The only downside of my delayed return to Azerbaijan after the holidays was that I had to head back to the village immediately because school had already started. So the next day, Ata drove me to the bus station and put me (and my school bus suitcases) on a bus direct to my village, giving the driver instructions to take me to my front door. (As previously established being Ata’s daughter has its benefits).
Three hours later groggy from a nap I am deposited at my front gate. I go to retrieve my keys and wish my landlady a happy new year. There doesn’t seem to be anything noteworthy to share and I am grateful to be home.
Until I open my front door…
There is a gaping dirt hole where my recently relocated kitchen used to be.
Funny. You would think my landlady would have thought to mention this fact a few minutes ago. Although I am not all that surprised to have been left out of the DIY loop yet again. But enough is enough.
Cue phone call to Peace Corps.
And after multiple phone calls, lengthy negotiations in three languages and 48 hours of hiding under the covers, I was granted permission to move away from the village and into a blissfully construction free environment in the nearby city. (Which quite frankly is what PCV L’s landlady had been asking me to do since the painting in September)
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