Not Coming Home

Since I will be leaving Azerbaijan just two days from now, I'm still pinching myself to realize my life and time here is ending and I won't be returning. I think it may be a few months before it truly sinks in.  You may be wondering what's next? To which I can only answer: Paris and Madagascar.

While I haven't been in the U.S. for over two years I'm in no rush to hurry back.  I also feel very confident that I need some R&R in another place and culture before coming home.  Another PCV friend and I have arranged to spend some time in Paris and then head to Madagascar for twenty some odd days and then back to Paris again for another week before flying back into the U.S. on December 21st.  Why Madagascar you may ask?  Why Not Madagascar? is what I say.  It's a beautiful and mostly under-the-radar country full of beautiful beaches, lush national parks, interesting plants and wildlife and tropical fruits: many of the things I haven't seen much of while living in AZ.  It's also their summertime and I would love a dose of warmer weather before the NYC cold sets in.  We've also arranged to have an apartment in Paris for the last leg of our trip to truly relax and live like the Parisians do for a bit.

So while I'm looking forward to being reunited with family and friends for the holidays, I'm really looking forward to my next excursion to bridge the transition back home.
America, see you on December 21st!

The End is... Here?

I’m not much of a procrastinator (or haven’t been since high school when Sunday night homework seemed an unwritten rule) but I’ve found I’ve been putting off writing this ending.  I think I’ve needed to let my mind figure out exactly what all this means before I can really write about it.  27 months coming to and end takes a bit more time to sink in than I expected.  I know some people were a bit surprised when I signed up for this experience—maybe I didn’t quite fit the mold of what people think of when they think of a Peace Corps Volunteer.  Sometimes I still don’t believe it myself that I have practically completed a full PC service. I guess I never considered myself that type of person cut out to “rough it” on my own with so many unknowns.  But I guess we surprise ourselves sometimes.  Still, I have a feeling I’ll have to keep pinching myself to realize that I will soon be a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. 

With my 5th form class on my last day at school

This week brings the first of my lasts.  My last Monday morning, my last days heading to school, my last early morning runs, my last bucket baths, my last trip to the post office, bazaar, local shops, my last “salams” and my last goodbyes. My last cups of tea, my last hugs and the last (hopefully) harassing screams from the locals boys. (My last marshutka ride happened last weekend as I’m proudly taking a car into the capital on Friday morning.)  During all of these lasts I try to stay present in my mind and really grasp that it’s the actual last time I’ll be doing it.  As I’ve done these things so often for so long it’s hard to imagine not doing them.

This past weekend I had my last lunch with my counterpart and her family.  She made sure to invite her sister, who’s been like another beloved aunt to me, and prepared my favorite Azeri meals (“lying dolma”-as in it lies because it doesn’t have meat in it.)  As time has passed during my service the meals she served me generously decreased as did her fussing over how much I ate; This occasion brought out a celebration again and it was as if I was coming for the first visit, yet she knew which meals I would enjoy. There was more of a comfortable relaxedness around the table—even laughter that led to tears (rather uncommon in this culture.)

My counterpart Gulhanim, her sister Bibi, her daughter Asmar,
Nizami, her son Cavidan and me on my last night in Zerdab

Hours later, just before her students arrived for private lessons, it came to just the two of us sitting at the table, more silent than necessary as I knew we were both reflecting how quickly the time had passed.  I at least was trying to think about how exactly I will be able to say goodbye to someone so significant to my time here.  I have mentioned her before but our relationship is difficult to describe in words; the closest I can come is to say we respect each other as equals in the classroom but are like mother-daughter outside of school.  The truth is I don’t imagine I would have stuck around this town for very long if we didn’t work together, if she hadn’t let me into her family.  It is because of her that I drag my butt to school when I really would rather stay away from the screaming insolent children. It’s because of her that when I’m not sure I accomplished as much as I would have liked I realized I’ve bridged our cultures and she know views Americans much differently than she did a few years ago. 

Like everything else it’s all been bittersweet.  I realize that I have to move on to the next chapter—we can only grow so much in anything before we’re just following a routine that no longer challenges us.  Even though I’m a bit wary of being a foreigner in my own land I can’t put off heading home in fear of the unknown. 

I feel like a lot of the similar emotions I had when packing up to coming here.  The difference is now I’m leaving a place I may not be coming back to, saying goodbye to people I may never see again.  That makes this transition harder.  I’m also heading back to a place that I’ll expect to know and understand but I will most likely be walking around blinded dazed for awhile.  America has changed (as it always does) so drastically.  I’ve changed as a result of this experience.  I don’t know America.  I know Azerbaijan.  I don’t understand Azerbaijan but I know Azerbaijan. This equals me feeling like I’ll a foreigner in America for quite some time.  And these are the thoughts that get me a bit panicky and putting off the ends.  As much as I can’t stand some things about where I live, there are people here that I’ve come to love and it’s hard to imagine not seeing them every week.

So Thursday evening I’ll spend my last hours with Gulhanim and Nizami hopefully as we always do and not acknowledge that it’s the end.  I’m still not sure how to say goodbye to them, I’ll have to figure that out when the time comes-as I’ve had to do through most of this life here.  Friday early morning I’ll pack up the car and head to Baku and hug and kiss goodbye most of the people who’ve defined my time here.  I’m sure there will be tears-I’ve never been good with big goodbyes.  Yet I suppose in a way I’m lucky to have such tears, for the sadness shows that I was lucky enough to have something worth crying over.  

Twenty-six months ago I found myself lost in Azerbaijan. I might have been a bit lost wandering around this place for some of my time but as I’m leaving I can acknowledge that I no longer feel lost.  I may not have found myself here but maybe that wasn’t what I was looking for.  I found many other things in Azerbaijan. 

FLEX Follow Up

I’m very happy to report that the two girls, Amina and Nurlana, who I’ve been helping study for the FLEX* exam for the past year (one for more than the past year) took the first round of testing on September 29^th. Day one is a short exam that consists of a short English text and follows with 16 questions to be completely in 15 minutes.   To no surprise of mine, both girls called me that afternoon exclaiming they would go on to the second test the next day.  The second day is much more difficult as the first day just weeds out the all the eager teenagers who want to go to America but maybe don’t have the English skills.  It also turns away those who think they can cheat their way to studying in America.

Day two is three hours long with more intense grammar, listening sections and essays.  Critical thinking and essay writing (along with presentations, group work, and other American learning techniques) are not taught in Azeri schools so preparing them for this part took much more work.  Furthermore, on university entrance exams students can simply not answer a question and it won’t count against them so I’ve had to show the girls how they need to answer each question by using trial and error methods.  We also spent many hours with essay writing to get them thinking critically about their ideas and opinions-another big thing skipped in the educational system.  I was just thrilled they made it to round two on their first try.  (If they don’t go on to the next round they still have two more years to try.)

After the second round they were told they wouldn’t hear the results until the end of the month or possibly the beginning of November.  So it was a surprise on Thursday when Nurlana called me to tell me she passed round two and would go on to the interview round!  Amina called me about an hour later with the same news-though it was hard to understand her at the volume and tone she was speaking at; if a voice could jump up and down, hers certainly did. Obviously they were thrilled, as was I, and I gave both girls a huge hug when I saw them at club that afternoon. 

Perhaps fittingly, round three will take place the week I depart Zerdab.  It will consists of an interview with questions like “What do you want to learn through going to the FLEX?” and “What is the most difficult adjustment you have ever had to make?” but also, “How will you feel if you have to live with a family that has a dog?” They’ll also have to write more essays and be observed working in groups with other students. 

We’ve began preparation lessons again although Nurlana and I mostly just sat and talked after club, still jittery with excitement.  The school and teachers were abuzz on Friday and everyone has been congratulating them.  There is pressure I’m sure, but just the fact they made it this far is a huge accomplishment.  I’m already so proud of them for believing in their dreams and working hard to reach them.  Again, if it doesn’t happen this year they’re lucky enough to have two more years to meet me in America.

*The FLEX (Future Leaders Exchange) program is a U.S. Government run program that brings students from former Soviet countries to the U.S. to study in high school and live with a family for one year.  Students must pass three rounds of English exams and interviews but certainly don’t need to be fluent to be invited—it’s more important that they are able to work well with others and display leadership potential. Each year about 4o students from Azerbaijan enter the FLEX program but practically half of them come from the capital. No one from Zerdab has ever entered the FLEX program and I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that less than 1% have studied outside the country.

Two Years From Now...

I was asked yesterday if my time here has helped me in my life. What a loaded question that I’m sure all RPCVs are asked at one point or another.  I just didn’t expect to be asked so soon. I said that that was a question I didn’t think I could answer objectively for another 2 years or so.  It’s difficult to still evaluate my time and service while I’m still in it.  Even a few months from now when I’m reacquainting myself with America I doubt I’ll be able to look at this experience for what it is.  Especially given the recent turbulent frustrations at my site.

Perhaps the most striking part of this question is who actually asked it: a 22-year-old local from a nearby village.  I must note it was in practically perfectly English.  (Let me remind you that the level of English in Ztown is next to nothing; I can count the number of English speakers on one hand.)

Back-story: this young man recently tracked me down to help him practice his English speaking. At first I turned down his request for a conversation club explaining that my weeks were fading and there was no others his age or level to form a group.  He told me he taught himself only a year and a half ago, by listening to English speaking programs and he wanted desperately to speak with a foreigner.  I had heard it before but he was quite persistent and eager and honestly, I was quite impressed with his level for learning on his own.  I’ve found that general interest in continuing education or self-improvement is minimal in this culture.  (I hate to say it, but the truth is malingerers are a dime a dozen.) 

In my head I’m asking myself “who are you and where did you come from?” because surely his is not like the others.  The other part of me was saying “where were you 2 years ago?” when I was searching this town for any one willing to put in a little effort to join a club.  Most of my “clubs” have been strictly teaching grammar—the level to have an actual conversation is quite minimal.  Other volunteers with university students have been having debates and putting on plays in their regions while I have been limited to repeating sentence structure and prepositions.  Not that I’m complaining-I’m here to do what is needed, but it would be nice to have a higher-level conversation now and then.   Then in walks Nasir and I find myself not being able to deny him a third time—I want to finish this race (or dare I say, marathon?) to the full. Truthfully I may be able to do more for him and his English in my last weeks than I have for most of the uninterested students in school.  So I succumb to his pleas and say that I’ll form a twice-weekly discussion club with a few other students (all the while wary and nervous but also really excited to have more work to do.) 

I’m proud to say the six of us speak English for the entire hour and half.  So far the most popular activity is debate discussions with arguing for and against different topics.  After club last week Nasir and I were walking towards the end of town where he hitchhikes back to his village.  For someone who has never left the country he doesn’t act much like his peers and his ideas are those of someone way beyond his years. I wish I had more time to get to know him.  There are those rare individuals everywhere I realize.  There are the feckless bums, who could care less about doing anything for anyone, engage in intellectual talk or venture to learn something from someone else, but there are also others who strive for more, knowing it’s out there.  I found a few of those here—or perhaps they found me.

I’m not sure how I’ll really be able to describe my past 2 years in a 3-minute elevator speech I will surely need upon my return home.  How can I truly convey what this has been like?

Challenging. Dark. Trying. Frustrating. Eye-opening. 

Most non-PCVs think that you join PC for an adventure—for exciting experiences.  People always want to know the funny and crazy stories.  Sorry, but I don’t have those. Maybe some things will seem funny in a few years. Ask me then.  What I have had is relationships.  That’s what it comes down to (I hope) in the end.  I’ve met people who know me now and who I know.  People who have listened to me and who I’ve listened to; people with whom I’ve laughed, hugged, cried and smiled with.  I just hope I’ve helped a few more along the way.

I told Nasir that I know I’ve already changed because I understand the people here more.  I’m also much more appreciative of all that I have in America.  Immediately people will think I’m referring to conveniences like showers and refrigerators (or flushing toilets for that matter!) but I can stand to live without those things.  Above all else, I value my rights.  I love the freedom to have my opinions, to have my rights and as a woman to be respected and have choices.  That’s the way I know I know I’ve already changed.  The rest? We’ll just have to see. Ask again later.