Since it took forever for me to upload my last post...and a month has passed since I wrote it, I thought I could break my 'every two weeks' rule...just this once.
    I spent Christmas in the north in a region called Şeki, a beautiful old city that I didn't take nearly enough pictures in. Mind you, I have plenty of pictures of the Christmas party and all the merry chaos that goes along with being far from home and in a place where you don't know it's Christmas until you see a garland or an evergreen tree covered in colored bulbs. A volunteer from our previous group housed us for two nights, and for that, Danielle will go down in history as the greatest hostess of my time here.
    I'm open to others trying for the title though ; ).
    What made the trip out worth it was not really the time spent bonding with the other volunteers or exchanging gifts or watching the Santa Claus in a theater...it was the fact that Sarah and I traveled to Şeki and back on our own two weeks in. It was complicated enough getting down here, and even then we had help. It is daunting to feel your independence disappear before you as you ask permission to leave, permission to go on your own, permission to travel alone...not because you are imprisoned, but because you are a stranger in a strange land.
    Imagine, then, the supreme satisfaction of returning on a bus and instructing the bus driver to stop at your village, in a language not your own. Yeah, I was pretty happy with myself. I take the little triumphs. No, I can't get involved in all the debates yet, but 11 weeks ago I barely gurgled like a newborn. I proudly claim toddler status.
    Yes, that means tantrums to boot. Growing teeth hurts.
    I promised my host family I would spend New Year's with them, since 1) I wanted to, 2) that's an international holiday, 3) and no matter how much of a sawaha I am, I live and work here in Beyləqan. Besides, my host family is great. I spent much the 30th with my director and his family though and visited the local mosque where it is tradition to toss a scarf onto a chain and if the wind blows it across, your wish will come true. I couldn't toss the scarf right in the first place. The wind did blow it across though.
    After getting a glimpse of my talented facial muscles from my pictures, my own family was were excited to try out their own expressions on my aparat. So, we stayed up on the 31st, made kebabs and exhibited them, posed, lit those fire stick thingys, watched people sing on TV, toasted, and tried to keep each other awake so we could toast the New Year in together. Success.
    I then decided to go into the city to buy a modem from the only Alma Store in Azerbaijan and see who I could in Baku...since most of the volunteers had gone out there for New Years. It was nice reclaiming independence once again and going to a place where I knew what bus to take where I wanted to go. Met knew and old people, got lost in familiar and strange places, saw lots of Şaxta Babalar, rode the metro, had jasmine tea from a French press and paid way too much for it and had major flashbacks of life in Cairo. I missed that life terribly. Everywhere I went had a connection to something there: El Sawy, my old apartment, traffic crossings that don't exist, passing from shanty towns into modern skyscrapers within a block, even Pottery Cafe. There really is nothing like living abroad in a city on your own.
    Wahashtni Qahira. وهشتني قاهره 
    Now, it's about returning to a different root, or challenging a different part of my ancient self. Or, even less poetically, living somewhere for someone else and allowing them to teach you too. Every morning, our turkeys and chickens run free in the garden and we all rustle about in much the same way, only with different noises. Soon after, my sister and I walk out to the road and hope for quru yol so our boots won't be too dirty...or so that we won't slip and become one with the mud. We pass the cows we drank milk from not minutes before and the two qatır that pose picturesquely on the side of the road every day, chewing their hay on our way to school. I find someplace, be it an empty hallway or a side mağaza change from my super boots into my müəllimə boots with a measure of dignity and clackity-clack to my classes.
    My new world holds the old world smells of wood burnt in stoves, not air conditioners or heaters. Tractors and sheep pass me on the road more often then a car. My students all greet me with a measure of pride, curiosity and fear...since I am tall with the heels and all. Slowly I am finding my way in this world, finding my place in it, my community, my posse.
    I recently came back from the other side of the village from lunch with Xuraman, one of the teachers I work with, an invitation I had been waiting for since I came here. Not that no-one invites me over anywhere, because everyone does. I was waiting for an invitation from a friend, who calls me her daughter, and now her teacher. A woman who essentially taught herself English and has been willing to help me even before I realize I need to ask for it...with whose help I have already organized the first meeting of a conversation club.
    Barely starting my first year of two, on the unpaved road home with my sister and I skipping over slippery patches of mud...I know already how hard it will be for me to leave here as my place finally begins to form.

Your Azerbaijani for the day:
aparat – camera
Alma Store – the Apple Store, literally
Şaxta Babalar – Frozen Grampas, Azerbaijan's Santa Claus
Wahashtni Qahira وهشتني قاهره  – I miss you Cairo
quru yol – dry road
qatır – mule
mağaza – store
müəllimə – female teacher