On my way out

Some new pictures! First is me sticking my finger in a "mud volcano", which are located around Gobustan, an ancient site we got to visit that has cave drawings which are older than Giza. They weren't that exciting, but the view of the Caspian and the hills over the steppe from there were amazing. The second is the road I walk down every day to school. Third is a graveyard that can be seen from the train from Ujar to Baku, and is a typical illustration of how most of that 5 hour ride looks. Next is a picture of a man fishing off the coast of Sumgait which was taken right next to the wrecked Soviet tanker you can see at the bottom. The black stuff you see on the ground is, no joke, oil. The majority of this country's GDP comes from "neft" and "qaz", oil and gas, and I think from this pic you can see why. Finally, the other pic is from my language class, where I attempt to learn to speak the absurdly difficult language of this country.

So in less than two weeks I'm heading out to my permanent site, Ujar, so I'm in the transition period where the relationships I've developed here in Sumgait are seeming a bit less important to me than the road ahead. Some things are starting to get to me, most of which are related to the demands of PST (pre-service training...one of about a thousand acronyms I've had to learn in order to understand anything anyone working with PC (peace corps) says to me. If you're gonna keep reading this blog, get used to them). I feel about as burnt out on training as I can at this point, and I really feel that until I get to site and really start teaching there isn't much more they can train me to do. In fact, outside of the language instruction, I feel that most of my training has happened on my own time.

I've taken to going to the store and cafe by my house during my free time to buy snacks, drink 60 cent beers and talk with the locals. I've met quite a few people this way, which has set me apart from some (but by no means all, as I definitely wouldn't classify myself as "Mr. Social") of the other trainees in my community. Among these are the storekeep down the street, named Mehemmed, who always greets me with "CHEVIN, MOY FRIEND!", which is a perfect illustration of the pidgin language I've developed in speaking with my new acquiantances. "Chevin" comes from the Azeri accent, in which the letter K is pronounced as "ch" in many instances, which leads the PC language teachers to constantly argue about which way of saying it is correct; "Moy" is "мой", Russian for "my", and "Friend" is part of Mehemmed's vast vocabulary of about 10 English words. For the most part we speak Russian since it is the language I am most comfortable speaking, though I do throw in some Azeri when I know what to say to show I'm at least trying to learn the local tounge. There have been a few occasions when I was feeling down and out because of all the attention I get everywhere for being a foreigner, and after spending an hour or so in this store talking with the locals, shaking hands with every man that enters, and being given free pomegranate, peanuts and shots of vodka, that I felt like a new person upon leaving. It's good to know that even here, when I need to, I can go to someone and just unwind.

This also happens at the cafe now, where I've come to be known by all the waiters and constantly get invited to tables by random people who want to talk to the American. For the most part these people are all very nice, and willing to share with me their tea, vodka or food, and talk about their country. The only real problems come from discussions about enemies of Azerbaijan, of which there appear to be many according to the opinions of some people. Chief among these is Armenia, the neighbor to the west of Azerbaijan with whom armed conflict has been happening on and off since the late 80's. Most of this centers around Nagorno-Karabakh, a region in the southwest of Azerbaijan which is currently occupied by Armenian forces, who claim that it is an independent republic. Azerbaijan does not agree, and references to the "Armenian Terror" and monuments to fallen soldiers in the Nagorno-Karabakh can be found in every school, every town center, and every government building. There are currently over 1 million internally displaced persons in Azerbaijan who were forced from their homes in Karabakh and the surrounding regions, and though there is currently a cease-fire in the region it's disputed status means that further hostilities are little more than an irresponsible gunshot away. This means that I, as a foreigner, get to have the situation explained to me by every new person I meet, who then always wishes to know what I think about Armenia and whether or not I share their hatred for them. It's hard to validate such statements while still remaining neutral, so when I can I try to avoid the subject, but on a few occasions I have been pushed and pushed to give an answer, and I say this. "If I were not an American, sitting here, in front of you right now, I really think you might as well be telling me that America and it's people are your enemy as well. But this is not the case, I am who I am, and knowing this, I'd like to think that if I was an Armenian you would show me the same respect as an individual human being as you are showing me now". Hopefully that will hit home with some of them...

Greetings from Turkey pt. 2

(Here are some of what will hopefully be many pictures to come. The first is a ridiculous sign that will surely make Ilya and Brian laugh. The second is a mosque in Baku. The third is a picture of me in front of the Maiden's Tower in the Old City of Baku, and the Fourth is my cluster, including my teacher Ayten in the middle.)

Though this place is generally known as "Azerbaijan" to those of you who've looked at a map of Eurasia since the fall of the Soviet Union, or happen to know where the Caucus mountains are, it's essentially just a big front for a post-Soviet version of Turkey. The people are ethnically Turkish, the language is mutually intelligible with Turkish, all the music and movies and television shows are Turkish, and once you get to know some people here you will constantly be reminded that Turkey and Azerbaijan are "two countries, one nation". I find this to be quite interesting, since the people of these two nations are essentially the same but have been separated by various occupying forces throughout history. If only I shared their enthusiasm for futbol, awful music and soap operas I'd be in heaven.

There are quite a many things about this place that are vastly different from my home. The respect you recieve is determined by age and gender, with older males being automatically allocated more respect than anyone else regardless of their position in life. Women here definitely don't have the same sort of freedoms and equalities that they do in the United States. Though they are not forbidden by law to participate in any activities that men do, the overwhelmingly conservative nature of the culture here dictates a majority of their actions. For instance, women do not smoke or drink, do not drive cars, do not go to teahouses, and are not to be seen in public with men unless they are related to them by blood or marriage. This is driving many of the female volunteers here insane, as they are expected to fall in line with the cultural expectations of their host country, if not just to fit in then for fear of ruining their reputations. Women who cross the lines of cultural expectations are often immediately labeled as "loose", which essentially means prostitute. It's even harder because they, as women of the Western persuasion, are already considered to be "loose" due to the fact that the majority of exposure to western culture here comes from movies, which leads people to believe that most Americans spend their time being involved in car chases, conspiracies, shootouts, and general decadance and debauchery.

Needless to say, these false perceptions of America have created some problems for me here in explaining myself. On more than one occasion I have been regarded with great suspicion by authority figures who believed that I was a spy. People tend to think I am filthy rich and ask how much money I have, how many cars I own and other such intrusive and bothersome questions. I find this annoying, but use my limited language skills to ease my way out of the conversations by saying "Basha Dushmuram", which means "I don't understand" (it literally translates to "it did not fall on my head", which is kind of funny to think about). Sometimes it helps to be a stupid foreigner who doesn't speak the language!

Anyways, that's it for my first post. I've got plenty to talk about in the future, so keep a watch on the blog. Drop me some comments, I wanna hear what you've got to say. Peace out,

-Kevin