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Once, there was a time when I imagined myself quite the anthropologist. In those bygone days, I was very fond of the concept of the liminal. Anytime before a person transitions from one part of his/her life into another is what academics call a liminal period. Essentially, it is anytime when you might have found yourself looking into an unknown future anxiously.
The following are a list of examples:
- All and any coming of age activities including but not restricted to hunting/killing a wild beastie and snip-snips
- Puberty
- Political conventions
- High school
- Purgatory
- For some of us, the last two
- should be in one category
Be careful, once someone has bothered to call you a wo/man, developed, the lesser of two evils, a graduate, or saved/damned you have left the liminal space. You are what you are at that point.
These days, I find myself questioning who I will be-who thought that would come up again.
- COS
I am in my last few months of service, ending projects, completing trainings, and saying my goodbyes. At the same time, I am resuming the life I left behind in the States, thinking about graduate school, finding a job, and wondering what processed food I will choose to shock my system with first. All of this can be a very cerebral experience, causing either extreme euphoria or panic. It is a very delicate period, possessing immense potential either to launch me into the next phase of life or trip me up and face plant.
It can be very comfortable, sitting very still, neither leaning forward nor backward, and just considering the crossroads. Fear of any number of possibilities makes doing nothing immensely tempting, especially when doing means paperwork. Why leave the liminal at all?
This is when we get armchair.
My sitemates, a guest star by the name of SuperJam and I recently put together a Body Image Workshop.
- Mənlik
There is very little that gives me as much joy as pointing to a young woman's strength and watching her run with it. I don't envy the uncertainty I see in their eyes, fighting to know themselves and make themselves known, but I can feel the tension build.
It's the same tension I feel in our resource room, something that will become Xuraman's responsibility soon enough.
- İnam
Every week I amend my expectations, hoping that the following week will have the finished paint job, the connected electric wires, a new door and a printer that works. Xuraman smiles at me and reminds me to be patient, to remember how far we've come. With each conversation of how many more resources will be available to her and the other teachers, how often we'll meet for trainings, I see her grow nervous. When I'm gone, she'll have to protect that room.
I feel that is the danger that many people here fear, once they 'know more'/'have more' they await a struggle. It is despite this fear that the members of the Beyləqan Youth Enlightenment and Development Public Union have started an HIV/AIDS information campaign, alongside a woman's rights education project for female IDPs.
- Maarifçilik
They are empowering educators and women with the knowledge to protect and empower others. Knowing more brings more questions and having more means giving, and still, they passionately answer and offer. It is in the momentum of those young men that I find inspiration.
I fear my own stagnation, preventing myself from moving on, afraid of a misstep. I fear that what I leave behind won't be enough to support those who will struggle on, alone. At the same time, I am jealous of the rising tide, passing over and past me. I won't deny that some part of me wants to belay the next phase and be a part of what's changing here.
But, therein lies an anthropologist's love for the liminal: without change, there is only static.
Your Peace Corps Lingo for the day:
COS – Close of Service, referring to all the paperwork that gets you out of all the paperwork that got you in
Your Antropologie Sprache for the day:
Armchair – a reference to the anthropologists of old, who only theorized from their armchairs without involving themselves in any of the cultures they wrote about
Your General Knowledge for the day:
IDPs – Internally Displaced Persons
Your Azerbaijani for the day:
Mənlik – confidence
İnam – belief
Maarifçilik – enlightenment
A long, long time a go, I had a history teacher. He had the foresight to realize that high schoolers, more often than not, pay absolutely no attention in class. For those of us with the attention span of a fish, often caught off guard by a question, he offered a universal answer/reason/response: economics.
Yeah, you're thinking about it....BAM. It's genius.
This same teacher had a set of buzz words that were repeated solely to elicit a feeling of mild disgust: liberal, democrat, communist. Later, I would find the other side repeated different words, trying to elicit the exact same disgust: conservative, republican, capitalist.
It was jarring, at first, noticing how sadly similar the enemy camp was. I mean, if you avoided discussing specific issues and stuck to blanket statements, the rhetoric was pretty superficial. So, having infiltrated both camps, I had an enlightened image of myself: shrewd, perceptive, independent.
Nonetheless, I had one bone to pick with my conservative-buzzzzzz-upbringing and became fond of saying lumpenproletariat and mocking the capitalist system. In that sense, coming to a post-Soviet country had that extra thrill of liberal-buzzzzzzz-camaraderie. It provided an extra layer of smug while I replied to questions about corruption and freedom from either side of the aisle.
McCarthy had a word for that: sympathizer.
Still, this afternoon, I was reminded just how much of a capitalist I truly am.
I've been renting a place in my village since last summer and I have been it's only inhabitant in the past 6-7 years. It's true, there's no real ownership that I have over this place, no contracts, just money that passes hands every month. To me, that still means for however long I'm here, the place is mine.
To a post-soviet ev yiyəsi who has moved on up to the high life in the capital, it's not mine but hers. Hers to the point where she can come by, unannounced and take the mattress out from under me, rearrange the house to its factory setting and sigh in satisfaction.
I, capitalist, ignored and unimportant, stand by in passive aggressive fury. Not by choice mind you, I've tried outrage and people have no idea what I'm talking about.
Heç nə olmaz, they said, shoulders shrugged.
She opens all the windows, I close them. She invites the neighborhood over, I skulk in the corner with a book. She ignores my existence, I make alliances with her daughter in law. I take a nap and her granddaughter tries on all (count em, 3) my shoes. My fragile concept of private property maintains its righteous disgust as my landlord sees nothing but higher ground.
Sorry enlightened one, the jig is up. All that's left now is attrition-that's mostly economy.
Your Buzz for the Day:
lumpenproletariat – super low class, coined by Marx
ev yiyəsi – landlord
heç nə olmaz – economics! No, but I taught you that before, 'stuff happens'
attrition- the Cold War, duh
ATTENTION:Don't fret male readers, you're safe today. This is not a feminist trap:ACHTUNG
Supposedly, mankind is the crown jewel of the world, the frontal lobe, the bipedal movement...and the man part of kind always seems to come first in the ancient visions of creation. Nevertheless, we've been auto-correcting that for awhile. In fact, you probably internally flinched when I wrote M-A-N (re: humanity) or mankind (re: humankind). Don't worry, your programming is functioning just fine.To keep the balance up there in that lovely logic center you probably remembered that women are subjected to terrible pressures and restrictions in the world. Maybe you're even compiling a list comparing the ratio of male to female leaders. And, unfortunately, you might be recalling some horror stories of women abroad and the men they encounter, foreign and local alike.
Now that all those generalities are clear and present in your imagination, I want you to ignore them. Irrelevant.
When I came to my little village, nestled in the crux of a cease-fire and an international border, I steeled myself to face gender discrimination. Oh yeah, I gave myself pep talks everyday, preparing myself for the fight to get the male leaders in my community on my side. Still, nothing could prepare me for host father poking a sharp rib in my side at every turn.
The questions were ceaseless. Often they were riddles and traps to prove he knew more or questions without any answer...
Ptolemi niyə Pompeyin başı Caesara verdi?
Almanlar niyə Yehudilar xoşlamırlar?
more often they were attempts to expose just how badly I spoke Azeri... Almanlar niyə Yehudilar xoşlamırlar?
Bizim dilimiz yaxşı örənməyi lazımdır sənə.
...or my failure to prove my worth as a woman.Na vaxt bizə yemək bişirəcəksən?
He got me every time and I hated him for it.This is the same man now helping me renovate a classroom.
In the fall, my director asked me to write a grant for an İngilis Kabinet. A few months later we were awarded the grant and decided to start working on the project during the summer. Sadly, my director suffered a heart attack a few weeks ago, suddenly halting our plans. One day, deciding to actually truthfully answer my host father's question, Vəziyyət necədir?, I told him my stubborn decision to continue, albeit completely lost. His response was to help, immediately.
It may seem like a sudden transition from nemesis to ally, because it is. Granted, he became my greatest supporter 6 months ago but I still don't know when he switched sides. Suddenly he was introducing me around town, showing me restaurants that women never go to. We were talking politics and his questions were questions, not traps. He started calling me böyük qızım and buying me juice boxes in çayxanas. Now, he's saving our project, mobilizing parents, and spreading the word faster than I ever could.I can't say if he's an exception to the rule or the rule to an exception; but, I expected him to distrust me, he did. I suppose he expected that I would distrust him, I did.
I do know that humanity isn't the crown jewel, I rather think the world would eject us into space if it could. In the wake of destruction, we're masters at finding a scapegoat in a nation, a gender, or a tribe. Circular reason your way around and around from patriarchal societies to violence to violent women in a patriarchal society and you end up at M-A-N (re: humanity).
Maybe that's how my host father and I got here.
Your German for the day:
Achtung – Attention, duh. Don't you feel stupid for checking.
Your Azerbaijani for the day:
Ptolemi niyə Pompeyin başı Caesara verdi? - Why did Ptolemy give Pompey's head to Caeser?
Almanlar niyə Yehudilar xoşlamırlar?- Why do the Germans not like the Jews?
Bizim dilimiz yaxşı örənməyi lazımdır sənə.- You need to learn our language well.
Na vaxt bizə yemək bişirəcəksən?- When will you cook for us?
İngilis Kabinet – English room
Vəziyyət necədir?- How's life?
böyük qızım – my oldest daughter
çayxana – tea house, a SERIOUSLY man place...in Beyləqan anyway
Think about it, you have to watch this loathsome person carefully.
Constantly interpret their actions as suspicious.
Every unexplained disaster in your life has to be logically tied to a secret and devious plan.
Any recognition of said person's humanity must be ignored, twisted and argued against.
I could go on but as I am essentially very lazy, I have told many people that I simply don't care enough to hate anyone.
Then I met qaz.
I mean, there was always this story my mother used to tell me. I was tiny but just as interested in poking my nose where it didn't belong. So, around a serene park I was chased by a goose I supposedly provoked with curiosity. This goose was in turn being chased by my nonna. And so we chased each other—or they chased me—around a park for longer than necessary.
It was fated.
But I guess I always keep a little naivete in me. An animal is just an animal after all. The wandering dogs bark at you because they are protecting themselves from all the people who have attacked them with rocks and sticks. That sheep didn't know you wanted to wear your laundry after you dried it. The cows thought your flowers were for everyone's dining enjoyment. The chickens were hiding from the rain, that's why they pooped all over your steps.
That goose screams that unholy sound at 5 am because...
That goose hisses at you from across the road because...
That goose is known to attack people because...
I had no reasons to excuse this seemingly nonsensical behavior. I never bothered a goose (that story above is here-say, aight), never saw anyone throwing rocks or abusing one. All I ever saw was gangs of geese picking fights.
When it came to the point where I put myself to sleep imagining all the ways I could kill the goose screaming outside my window, I knew the time had come. Mənə qaz zehlem qaçır.
All I have to do is walk somewhere that a goose happens to be standing, minding my own business and BAM. At least if it was a gorilla I could be, like, hey it's just posturing. No, this is a bird, being belligerent because. It already hates me for being in it's space, why can't two play at that game?
I now both join and pick fights with geese, mumbling under my breath like a crotchety old man. I'd like to write a more flattering description of myself, but I'd be lying.
Dəllik duşub. There isn't going to be a summit of Humans and Geese for Peace, a dialogue, nothing. I don't speak goose...or crazy for that matter.
At least I learned being constantly and senselessly defensive only leads to hate.
Your Italian for the Day:
nonna – grandma
Your Azebaijani for the Day:
qaz - goose
Mənə qaz zehlem qaçır – I hate geese.
Dəllik duşub - It's insane.
There are innumerable dark nights of the soul in work like this. Sometimes sleepless nights are accompanied only by the acidic comments of our minds are all too familiar. Combine that with a domino movement of united protest in North Africa and one's life can seem pretty unimportant in comparison.
As with any challenge we face in life, we always wonder, “Am I insertyouradjectiveofchoice enough?” This question can stop us in our tracks or cause us to dive in head first to avoid answering it. I have definitely tried using the latter method more often the former.
I'm the analytical sort, and not in any useful sense.
More than halfway through my service as I am now, I look back on how many times that question had me frozen and wide-eyed. Oftentimes I don't feel a sense of accomplishment, just urgency at how much is still left to do and how much time I have left. It's always a little funny to me when friends of mine ask me how many months I have left. I twitch a little each time since it only manages to remind me of all the work I need to get done. They, one the other hand, find it hilarious that I'm not counting down the hours.
And that, esteemed ladies and gentlemen, is what sent me into a crazed fit of endless work in January 2011. No sleep, mysterious ailments, electricity blackouts, angry shouting matches gave me quite the comical appearance. At the end of a long list of unfortunate events, I offered this simple response to my students:
Bəşəriyyət dunya nəzarət edə bilmir.
They laughed, mostly because the American was trying to sound wise in their language. I just smirked, simply happy to, once again, still have my sanity after another bout with chaos. The month before, two of my students who attended G.L.O.W. asked if we could put on a talent show/New Year's party. I'm embarrassed to admit that my response was mild annoyance at having more work. I asked them a series of questions, trying to make them see that it was more work than they thought it was...and try to discourage them.
I'm still embarrassed because it almost worked. Almost.
They came back, with answers. Loving stubbornness as I do, I gave in and dealt out their responsibilities. Over the next couple of weeks, I witnessed the effect of stress and responsibility on two 16 year old girls. It looked familiar. I mean, after all, I've been stressed out A LOT, I know what it looks like. I made sure they knew I was there to help out. I even tried to fill in some gaps I thought they had in their plans.
I should have known, that they would have it all covered. Because, you know what? They did.
There I stood, only responsible for taking pictures and full of pride. I saw that crazed look of stressed madness in their eyes more than a couple of times. They didn't know yet that everything was going to be alright, but I did. So, I just smiled with a knowing look in my own eyes, hoping they would see it too.
Honestly, I thought they were doing a far better job than I ever have. They made me feel a little competitive actually. Imagine my surprise to hear when it was all over
Necə nə əsəbiləşmişsən başa duşmurəm.
And here I was thinking I was a ranting, raving lunatic with no time and no accomplishments. Wait, there's more.
Even BEFORE that, I was spending time with my mateys Stephanie and Jenna, talking shop and such. They were asking some of the same questions that used to and sometimes still do come to my mind. I was using my training as an anthropologist, bs-ing on the spot with feigned authority. My answers were pretty decent, peppered with plenty of funny anecdotes too ridiculous to be made up. Somewhere in all that off the cuff advice, I wondered when I actually started to know what I was doing down here in South Central.
Ironically enough, it was during this silent musing that they decided that Cap'n would be a suitable nickname for me. I think military rank indicates that I am insertyouradjectiveofchoice enough.
So are Tunisia and Egypt.
Your Azerbaijani for the Day:
Bəşəriyyət dunya nəzarət edə bilmir. - Humanity cannot control the universe. I say this a lot.
Necə nə əsəbiləşmişsən başa duşmurəm. - I don't know how you are so patient.
Your Cap'n Speak for the Day:
mateys – Commonly referred to as a 'sitemate' in Peace Corps terminology, a person with whom a volunteer shares a 'site'. Since I don't have sitemates because they each live in different communities in Beyləgan, I refer to them simply as 'mateys'. It does wonders for the nautical theme.
Ma/Pa is chatting up the denizens like a pro and your boredom and discomfort start to subside. They're chuckling about some clever anecdote someone made. You weren't actually listening the whole time, but you caught the last part. Like the clever monkey you are, you cackle along with them and decide to throw in a zinger of your own:
“Ha. Kind of like all those Muscles and Motorcycles magazines you keep in the bathroom, right? La de ha ha.”
It takes you a few minutes to open your eyes. It was a good one liner and you're pretty pleased with yourself. But, you finally risk a glance at ma/pa for the positive reinforcement your ego is itching for.
What you get instead is the look. You know which one I'm talking about. The 'you've-betrayed-la-familia' look.
It doesn't matter if your family isn't associated with an actual crime syndicate. When you're born, you've unwittingly signed the contract to keep what's family business in the family.
It's a basic tenant of any social group: there are things that are only shared among initiated members. Coming to a foreign country and entering a community requires exactly the same commitment. As PCVs, we know that we have to be trusted to really be able to do our jobs. If we don't reach that trust, if we're not accepted into ailəsi, we end up unable to do the work that we came here to do.
Oh yes, and the perks. Back-scratching.
(It's a pun, give it a second)
The first year is all hoop jumping:
Bu nədir? Hə, amma BU nədir?
Nə bişirməyi bacarırsan?
Neçə nəfər ölkəndə yaşayır?
Niyə bura gəlmissən? Tənbəl uşaqlar xoşlayırsan?
You learn the ropes: you meet the people who help you, you learn people's hopes and dreams. You finally attain the ability to go on a rant in Azeri. You finally kill, clean and cook a live animal to attain praise from all the ladies in the village. Your students start suggesting techniques to their other teachers. The teachers you work with become confident enough to test out their own creativity and defend it to naysayers. Community members ask for your help with their projects.
You walk home and an old man you've never met before asks you:
Kimin qızısan?
You're not even foreign anymore, especially when you tell your students that new trainees are coming to visit. They're hoping for a fresh American, you're too kəndli.
You've earned your lumps.
And that's when you're allowed to see things as they are. When you decide to accept them or convince the others that things can change from within. It was the classic 'you'll-see-when-you're-older' routine and as fresh blood, everyone expects some naïve idealism from you. Do you risk 'the look', or do you stay loyal?
The real test begins.
La de ha ha.
Your Italian for the Day:
la familia – the family, duh. You didn't know that Enzo? Go and watch the Godfather, punk.
Your Azerbaijani for the Day:
ailəsi – the family
Bu nədir? Hə, amma BU nədir? - What's this? Yeah, but what's THIS?
Nə bişirməyi bacarırsan? - Can you cook?
Neçə nəfər ölkəndə yaşayır? - How many people live in your country?
Niyə bura gəlmissən? Tənbəl uşaqlar xoşlayırsan? - Why have you come here? Do you like lazy children?
Kimin qızısan? - Who's daughter are you?
kəndli - village-y
I couldn't help but realize the irony. A year ago, around this time, I was bragging about the wonders of my Iron Stomach-undefeated. A few days in Azerbaijan and I was ill like I'd never been before. Happy anniversary to me.
Still, I can't imagine a better way of remembering the beginning. Well, technically, my body remembered and decided to slap my brain into remembering.
The parallels are uncanny, really. September of 2009 was full of temporary goodbyes, lots of good food, plenty of good friends and a very happy birthday. Mostly, my main accomplishment was packing way below Peace Corps requirements.
What? Good packing is an art. .
This September has been pretty much the same, sans goodbyes. I gave myself a great present, a weekend in Tblisi. Probably one of the best trips of my life, even if Georgia swallowed my ATM card via an ATM machine. This was followed by the most eventful birthday I've ever had: four cakes, three separate meals, one picnic, dancing in a field, more games than I'm used to and even a rock through my window.
Ok, that last part wasn't awesome, but it gives the whole birthday a sort of rounded feel.
(That was sarcasm)
The best gift was watching my students run our second picnic all on their own, emphasized by yelling at me to sit down when I asked if they needed any help. I can't take credit for it but they wanted to do it for me. That is a compliment that I will continue to work hard to deserve.
Right after that was a wedding that brought the old Ceyranbatan cluster back together again, to see our teacher off. A toy is always more fun with other Americans, mostly because the attention is evenly distributed. And, if one of you dances like an idiot, it's more likely that the other ones do too.
Naturally, we're all fantastic dancers. Of course.
The next group of volunteers have been here for a week or so now and the group before us will start leaving soon. Welcomes and goodbyes are coming soon. I wish them all a similar sense of completion, now or in the future. I hope that another year from now, mine will be a little less painful.
Realizing your limits is humbling and necessary, even if ironic. I always used to say that irony is god's sense of humor. Still right.
Your Azerbaijani for the day:
toy – wedding
- Music:Rien de Rien - Edith Piaf
There are no direct buses and there are no guarantees. Honestly, I am in a better position than I used to be, not knowing how I could leave the village at all and depending completely on my host father's connections. Now that I have my own, it's me who curses angrily walking on the road because my plan has fallen through,
Take last Thursday for example: as usual, I called my reliable taxi driver buddy a day ahead and arranged for him to pick me up early the following morning. I have meetings and classes starting at 9:30 in town and I like having some time before to settle in and maybe grab something for breakfast. My neighbor is the village postman and spends the first half of his weekdays in town, and he has his own car. At first, I used to bum a ride from him, but he always leaves later.
So, there I was, smug in my careful planning, believing that the car would be there in 5 minutes. Ok, maybe 10. 20?
Concerned, I called him, only to have him scream in my ear, “UZAQ!”
The silent fuming began. I know what you're thinking, why didn't he tell me he couldn't take me into town? Trust me, no one ever does.
So, I glanced at my neighbor's yard, leisurely having his breakfast. That just made me twitch. So, I stomped my way to the road with a matching curse for every step. I always used to say that traffic produced the most creative cursing from me.
No longer true.
I wondered why people couldn't understand commitments, or even the commitment I had made to them. What, did they just think that I could magically appear in all the places they wanted me to without any help? Yes, people think I'm crazy for doing this job, including my community, but at least don't make it harder.
The more drivers that told me they weren't going into town, the more alone and abandoned I felt. The pinnacle of those feelings came as I finally reached the road, having no clue if a driver I knew or even just a taxi would pass by.
And then I heard:
“Sabahın xeyir müəllim! Hara gedirsən?”
I turned to find the village's poet, a man who always manages to be there when I need a ride...when I have groceries, when it's raining, and now, when I have no way of getting to work.
I immediately regretted every negative thing I was thinking 5 minutes before. Well, not everything, just the generalizations that neglect the types of people I have met and have yet to meet that have been unfailingly generous.
There's something I like to say when I want to seem clever: It's important to be disappointed, to fail. It does wonders for your patience and your ability to persevere. I guess I have to remember that myself as well.
Your Azerbaijani for the Day:
UZAQ – FAR!...meaning he had said he was far away and wasn't able to drive me to town and when I began to ask why he didn't tell me before, he decided to reiterate the most important part of his statement for explanation.
Sabahın xeyir müəllim! Hara gedirsən? - Good morning teacher! Where are you going?
- Music:God's Away on Business - Tom Waits
And yet, there were also great lows: seeing my sitemate return to America, an impromptu visit from my landlords at 5 am, a door that wouldn't lock and wouldn't be fixed, and a bag that refused to leave Turkey.
Looking at those events in sentences, I realize it's hard for you to imagine the epic struggle I've had with chaos.
There was a time my sophomore year in college where I was merely a zombie, grazing by with my head phones eternally playing Modest Mouse. It was not a great time in my life, by far. I must have played one song over a million times, desperately trying to remind myself that there were important things in the world that needed my attention. I still believed then that my situation was under my control.
I left the following year for a term abroad, where I learned to either let go or lose myself.
July brought me back in time, to a place where I still tried to flip switches and turn cranks to manipulate the universe. Luckily for me, my vacation time with the family that had not been on the same continent in 19 years was in the same country that taught me to accept my ability to change with the chaos. Relearning lessons is arguably harder than learning them the first time.
In some ways, what I do is easy. I hang out in my village hut for 2 years, start one or two-hopefully-useful things, and go on my merry way. I basically point the way and leave the journey-the work-to others. Not a crowd, not a group, if I'm lucky, a few brave enough to step into the unknown.
As I sat in a taxi with 3 teenage girls who had never been out of their village on their own, I was a little sad, knowing that they too would have to face chaos, many times more, alone. As I left them, I became immensely proud to know them.
So, let's just pretend that the lessons, like ripples, cancel each other out. All that's left is a month where I sat back, watching the future take form.
Qocaq qızlarım, sizi üçün darıxacam. - I will miss you all, my brave girls.
- Music:Float On - Modest Mouse
You think you're surprised?
I love my house and it's old time charm, but I'm a child of the 21st Century, the time of microwave dinners and stoves with adjustable temperature settings. Being without all these things has made me realize not only that they are not as common as I was raised to believe they were, but also that life without them is much more interesting. Time is a luxury that the 8 hour work day eliminated. Here, it's a given with the added bonus of fresh, local produce that is cheaper.
Because I've always had a kitchen that runs on electricity and technology, I never considered that I was capable of functioning in one with only a stove top and a gas balloon. If I may say so myself, I'm doing quite well. Time, experimentation and adventure are my allies. So far, I haven't delved too much into the culinary arts of Azerbaijan besides those foods that are universal. In fact, what I cook for myself is an actual gossip topic.
Recently, I was in Ağcabədi helping with a summer sports camp. My favorite hosts, Shira and Jeff, bought fava beans a few weeks before and promised me a fuol night. There's no way I can do my excitement and nostalgia justice. But, between the excitement and fulfillment were two days of day-long cooking and the painstaking process of shucking beans.
For most of you in the Land of Processed Food, this may make no sense. Basically, you take one bean at a time and remove the skin. For us, there was the added task of removing bugs.
Oh come on, it's not that bad. Calm down.
Trust me, the more time you spend cleaning, boiling, molding and preparing your food, the better it tastes. Tomato sauce from scratch, homemade bouillon, fresh greens from your yard, garlic itself and not garlic salt are the conveniences of living in a village and, unfortunately, not conveniences of the US of A.
Oh ironies.
I can have fresh pomidor and xıyar with freshly picked reyhan, and you can't. Whine or come visit, your choice.
(Spoilers: the second choice will be more fun).
At the same time, required effort can also be an enemy. It's hot and air conditioners are a rarity which encourages most people to devote most of their time to moving as little as possible. As a volunteer whose primary objective is development, this is my toughest obstacle. It's easy to imagine all the projects and possibilities in your mind, but even easier to let them remain untried possibilities.
I just returned from a project development and management workshop in the capital, designed mostly for Azerbaijanis. I was able to bring a good friend of mine with whom I've had the most discussions about change. She has told me many times that she is jealous of me. It was her first time away from home alone since she married, something she used to do all the time. Listening to her remember and be excited but also nervous about starting again, I was jealous of her courage. For me to talk about change requires little effort. For my friends here to talk about change is something they often do alone and against the grain. That is something that will always have my support and inspiration.
Ideas are starting to simmer. I always forget that the waiting is much longer than moments of inspiration. Then, from inspiration to realization is another wait. It's a process with the strangest points of inspiration: a taxi with loud music, an Irish pub watching a World Cup game, crossing the street, over ice cream dessert. Starting from scratch, I know the ends will be so much better.
Saying this, I still dream. What I'd give for a blender.
Your Organic Word for the Day:
cheaper – The food you buy from a mass producer is cheaper than the food from local farmers. That food is much more likely to be healthier and investment in local growers is investment in your own community. Work on that y'all while I'm over here.
Your Arabic for the Day:
fuol – The Egyptian everyman's food of fava beans with any ingredient you so desire. Beans have protein too.
Your Azerbaijani for the Day:
Ağcabədi – The rayon to the north of me, best known for waaay more factories than us and one of the many farming regions of Azerbaijan.
pomidor – tomato
xıyar – cucumber
reyhan – BASIL!
