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.