Trips...

Trips…

I spent week before last with a Peace Corps Volunteer who has already been 2 years in the field and is extending for another half a year at her site in the town of Mingechevir (Mingəçevir), a nice place, located on a lake (reservoir) near the foothills of the Caucusus Mountains.  I had a great time, taught a number of classes, including at the teachers’ university, and met wonderful people.  The PCV’s counterpart, an awesome Azerbaijani English teacher, invited us to her home to have meals with her family…what a treat, and what a great person she is. She is now exclusively an English teacher, but she started her career as a German teacher—right from the start we had something in common.  I helped her briefly with an online education course she is taking from the University of Oregon (and I showed her some of my photos of Oregon on my laptop), and since she had internet in her home, it allowed me to skype Mark, Jonny, Christina and Robby, the day before Dadd’s birthday—meant a lot to us! And I enjoyed so much being with her, her family, and the PCV I visited.

The trip in the marshrutka getting there reminded me of some old Indiana Jones’ movies—our driver, eager to make time, raced his well-worn vehicle over rough roads with our bags squished in and around us; but hanging on for dear life truly happened most every time he passed another car, truck or bus, in an attempt at playing chicken with the on-coming traffic.  Defensive driving here is unknown, since I think it would show that the driver was too faint-hearted.  In addition, most bus and marshrutka drivers here think nothing of lighting up their cigarettes and conversing on their cell phones, while driving!  Anyway, several close-calls, and 4 and ½ hours later we were in the town of Mingechevir (Mingəçevir), built by German POW’s after WWII.  The city is laid out like many of the residential areas of German towns rebuilt after the War, so it had a familiar feel to me.  We did our shopping at the local bazaar (market) for our food, and I got to practice my long-to-be proficient Azerbaijani skills, but I must admit, I am making some progress (I can make myself somewhat understood!).  One nice custom here is to show hospitality to guests and foreigners.  Every time I went to buy something, the seller or shop-keeper would lower the price, for me, the “honored guest.”  This has happened not just at the bazaar, but also souvenirs shops, and even a hard-ware store.  People are exceptionally gracious here.

The school in Mingechevir where my Peace Corps host does most of her teaching is interesting, since she established an English resource room for all of the English teachers to be able to use.  This room is located, however, on the second floor of the school, in a part of the building which is used to house IDP families (Internally Displaced People).  Since 1994 there has been a precarious cease-fire between Azerbaijan and Armenia for territory claimed by Azerbaijan, within its boundaries, but now occupied by Armenian forces, since most inhabitants are ethnically Armenian, having displaced the Azerbaijanis.  There are frequent skirmishes, and saber-rattling, and those Azerbaijanis who are basically now refugees inside their own country are known as IDP’s—the largest percentage of IDP’s anywhere in the world is here in Azerbaijan.  This school in Mingechevir has housed these families for more than 20 years, and they basically live in the hall-ways and curtained-off areas of the school building.  It’s strange to walk down the hall to the English resource room and to pass by these displaced people’s kitchens and living quarters—trying to make do, as best they can.  The dispute between Armenia and Azerbaijan is very sensitive and evokes strong passions.  The day I visited the school in Mingechevir was the day before Azerbaijani Independence Day.  We were treated to a very patriotic school assembly full of passionate speeches of nationalistic pride, patriotic and militaristic poems and songs, as well as national dances.  Everything was well-memorized and enthusiastically performed—it was indeed impressive.  The flag-waving and nationalistic pride could not help but reach overtones denouncing Armenia, something which is also graphically depicted and portrayed in school text books, including even the English text books.

Upon our return to Masazir, our training town outside of Baku (which is actually Baki in Azerbaijani—Baku is the Russian word for the capital city), we got ready for our day outing to Gobustan.  The Peace Corps arranged for all 44 trainees and many of the local staff to take a ‘cultural day’ to visit the petroglyphs of Gobustan, about 50 km south of Baki, a UNESCO world cultural heritage site.  These rock carvings of animals, some of which are now extinct, and ancient hunters, sailors, and women, are some of the oldest such rock carvings in the world.  Some archeologists believe that ancient Biblical regions can be traced to modern day Azerbaijan.  I’ve got plenty of photos of carvings inside caves surrounded by arid, rocky desert, but which eons ago was lush, verdant, and even at times below the sea.  Equally fascinating were the near-by mud volcanoes.  These small hills of cool, bubbling mud were pretty funny looking, as were all of us, slipping and sliding around on the slopes of these mud hills.  Indeed, I was the first of many, who slipped, got covered in mud, and even almost stuck! 

We have yet to make it into Baki, since it is off-limits to us for safety and security reasons until we finish training, which is now almost half-finished.  In several weeks, however, our trainers will take us on an escorted visit; can’t wait, because there are many historical and interesting sights to see there.  But first come many more days of technical training and hours and hours of language lessons and practice.  It is a lot of work, a lot of studying, and yet, very rewarding, too.

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Scenes from settling in

Settling In

Settling in and getting used to a number of things:  feel pretty confident about using the marshrutkas—the small busses/large vans which are a crowded but reliable mode of transportation here.  First day of school, we rode the bus/marshrutka to school; when I realized it was only three stops away, I decided from then on to spend the 15-20 minutes walking instead to and from school.  Besides, it’s difficult to tell where the marshrutka stops are (there are no marked stops), though I believe I could just flag him down most anywhere along the route.  To stop, you shout “saxla” and he let’s you off.  It costs about a quarter to ride.

The walk to school is interesting.  I walk along the highway that links Masazir, with the next town, and it is an exercise in diligence.  The roads are rough; the drivers are fast and by our standards, take many chances.  Pedestrians can expect to be honked at if in the way, but pedestrians do not seem to have right of way, even in marked cross walks.  The other day I spotted a local cow meandering across the road, and another day, a scrawny gray horse.  The drivers seemed little bemused and raced on by.  Interestingly, I found out about the garbage system—the highway is dotted with small green dumpsters.  People on their way to work in the morning stop by the side of the road, near such a dumpster, and throw in their trash from home.  There are no lids, however, on the dumpsters, so much gets blown around in the breeze.

Last week we observed English lessons in our training school.  It was interesting to note that most of the lessons are conducted in Azerbaijani!  They can’t be expecting that from me, and that is I guess part of the point—a native English speaker.  Moreover, most lessons are reading and translation, so some creativity may brighten things up a bit.  We’ll soon find out.  Soon I start teaching on my own, so I must spend nights planning lessons now, as well as practicing Azerbaijani. 

Home improvements have been made, and my host family is quite proud.  The father installed a water tank above the toilet bowl, and now we have a regular flush toilet—no more need to flush with a bucket of water from underneath the sink.  In fact, that bucket now too is gone.  He also hooked up a pipe leading from the sink drain to the sewer system, so we now also have running water leading to an outside drain.

We had training one day at a very nice, new, and modern school in Xirdalan.  It is too bad that our school in Masazir doesn’t even have running water inside the building.  To use the latrine outside on the playground must be quite a challenge come winter!

With luck I’ll post some photos of my house, my road, my school.

I’ve received some mail from home!  Thanks so much!  It makes my day!  My internet usage has briefly picked up recently, but is still very iffy…so a letter in the mail is a treat, and something I can keep re-reading.

We’ve had some cultural lessons, including even some dancing, so that when we get to go to family wedding (a big deal) we can participate in the festivities.  We talked some more about the roles of women, and how by our standards it may seem that they are very limited here.  But not all societies value personal independence in the same way we Americans do.  In fact, in some parts of the world, the American attitude of individualism and “everyone pulling for him/herself” is viewed as somewhat selfish and self-centered.  In this culture, for example, family bonds and loyalties are more important than individualism; and women in the family are highly respected and valued.  To allow female family members to get into an uncomfortable situation (like harassment) and do nothing about it would be a disgrace for a male family member.  Likewise a woman has the responsibility to uphold her own reputation, and thereby the reputation of the entire family.  Women in this society seem to appreciate the protection and respect afforded them, and it serves to uphold the family cohesiveness, which is more greatly valued than our American individualism.  It is important to recognize this in order to understand and appreciate the culture of this region and this society.  Some of our American ways are not necessarily what they want for themselves, nor are they representative of their value-system.  Understanding that we Americans have our values, which have advantages and inherent disadvantages, as well as understanding that this and other societies appreciate their own value-systems, with their own advantages as well as disadvantages, goes a long way in learning to live together in harmony across cultural divides.

Meals in the family often consist of bread and potatoes, with some pickled cabbage or cucumbers.  But last evening we had a feast:  stewed chicken with fruits (plums and apricots), rice pilaf with golden raisins, bowls of cut up tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and piles of green herbs—dill, cilantro, parsley, green onions—and of course copious piles of various breads, including flat flour tortilla.  Several of the neighbor children came to eat with us, friends of Ajtac and Aysel.  They are all most interested in helping me with my Azerbaijani lessons…but I feel like a pretty poor student—this is not an easy language to learn.  Besti cooks the meals in her kitchen which does have running water and a sink, but only a 2-burner gas cook-top; there is no oven, so bread comes from the baker and everything else is either raw or fried or boiled.  Oh, and lots and lots of chai—tea!  We also had cherry juice with our meal.  I have yet to see any alcohol consumed, though in some of the host families of other PC volunteers, this is common, and in one case, even to the point of problematic.  Below:  my house, road on which I live (behind the wall, green door # 33), mother in kitchen, father (an artist) painting portrait of former president, Ajtac and Aysel with neighbor children, in front of school, school-yard with latrines (boys and girls), highway I walk to school, view of Masazir, playing street games with the neighbor kids—no store-bought toys—ball made out of duct tape, ‘bowling pins’ out of plastic water balls…

In Masazir

Finally at my host family in Masazir, a suburb of Baku, the capitol.  They live, like many in this part of the world, behind a brick wall on a small, narrow dirt and rock-filled road.  Today it rained, and it was a sea of mud, but I made it to school—good thing I brought those rain boots with me!  The family is very nice; the daughter Aytac is 11 and Aysel is 10, and they are learning some English, but when we try to communicate, it is a little bit like the blind leading the blind—and much use of dictionary, but I am making some progress and expect in another month, I may be able to say more than my name is….  The mom Besti is 42 and also tries to communicate with me, and mostly we end up laughing and smiling.  The father Bey works long hours, and knows a few English words—hello, goodbye, good night, etc.  It is funny, but they are very kind.

The first thing I did was give them the gifts of calendars (of Seattle, Space Needle, etc.)-- and then the jazz CD from Tim.  This turned out to be a very good gift, with significance beyond what I could have imagined!!  In this society, as in many others, it is expected that a widow will be honored, respected, and have her best interests looked after by the brothers of her late husband and her brothers.  For them it is a matter of family honor, and so greatly expected, that to do otherwise could mean personal failure and family disgrace.  Jazz musician Tim Koss is my brother, by giving the family the gift of Tim’s CD, I implied that my brothers not only approved of my going into the Peace Corps and coming to AZ, but that my brothers were placing their faith and trust in this family, especially the father, to be always looking out for my best interests.  By American standards this might seem less than egalitarian, but they view it differently; for them, a woman may be free to do or be what she wants, with the support of the males in her family, because it means she will never be taken advantage of, OR ELSE!!  A woman in the States who may have been betrayed in business (hit glass-ceiling, or discounted by co-workers/bosses, etc. because she was ‘just a woman’), or betrayed in other relationships, might be able to understand.  It is this society’s attempt at gender equality, at least on a certain level and assuming sensitivity and compassion on the part of male family members. Women here are viewed as “free” from harrassment and mistreatment, because they will not be taken advantage of, if a woman’s male family members have her back.  For this reason, as a form of protection, women also usually do not go to certain internet cafes or chai (tea) cafes, typical male hang-outs—they could be insulted or mistreated; one of my fellow volunteers did go to such an internet cafe and found out!  Never again, she said… Anyway. Tim’s gift implied that I had my brothers’ approval and support (now that my husband is passed away), and my host family is going to accept that trust.  What an endearing concept, and they do treat me so nicely!!!  So thanks Tim and Noel for all your support, and now Bey is taking up the mantle of honoring your trust in him, especially since I am widowed.  The other gift, which made a big hit, were the small Space Needle salt and pepper shakers—and they now occupy a special display place behind glass, next to fancy glassware.

                                                                                                          

Their home (concrete block construction, metal roof) has a small garden in front (which today flooded with mud), and they have small fruit trees and some herbs and even a couple of rose bushes.  Out back is a big empty field, which seems to be a place to toss trash, since, in addition to poor drainage system, there is no recognizable garbage pick-up.  So the people have to make do. There is a cow out back, too.  The house has four rooms, 2 bedrooms, and I believe I am taking what would normally be the girls’ room.  One sleeps now in the parents’ room, the other in the living/dining room on a day-bed/couch.  There is a small TV, which we can watch when the electricity is on—it seems to go off grid fairly regularly, especially considering all the rain today.  Built into the garden wall towards the road is the out-house, which actually has a ceramic squat toilet.  But in the house, next the kitchen is the indoor bathroom, with a shower (and I hope to get to try it out soon) and a toilet bowl sitting over a hole in the floor—no seat.  The way to flush it is to use the bucket underneath the steel sink in the corner of the bathroom, screwed into the concrete wall.  The sink drains only into this bucket, no piping, and in a very resourceful and recycling manner, after washing hands, this bucket water is dumped into the toilet bowl to flush.  How clever—but I had to have it explained to me the first time!  No toilet paper, but a hose for cleaning—we actually had some lessons on this during orientation, but basically no big deal, once you get used to it.  I am so lucky to have this indoors, some of the others only have the outdoor versions.  But then there are a few volunteers (younger ones, too!) who have all the amenities of home, including wi-fi—we all want to become their best friends and get invited over to use our computers!  Ha!

My room is blessed with a heater for the winter—yay!!!  The family is so nice, and just hope to be able to communicate soon in a better manner with them.  They loved my photos from home, and were so impressed that so many, many people came to my Bon Voyage Party—again, culturally important, because it signifies that most of my family and friends really support me in this endeavor.  They especially liked Robby photos in his hockey gear and Christina figure skating.  For them it is unusual that a young woman like Christina would live on her own—and in such a nice house, too!  They were also impressed with my photos of the Oregon Coast and Big Gertie—the VW Camper Bus.  And of Seattle and our home. 

I’m about a 15 minute walk to school, and today, like all others I started out, but found that the roads are so flooded by the rains, that passing vehicles splashed all over me, and I arrived like a drowned rat—which didn’t help the cold I have picked up.  We get language lessons for 4 hours per day, 6 days per week, and technical training (how PC wants us to do the job) for another 4 hours, with a lunch break.  I don’t get home until after 6:30, pretty much exhausted, but I am learning sooooo much, it is all so worthwhile!  The school only has a ceramic squat toilet outside on the play ground, with a hose, and little way to clean hands—no running water inside the school building.  The only facility is sort of like an outhouse, but with no seat, only place to put your feet to squat.  Everyone gets used to this at such an early age, even if they have more amenities in their homes, that people don’t give it a second thought.  The first day, we met the principal, and he told us that he has received citations from Peace Corps for his ability to support and fulfill PC goals and expectations.  I am so fortunate to be experiencing all of this and having this opportunity.

Our 4-day orientation *week* was held at a new hotel on the Caspian Sea.  The beach was golden, made of millions of crushed shells.  You could see the oil rigs out in the ocean, but they were so far away.  On our way to my new town, we drove past all the oil fields that get blown up in the Bond movie, The World is Not Enough…oil fields as far as the eye can see!  The last evening in orientation we were treated to national Azerbaijani folk dancing, which is unlike any other I have ever seen, and very lovely and interesting; it incorporates elements of Russian and Cossack dancing, ballet, Indian, Middle Eastern…and then, of course, I was brought up on stage for the obligatory dance with the professionals—what fun!