christmas. This tradition spread to the other Soviet republics, regardless of culture or religion. Thus, Santa Claus has little to no religious connotations in the former Soviet Union. Interesting, huh?

Santa Claus... when he was 23.

• My beard snapped off as I entered the auditorium. My pants fell down halfway through “Twelve Days of New Year’s.” Thank you 5 dollar Santa Claus outfit.

• The Education Department Director was late for the concert. We thus had to restart the concert from the beginning, so that she could see everything. No comment.

Receiving praise from the Director. Not sure what kind of animal she's wearing.

Cow head + vodka = blog posts!

Today is February 12. Having been forced to take a few shots of vodka and eat some cow face (again!), I decided I would catch up on my blog posts. Some call it a drinking problem… I call it productivity. With that being said, please enjoy the next few posts, and please excuse any inadvertent spelling errors!