The Long Awaited Arrival of Spring...And This Post

It has been quite some time since I last wrote a post. Life has been extremely busy and exciting to say the least. March is the month of Novruz, but this week is the official holiday week, so I have spent little to no time at home writing.

Guesting is the foundation of any PCVs experience, but for a volunteer in Azerbaijan, March is the high season. Novruz is the national Muslim holiday that celebrates the New Year and the coming of Spring. The word ‘Novruz’ comes from the Farsi for 'new day', and is a celebration of the spring Equinox. The first day of spring on the calendar is determined by the annual circling of the Sun. According to the first inscription, the holiday of Novruz was established in 505 B.C. Although it is widely celebrated in Muslim countries, it cannot be strictly considered a religious holiday. Prohibited, but celebrated discreetly during Soviet years, Novruz is now one of the most anticipated holidays in Azerbaijan. The Soviet government prohibited the celebrations and persecuted people for following the age-old traditions of Novruz.

As a volunteer, we have been hearing about Novruz and its accompanying festivities since we first arrived. On each of the 4 preceding Tuesdays, Azeris celebrate one of the four elements: wind, water, fire, and earth (very Captain Planet-esque right!).  You can read about it more on the Wikipedia page (hyperlink), but all sorts of traditions are followed. Houses are spotlessly cleaned, trees are planted, plates of wheat grass (Samani) wrapped in red ribbon become everyone’s center-piece, pastries like (Shakabura and Pakhlava) become the staple at EVERY meal, eggs are ornately painted, and small bonfires are made to jump over every Tuesday night – regardless of age or gender, people jump seven times over one bonfire, or once over seven bonfires and say, “Give me your redness and take my yellowness.” This can also be translated as, “Take my hardships, give me your lightness.” Thus, hardships and troubles from the past year are “dropped” into the flames of the bonfire.

Apparently, Avars (the majority ethnic group here) do not celebrate the holiday with as much zest as other ethnic Azeris. This was quite a disappointment for me to hear. The first few Tuesdays occurred with little celebration and I became worried that Novruz would pass me by. Come March 17, however, all hell broke loose (probably not the best choice of words) and I have not had a moment to rest since!

On Friday the 17^th, (fittingly the most beautiful day we have had yet) Stephanie and I nonchalantly made our way to Heydary Park, where we had heard there as a large Novruz celebration. Many people had invited us to join them there, but the details of the event remained unclear. As we entered the park, we stopped dead in our tracks, mouths gaping wide open in absolute awe. Hundreds of people were seated at tables lavishly covered with beautiful flowers, colorful fruits, juices, and cakes. Old women were spinning yarn and making traditional Azeri foods like balgabaq qutab (pumpkin quesadilla), men were grilling kebabs and toasting with vodka that never seemed to empty, and children danced to the beautiful sounds of the many musical talents that frequented the stage.

I hope the pictures below help explain what an exceptional event this really was. So much happened that an explanation in mere words could not possibly do the day justice.

We were given seats at one of the head tables, but there was not much time to actually sit. We had to do our rounds, going from table to table wishing everyone a happy holiday, taking pictures, trying people’s dishes, and taking shots of vodka whenever asked (Trey and I only). My good friend Elvin stayed with us most of the day, explaining the various dishes and performances and their significance. The spread, the decorations, the performances; it was like nothing I had ever seen before. It almost seemed profligate, but sitting there, seeing everyone smiling, socializing, and working together to celebrate this wonderful holiday, I realize just how important it was to their culture, and I became overwhelmed with feelings of pride and elation for my site and the people that I am serving. 

Trey, Stephanie, and I spent the rest of the day enjoying the beautiful weather in the Park with Elvin and his wife Elnura, reflecting on what a remarkable and wonderfully unexpected day it had been.

Since then, my sitemates and I have struggled to accept every invitation to guest. The celebrations, along with preparing to move into my own apartment (more on that to come soon), have made life almost impossibly eventful, but also very exhilarating!

Here are the highlights:

One day, we went fishing with Elvin at a river near Georgia. Spring run-off from the mountains made the water very fast and murky, so catching anything was out of the question. That didn’t prevent us from rolling up our pant legs and enjoying the sun.

We also went guesting at the house of two of our students. Ayla and Pirdas, sisters, were incredibly hospitable. Their mother cooked us a wonderful spread, and then proceeded to leave the room. When we asked why she was not staying, she said that it was because we were her daughters guests – very cute. We ate, joked, and had a dance party in their room. Before that night, their mother had recently forbade them from coming to any clubs that were not specifically dedicated to their schooling or studying English. Upon getting to know us, she gave them permission to come to any club they wanted, as long as it did not conflict with their lessons! It was so uplifting to see Ayla give me a discreet thumbs up as her mother granted them permission. They will both make excellent softball players!

When it got dark, we went “hat throwing”. Another Novruz tradition, it is very similar to trick-or-treating. You sneak up on a house, throw your hat at the door, and then scream “Papaq Doldurun” (fill the hat) before running away. You return a few minutes later hoping that the family has filled your hat with candy and nuts.

Of course, as Americans throwing hats, no one was satisfied just giving us candy, and we were forced to enter people’s homes for 2^nd and 3^rd dinners.

That’s all for now. I am going to spend the rest of the vacation week cleaning and moving into my new apartment. The first day of cleaning was a success (thanks in large part to the help of Trey and Stephanie), but it was not without its difficulties, including a concealed corner of mold, hydrochloric acid, and more dead spiders than in “Arachnophobia”. Wish me luck.

Green Beer for St. Patty's Day

Horse men escorting the Princess of Spring

The Novruz Festival in Heydar Park

The Princess of Spring

Azeri Dancing at the Festival

Women making Qutab and Spinning Wool

My Friend Elvin and I

Me, Elvin's Mother, Elvin, Elnura (Elvin's Wife), Stephanie, Trey

The girls playing softball at sports club at the Olympic center

Trey and Elvin fishing

Probably why they didn't catch anything

The spread that was put out just because we knocked on their door!

Not too shabby!

Celebrating 50 at 23!

In a 2am impromptu presidential campaign address in 1960 to 5,000 students at the University of Michigan, then-Senator John F. Kennedy challenged students to contribute two years of their lives to helping people in countries of the developing world. On March 1, 1961, President Kennedy signed Executive Order 10924, establishing the Peace Corps on a temporary pilot basis. Exactly 50 years later, on March 1, 2011, the Peace Corps is celebrating its 50^th anniversary and I am serving my 6^th month in the post-Soviet Republic of Azerbaijan. Neither President Kennedy nor I could have ever imagined this! I am forever grateful to President Kennedy for his forward thinking, as I am sure many people around the world are as well. Over 200,000 current and former PCVs have served in 139 countries.

On September 22, 1961, after the first group of volunteers was sent to Ghana, Congress approved legislation for the Peace Corps, giving it the mandate to “promote world peace and friendship” through a mission statement that continues today. It is this mission statement that I wish to focus on. Fittingly, the mandate says nothing of technical training or teaching English; it simply says ‘promote world peace and friendship’. This mandate should serve as an important reminder to all readers, as well as myself, that above all else, the goal of the Peace Corps is to create lasting relationships of respect and understanding between Americans and their local counterparts. This is best exemplified by a story written by Jessica, a fellow volunteer and friend here in Azerbaijan.

Jessica’s father was born in a poor, rural village in the Dominican Republic. There was a volunteer in his small village when he was growing up. Jessica’s father remembers the volunteer, a man named Hall from Nebraska. Apparently, Hall started a Boy Scout troop in the town and created a cinema. Jessica’s father also remembers a married couple that formed a group for housewives and two other volunteers who taught arts and crafts. He remembers the volunteers being a very positive influence on the community, and the youth in particular -- showing them so many things and giving them so many ideas they did not know before.

With regards to her father’s memories, Jessica said it best, and despite the fact that she will give me a hard time for this, there is no way I can say it better.

Peace Corps isn't just about the transfer of technical skills from Volunteers to members of their communities -- it's about forming connections with people, creating memories, however small, that continue to enrich and inform our lives as citizens of the world.

Thank you Jessica!

On March 1, President Obama asserted,

With each village that now has access to clean water, each young woman who has received an education, and each family empowered to prevent disease because of the service of a Peace Corps Volunteer, President Kennedy's noble vision lives on.

I would just like to add to President Obama’s always eloquent words, as it clear from Jessica’s father’s story:

For every new friend I make and every cup of tea I sip, for every dinner invitation I receive, every question about my family in America I am asked, and every high-five I give, President Kennedy’s and the late Sargent Shriver’s noble vision lives on.

The Teenage Years: Revisited

As of next Thursday, I will have been at site for 3 months. At the 4-month mark, Peace Corps gives us permission to move out and find our own, independent lodging. They provide us with just enough money to rent a quaint house or apartment. I have begun looking for a place. Although I thoroughly enjoy my host family, cherish the time we spend together, and am grateful for their love and hospitality, I would like, nay need, more independence. The other night, while discussing an issue I have been having with some troublemakers at Nizami School who are intent on harassing my students and I during our dancing club, my family firmly reminded me, “We are your family. I am your mother, and he is your father. Tell us of any problems you are having and we will take care of it.” 99% of this is sincere. The other 0.01% is the general Azeri attitude that we are useless and whatever we are doing, they can do better. Honestly though, while usually light on affection, I get the sense that the Dibirovs truly care about me. They understand what I am doing here, and why am I doing it, and they completely support me. For this, I am eternally thankful. They also support me moving out. They understand my need for independence. After so many nights of conversations regarding our cultural differences, they, unlike most people in Balaken, understand that, for a young American adult, living with family is, in fact, the strange choice. They now recognize that solitude and independence is almost always preferred. People here do not understand the concept of living alone and being independent. For a woman, it looks bad and would never be allowed (even though both Stephanie and Bailey live alone). And for a man, well, men are useless and need someone to cook and clean for them!

At least my family understands. It’s cute; when people come over now to offer their home or suggest I look at a particular house that is empty, my family is quick to correct their Azeri brethren. My father has even conveyed his frustration to me with people not understanding my request to live ALONE, in MY OWN house…not my own room in a family’s house, not my own bed in a room I will share with granny…A-L-O-N-E (or tep tek in Azeri)!

It is nothing against my family or Azeris in general, but if this place will be my home until December 2012, I need my independence in order to stay sane! My family has already warned me of how insulted they will be if I do not come over every week to eat dinner and play n∂rd with my host father!

It’s seemed like such an easy decision at first, moving out and living alone. On the contrary, it was very difficult to rationalize to myself why I wanted to move out. I am living in a foreign country and my language skills are still severely lacking. On top of that, I have a family that cleans up after me, washes my clothes, and feeds me (none of this is really by choice, and I promise I try and help). Why then, in such a foreign place, would I choose to leave the only thing that has begun to make sense, the only thing has begun to feel comfortable?

To best explain this need, I’d like to revisit the teenage years, a tumultuous time in any young persons life. Everyone, regardless of age, can surely relate to this.

Our time in PST is like being a freshman or sophomore in high school and not yet having your license. Unsupervised social gatherings have begun, and girls no longer have cooties, but we still need to have our moms drop us off in the big red van (preferably a block or two down the street so that they do not embarrass us). In PST, we are completely lost, We feel independent and grown up because we are in this new place so far from home, but in reality, we can’t so much as go to the bathroom without help. Seriously, it took me the longest time to figure out how to ask where the bathroom was…or how to flush some of these toilets!

As our language improves and PST nears its end, we grow into high schoolers with a license, and maybe even a car. We feel a slight degree of independence. We can go to Baku, the capital, on 2 occasions, we go on a trip for site visit, and we meet each other at our various training sights on the weekends, but when it all comes down to it, we still have to ask permission to do anything. Someone must know where we are at all times, and no matter what, we have to be home before dark!

The move to college, much like swearing-in and becoming a volunteer, seems like the biggest transition of all. It’s not. In reality, it’s just another small step. As college students, we feel like we have all the independence in the world, but when we come home for school breaks, that new world is shattered into a million pieces and we are quickly put in our place. We have to share the car with our younger siblings and still must ask permission to go out. “As long as you are living under this roof, you will play by my rules!” Sound familiar? The same goes for new volunteers. Sure, we can travel whenever we want (except for out of the country for the first 3 months), and there are no special restrictions on us, but at the end of the day, we still have a family waiting for us, wondering where we were and what we were doing.

For me, it is only once I move out and get my own house that I will feel like a real adult again, simply living and working in a different country. Currently, I still feel so juvenile, so helpless and needy. My family is wonderful and they are in no way overbearing or nosey (quite the opposite, in fact). However, at this point in my life, in order to fully appreciate where I am and accept that this will be the place I call home for the next 1-½ years, I need to feel constructive and self-sufficient.

This doesn’t mean I won’t be over at the Dibirov’s once a week for some dolma and n∂rd!

The wax sheets for bee hives that my host dad has made from his bee farm

Russian candy bar named Jake! (D*ek)

The birthday cake Bailey (with very little help from me) made for Stephanie's 24th!

A lot of people showed up to Stephanie's surprise party!

PCVs post-party

Gold's Gym: Azeri style! My state-of-the-art gym includes a jump rope, stretching strap, resistance band, and yoga mat (bath mat material bought in the Bazaar for 5 manat). We are just a little tight on floor space!

The Art of Listening

It’s a course at McGill, “The Art of Listening”; probably the greatest bird course the institution has to offer. Nearly everyone I knew took it at one point or another. I did not, and although I doubt many of my classmates actually attended the lectures when enrolled in this course, I wish, more than ever, that I had taken it.

As the 6-month marks fast approaches, I am understanding this “art” like never before. In fact, I blame my recent lack of blogging on this very craft. When I actually have time to sit down and write, I am usually so rapt and inundated that I cannot possibly dream of personal creation. Be it a new Azeri phrase I learned (i.e. “hech na olmaz” [don’t worry about it]), a new grant opportunity I found, a good book I read (currently Half The Sky), an entertaining movie I watched to attempt to unwind, words of encouragement from friends and family back home, or a comment from a student that completely floored me (see below), I have more reasons than ever to keep my mouth shut (and fingers still) and my eyes and ears open.

I am learning to become absolutely content following. In fact, here, it seems to be the most effective form of leadership. The line that divides strong leadership and mere support grows hazier each day. This is not a new concept; I am not writing about some groundbreaking discovery in the field of international development. However, in this time of great personal growth and discovery, it becomes clearer everyday that the answer to nearly every problem, every uncertainty, is simply to listen. The way to complete communal inclusion and sustainable development is through the ears, not the mouth.

My family here in Balakan is far quieter than my first family in Khirdalan. Granted the children are older, but in general they keep to themselves more. This initially made learning about one another quite a chore. In the Dibirov house, many nights can be spent in near silence, save for the television, of course. My brother will play computer games all night while my host father shakes his head at the TV, my sister looks through the same 20 pictures on her cell phone over and over again, and my host mother sits in front of the peç grunting, “Ay Allah” because of the cold or back pain or a combination of them both. At first, I forced conversations or gave up entirely and retired to my own room, expecting that they had no interest in me. However, I have learned. I sit and wait, and enjoy the silence. Our best, most enlightening conversations, where we shared our cultures with one another, have come after 30 or 40 minutes of not talking at all. Eventually, a comment will be made or a question will be asked, and it might be another hour before we are silent again. Then, we start over, silent until the next conversation is had. This is a minor anecdote, but it very effectively reflects my work and experience in Azerbaijan thus far. Patience and attention have been the keys to my success.

On a somewhat related note, today, I met the face of Azerbaijan’s future, and it couldn’t look more promising! This glimpse into the future took the form of three 12-year-old girls in my newest conversation club.

A little context first: Balakan is the northern-most region of Azerbaijan. It is a lovely place to live: small yet bustling, affable yet so foreign. The city perfectly reflects the kind of work that I, up until now, have undertaken…small and simple. For a country so small (about the size of Maine), its regions could not be more diverse. Some volunteers are placed in larger cities and spend their days working with energetic university students who are fluent in English. Others, like myself, are assigned to smaller cities and towns where education may be secondary and motivation a little lacking. If you were looking at our work from the outside, you’d never know that we all worked in same country. For me, motivated youth are somewhat of a commodity, so whenever I do meet these kinds of kids, I snatch them up as quickly as possible (in a non kidnapper way). This is why these girls were such a treat.

For our first session, I wanted to make the lesson simple and fun. For the youth of Balakan, I want my clubs to be a break from school, not a supplement. Most students spend all day in school, and then all evening in private lessons…it’s universally accepted that schools are not sufficient in providing children with a proper education. My hope is for my clubs and my “resource room” to become a refuge for youth, a place where they can come, unwind, share ideas, and hopefully learn a little bit about themselves. That being said, our first lesson was to make a list of adjectives that they thought described them. After we made that list, we drew pictures, with our names written vertically and adjectives written horizontally based on the letters that make up your name. Upon completion, we shared ours and explained why we chose these words specifically. Könül (which means heart in Azeri) presented first. At the bottom of her drawing, ornately decorated with butterflies and hearts were these words: “I hate bribe! I want justed!” She explained that her group of friends and her (mind you they are 12) are known as “Antibribe” because of their commitment to stopping corruption in this country. I was so touched by their maturity and awareness, despite the little spelling mistake (justed = justice). They are mature far beyond their years and more perceptive than many people twice or three times their age. I am so fortunate to have met them and cannot wait to see their growth over the next year and a half.

Snowman (Gar Baba) made by my host siblings...it melted completely by the end of the day.

Where the taxi driver stopped about 30 minutes outside of the town of Ilisu because he could not get his car up the hill any further. We were going for a 7km hike to hot springs.

The valley we were about to hike

Homemade gaiters!

Not the best of conditions

Pretty beautiful though

Trey braving the river on the way back

Today's Top Stories: Fresh bread...Oh Ya, And A Revolution in Egypt

My family watches the news often. At first, I was quite impressed. However, it seems as though very few occurrences in the past month have sparked any interest. Mubarak’s departure from office was met with about 5 seconds of attention. My host father mentioned it in passing as he flipped channels, as if it were no more important than Lindsey Lohan beginning another stint in rehab. I don’t mean to be judgmental, I just figured that such momentous events would be met with more interest, and dare I say, pride. The news seems to serve more as a noise filler than a source of information. Additionally, the more I watch the news and the more my language skills improve, the more I see how useless a lot of the news stations are. They are the same sensationalist crap that we are plagued with in the US. Car accidents and bank robberies are given as much coverage as the protests in Egypt and floods in Australia. It’s no surprise that the worst culprit of this is FOX Turkey!

Realistically, the greatest news source for my family is the sheet of newspaper that bread is wrapped in when it is bought at the store every morning. Honestly, after the bread is sliced, the paper is diligently read by the host family one at a time, regardless of the section of the newspaper or its publication date, which is usually quite old!

Students learning Thriller

My adopted school: Nizami

The best school in the region...also the oldest (it needs work)

Balqabaq Xengel (pumpkin dumplings) made by Trey's host family

Stephanie, Trey, and Trey's host family

A Day In Balakan

Two months into my service, here is a look at a day as a youth development facilitator in Balakan, Azerbaijan:

8:30am – Woke up to the incessant sounds of chickens outside my window and my family getting ready for work on the other side of the thin door that separates my room from the main area of the house.

8:35am – Yoga in my room. In the winter, there is usually no water in the morning because the pipes are frozen and my family only has hot water on Sunday afternoons. Thus, yoga is a great way to stay in shape and keep warm without getting to sweaty and smelly.

9:00am – Wrote a blog, checked the score of the Habs game (a big win over the Panthers), and checked the news for more information on the protests in Egypt while drinking a cup of tea and eating stale bread with fresh honey (made by my host father) and pear jam (made by my host mother).

10:00am – Went to the ExComm building (Executive Committee) to speak with the Minister of Youth and Sport about the “Writing Olympics”, a Peace Corps initiative that has now spread to 11 countries. The Writing Olympics gives students the opportunity to express themselves creatively in English. Students from 6^th form all the way through 4^th year of university write an essay in response to a uniform topic, based on age, that they are not told about ahead of time. A panel of Peace Corps judges then selects winners, both nationally and internationally.

10:45am – Waited in line to get money out of the one functional ATM in the city…it’s quite a process! People have no concept of lines when it comes to ATMs, and despite having ATMs for a few years now, no one seems to know how to use them.

11:00am – Ran to the store of my friend Farid’s family to see if they knew a repairman who could help my sitemate Bailey, whose water pipe exploded.

11:30am – Stopped by my office to drop off my backpack.

11:45am – Walked to Nizami School for my new dance club.

12:00pm – Despite uncomfortable teens, confused teachers, and about 1,000 requests for me to break-dance, the club was a huge success! I co-facilitate the club with my friend Jessica, who lives about 30 minutes away in Zaqatala region and is the one who actually knows how to dance. After about 10 minutes of deliberation amongst the students at the end of class, it was decided that we would begin learning the Thriller dance by Michael Jackson next week. Is a flash mob on the way? I hope so!

1:15pm – Bought Jessica lentil soup for lunch at a local Turkish restaurant – our arrangement for her coming to teach the dance club every week.

2:00pm – Stopped by the children’s hospital where Stephanie and I facilitate a conversation club with all of the nurses. Unfortunately, I could not stay. I had to run to Bailey’s school (she is a TEFL) to fill in for her while she waited for the repairman to come and fix her exploded water pipe. Her students were quite confused at first, but once I pulled out the UNO cards and they realized that we would be playing a game, they loosened up!

4:15pm – Following Bailey’s two classes, I made my way to the newly discovered children’s library to have tea with the director. Despite not having a floor (literally, the floor boards are completely rotted through and you must hop from support beam to beam), the building and the women who run it are tremendous resources to have. We discussed my role in the community and I learned about the various clubs and programs that the two women run, primarily in the summertime.

5:00pm –Stopped by my office to see if anyone had left me a note and then walked home.

5:15pm – Worked out and watched a couple episodes of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” in order to unwind after a busy day.

6:00pm – Miraculously, I took a shower! My host mother and sister decided to put almond oil in their hair. Apparently, keeping almond oil in your hair for about an hour helps to make it longer. Anyway, they needed to shower after, so the water in the kalonka (Russian for water tank) had been heated. Knowing that I would be gone for the weekend, they offered me a shower!

6:30pm – Headed over to Stephanie’s house for our weekly Balakan PCV dinner (Me, Stephanie, Bailey, Trey). Stephanie made bean burgers! We feasted and discussed potential project ideas.

11:00pm – After having their minds blown by the hilarity and stupidity that is the “Trailer Park Boys” (this may be a figment of my imagination), I decided to go home, utterly exhausted.

*Important note:

I must admit that, although I recorded this day randomly, it was extraordinarily busy and successful. Not all days are like this. Most days are, in fact, not like this. Take today, Wednesday, for example: 

I had 3 clubs planned. No one showed up for my first club because of some mystery holiday. Later, at about 10 minutes until 3pm, on my way to another club with Stephanie at her school, my counterpart Sayyara came to pick me up and take me to some unknown event that was to start at 3pm. Not quite clear about what exactly the event was, and mildly annoyed that she had not given me any advanced notice, I declined the invitation and went to the club. Only one student showed up to our club. I left early, and upon returning to my office, I found out from one of the office assistants that the event was an opportunity for me to meet all of the university students that were back in Balakan for the week on break. This would have been an invaluable opportunity. Unfortunately, and very frustratingly, I missed it.

At 4pm, a number of older students came to my office to watch a movie. We watched the first half of Rush Hour 1 (in English with English subtitles) and talked about all of the slang used by Chris Tucker in the movie. They loved it! I was even able to explain to them why the men in the bar were mad when Jackie Chan said, “What’s up my ni****?” Most Azeris are not aware that the N-word is offensive, as they only ever hear it in American rap videos. Consequently, they innocently use this word to describe any black volunteer or actor that they see. 

Despite its simplicity, I’ll count this last club as a win.

The view from my house in the evening

My office!!!

My cluster at our teacher Ilaha's house in Ganja for her birthday

Ilaha and I...ya, she has a thing for my flat-brimmed hats

Thought this was funny

Ilaha sportin' the Red, White, and Blue

PCV's watching the Superbowl in Ganja at 5am!

Go Packers!!!

You Go Girl!

As January came to an end and February arrived, so too did the rain and snow. It has not been quite cold enough for the snow to really stick, but you cannot help being discouraged from leaving the comforts of your peç-heated home when you wake up most mornings to a cold, slushy sleet and muddy sidewalks. For a YD’er, however, staying home really is not an option. Here’s why:

In the wintertime here, people shut down completely – much more so than they do in America or Canada. As a volunteer, and especially as a YD, it is a challenge you have to just accept. Work, school, and tutors carry on, but activity outside of these essentials comes to a screeching halt. For someone who is meant to work with youth after school, this is an overwhelming obstacle. The weekends especially are an interesting challenge.

Back home, even in the winter, the weekends were a time for rest and relaxation. The same goes for here. Simple. However, back home, Saturdays and Sundays were also a time to catch up on work, be active and play sports, and generally take care of tasks you usually did not have time for during the busy week. Here, in winter, they really like to stick to that whole “rest and relaxation” mantra on the weekend. Most people do nothing, and I seriously mean nothing. Short of getting out of bed in order to move to the couch and opening your mouth to eat, you do absolutely nothing productive! (Sounds a lot like my brother Adam! You'd fit in well here buddy!)

Now, before I go on, I must admit that the other extreme, the “go go go” busy-bee attitude of the western world (MOM) I came from has its problems as well. In training, we talked about the “art of sitting”. We discussed how the western world mistakenly perceives much of the developing world as lazy when they see footage of men and women sitting and simply talking for hours on end. “Where could they possibly find the time? How lazy are they! Don’t they want a better life?” Although this can, at times, be attributed to social problems like unemployment and general idleness, it is most often just the way of many cultures. Social interaction is a central part of everyday life. Dialogue is far more valued than it is back home. I have come to very much enjoy this tradition and believe that Canada and America could stand to slow it down a few notches, spending a little bit more time stopping and listening.

I digress. More often than I would like, when I propose a project, or even just a soccer game, I am immediately dismissed and told, “yayda, yayda” (in the summer, in the summer). I have only been in Balakan for two months, but thus far it seems as though people are perfectly content doing things for the few summer months and then retiring to their televisions for the remainder of the year. Such indolence is especially distressing for a YD’er.

This has never been more evident than it was this past weekend. On Saturdays, I have two clubs: an exercise club at the Olympic center for girls only, and a general sports club later in the day for anyone interested (it is only boys at this point). The exercise club for girls is meant to educate them on the benefits of physical activity (which they are usually discouraged from) and show them that they have just as much right to use athletic facilities like the “boys club” that is the Olympic complex. This past Saturday, it was especially miserable outside, but I was to meet my girls at 9:30am. Honestly, I had no interest in going and secretly hoped that no one would show up. As any PCV in Azerbaijan will tell you, the likelihood of anyone showing up in those conditions is extremely poor. Nevertheless, as I turned the corner onto the street where I was to meet the girls, there they all were, soaked and clearly cold, but unmistakably excited. We spent two wonderful hours playing volleyball and learning how to stretch!

I came home approximately an hour before the other sports club was to begin. The boys and I had planned on playing baseball, but because it was raining out, I had arranged for us to also go to the Olympic center free of charge, an arrangement I thought would be met with much excitement. My host brother and cousin were the first to back out. Despite the fact that we could take a bus to the center and play indoors, the weather was apparently just too bad to warrant leaving the couch and the computer. I did my best to convince them, but it was to no avail. One by one, my other boys called me, all citing the weather as their reason for not wanting to come. Just like that, my afternoon freed up. 

I sought to understand why exactly strapping young boys would so easily shy away from the opportunity to play sports and be active. As a kid, I would spend days on end at Twombly, our town’s outdoor rink, playing hockey, be it ice hockey in the dead of winter or roller hockey during the scorching summer months. You could not get my friends and me off that rink! Despite my incessant questioning and personal anecdotes, I got no answer other than, “It’s winter, in the summer we will.”

Despite this let down, I must admit how refreshing it was when I saw those girls waiting for me outside, excited to let loose and have some fun. To see these dainty girls “roughing it” all in the name of fun and one-upping their male peers was quite inspiring. I have had a smile on my face ever since! Such dedication and energy speaks volumes to the dazzling youth I have surrounded myself with. How fortunate I am.

As the title reads, “YOU GO GIRL!”

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In other news, the Minister of Youth & Sport in Balakan hosted a party to celebrate national youth day, February 2. The PCVs of Balakan were the guests of honor. I sadly must report that I have once again landed in a country that does not respect me for my dancing skills. After being duped into dancing in front of the roughly 200 guests, the MC acknowledged my performance, “Thank you Jake for that interesting dance.” I just cannot win!

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I would also like to share with you a comment that I received from my great aunt Edie, a woman I adore more than anyone else on the face of this earth! Regarding the conversation about senior independence that I had with my host family a couple of weeks back, she keenly pointed out that:

As a first generation child of Russian-Jewish immigrants, we did exactly the same as they - we lived in small neighborhoods with large extended families and this was possible, but after WW11, kids went where the job opportunities were and thus came what we call the "nuclear family". We still care as much but have to have different arrangements.

Thank you Edie!