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.