On Wednesday I came home and made myself some blueberry muffins in the afternoon.
Why? Read on.
It was the first week of school this week. I must admit I am a little bit worse for the wear. The first week of school is always difficult. The students are more excited to see their friends than they are about whatever lesson they’re supposed to be learning. The timetable hasn’t exactly been set in stone yet. Not to mention those early morning wake-up calls.
This week I was in the teachers’ lounge by 8 AM every day. The catch was I had no idea when any of lessons were. So I would sit there and chat with the other teachers or write letters until a teacher or student came looking for me. (My postman is going to hate me for the number of letters I need to send today.) It was a good system for the most part.
But there were two flaws in this plan. My primary counterpart has been away on a computer course this week. Oops. I had to teach all her classes by myself. Which was a minor problem because the students either refused to pay attention or had no idea what I was asking them to do. Moreover, more than once this week, the timetable had me scheduled to be in three places at once. (I would like to argue that this is a step up from last year’s ‘two places at once’ conflict. But really it’s not.)
However, ‘nar’ season has begun in earnest. (If you have no idea what a ‘nar’ is I have failed to implement Goal 3.) Every day my landlady’s soon brings me at least three ‘nar’ straight off the tree. Yum!
Maybe next week I should try to make ‘nar’ muffins. Is that even possible?
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Furniture Feng Shui
My house is back in working order. Huzzah!
The painters finished up mid-week, and after the paint had dried on the floors we were able to reassemble the rooms as they were the first week of September. My living room is now a fetching shade of pink. (Oh well.)
I took the opportunity to single-handedly rearrange the furniture one evening. (I guess I am my mother’s daughter.) I have moved a table out into the large central room and set up a ‘study area’. (It’s amazing what you can do when you realize that an outlet you thought was dead is in working order.) There is another table in my living room now for meals. No more constantly sitting on the sofa or eating on the floor. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this, but I’ve been told it’s an improvement.
Now if only I could get one of the neighbours to build me a bookcase. My care-package boxes do not make the sturdiest of makeshift bookshelves.
The painters finished up mid-week, and after the paint had dried on the floors we were able to reassemble the rooms as they were the first week of September. My living room is now a fetching shade of pink. (Oh well.)
I took the opportunity to single-handedly rearrange the furniture one evening. (I guess I am my mother’s daughter.) I have moved a table out into the large central room and set up a ‘study area’. (It’s amazing what you can do when you realize that an outlet you thought was dead is in working order.) There is another table in my living room now for meals. No more constantly sitting on the sofa or eating on the floor. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this, but I’ve been told it’s an improvement.
Now if only I could get one of the neighbours to build me a bookcase. My care-package boxes do not make the sturdiest of makeshift bookshelves.
This Week In History
It’s genuine milestone time.
This time last year I was trying to fit two years of my life into two suitcases (Never again will I boast about my packing prowess), and attempting to load stuff onto my external hard-drive. (I’m not as technologically savvy as I pretend to be.) In hindsight, my final days in Texas were rather hectic, and I spent far too much time in Target.
I would try to pinpoint the exact hour of the exact day I got on a plane to Philadelphia to start this Peace Corps adventure, but to be honest I can’t remember what the date was was. (For a history buff, I am shockingly bad with dates.) Let’s just say in the early part of next week this time last year, I walked through security with a Peace Corps passport and got on a plane.
Before you lose all faith in my ability to commemorate important life events properly, I CAN tell you when I arrived in Azerbaijan. OCTOBER 1, 2009. And whilst next weekend is closer to October than this one, I feel like jumping the gun a little bit.
Forgive me.
Sometimes, it has felt like time has moved as slowly as molasses going uphill in February. But most of the time, I can’t believe I’ve been in Azerbaijan a year. I’m nearly halfway through my service.
Here’s to hoping the next 15 months are as remarkable as the last 12 months were. J
AZ8: Enjoy Orientation! Azerbaijan is not as scary a place as it may seem right now. I promise. Yashxi Yol! (Bon Voyage!)
This time last year I was trying to fit two years of my life into two suitcases (Never again will I boast about my packing prowess), and attempting to load stuff onto my external hard-drive. (I’m not as technologically savvy as I pretend to be.) In hindsight, my final days in Texas were rather hectic, and I spent far too much time in Target.
I would try to pinpoint the exact hour of the exact day I got on a plane to Philadelphia to start this Peace Corps adventure, but to be honest I can’t remember what the date was was. (For a history buff, I am shockingly bad with dates.) Let’s just say in the early part of next week this time last year, I walked through security with a Peace Corps passport and got on a plane.
Before you lose all faith in my ability to commemorate important life events properly, I CAN tell you when I arrived in Azerbaijan. OCTOBER 1, 2009. And whilst next weekend is closer to October than this one, I feel like jumping the gun a little bit.
Forgive me.
Sometimes, it has felt like time has moved as slowly as molasses going uphill in February. But most of the time, I can’t believe I’ve been in Azerbaijan a year. I’m nearly halfway through my service.
Here’s to hoping the next 15 months are as remarkable as the last 12 months were. J
AZ8: Enjoy Orientation! Azerbaijan is not as scary a place as it may seem right now. I promise. Yashxi Yol! (Bon Voyage!)
Monday, September 13, 2010
On The Home Front: Being A PCV's Family
On The Home Front: Being A PCV’s Family
When Peace Corps sends out your pre-departure paperwork, a little booklet entitled: On The Home Front is included. Unlike everything else in the packet, this is NOT meant for the Volunteer-To-Be. It is for the family – just in case they felt like they were being left out of proceedings. Although I can’t imagine how: Mom felt like my secretary/chauffeur, Dad was vaguely distressed about credit card bills and my younger sister was told she had to come home for a visit for the first time in six months in honour of my impending departure.
So…
What does being the family of a Peace Corps volunteer really mean?
I couldn’t tell you. I’m the volunteer. J
But I can tell you about some of the things my family does that I appreciate; some of the things about my life that confuse them and the bragging rights they enjoy.
Three examples of how my family stay involved in my life even from thousands of miles away. Yes, these are the humorous ones instead of excerpts from difficult days. But I think it’s more important to show how we can still enjoy each other’s company from opposite ends of the world. And in all honesty, the laughter outnumbers the tears.
Exhibit A: Mom, Care Package Sender Extraordinaire
I have to admit my Mom sends some pretty awesome care packages. And she sends them frequently. The second aspect is probably due to the fact that she gets bored very easily, but that doesn’t change the fact that the contents of my monthly shipment from America is the envy of my site-mates. And I really do appreciate them. (I don’t hold the AWOL Thin Mints against you. I promise.) Sometimes she gets a little over-zealous though.
Melissa: I am attempting to make egg-less sugar cookies.
Mom: I can send you powdered eggs in the next box.
Melissa: That won’t be necessary. I have a dozen chickens in my yard. It is just too dark to go out and hunt through the coop.
Mom: Oh. That’s right. Oops.
Exhibit B: Dad, Putting My Mind At Ease 1 SMS At A Time
I have this habit of sending my Dad text messages about the state of international football, requesting tennis updates and demanding reassurances that the TV show I have become addicted to will be back for another season. He replies with a doctor’s note about Beckham’s feet, commentary about the Williams sisters’ latest fashion faux pas and season premiere air date and list of spoilers off of IMDB. You know, the important stuff in life. Occasionally, he attempts to off-set my bewildered questions about the state of the world.
Melissa: Chelsea is the top of the table.
Dad: You can tell me the Premiership standings before I watch the game. And you found out about Beckham’s foot before I even woke up. But it takes you an entire summer to realize that there is a new UK Prime Minister?!
Melissa: Um. Yeah. Football is universal. It’s on TV here. The ins and outs of UK politics are not. Besides I’m sure someone did tell me about that in May, I just forgot because of…um…the massive flooding.
Exhibit C: Sister, The One More Likely To Be A PCV
I’m sure that if anyone had asked my parents which one of their daughters was more likely to join the Peace Corps. I would have been the bottom of the list. But then again my sister is terrified of flying, so maybe I underestimate my parents’ ability to foretell the future. But I think my sister is happy to live vicariously through me from the comforts of her off-campus apartment at UC Boulder.
My birthday card (a month late, naturally)
Front of Card: Along with global warming and what to make for dinner you’re on my mind.
Note inside: I tell everyone my sister’s with the PeaceCorps! You’re very badass, especially in the crowds I run in! Come home and visit soon!
Finally…
It’s been almost a year since I’ve been in the same zip code as my parents. (It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen my sister). So I just want to say that I love you and I miss you - even if I don’t seem all that anxious to come home. (My reluctance is mostly due to flight time. I promise.)
Oh and I miss everyone else too! J
When Peace Corps sends out your pre-departure paperwork, a little booklet entitled: On The Home Front is included. Unlike everything else in the packet, this is NOT meant for the Volunteer-To-Be. It is for the family – just in case they felt like they were being left out of proceedings. Although I can’t imagine how: Mom felt like my secretary/chauffeur, Dad was vaguely distressed about credit card bills and my younger sister was told she had to come home for a visit for the first time in six months in honour of my impending departure.
So…
What does being the family of a Peace Corps volunteer really mean?
I couldn’t tell you. I’m the volunteer. J
But I can tell you about some of the things my family does that I appreciate; some of the things about my life that confuse them and the bragging rights they enjoy.
Three examples of how my family stay involved in my life even from thousands of miles away. Yes, these are the humorous ones instead of excerpts from difficult days. But I think it’s more important to show how we can still enjoy each other’s company from opposite ends of the world. And in all honesty, the laughter outnumbers the tears.
Exhibit A: Mom, Care Package Sender Extraordinaire
I have to admit my Mom sends some pretty awesome care packages. And she sends them frequently. The second aspect is probably due to the fact that she gets bored very easily, but that doesn’t change the fact that the contents of my monthly shipment from America is the envy of my site-mates. And I really do appreciate them. (I don’t hold the AWOL Thin Mints against you. I promise.) Sometimes she gets a little over-zealous though.
Melissa: I am attempting to make egg-less sugar cookies.
Mom: I can send you powdered eggs in the next box.
Melissa: That won’t be necessary. I have a dozen chickens in my yard. It is just too dark to go out and hunt through the coop.
Mom: Oh. That’s right. Oops.
Exhibit B: Dad, Putting My Mind At Ease 1 SMS At A Time
I have this habit of sending my Dad text messages about the state of international football, requesting tennis updates and demanding reassurances that the TV show I have become addicted to will be back for another season. He replies with a doctor’s note about Beckham’s feet, commentary about the Williams sisters’ latest fashion faux pas and season premiere air date and list of spoilers off of IMDB. You know, the important stuff in life. Occasionally, he attempts to off-set my bewildered questions about the state of the world.
Melissa: Chelsea is the top of the table.
Dad: You can tell me the Premiership standings before I watch the game. And you found out about Beckham’s foot before I even woke up. But it takes you an entire summer to realize that there is a new UK Prime Minister?!
Melissa: Um. Yeah. Football is universal. It’s on TV here. The ins and outs of UK politics are not. Besides I’m sure someone did tell me about that in May, I just forgot because of…um…the massive flooding.
Exhibit C: Sister, The One More Likely To Be A PCV
I’m sure that if anyone had asked my parents which one of their daughters was more likely to join the Peace Corps. I would have been the bottom of the list. But then again my sister is terrified of flying, so maybe I underestimate my parents’ ability to foretell the future. But I think my sister is happy to live vicariously through me from the comforts of her off-campus apartment at UC Boulder.
My birthday card (a month late, naturally)
Front of Card: Along with global warming and what to make for dinner you’re on my mind.
Note inside: I tell everyone my sister’s with the PeaceCorps! You’re very badass, especially in the crowds I run in! Come home and visit soon!
Finally…
It’s been almost a year since I’ve been in the same zip code as my parents. (It’s been more than a year since I’ve seen my sister). So I just want to say that I love you and I miss you - even if I don’t seem all that anxious to come home. (My reluctance is mostly due to flight time. I promise.)
Oh and I miss everyone else too! J
Housing Allowance = Home Improvement
I don’t think I have ever described my current living situation in detail other than to extol its many virtues in comparison with my first house and its geographic location in relation to the rising floodwaters. I live approximately the same distance from school as I did when I lived with a family – just in the opposite direction. My landlady lives across the street. (But her turkeys and chickens live in my yard.) We share a water source and washing facilities (human and clothing).
My house is actually the house that my landlady’s husband built for his family when he got married. It is a spacious two-storey structure. (There are 3 kids and a grandmother in the family too). I have access to three rooms on the ground floor: a big great room that has a kitchen (sans sink) off to the left side, a bedroom and a cozy living room. The upstairs floor is unfinished and currently inhabited by a family (or six) of pigeons who occasionally fly downstairs or fall onto my kitchen table.
My house is more than adequate accommodation for me - but it is still a work in progress for the family. Usually they ask when I am going to be away for a little bit of time, and when I return something has been transformed. In June it was ceiling tiles. I looked up from the sofa, and was startled to find I was no longer staring at rafters and straw. In July I returned from a hot, dusty road-trip and opened my front gate into a cool, shaded courtyard. They had erected a steel roof over the yard in front of my house to protect from rain and sun. I didn’t need to buy a fan after all and I no longer had to wear sunglasses just to go to the bathroom.
But this weekend I returned from an overnight in Salyan to paint cans by my door, and a strange man standing on the table in my living room. Apparently they’ve decided to paint the walls. It should take three days. Oops. Poor planning. But I can’t really fault my landlady for a scheduling conflict. For most of August every time I said I was going into Salyan I would be gone for three or four days instead of 24 hours. So I just made spaghetti with the contents of my fridge, filled a book-bag with useful work to do and a change of clothes and caught the early morning bus back to Salyan.
I’m not going to lie this most recent home improvement episode did sabotage my plan for a lazy Sunday of an organizational master-class and school preparation. But I do the same stuff in my site-mate’s living room. In fact I should be grateful her heat is more reliable than mine. (I had to heat the water for my shower last night. Summer has officially ended.)
Besides I would like to think that this proves that I am having a positive impact on members of my community. I know my rent money is being put to good use. These DIY projects usually get underway about a week after I pay my rent - enough time to order supplies and cajole the neighbors into helping.
My house is actually the house that my landlady’s husband built for his family when he got married. It is a spacious two-storey structure. (There are 3 kids and a grandmother in the family too). I have access to three rooms on the ground floor: a big great room that has a kitchen (sans sink) off to the left side, a bedroom and a cozy living room. The upstairs floor is unfinished and currently inhabited by a family (or six) of pigeons who occasionally fly downstairs or fall onto my kitchen table.
My house is more than adequate accommodation for me - but it is still a work in progress for the family. Usually they ask when I am going to be away for a little bit of time, and when I return something has been transformed. In June it was ceiling tiles. I looked up from the sofa, and was startled to find I was no longer staring at rafters and straw. In July I returned from a hot, dusty road-trip and opened my front gate into a cool, shaded courtyard. They had erected a steel roof over the yard in front of my house to protect from rain and sun. I didn’t need to buy a fan after all and I no longer had to wear sunglasses just to go to the bathroom.
But this weekend I returned from an overnight in Salyan to paint cans by my door, and a strange man standing on the table in my living room. Apparently they’ve decided to paint the walls. It should take three days. Oops. Poor planning. But I can’t really fault my landlady for a scheduling conflict. For most of August every time I said I was going into Salyan I would be gone for three or four days instead of 24 hours. So I just made spaghetti with the contents of my fridge, filled a book-bag with useful work to do and a change of clothes and caught the early morning bus back to Salyan.
I’m not going to lie this most recent home improvement episode did sabotage my plan for a lazy Sunday of an organizational master-class and school preparation. But I do the same stuff in my site-mate’s living room. In fact I should be grateful her heat is more reliable than mine. (I had to heat the water for my shower last night. Summer has officially ended.)
Besides I would like to think that this proves that I am having a positive impact on members of my community. I know my rent money is being put to good use. These DIY projects usually get underway about a week after I pay my rent - enough time to order supplies and cajole the neighbors into helping.
Latifa Visits Baku
As I have written about before I periodically have to go to Baku for meetings and training workshops. There was one held at the very beginning of September for TEFL volunteers, but this one was unique because we got to bring our counterparts – the Azerbaijani teacher we work with on a daily basis – with us. It was a very interesting and informative two days. PCVs were able to hear straight from counterparts about what the expectations associated with our roles are at a local level. PCVs were able to demonstrate activities and share ideas, thus able to show our counterparts that our some of our ideas – although they may sound crazy – are valid educational tools encouraged by Peace Corps. A win-win situation.
I brought my primary counterpart – Latifa – with me to the conference. It was a big deal for her to attend. She doesn’t usually leave the village. She hadn’t been into the center of Baku since her days as a university student twenty years ago. Ergo, she had an eventful 48 hours, although she complained that the meetings were a little too long. (I agreed.)
Here are some of the things Latifa did while in Baku:
took the metro
ate in a restaurant
stayed in a hotel
took a shower in the morning
drank coffee with breakfast
All of which are things Americans take for granted. Things Americans (probably) do without a second thought. But which were very out of the ordinary for Latifa (and in some cases culturally inappropriate). I joked with her over breakfast that this was all OK, she was an honorary American for a few days. Cultural exchange, anyone?
In the professional sense she also got to talk to the other teachers who work with PCVs in different regions and hear about the sorts of things they are doing, which was beneficial for her. For me it was a little less so as I had to field questions about why I wasn’t doing certain things like other PCVs. (Answer: I was busy doing my own things. My brain is only so creative.) Oops.
Two things I learned while at the conference:
how to make a whiteboard out of plastic and tape
a classroom activity that involves nothing but a coin
One thing I did:
ate McDonalds and a McFlurry for dinner (for the first time since Frankfurt Airport almost a year ago)
I brought my primary counterpart – Latifa – with me to the conference. It was a big deal for her to attend. She doesn’t usually leave the village. She hadn’t been into the center of Baku since her days as a university student twenty years ago. Ergo, she had an eventful 48 hours, although she complained that the meetings were a little too long. (I agreed.)
Here are some of the things Latifa did while in Baku:
took the metro
ate in a restaurant
stayed in a hotel
took a shower in the morning
drank coffee with breakfast
All of which are things Americans take for granted. Things Americans (probably) do without a second thought. But which were very out of the ordinary for Latifa (and in some cases culturally inappropriate). I joked with her over breakfast that this was all OK, she was an honorary American for a few days. Cultural exchange, anyone?
In the professional sense she also got to talk to the other teachers who work with PCVs in different regions and hear about the sorts of things they are doing, which was beneficial for her. For me it was a little less so as I had to field questions about why I wasn’t doing certain things like other PCVs. (Answer: I was busy doing my own things. My brain is only so creative.) Oops.
Two things I learned while at the conference:
how to make a whiteboard out of plastic and tape
a classroom activity that involves nothing but a coin
One thing I did:
ate McDonalds and a McFlurry for dinner (for the first time since Frankfurt Airport almost a year ago)
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Starting September: Back-To-School
According to my calendar there are still a few days left before September starts. (By the time I post this it will have already arrived.)
But summer is coming to a close. It rained for three days early this week. I don’t think I’ve ever been so appreciative of overcast skies. Then it brightened up again this past weekend long enough for me to do one more load of quick-dry laundry. But temperatures are falling. On Wednesday I traded my summer shift-dress for comfy pants for around the house.
The teachers are already back at school for meetings that I am not required to attend - one of the fringe benefits of not being a fully-fledged staff member. School starts September 15th - officially I still have two weeks of laziness left
However, my primary counter-part and I are due to travel to Baku for a Peace Corps sponsored conference next week to talk about stuff with other volunteers and Azerbaijani English teachers. (I use ‘stuff’ in the technical sense of the word, of course.) It will be good to catch up and trade methods and ideas with other teachers (and movies and TV with other PCVs.)
Of course - Being the master procrastinator that I am I haven’t really made any of the classroom preparations I promised myself I would at the start of the summer. Oops. But yesterday I got a wonderful package from my parents containing all sorts of classroom supplies: construction paper, markers, picture flashcards and jigsaw puzzles. God Bless Wal-Mart.
I am starting to get suitably excited for the start of the school year. Sorta.
But summer is coming to a close. It rained for three days early this week. I don’t think I’ve ever been so appreciative of overcast skies. Then it brightened up again this past weekend long enough for me to do one more load of quick-dry laundry. But temperatures are falling. On Wednesday I traded my summer shift-dress for comfy pants for around the house.
The teachers are already back at school for meetings that I am not required to attend - one of the fringe benefits of not being a fully-fledged staff member. School starts September 15th - officially I still have two weeks of laziness left
However, my primary counter-part and I are due to travel to Baku for a Peace Corps sponsored conference next week to talk about stuff with other volunteers and Azerbaijani English teachers. (I use ‘stuff’ in the technical sense of the word, of course.) It will be good to catch up and trade methods and ideas with other teachers (and movies and TV with other PCVs.)
Of course - Being the master procrastinator that I am I haven’t really made any of the classroom preparations I promised myself I would at the start of the summer. Oops. But yesterday I got a wonderful package from my parents containing all sorts of classroom supplies: construction paper, markers, picture flashcards and jigsaw puzzles. God Bless Wal-Mart.
I am starting to get suitably excited for the start of the school year. Sorta.
10 Things I Am Going To Miss About Summer-Time
I present the things I will remember fondly about Summer 2010. (And with luck will be able to repeat in 2011…or 2014).
- The World Cup
- daylight until 10 PM
- daily showers
- the fact that my laundry dried before lunch – mere hours after I’d washed it
- watermelon for 10q a kilo (7 cents a pound) and the fruit from my yard
- 4 hour nap-time
- it being totally acceptable to watch 8 hours of TV or read 300 pages a day
- the freedom to travel from one end of the country to the other to visit and help out
- working with kids who want to learn English so much, they knocked on my door at 8AM (ok…I enjoyed the enthusiasm; the wake-up calls not so much)
- my awesome 18 egg cake birthday cake
- The World Cup
- daylight until 10 PM
- daily showers
- the fact that my laundry dried before lunch – mere hours after I’d washed it
- watermelon for 10q a kilo (7 cents a pound) and the fruit from my yard
- 4 hour nap-time
- it being totally acceptable to watch 8 hours of TV or read 300 pages a day
- the freedom to travel from one end of the country to the other to visit and help out
- working with kids who want to learn English so much, they knocked on my door at 8AM (ok…I enjoyed the enthusiasm; the wake-up calls not so much)
- my awesome 18 egg cake birthday cake
Baku
I have spent more time in Baku this summer than I have in the previous seven months of my service combined. Oops. (It still totals less than a week.)
Sometimes it feels like cheating to be serving as a PCV in a country that has a capital city teeming with oil expats, and not one but two McDonalds. Not to mention the American style supermarkets that stock peanut butter, tuna, soy sauce and familiar dental hygiene brands. Plus Heinz baked beans, Pot Noodles and digestive biscuits. Granted most of the items stocked are priced out of PCV range. But almost everything IS available if you are in desperate need and/or want to splurge. There are three international hotel chain premises under construction downtown, and shopping mall has just opened complete with a food court and an Apple Store.
Starting to forget I am serving in the Peace Corps? That’s OK. Sometimes when I am wandering past Levis and Mango stores and I hear English being spoken around me by women in short skirts or when I am sipping a latte at an outdoor café while using WiFi on my laptop, I have to remind myself too. But then I realise the coffee I just consumed cost as much as I spend in a week in the regions. Or I have the sudden epiphany that the bus I am riding in has come to a complete stop not because it has broken down but because there is a traffic light controlling traffic flow.
The reason I am PeaceCorps volunteer in Azerbaijan is because the rest of the country has not had the benefit of investment in the same way that Baku has.
I live 100 miles away from Baku – less than two hours by car. The average salary is comparable to the 200 AZN living stipend I receive if not less. My village has no landline telephones. The main form of transport is WWII-era buses. There are a handful of people that can speak in full sentences in English. I have never seen a woman in a skirt that hits above the knee in public. There is one restaurant within a 30-mile radius that can be patronized by women and it does not have the option of outdoor seating.
Ergo, I understand exactly why I have been asked to spend two years working for and with the people of Azerbaijan. Sometimes the luxuries of Baku can be overwhelming to my village school-teacher self. But the American in me is grateful for the hot showers on demand, bacon cheeseburgers and early release DVDs.
Also, I have recently come to the realization that there is a negative correlation between the time I spend in Baku and my Azerbaijani comprehension skills. Oops.
Sometimes it feels like cheating to be serving as a PCV in a country that has a capital city teeming with oil expats, and not one but two McDonalds. Not to mention the American style supermarkets that stock peanut butter, tuna, soy sauce and familiar dental hygiene brands. Plus Heinz baked beans, Pot Noodles and digestive biscuits. Granted most of the items stocked are priced out of PCV range. But almost everything IS available if you are in desperate need and/or want to splurge. There are three international hotel chain premises under construction downtown, and shopping mall has just opened complete with a food court and an Apple Store.
Starting to forget I am serving in the Peace Corps? That’s OK. Sometimes when I am wandering past Levis and Mango stores and I hear English being spoken around me by women in short skirts or when I am sipping a latte at an outdoor café while using WiFi on my laptop, I have to remind myself too. But then I realise the coffee I just consumed cost as much as I spend in a week in the regions. Or I have the sudden epiphany that the bus I am riding in has come to a complete stop not because it has broken down but because there is a traffic light controlling traffic flow.
The reason I am PeaceCorps volunteer in Azerbaijan is because the rest of the country has not had the benefit of investment in the same way that Baku has.
I live 100 miles away from Baku – less than two hours by car. The average salary is comparable to the 200 AZN living stipend I receive if not less. My village has no landline telephones. The main form of transport is WWII-era buses. There are a handful of people that can speak in full sentences in English. I have never seen a woman in a skirt that hits above the knee in public. There is one restaurant within a 30-mile radius that can be patronized by women and it does not have the option of outdoor seating.
Ergo, I understand exactly why I have been asked to spend two years working for and with the people of Azerbaijan. Sometimes the luxuries of Baku can be overwhelming to my village school-teacher self. But the American in me is grateful for the hot showers on demand, bacon cheeseburgers and early release DVDs.
Also, I have recently come to the realization that there is a negative correlation between the time I spend in Baku and my Azerbaijani comprehension skills. Oops.
A Mini-Break in the Mountains
At the end of August I was invited to join some family friends for a bit of rest and relaxation at their family house in the mountains. An offer I gratefully accepted – the heat in Salyan had worn me out. I made my way north via Baku – with a little bit of a detour to visit a PCV friend in Sheki for the night. It was about a 9-hour journey. (Without the detour it would have taken 5 hours).
I arrived in Qebele in one piece. Although there was a little bit of a transportation hiccup when my bus dropped me off in the centre of town instead of the bus station. Who’s ever heard of an inter-regional bus that drops passengers in the middle of the market instead of the station? Odd. But I was promptly rescued and we traveled to the house in a near-by village.
It was sort of like summer camp. We ate dinners at a picnic table. One night we built a campfire to cook dinner. We ate huge slices of watermelon in the afternoons before settling down for nap-time. We drank ‘samovar’ tea in the evening, and the air was just cool enough to necessitate a sweatshirt. I slept in a room with five other relatives and a baby – dorm-style. There was an outhouse –– but the rustic charm of that particular aspect is no longer a novelty to me. In fact, it was nicer than the one I have at home (and stocked with toilet paper!).
The landscape Qebela is well-known within Azerbaijan. When I told neighbours I was headed there, they were jealous and full of praise for the scenery. And I can’t say that I disagree. The house I was staying in was surrounded by green and a huge orchard. Qebela is famous for its hazelnuts. Yum! I was able to pick ripe pears straight off the tree. I think I consumed a half-dozen daily. There were a surprisingly large number of cows aimlessly wandering the streets. I also took the opportunity to play tourist and paid a visit to the near-by ‘Seven Beauties’ water-fall. But.ll the stairs up to the second-storey viewing platform made me realize just how flat Salyan really is.
It started to rain midway through the weekend, so we decided to cut our visit short. But I was quite happy to wake up to the sound of rain on the roof, and stand outside under the trees for the duration of the few hours it took to prepare two toddlers and all their accessories for departure. I think my hosts thought I was crazy, but I was quite content to sit and watch the rain. I hadn’t seen any since the flooding in May. (I’m weird. I know.)
I arrived in Qebele in one piece. Although there was a little bit of a transportation hiccup when my bus dropped me off in the centre of town instead of the bus station. Who’s ever heard of an inter-regional bus that drops passengers in the middle of the market instead of the station? Odd. But I was promptly rescued and we traveled to the house in a near-by village.
It was sort of like summer camp. We ate dinners at a picnic table. One night we built a campfire to cook dinner. We ate huge slices of watermelon in the afternoons before settling down for nap-time. We drank ‘samovar’ tea in the evening, and the air was just cool enough to necessitate a sweatshirt. I slept in a room with five other relatives and a baby – dorm-style. There was an outhouse –– but the rustic charm of that particular aspect is no longer a novelty to me. In fact, it was nicer than the one I have at home (and stocked with toilet paper!).
The landscape Qebela is well-known within Azerbaijan. When I told neighbours I was headed there, they were jealous and full of praise for the scenery. And I can’t say that I disagree. The house I was staying in was surrounded by green and a huge orchard. Qebela is famous for its hazelnuts. Yum! I was able to pick ripe pears straight off the tree. I think I consumed a half-dozen daily. There were a surprisingly large number of cows aimlessly wandering the streets. I also took the opportunity to play tourist and paid a visit to the near-by ‘Seven Beauties’ water-fall. But.ll the stairs up to the second-storey viewing platform made me realize just how flat Salyan really is.
It started to rain midway through the weekend, so we decided to cut our visit short. But I was quite happy to wake up to the sound of rain on the roof, and stand outside under the trees for the duration of the few hours it took to prepare two toddlers and all their accessories for departure. I think my hosts thought I was crazy, but I was quite content to sit and watch the rain. I hadn’t seen any since the flooding in May. (I’m weird. I know.)
Istrahet-ing In August
What-ing? You may ask. Don’t worry. It’s not English. Or not wholly English. It is merely another entry into the multi-lingugual mish-mash lexicon that is my own personalized language. It is derived from the Azerbaijani verb istrahet etmek translation: to rest, to relax or in this sense to vacation, to go on holiday. In the English grammar’s gerund form. All of which makes me sound a whole lot more pretentious than I actually am. Or maybe just linguistically challenged.
I should explain that it came to my attention by the second week of August that August in Azerbaijan is akin to August in France. Everyone who can manage it high-tails it to the mountains or sea-side for at least two weeks if not the entire month. Which is only mildly inconvenient.
I got on with life. To be honest I was too busy working with the people who stuck around Salyan to notice. That’s a lie. Every phone call to Ata and Ana in the last six weeks has included some variation on the following:
M: Hi. I am coming to Baku this week. Are you home?
A: No we are on vacation in the mountains/ staying at the sea-side.
M: Oh OK. I miss you. But I’ll see you soon.
It was a little disheartening. But I survived.
And eventually did a little istraheting of my own. (See next post.)
For those of you worried about the summer AWOL status of my defacto in-country family or my mental health after more than seven weeks without Ata and Ana, fear not. Last Thursday at midnight Ata called to inform me that they were home in Xirdalan again and they expect me to visit ASAP. (With luck I am posting this from their living room.)
I should explain that it came to my attention by the second week of August that August in Azerbaijan is akin to August in France. Everyone who can manage it high-tails it to the mountains or sea-side for at least two weeks if not the entire month. Which is only mildly inconvenient.
I got on with life. To be honest I was too busy working with the people who stuck around Salyan to notice. That’s a lie. Every phone call to Ata and Ana in the last six weeks has included some variation on the following:
M: Hi. I am coming to Baku this week. Are you home?
A: No we are on vacation in the mountains/ staying at the sea-side.
M: Oh OK. I miss you. But I’ll see you soon.
It was a little disheartening. But I survived.
And eventually did a little istraheting of my own. (See next post.)
For those of you worried about the summer AWOL status of my defacto in-country family or my mental health after more than seven weeks without Ata and Ana, fear not. Last Thursday at midnight Ata called to inform me that they were home in Xirdalan again and they expect me to visit ASAP. (With luck I am posting this from their living room.)
Teaching Teachers
Recently, the Ministry of Education has decided to introduce a new primary school language curriculum. This new curriculum is proving to be a challenge for language teachers to adapt to.
1st and 2nd form students have only just learned to write and read in their mother tongue, they cannot be expected to read and write in English yet. Thus, speaking skills are the focal point and the textbooks include lots of illustrations. But in a country where emphasis is placed on written tests and the reading and recitation of texts, this newer methodology is an alien concept to many of the teachers.
One day earlier in the summer I was at the Salyan Library and was approached by two teachers who will be responsible for teaching the 1st and 2nd grade during the upcoming school year. They wanted some suggestions and guidance about how to teach the younger students. So I spend my Friday mornings explaining interactive teaching methods tailored to seven year olds. Or at least that was the plan….
In reality our sessions became more of a conversation club. We read excerpts from newspapers and National Geographic. We talked about movies and music and shared family recipes. I learned that one of the teachers I worked with has a twin sister; the other teacher works at the boarding school in Salyan. If they weren’t teachers, one would want to be an interior designer and the other dreams of owning a bakery. I also discovered that the Salyan librarian (on a recent trip to the United States) has been to the Boston Public Library. I was SO jealous!
Maybe I should have been more forceful about staying on task for the benefit of the children they will teach next year. But I also think that if teachers feel more comfortable speaking English, they will feel more inclined to use English in the classroom and hearing English non stop for an hour will benefit the students more than visual aids. (Not that visual aids aren’t worth their weight in gold.)
Besides, at the end of our final session I was asked if I could provide one of the teachers with an application for a Peace Corps volunteer. Success!
1st and 2nd form students have only just learned to write and read in their mother tongue, they cannot be expected to read and write in English yet. Thus, speaking skills are the focal point and the textbooks include lots of illustrations. But in a country where emphasis is placed on written tests and the reading and recitation of texts, this newer methodology is an alien concept to many of the teachers.
One day earlier in the summer I was at the Salyan Library and was approached by two teachers who will be responsible for teaching the 1st and 2nd grade during the upcoming school year. They wanted some suggestions and guidance about how to teach the younger students. So I spend my Friday mornings explaining interactive teaching methods tailored to seven year olds. Or at least that was the plan….
In reality our sessions became more of a conversation club. We read excerpts from newspapers and National Geographic. We talked about movies and music and shared family recipes. I learned that one of the teachers I worked with has a twin sister; the other teacher works at the boarding school in Salyan. If they weren’t teachers, one would want to be an interior designer and the other dreams of owning a bakery. I also discovered that the Salyan librarian (on a recent trip to the United States) has been to the Boston Public Library. I was SO jealous!
Maybe I should have been more forceful about staying on task for the benefit of the children they will teach next year. But I also think that if teachers feel more comfortable speaking English, they will feel more inclined to use English in the classroom and hearing English non stop for an hour will benefit the students more than visual aids. (Not that visual aids aren’t worth their weight in gold.)
Besides, at the end of our final session I was asked if I could provide one of the teachers with an application for a Peace Corps volunteer. Success!
A Week In The Life Of A Youth Development Volunteer
Due to some unfortunate circumstances that necessitated a site transfer, the youth development volunteer, (PCV B) who had been working at the central library for almost a year left Salyan at the end of July. It was very upsetting. Salyan lost an incredibly hard-working and ambitious volunteer. And I lost a site-mate. L (PCV B has since moved to the opposite side of the country. L L)
Ergo, my summer plans had to be reshuffled. For most of August I spent at least four days a week in Salyan, working at the library. I worked with my other TEFL site-mate (PCV L) to cover the clubs and sessions that had been scheduled prior to the untimely departure. In practice this meant three hours of conversation clubs with various ability levels every morning of the week. The turn-out was incredible in comparison to what I was used to the village. I was grateful that there were two of us to manage sessions. I am not quite sure how one person could do it all. I am in awe of PCV B’s organizational skills and stamina. You did some incredible work with the students in this community, PCV B. Thank you.
Given that I actually spent most of August in Salyan helping at the library, this post should really be entitled: A Month in the Life of a YD Volunteer. But really one week was the same as the next: a rinse and repeat sort of cycle. PCV L and I quickly settled into a routine. I would arrive at 9:30 AM Tuesday, deposit my bag of stuff by my bed and put whatever contributions I could make to the fruit and vegetable tally for the week in the fridge. Then PCV L and I would go to the library and work until 12 noon. After a morning of lessons we would come home, change into our house clothes and divide a watermelon in half for lunch.
Then PCV L and I would retire to our respective sides of the room for three or four hours of siesta time. This time was usually spent doing some combination of reading, napping or watching a DVD. (It was extremely convenient that PCV L has two fans.) Then at 5:30PM, PCV L would sit down to do some lesson planning for the next day, while I made dinner. (I had to earn my keep somehow.) It was quite a good system. PCV L likened it living in a dorm with a roommate again. I agree.
I would usually head home on Saturday morning before the day’s heat set in. I would be home long enough to necessitate a single trip to the vegetable store and do two loads of laundry. For an entire month the only people in my community that saw me on a regular basis were my landlady and the shopkeeper. But it wasn’t like I meant to fall off the radar. I was hard at work in other places within my region.
As a direct result of my experiences this summer, I have acquired a new respect for the work that Youth Development volunteers do.
Ergo, my summer plans had to be reshuffled. For most of August I spent at least four days a week in Salyan, working at the library. I worked with my other TEFL site-mate (PCV L) to cover the clubs and sessions that had been scheduled prior to the untimely departure. In practice this meant three hours of conversation clubs with various ability levels every morning of the week. The turn-out was incredible in comparison to what I was used to the village. I was grateful that there were two of us to manage sessions. I am not quite sure how one person could do it all. I am in awe of PCV B’s organizational skills and stamina. You did some incredible work with the students in this community, PCV B. Thank you.
Given that I actually spent most of August in Salyan helping at the library, this post should really be entitled: A Month in the Life of a YD Volunteer. But really one week was the same as the next: a rinse and repeat sort of cycle. PCV L and I quickly settled into a routine. I would arrive at 9:30 AM Tuesday, deposit my bag of stuff by my bed and put whatever contributions I could make to the fruit and vegetable tally for the week in the fridge. Then PCV L and I would go to the library and work until 12 noon. After a morning of lessons we would come home, change into our house clothes and divide a watermelon in half for lunch.
Then PCV L and I would retire to our respective sides of the room for three or four hours of siesta time. This time was usually spent doing some combination of reading, napping or watching a DVD. (It was extremely convenient that PCV L has two fans.) Then at 5:30PM, PCV L would sit down to do some lesson planning for the next day, while I made dinner. (I had to earn my keep somehow.) It was quite a good system. PCV L likened it living in a dorm with a roommate again. I agree.
I would usually head home on Saturday morning before the day’s heat set in. I would be home long enough to necessitate a single trip to the vegetable store and do two loads of laundry. For an entire month the only people in my community that saw me on a regular basis were my landlady and the shopkeeper. But it wasn’t like I meant to fall off the radar. I was hard at work in other places within my region.
As a direct result of my experiences this summer, I have acquired a new respect for the work that Youth Development volunteers do.
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