The second ‘Salyan Su Gelir’ slumber party was much less light-hearted then the first. There was water bailing and dam construction. There were anxious phone calls to my village and reports from my site-mate’s neighbours.
In retrospect 4 days later, it would have been nice if I had had the presence of mind to pack my current book and some peanut butter in my emergency bag. In three days, I read 400 pages and created two new play lists. I showered. It took me two hours to send a single email one afternoon. At which point I decided to decamp to Baku for the weekend.
And that’s where I am now – sitting in my pyjamas in my room at Ata and Ana’s, typing this up. There was a Snickers bar and two kilos of fresh strawberries waiting for my arrival, and there was hot dogs and mashed potatoes for dinner. I may never leave.
After almost a week away from site – I am worried about the status of my village and the contents of my life contained therein. But for now I am content to decompress in Xirdalan especially since I think there is going to be eggplant for dinner.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Flooding II: Let Them Eat Cake
Water moves. This is a simple fact. It was just a matter of time before the water from the north moved further south towards my village. Being the good Girl Scout that I am, I never unpacked my emergency bag and kept asking the villagers about the status on the coming water.
On Monday afternoon it was decided that the water would probably arrived in about 3 or 4 days. They were wrong. It arrived that night while I was at a birthday party in the village next door with nothing but a photocopy of my passport and 20AZN. Awesome.
And the most frustrating part was that I found out that the water was coming by asking Xala what was in the big orange bag next to her at the table. Her documents. I had asked repeatedly in the hours up to the party about the status of the water. She had told me not to worry. But then I discover that she brought her documents to the party. And didn’t think to tell me to take mine. I was so upset.
We proceeded to eat dinner. For two hours. Peace Corps called me five times, trying to convince my host that I needed to go home to collect my documents and move to higher ground. Xala assured me that I would be able to get to Salyan that night. But I was antsy and anxious because I didn’t have my important papers with me nor was anything prepared at home (See I Live in a Flood Plain for how I coped with the first threat of flooding). It was also getting late, and I was worried about traveling on the road into Salyan in the dark. (It’s against PeaceCorps rules). Not to mention that my site-mate in the city was staying up until I arrived safely.
Eventually I was able to return to the village long enough to grab my bag, unplug the fridge and take out the trash. I was in my house for about 10 minutes. Then I handed my landlord my keI y, and prayed that the water would not rise to the predicted three feet because everything I own was on the ground floor and very little of it was packed in a way that would withstand water damage.
Then I was on my way to safety. Or so I thought. Instead we went back to the party for an hour. To eat cake. And take pictures with the token American. An endless 60 minutes – especially since I knew that that was about how long it would have taken me to prepare my house properly. But the cake was tasty.
I was grateful that another party guest offered to drive into Salyan. I was in my site-mate’s living room before midnight. I didn’t turn into a pumpkin after all.
On Monday afternoon it was decided that the water would probably arrived in about 3 or 4 days. They were wrong. It arrived that night while I was at a birthday party in the village next door with nothing but a photocopy of my passport and 20AZN. Awesome.
And the most frustrating part was that I found out that the water was coming by asking Xala what was in the big orange bag next to her at the table. Her documents. I had asked repeatedly in the hours up to the party about the status of the water. She had told me not to worry. But then I discover that she brought her documents to the party. And didn’t think to tell me to take mine. I was so upset.
We proceeded to eat dinner. For two hours. Peace Corps called me five times, trying to convince my host that I needed to go home to collect my documents and move to higher ground. Xala assured me that I would be able to get to Salyan that night. But I was antsy and anxious because I didn’t have my important papers with me nor was anything prepared at home (See I Live in a Flood Plain for how I coped with the first threat of flooding). It was also getting late, and I was worried about traveling on the road into Salyan in the dark. (It’s against PeaceCorps rules). Not to mention that my site-mate in the city was staying up until I arrived safely.
Eventually I was able to return to the village long enough to grab my bag, unplug the fridge and take out the trash. I was in my house for about 10 minutes. Then I handed my landlord my keI y, and prayed that the water would not rise to the predicted three feet because everything I own was on the ground floor and very little of it was packed in a way that would withstand water damage.
Then I was on my way to safety. Or so I thought. Instead we went back to the party for an hour. To eat cake. And take pictures with the token American. An endless 60 minutes – especially since I knew that that was about how long it would have taken me to prepare my house properly. But the cake was tasty.
I was grateful that another party guest offered to drive into Salyan. I was in my site-mate’s living room before midnight. I didn’t turn into a pumpkin after all.
What Came First? The Chicken Or The Egg
I share my yard with three turkeys, almost a dozen chickens and one very vocal rooster. This makes getting to the outhouse a bit of an obstacle course. I routinely have to sweet-talk the sunbathing turkeys and sidestep chicken poop. (A speed-agility-quickness routine adapted for Azerbaijan, perhaps.) It also means that I am informed that it is light outside long before I get out of bed.
But it is a small price to pay for fresh eggs every other day. In fact these eggs are so fresh I find them lying about the yard as I go about my daily life.
In the last week I have found a freshly laid egg:
- lying on the floor of the outhouse
- next to a washtub on the counter in the shower-room
- on my front door step beside my shoes
If I had an oven I would make some cookies with the loot. I’ll have to settle for pancakes this weekend instead. (Note to Self: Move oven up on the To Buy List)
But it is a small price to pay for fresh eggs every other day. In fact these eggs are so fresh I find them lying about the yard as I go about my daily life.
In the last week I have found a freshly laid egg:
- lying on the floor of the outhouse
- next to a washtub on the counter in the shower-room
- on my front door step beside my shoes
If I had an oven I would make some cookies with the loot. I’ll have to settle for pancakes this weekend instead. (Note to Self: Move oven up on the To Buy List)
A Single Sun-Bleached Sock (Or The Hazards of Hand-Washing)
Now that I live on my own (and have a working water heater) I am solely responsible for the process that makes my dirty clothes clean again.
Yes, you read that correctly: I haven’t done my own laundry in eight months. During training, I was too preoccupied with language lessons and the whole cultural adaptation process to argue when Ana insisted on doing my laundry for me. I didn’t feel too guilty about that though – they had a washing machine. In the village - I was allowed to assist with the washing of a single load of laundry before I was told to cease and desist. This ban may in part have been due to that fact that I had Mom send me some rubber gloves. I was laughed at. But you try plunging your hands into alternately hot and cold water in December and see how well you cope. I rest my case.
On my first morning in my new ‘new’ house, my landlord noticed me in the yard and rushed over to tell me that the ‘hamam’ was hot. Within ten minutes of waking up, I was told I could shower, shown which tap to use for laundry and where to hang my clothes to dry. After twenty days without reliable drinking water, I felt like a desert traveler who stumbles upon an unexpected oasis.
So exactly how does one go about this hand-washing business? It’s a ten-step process – in two parts.
Act I
1. Put clothes in 20 litre washtub.
2. Fill with hot water.
3. Shake approximately a half-cup of detergent into tub. (Can I mention how happy it makes me that my clothes smell like Persil again?)
4. Swirl clothes around until bubbles form.
5. Leave to soak for an hour or so.
Act II
6. Swirl clothes around some more. Focusing on stains and other indications of dirtiness.
7. Rinse each piece of clothing under the tap. Wring out soap. Place clothes in a second empty washtub.
8. Empty detergent water from first washtub. Rinse clothes again. Wring out excess water.
9. Take washtub of clothes out to clothesline. Hang each piece of clothing to dry. Shield delicates from view with a strategically placed t-shirt.
10. Curse the fact that you don’t have enough clothespins. Arrange socks on the rim of the washtub and set on a table in the sun.
Finale: Pray it doesn’t rain.
It’s not a terribly difficult enterprise. But washing a week’s worth of clothes is a time consuming process. The first two hours of my average Sunday morning is spent bent over a washtub, wringing out waterlogged button-downs and delicates. Perhaps because of this I have adopted the village habit of wearing the same outfit to school all week. But the fact that a colourful array of my socks and under-things takes up three-quarters of the clothesline mystifies my neighbours. Cultural assimilation only goes so far.
Speaking of socks - the title of this entry promised an anecdote. It started to rain Sunday night – so I hurriedly collected my dry clothes from the line. But in the process a sock dropped into the mud. Thus, needed to be re-washed and was still wet, so I left it outside. And then promptly forgot about it until this afternoon. (It is Wednesday).
It has been particularly sunny these last few days. So I now have one neon green sock and one that is a few shades closer to pastel. Oops.
Yes, you read that correctly: I haven’t done my own laundry in eight months. During training, I was too preoccupied with language lessons and the whole cultural adaptation process to argue when Ana insisted on doing my laundry for me. I didn’t feel too guilty about that though – they had a washing machine. In the village - I was allowed to assist with the washing of a single load of laundry before I was told to cease and desist. This ban may in part have been due to that fact that I had Mom send me some rubber gloves. I was laughed at. But you try plunging your hands into alternately hot and cold water in December and see how well you cope. I rest my case.
On my first morning in my new ‘new’ house, my landlord noticed me in the yard and rushed over to tell me that the ‘hamam’ was hot. Within ten minutes of waking up, I was told I could shower, shown which tap to use for laundry and where to hang my clothes to dry. After twenty days without reliable drinking water, I felt like a desert traveler who stumbles upon an unexpected oasis.
So exactly how does one go about this hand-washing business? It’s a ten-step process – in two parts.
Act I
1. Put clothes in 20 litre washtub.
2. Fill with hot water.
3. Shake approximately a half-cup of detergent into tub. (Can I mention how happy it makes me that my clothes smell like Persil again?)
4. Swirl clothes around until bubbles form.
5. Leave to soak for an hour or so.
Act II
6. Swirl clothes around some more. Focusing on stains and other indications of dirtiness.
7. Rinse each piece of clothing under the tap. Wring out soap. Place clothes in a second empty washtub.
8. Empty detergent water from first washtub. Rinse clothes again. Wring out excess water.
9. Take washtub of clothes out to clothesline. Hang each piece of clothing to dry. Shield delicates from view with a strategically placed t-shirt.
10. Curse the fact that you don’t have enough clothespins. Arrange socks on the rim of the washtub and set on a table in the sun.
Finale: Pray it doesn’t rain.
It’s not a terribly difficult enterprise. But washing a week’s worth of clothes is a time consuming process. The first two hours of my average Sunday morning is spent bent over a washtub, wringing out waterlogged button-downs and delicates. Perhaps because of this I have adopted the village habit of wearing the same outfit to school all week. But the fact that a colourful array of my socks and under-things takes up three-quarters of the clothesline mystifies my neighbours. Cultural assimilation only goes so far.
Speaking of socks - the title of this entry promised an anecdote. It started to rain Sunday night – so I hurriedly collected my dry clothes from the line. But in the process a sock dropped into the mud. Thus, needed to be re-washed and was still wet, so I left it outside. And then promptly forgot about it until this afternoon. (It is Wednesday).
It has been particularly sunny these last few days. So I now have one neon green sock and one that is a few shades closer to pastel. Oops.
ET Phone Home: Parental Edition
My parents are used to receiving infuriately brief messages about potentially hazardous situations from far corners of the world.
One of Dad’s favorite dinner party stories is the time I sent I sent them this e-mail: “Hi. Got arrested and escorted off the Great Wall last night. I’m OK. Don’t worry. Will email details when I can.” They didn’t hear from me for four days. Oops.
I didn’t want to bother them with the imminent risk of flooding until absolutely necessary. So I waited until after I was out of the village to inform them of the threat. But I did have our family friends in Baku send them details about the situation, so that they weren’t entirely in the dark. I thought it was very responsible of me for once rather than remiss. I even sent them daily texts.
However, there was a minor flaw in my thought process. I failed to remember that I have two sets of parents to keep in the loop now. I forgot to tell Ata and Ana about any of this. In fact, the last month has been so hectic that I haven’t talked to Ata and Ana at all. Cue admonishing phone call on Saturday morning.
Ata: Melissa. Where are you? You haven’t called.
Me: I am in Salyan. The village is next to the river. Peace Corps wanted me to be safe.
Ata: Ah. The river! Why didn’t you call us? You are our daughter. You should have come to stay with us.
Me: Sorry. I was very busy calling PeaceCorps often. I didn’t want you to worry. Peace Corps wanted the volunteers here to stay together. I will call when I return to the village.
The slightly awkward sentence structure is due to the fact that I was saying all of this in Azerbaijani. Needless to say, I felt properly chastised and called (as promised) upon my return to the village.
The Final Consensus:
Ana wants to know when I am coming to visit.
Mom couldn’t believe that I had been out of the village for four days.
One of Dad’s favorite dinner party stories is the time I sent I sent them this e-mail: “Hi. Got arrested and escorted off the Great Wall last night. I’m OK. Don’t worry. Will email details when I can.” They didn’t hear from me for four days. Oops.
I didn’t want to bother them with the imminent risk of flooding until absolutely necessary. So I waited until after I was out of the village to inform them of the threat. But I did have our family friends in Baku send them details about the situation, so that they weren’t entirely in the dark. I thought it was very responsible of me for once rather than remiss. I even sent them daily texts.
However, there was a minor flaw in my thought process. I failed to remember that I have two sets of parents to keep in the loop now. I forgot to tell Ata and Ana about any of this. In fact, the last month has been so hectic that I haven’t talked to Ata and Ana at all. Cue admonishing phone call on Saturday morning.
Ata: Melissa. Where are you? You haven’t called.
Me: I am in Salyan. The village is next to the river. Peace Corps wanted me to be safe.
Ata: Ah. The river! Why didn’t you call us? You are our daughter. You should have come to stay with us.
Me: Sorry. I was very busy calling PeaceCorps often. I didn’t want you to worry. Peace Corps wanted the volunteers here to stay together. I will call when I return to the village.
The slightly awkward sentence structure is due to the fact that I was saying all of this in Azerbaijani. Needless to say, I felt properly chastised and called (as promised) upon my return to the village.
The Final Consensus:
Ana wants to know when I am coming to visit.
Mom couldn’t believe that I had been out of the village for four days.
The Salyan ‘Su Gelir’ Slumber Party
I stayed in Salyan for four days. It was kinda like a mini-vacation. Sorta of.
The corners of the living room were stacked with emergency food supplies and water. There was obsessive checking of the news every two hours and calls at regular intervals from PeaceCorps to check in. Neighbours periodically stopped by to give us updates about the water flow. Any trip to the bathroom was a stone-hopping obstacle course. Not to mention a fleeting visit from my site-mate’s landlady’s son, who was in town with the army to build dams.
But…
We also made peanut butter and banana cookies. (Nothing fits the emergency ration bill quite like peanut butter). We watched the entire first season of Glee – four episodes at a time. We slept late and spent an inexcusable amount of time in our PJs. There were also variously long-winded conversations about the meaning of life and the hazards of life as a PeaceCorps volunteer. We even managed to do some work: finalizing our summer plans and discussing lessons plans. There are worse ways to spend an extended ‘house arrest’.
It was also convenient that my site-mate’s neighbour works in my village. He was kind enough to keep me abreast of developments of the village. Finally, on Saturday morning he had good news: It was safe for me to go ‘home’.
In the end - my region was lucky. There was only some (relatively) minor flooding. My village is fine - just a little bit soggy. My house stayed dry, although the chickens have been flooded out. But there are other parts of Azerbaijan that are still under water. Villages have had to be entirely evacuated and people have died. The pictures on the news are quite shocking.
It has not been a good year for natural disasters.
The corners of the living room were stacked with emergency food supplies and water. There was obsessive checking of the news every two hours and calls at regular intervals from PeaceCorps to check in. Neighbours periodically stopped by to give us updates about the water flow. Any trip to the bathroom was a stone-hopping obstacle course. Not to mention a fleeting visit from my site-mate’s landlady’s son, who was in town with the army to build dams.
But…
We also made peanut butter and banana cookies. (Nothing fits the emergency ration bill quite like peanut butter). We watched the entire first season of Glee – four episodes at a time. We slept late and spent an inexcusable amount of time in our PJs. There were also variously long-winded conversations about the meaning of life and the hazards of life as a PeaceCorps volunteer. We even managed to do some work: finalizing our summer plans and discussing lessons plans. There are worse ways to spend an extended ‘house arrest’.
It was also convenient that my site-mate’s neighbour works in my village. He was kind enough to keep me abreast of developments of the village. Finally, on Saturday morning he had good news: It was safe for me to go ‘home’.
In the end - my region was lucky. There was only some (relatively) minor flooding. My village is fine - just a little bit soggy. My house stayed dry, although the chickens have been flooded out. But there are other parts of Azerbaijan that are still under water. Villages have had to be entirely evacuated and people have died. The pictures on the news are quite shocking.
It has not been a good year for natural disasters.
I Live In A Flood Plain
One of the longest rivers in Azerbaijan runs alongside my village. The road into my village is next to a lake. I have to cross a large canal to visit my counterpart. My house it a two minute walk from the aforementioned canal. I should also mention that it rains frequently in my region. Not a misty drizzle or a Texas thunderstorm, but the kind of steady rain that pours for a day or so and saturates the ground.
It rained a lot last week. There were large puddles and standing water around the village, including a flooded orchard and henhouse in my yard. April was over. But the showers were still out in full force without a flower in sight. I was desperate for some wellies as I slipped through the mud to school on Monday and Tuesday. (I managed to stay upright!)
The rain didn’t stop.
At 10PM on Tuesday night my landlord comes over – wearing his yellow wellies – with a grim announcement: The water is coming: ‘su gelir’; move all your important possessions upstairs and prepare your important documents. (See note about how close my house is to the canal.) I called PeaceCorps to let them know of my predicament, promptly repacked everything I own, did the dishes and prepared a backpack in case of emergency. Then I called my site-mate in town and told her to expect company.
I was also too hyped up on adrenaline to sleep much so I read the entire Emergency Action Plan manual. In the fine print beneath ‘Flooding’ it reads: this is usually limited to the south-central Azerbaijan. Guess where I live?
The next morning my director’s husband drove me into town, although half the village was grumbling about the over-cautious nature of the American. I was drinking tea in my site-mate’s living room by 10AM
It rained a lot last week. There were large puddles and standing water around the village, including a flooded orchard and henhouse in my yard. April was over. But the showers were still out in full force without a flower in sight. I was desperate for some wellies as I slipped through the mud to school on Monday and Tuesday. (I managed to stay upright!)
The rain didn’t stop.
At 10PM on Tuesday night my landlord comes over – wearing his yellow wellies – with a grim announcement: The water is coming: ‘su gelir’; move all your important possessions upstairs and prepare your important documents. (See note about how close my house is to the canal.) I called PeaceCorps to let them know of my predicament, promptly repacked everything I own, did the dishes and prepared a backpack in case of emergency. Then I called my site-mate in town and told her to expect company.
I was also too hyped up on adrenaline to sleep much so I read the entire Emergency Action Plan manual. In the fine print beneath ‘Flooding’ it reads: this is usually limited to the south-central Azerbaijan. Guess where I live?
The next morning my director’s husband drove me into town, although half the village was grumbling about the over-cautious nature of the American. I was drinking tea in my site-mate’s living room by 10AM
A Renter’s Return Policy
In early April the agreement that my host family in the village made with Peace Corps expired and I wanted to move out on my own. I started discussing the possibility with my counterpart in March. Usually it is very difficult for PCVs living in villages to find independent housing (or even to be allowed to do so by their community). So I was prepared for a long, drawn out process. But it only took a week!
It turned out there was an empty house next door to my current host family. The owner was working in Russia, and his sister was looking after the house. There were three rooms, all the necessary furniture, an entire stock of dishes and pots and a fridge. (Plus an outhouse and a shower-room). It had everything BUT a kitchen sink. This seemed like the perfect arrangement. The village would have no problem with me living alone if I was within shouting distance of my host family. I already knew all the neighbors. I was still only two minutes from school and a quick walk to the store and the post office.
But the house hadn’t been lived in for fifteen years. It needed some repairs. These were simple things that could be fixed with a trip to the hardware store and an afternoon of work. The wallpaper was peeling and needed to be re-hung, window-glass needed to be replaced, light-fixtures needed to be installed and the water tank needed to be cleaned and filled. My landlady had assured PeaceCorps that she would do these things before I moved in.
It was too good to be true.
Move-in Day came and went without any DIY being done. I went to Baku for a conference and returned to the village with a Baku-based friend in tow. I went to make us some tea only to discover that the water tank had never been re-filled. Then the electricity went off during the daytime for four days. Come to think of it, many of you have probably recently received letters detailing the trials and tribulations of these few days. Flammable incidents with the glorified camping stove included. So let me skip ahead.
As an aside: Dad was stranded in London due to the volcano during this week. He kept sending me texts wanting sympathy. But in my world a week of bad hotel food and British weather beats having no water or electricity. Needless to say I won.
But I digress. My counterpart and the school director each approached my landlady on two separate occasions. Interestingly, these were the only times I actually saw my landlady. She was given a week to do the repairs (although she had already had a month given that she had been told in March I intended to move in April). My school director followed up the next week. Nothing had been done. My director decreed that I needed to move. This was a Wednesday.
On Friday afternoon I moved to a house two minutes from school in the opposite direction. It took two hours. Priority Mail boxes were my packing materials of choice, and a few of the village schoolboys who had the misfortune of loitering outside my director’s house that afternoon were my moving men. It wasn’t the most organized of re-locations but it was the quickest I’ve made yet.
It turned out there was an empty house next door to my current host family. The owner was working in Russia, and his sister was looking after the house. There were three rooms, all the necessary furniture, an entire stock of dishes and pots and a fridge. (Plus an outhouse and a shower-room). It had everything BUT a kitchen sink. This seemed like the perfect arrangement. The village would have no problem with me living alone if I was within shouting distance of my host family. I already knew all the neighbors. I was still only two minutes from school and a quick walk to the store and the post office.
But the house hadn’t been lived in for fifteen years. It needed some repairs. These were simple things that could be fixed with a trip to the hardware store and an afternoon of work. The wallpaper was peeling and needed to be re-hung, window-glass needed to be replaced, light-fixtures needed to be installed and the water tank needed to be cleaned and filled. My landlady had assured PeaceCorps that she would do these things before I moved in.
It was too good to be true.
Move-in Day came and went without any DIY being done. I went to Baku for a conference and returned to the village with a Baku-based friend in tow. I went to make us some tea only to discover that the water tank had never been re-filled. Then the electricity went off during the daytime for four days. Come to think of it, many of you have probably recently received letters detailing the trials and tribulations of these few days. Flammable incidents with the glorified camping stove included. So let me skip ahead.
As an aside: Dad was stranded in London due to the volcano during this week. He kept sending me texts wanting sympathy. But in my world a week of bad hotel food and British weather beats having no water or electricity. Needless to say I won.
But I digress. My counterpart and the school director each approached my landlady on two separate occasions. Interestingly, these were the only times I actually saw my landlady. She was given a week to do the repairs (although she had already had a month given that she had been told in March I intended to move in April). My school director followed up the next week. Nothing had been done. My director decreed that I needed to move. This was a Wednesday.
On Friday afternoon I moved to a house two minutes from school in the opposite direction. It took two hours. Priority Mail boxes were my packing materials of choice, and a few of the village schoolboys who had the misfortune of loitering outside my director’s house that afternoon were my moving men. It wasn’t the most organized of re-locations but it was the quickest I’ve made yet.
Earth Day: Azerbaijan
There is a lot of trash along the roadsides and sidewalks here. There are no community- sponsored trash bins. When trash is collected, it is more often than not burned. There are also issues with air quality and industrial pollution in Azerbaijan (just like any other post-industrial nation). The 7th grade English textbook has an entire unit that focuses on the environment, pollution and recycling. It is a problem that the government is trying to address.
Therefore, in celebration of Earth Day, a site-mate and I decided to stage a community clean up event. We developed a presentation on “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”, and collected plastic bags of various shapes and sizes, including some American-size Hefty sacks kindly donated by a Peace Corps staff member. We decided that because of the emphasis in their textbooks on this topic, that the 7th grade students would be our target audience.
It definitely wasn’t my standard Wednesday morning 7th grade English lesson. The students worked together to make a list of things that they could do to help the environment. After our ‘recycling presentation’, the class discussed the things they already do in their everyday lives that help the environment. They separate their trash. They reuse glass jars. This year the government had a scrap metal collection campaign that students took part in.
After such a serious discussion (in English no less!) it was time for some fun. We spilt the students into teams of three. Each team was given a large trash bag and a few plastic produce bags to use as gloves. Then we set the students loose in the school-yard to fill their bags with the litter and trash around the school.
It was an incredible success. There were six bags! The students were still picking up trash as we walked back to the classroom after the bell had rung. I was particularly proud of the fact that the students who don’t have the best class participation record were so involved and enthusiastic that morning.
The next day I traveled to my site-mate’s school, and we did the whole thing again.
In the three weeks since Earth Day, I have become quite the environmental advocate. I have recently agreed to help with the environment week at three PCV-run camps in various parts of Azerbaijan this summer. Closer to home, I have been approached by one of the larger businesses in my village interested in sponsoring a similar environment themed event in the future. Progress!
See I was listening to all those childhood lectures after all, Dad.
Therefore, in celebration of Earth Day, a site-mate and I decided to stage a community clean up event. We developed a presentation on “Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”, and collected plastic bags of various shapes and sizes, including some American-size Hefty sacks kindly donated by a Peace Corps staff member. We decided that because of the emphasis in their textbooks on this topic, that the 7th grade students would be our target audience.
It definitely wasn’t my standard Wednesday morning 7th grade English lesson. The students worked together to make a list of things that they could do to help the environment. After our ‘recycling presentation’, the class discussed the things they already do in their everyday lives that help the environment. They separate their trash. They reuse glass jars. This year the government had a scrap metal collection campaign that students took part in.
After such a serious discussion (in English no less!) it was time for some fun. We spilt the students into teams of three. Each team was given a large trash bag and a few plastic produce bags to use as gloves. Then we set the students loose in the school-yard to fill their bags with the litter and trash around the school.
It was an incredible success. There were six bags! The students were still picking up trash as we walked back to the classroom after the bell had rung. I was particularly proud of the fact that the students who don’t have the best class participation record were so involved and enthusiastic that morning.
The next day I traveled to my site-mate’s school, and we did the whole thing again.
In the three weeks since Earth Day, I have become quite the environmental advocate. I have recently agreed to help with the environment week at three PCV-run camps in various parts of Azerbaijan this summer. Closer to home, I have been approached by one of the larger businesses in my village interested in sponsoring a similar environment themed event in the future. Progress!
See I was listening to all those childhood lectures after all, Dad.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
I Live In A Flood Plain
I am alive and well. But there have been flooding issues and patchy internet connections. I am here today, but sheer fluke. So that's why I have been a little bit in-communicado. Apologies.
I have all sorts of entertaining blog posts typed up. So look forward to that. It's been an eventful month.
I have all sorts of entertaining blog posts typed up. So look forward to that. It's been an eventful month.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
My Family Tree: Entertainment Weekly Edition
After the Novruz holiday in March, the weather was warm enough to start after-school conversation clubs. This gives me a chance to teach the kids something other than what is in the textbooks. It also provides practice for the students that are really interested in learning English. So far I have created quite a stir with this venture.
The first week I caused chaos by bringing a ball into the classroom. The next week I staged a Beatles Reunion Tour. It took me an hour but my students know who The Beatles are now and can sing “Hello, Good-bye”. Last week amid questioning looks I carried my weekly shopping into a classroom to discuss food.
But my most creative endeavour so far has been The Family Tree. It was the happy by-product of what happens when a Peace Corps Volunteer has an old copy of Entertainment Weekly lying around and far too much time on her hands. (The former is worth its weight in gold. The latter is my usual Saturday night.) Especially since this particular PVC can’t draw to save her life. The end result was quite entertaining, if I do say so myself. Take a look.
Maternal Great-Grandfather: Bob Barker.
Maternal Grandfather: The Guy From Cheers. Ted Whatshisname.
Maternal Grandmother: Helen Mirren.
Paternal Grandmother: Diane Sawyer.
Mother: Julia Roberts. (At this point my students realized it wasn’t my actual family.)
Father: Sean William Scott. (Oh the Stifler’s Mom jokes.)
Uncles: Peter Facinelli; Ryan Gosling; Dude from The Hurt Locker
Aunt: Brittany Murphy
Cousins: John Mayer; some celebrity baby; The newest Alice (in Wonderland).
Twins: Unfortunately there wasn’t a picture of the Olsen twins. So I had to go elsewhere. But apparently Scarlett Johansson is a twin - Since when?
Daughter/Sister: Emma Waston (I got to be Hermione Granger for an hour. Win!)
Son/Brother: Taylor Lautner (R-Pattz’s hair could not be confined to a single page. I kid not.)
As you can see it was quite the family.
I apologise if you are too far removed from current popular culture to recognize half the names on this list. (Or are shocked to discover Helen Mirren is old enough to be considered a grandmother. She is 64!).
If you are pop-culture savvy enough to recognise these people, I hope it entertains you even more so. (If you didn’t smirk over the last two. We can no longer be friends. )
The first week I caused chaos by bringing a ball into the classroom. The next week I staged a Beatles Reunion Tour. It took me an hour but my students know who The Beatles are now and can sing “Hello, Good-bye”. Last week amid questioning looks I carried my weekly shopping into a classroom to discuss food.
But my most creative endeavour so far has been The Family Tree. It was the happy by-product of what happens when a Peace Corps Volunteer has an old copy of Entertainment Weekly lying around and far too much time on her hands. (The former is worth its weight in gold. The latter is my usual Saturday night.) Especially since this particular PVC can’t draw to save her life. The end result was quite entertaining, if I do say so myself. Take a look.
Maternal Great-Grandfather: Bob Barker.
Maternal Grandfather: The Guy From Cheers. Ted Whatshisname.
Maternal Grandmother: Helen Mirren.
Paternal Grandmother: Diane Sawyer.
Mother: Julia Roberts. (At this point my students realized it wasn’t my actual family.)
Father: Sean William Scott. (Oh the Stifler’s Mom jokes.)
Uncles: Peter Facinelli; Ryan Gosling; Dude from The Hurt Locker
Aunt: Brittany Murphy
Cousins: John Mayer; some celebrity baby; The newest Alice (in Wonderland).
Twins: Unfortunately there wasn’t a picture of the Olsen twins. So I had to go elsewhere. But apparently Scarlett Johansson is a twin - Since when?
Daughter/Sister: Emma Waston (I got to be Hermione Granger for an hour. Win!)
Son/Brother: Taylor Lautner (R-Pattz’s hair could not be confined to a single page. I kid not.)
As you can see it was quite the family.
I apologise if you are too far removed from current popular culture to recognize half the names on this list. (Or are shocked to discover Helen Mirren is old enough to be considered a grandmother. She is 64!).
If you are pop-culture savvy enough to recognise these people, I hope it entertains you even more so. (If you didn’t smirk over the last two. We can no longer be friends. )
Lentil Soup
This is the recipe that Ana gave my village host family when she visited in January. It has since become a fixture on their weekly menu. It was my inaugural meal in my new house. Therefore, I can attest that it really is idiot proof. (I blame the burnt pot on the glorified camping stove not my lack of culinary skill). Enjoy. J
This recipe is for ONE person (one large bowl and then some.) Adjust accordingly.
YOU WILL NEED:
1 Azeri glass of dried RED lentils (about _ cup) – Ana insists RED lentils must be used
1 – 1 _ good-size carrots (peeled)
1 medium potato (peeled)
1 small white onion (chopped)
4-5 Azeri glasses of water (2-3 cups)
a grater
BEFOREHAND: Soak dried lentils for at least 2 hours. Or until the water runs clear.
FIVE STEPS
Put the lentils in a pot with about 3 times as much water. Cook until almost mushy. About 20 minutes.
Grate carrot and potato.
Add grated carrot, potato and onion to lentils. Stir.
Add more water if necessary.
Cook for 10-15 more minutes.
VARIATIONS
Cube the potatoes. I like the split pea soup consistency of grating the veggies. (Ana)
Add tomato paste. SautÈ the onions. I like the crunch of the uncooked onions. (The PC Cookbook)
Lose the potato. Add 1tsp garlic powder. Add _tsp chili flakes. Add 1tbs tomato paste. Add taco seasoning to taste. (My Tex-Mex Experiment)
I hope it tastes OK. Feel free to complain.
You are encouraged to send other simple recipes involving lentils to me. The 30 grams of protein per cup make up for the fact that I have yet to go to a butcher in Azerbaijan.
This recipe is for ONE person (one large bowl and then some.) Adjust accordingly.
YOU WILL NEED:
1 Azeri glass of dried RED lentils (about _ cup) – Ana insists RED lentils must be used
1 – 1 _ good-size carrots (peeled)
1 medium potato (peeled)
1 small white onion (chopped)
4-5 Azeri glasses of water (2-3 cups)
a grater
BEFOREHAND: Soak dried lentils for at least 2 hours. Or until the water runs clear.
FIVE STEPS
Put the lentils in a pot with about 3 times as much water. Cook until almost mushy. About 20 minutes.
Grate carrot and potato.
Add grated carrot, potato and onion to lentils. Stir.
Add more water if necessary.
Cook for 10-15 more minutes.
VARIATIONS
Cube the potatoes. I like the split pea soup consistency of grating the veggies. (Ana)
Add tomato paste. SautÈ the onions. I like the crunch of the uncooked onions. (The PC Cookbook)
Lose the potato. Add 1tsp garlic powder. Add _tsp chili flakes. Add 1tbs tomato paste. Add taco seasoning to taste. (My Tex-Mex Experiment)
I hope it tastes OK. Feel free to complain.
You are encouraged to send other simple recipes involving lentils to me. The 30 grams of protein per cup make up for the fact that I have yet to go to a butcher in Azerbaijan.
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