Son Zang

If there was ever a day to reflect on my Peace Corps service, today is it.  I just got home from Son Zang, which means Last Bell in Azeri.  It’s the Azerbaijani equivalent of an American graduation ceremony, but with Azeri additions like singing, dancing, and a seemingly endless string of speeches, including one by yours truly.

Son Zang itself is actually kind of boring, and most people seem distracted during the event (and it probably doesn’t help that I couldn’t understand all of what was going on).  People were chatting it up on the side, and few had the interest to hear from all the people that were speaking unless they knew them personally.  Still, the speech-giving had to go on, and those in high places must give their respect to one another.  I could probably just sum it up by saying it was a very Azeri event.  It seemed like everyone was ready to move on, which was the order of the day.

After the speeches the final bell rang and the graduating students (they finish in 11th grade here) danced to traditional Azerbaijani music while everyone celebrated.  Graduated students wrote on each others’ shirts instead of yearbooks, and everyone got their pictures in on their last day as students.

I don’t know many of the students from the 11th grade because I decided I wasn’t going to teach students that old (they had learned English, or they hadn’t, but the younger kids could still be influenced).  But there were a couple of them I’d spent some time with over the past two years (including Aganur, who attended ABLE Camp last summer) and it was great to see them so happy.

There were a couple harder moments that really made me realize that as strange as it sounds, Ujar, Azerbaijan is my community and I feel at home here.  I saw two of my girls from my 8th grade class for probably the last time.  As we got our picture taken together, they told me, “Thank you for everything.  We can speak English now.”  I got a little choked up and told them that it was an honor to be able to know them.  As much of a headache that teaching can be, and even though there are times when I really can’t stand being here, having students like these girls has made it all worth it.

The assistant principal at my school had a few tears, too.  When I told her I didn’t think I would see her again, she started to cry and told me “You’re a good boy.  I’ll miss you.”  This is the same woman that when I introduced her to my mom, she gave her a big hug as if they were old friends that hadn’t seen each other in years.  It’s these kind of memories that I’ll take home with me.

Teaching at my school over the past few years has been an incredible experience.  I don’t want to over sell it, because there were plenty of frustrating times.  The other programs in PC Azerbaijan, Youth Development and Community Economic Development, seem to have much more interesting projects under their belts and there have been more than a few times that I wish I had held out for something other than TEFL.  But the advice that was given to me by a former Volunteer has held true throughout my time here: “When it gets tough, think of the kids.”

When I think about how random it is that I ended up in Ujar, my head spins.  Of all the countries to go to, why Azerbaijan?  Of all the cities, how did I end up in Ujar?  It seems like someone spun a globe and threw a dart at it do decide where I’d spend my last two years.  And in all that randomness, I feel content, and in a word, blessed.

Now that school is out, I’m really just counting down the days until I return to America.  I’ll be helping out with other PCVs projects along the way, in addition to preparing for ABLE Camp in August.  In reality, though, that’s about a 5-10 hour work week.  It’s going to be a long, hot summer where I get to see the far corners of this place before I pack up and go home.

It’s been an unbelievable two years.

Here are a few more photos from Son Zang:

Republic Day – May 28th

Yesterday was a national holiday, celebrating the the anniversary of the Azerbaijan Democratic Republic.  Ali gives some info on his frontline blog:

On 28th of May, Azerbaijan marked 91th anniversary of its first republic. Azerbaijan Democratic Republic or ADR as known by its initials is considered the first democratic republic in Muslim East with a functional parliament and clean record of human rights.

It’s a really interesting post that I recommend you read if you’re curious about Azerbaijan.

UPDATE: In Nigar’s blog, she adds a bit more to the history of the ADR:

During two years of its existence ADR had to struggle for recognition in the World, including negotiations with W.Wilson, fight the Dashnaki and Bolshevik invasions as well as Irani resentment and, what is more difficult, brake inner prejudices of the centuries-old slaved Azerbaijani nation.

After only two years of independence we were slaved by Soviet Union again. According to Vladimir Lenin the invasion was justified by the fact that Soviet Russia could not survive without Baku oil. On April 28, 1920 we became Azerbaijan Soviet Socialist Republic.

Relief

I just got confirmation that our summer camp project has been awarded $16,500 by the Norwegian Embassy. This was fantastic news because we were getting to the point where we were worried if we’d even have a camp or not. If we were, it was going to be a bare-bones version of the camp we’d envisioned.

More personally, I’m very relieved that we got the money to run the camp, because it makes me PC service feel much more significant. I had been worried that without the funding, my service seemed dull. Especially now that I’m looking toward my post PC life, I’m relieved to be able to say that I wrote a proposal and it was funded, than simply I tried to get some money for a project and it didn’t work. It’s a game changer.

Now the real work starts. This is going to be a great way to finish out service.

Burning Garbage

On my walk home tonight I walked past a burning, plastic garbage bin.  I could only shake my head as I saw the plastic dripping off of the green-plastic which had doubled-over as it melted.  It’s common for people to burn garbage here, as there aren’t a lot of places to get rid of it.  I sincerely doubt it was hooligans that set the garbage can on fire.  Most likely it was a normal dude who lit some garbage in or next to the bin that was next to the street.  It’s just how things are done.  Now, keep that image of the burning garbage in your head for a minute.  Hold that thought.

While remembering the trash can incident, here’s a story that I think every PCV has heard (we were told this during orientation):

Jill is a PCV in Bermuda and she works hard to build a library for kids in her village.  After all the effort, she finally gets a nice little library going.  It’s got books, videos, and even a small space for a conversation club.  Jill is very careful with the library, so she made sure to clean it all up before she left for vacation for a month.  When she got back, the library was in shambles.

Or at least that’s something close to what we were told.

The moral of that story is that Jill did everything herself.  The villagers weren’t involved or invested in the library, and so it was left to just fall apart.  While it might have made Jill feel good about helping her community, a more sound approach, we are told, is to work with the community to help them build what they want.

This is development.  It must come from within.

And herein lies the problem of development agencies all over the world.  Money is just being thrown at first-world, hip social issues, often times with complete disregard for the issues that aid beneficiaries really care about solving.  Thankfully, for the most part, Peace Corps is nothing like that.  They send people, not money.  It’s grassroots.

When most Peace Corps Volunteer arrive in country, they don’t fully understand the lesson from the story about Jill, the fictitious PCV.  They see the discrepancies between their Peace Corps country and America and they feel a sincere urge to help.

Most PCVs in Azerbaijan are pretty shocked when they see the way garbage is dealt with here.  Here, garbage is burned in someone’s yard, dropped on the street, or put in a designated place on the street where it’s picked up, only to be burned elsewhere.  I really shocked by this.  I thought to myself, “Now here’s a place where I can really make a dent.”  I  joined the PC Azerbaijan Environemental Committee and thought about ways to work on this issue.

In some of my classes at my school, I’ve talked about the garbage problem.  I told kids it’s not a good idea to throw garbage on the street.  When students replied, “Isn’t that what people do everywhere?” most were surprised to here that in some places, people would be very offended if you just threw down a candy wrapper on the street and expected someone else to clean up.  I’d tell them that they can easily just hold on to the wrapper or put it in their pocket until they come to one of the 10 (or so) trash cans that I’ve seen around town.  The most common response here is that they’re aren’t enough trash cans around, to which I’d always reply, “You’re right.”  (To put the idea of only having 10 trash cans in perspective, Ujar has around 12,000 people.  You can walk from on side of the city to the other in about 45 minutes.  Most of the bins are located within 5 minutes of each other in the city ‘centre.’)

This brings me back to the burning trash can I saw on my walk home tonight, and the larger prospect of development in Ujar, in general.

When it comes to garbage, sanitation, city beautification, or whatever you want to call it, there is something missing.  I wish I knew what it was, but I don’t.  How can such a dichotomy exist?  How can people burn garbage bins after expressing a disatisfaction with a lack of places to throw away their trash?  It seems crazy to me, but not as crazy as it used to.

In my early PC days, I think seeing that burning plastic might have really gotten to me.  I would have thought (and I know it’s not a very cool to say) “What a bunch of idiots.  How could they do something like that?”  Then, as my PC service progressed, I would have thought “Maybe I can talk to people about being responsible with their trash and I can solve this problem.”  And in the stage I’m at now, I’ve come to the conclusion, “They must not care.”  And if that’s the case, then who am I to come in for two years and try to “enlighten the locals” and then just leave and go home?  As much as it kills me, garbage is not a priority for people here.

I really don’t think that this post has been a rant from a bitter PCV, as I think some might see it.  This is merely the conclusion that I’ve come to.  I think it’s honest, even if it’s somewhat harsh.  I felt good talking to my students about being proud of their city, and in turn, keeping their city clean.  When they recognized that there was a lack of infrastructure to take care of the garbage problem here, I felt like it was a step in the right direction.  Maybe if there was a place to throw away the trash on every street, we’d see a cleaner Ujar.  Tonight, I simply came to the conclusion that there is a much deeper problem than a lack of places to put trash.

Then again, even with all the trash burning and littering I’m convinced Azerbaijanis pollute less than Americans, so what am I even worrying about.

UPDATE 19 May:  I came across this New York Time article about the exact problem I was talking about.  It’s about a youth movement in Pakistan which aims to clean the streets.

“The major problem people have here is that there are no bins,” said Murtaza Khwaja, a 21-year-old medical student.

Actually, the problem was deeper. A long-term cycle of corrupt, weak governments interrupted by military coups has caused Pakistan’s political muscles to atrophy, leaving Pakistani society, particularly its poor, hopeless that it will ever receive the services — education, water, electricity, health — that it so desperately needs.

“People say, ‘This is nice, but things will never change,’ ” Mr. Khwaja said, pointing to a hamburger seller who he said was particularly pessimistic. “There is a hopelessness.”

Despite the hoplessness, these kids see something they don’t like and they are doing something about it.  That’s where it starts.

My 4 Month Mark – With Pork!

My Four months milestone was celebrated with a trip to a village called Neej (Nic in Azeri).  We first heard about the village from a friend’s boss, who said that he had the best pork of his life in a small, mostly Christian village outside of Gebele.  I took a quick peek inside Mark Elliot’s Azerbaijan Guidebook, which said

Very ancient Nic was mentioned by Prolomy and was the Catholicos (spiritual centre) of the Albanian Christian church from the 11th century.  It is the only village in Azerbaijan which retains a substantial population of Udi people (65%) – an ethnic group who still consider themselves Christian, though other Christians might not easily recognize the fact.  Historians trace the Udi people to a warrior tribe ho attacked southern Mesopotamia (today’s Iraq) in 2228 BC.  They were later driven back into Azerbaijan where they became a major force within the multi-ethnic make up of Christian Albania.  The churches here maintained their Albanian-Christian masses right up until 1836 when the synod of St Petersburg coerced them into accepting Armenian priests.

The unique history of the town made it seem like a worthwhile excursion, but I was hooked as soon as I’d heard pork kebabs.

After riding some overcrowded Taxis, we showed up only to be told that all the pigs had been killed because of the Swine Flu scare.  I guess we could have seen that coming if we weren’t so drunk on the idea of eating pork, but it ended up not being a problem, as a guy pointed us to his restaurant where he said he’d have the kebabs up in a few minutes.  They were worth the trip in itself.

After some pork, we chilled out in the sunshine and had a couple beers, while people, one by one, approached us to say “Welcome.”  There was a bit of a nervous moment when we were approached by a policeman who wanted to know what we were doing there.  We explained it all, and after a quick document check, everything was fine.  Everyone was really friendly, and we were told that when we went to look at the churches that we could just call the number on the side of the door if no one was around, and they’d be opened so we could check them out.

We saw two churches in Neej, one functioning and one abandoned.  The functioning church is called Chotari, according to Mark Elliot, and we were given a short tour from a guy named Sergei (who walked with us all over town).  Inside the modest church, there was a guestbook signed by people from all over, including Norway, Japan, England and the U.S.  I didn’t get the exact story, but it looked like the priest of the church was named an honarary citizen of Dallas, Texas and had a few photos in what had to be the Lone Star State.

The abandoned church hadn’t been used for a while.  There was some strange script on the door, which I didn’t realize until later was looked like Armenian.  I’m guessing that the church stopped being used around the time of the Azerbaijan-Armenian war.  It was in pretty rough shape, but Sergei told us that they were in the process of cleaning it up.

Our plan was to buy some raw meat from a butcher and bring it back with us when we left town.  The butcher told us that he didn’t have enough left to sell to us, so we settled with a second round of pork kebabs before walking out of the town to catch a taxi on the highway.  It was a great trip that signaled the beginning of summer, a better understanding of Azerbaijan, and that the best parts of this country lie in the moments you never thought you’d have.

More Thoughts on Returning

I read this article yesterday from the NYTimes, aimed at recent college graduates.  Even though I graduated from PSU about two years ago, I feel like I’m on the same playing field as the kids who are about to move on from life on campus.  Even though I have a bit more time before finish my time in the Peace Corps than graduates do, the question is just as looming: Now What?

I wrote about this a little bit a couple weeks ago, thinking that a program like the Peace Corps would be perfect for me, in some ways, because it would give me a transition period before I step into my “adult life.”  The whole idea of my reentry revolves around starting some sort of career, enrolling in graduate school, or finding some way to set myself up for a comfortable way to return to the United States.

Some of it came from the comments in the aforementioned NYTimes article (when they weren’t complaining about bloated government programs like Peace Corps or arguing about Obama speaking at Norte Dame).  A lot of people seemed to say “Yeah, moving on can seem daunting, but you’ll have more options at this point in your life than at any other.”  Basically: Be bold, have fun, and make good choices.  It’s hard to argue with that.  But if all this advice is so true, why am I so eager to go back to America and join the rat race?

From my current perspective, as a PC Volunteer in Azerbaijan, America seems really appealing, not because of its great culture, but rather because of the amenities that exist there.  Hot showers whenever I want them.  Pretty much every kind of food I could want.  Wireless internet at a cafe.  Sensible drivers.  Iphones.  It sounds like El Dorado from where I am.

But it all comes with so much baggage that I, and most Azerbaijanis, don’t really have to deal with.  Cell phone contracts, tipping, car insurance, health insurance, taxes, student loans, rent, roommates, working 9 to 5, casual friday, office parties, constantly having to upgrade my stuff to keep up with the Joneses.

Finishing my PC Service feels like a mixed-bag because, as ready as I am to leave in a lot of ways, I don’t really know what I’m getting into.

I Still Got It

I had some people over this past weekend for a meeting about a project we’re working on. It was good to get some face time in with everybody instead of only communicating through email. Perhaps more exciting then our meeting though, which was mostly a check-in, was the games of basketball we played the next day. I haven’t gotten to get out on the court with other Americans for a long, long time. It was a blast and I hope we get a chance to do it again.