A Day in the Life

Something I am elated about: I have a routine.

During my first month or so here, I was still learning the ropes of my new home. One of my sharpest deisres was to settle in and establish a routine. Today the realization has come to me that this has been achieved. Let me regale you all with the details.

I get up in the morning, and fortunately the pech (our iron gas-burning stove/ heater) has already been lit by Rubabe, who gets up early for morning prayer (she works everyday at 9). I go to the kitchen and fill a small plastic container with cold water (from a bucket, that previously had been taken from the well, because lately the pipes have been frozen), and hot water from a kettle on the pech. I take the water to the hamam, the tub room, and wash my arm pits and my feet, and change my socks, because they can get real clammy.

I come back in the house, pour myself a cup of tea, and have breakfast. Always bread, but the condiments vary: homemade crumbly white cheese, homemade whipped plain yogurt (susme), homemade stawberry preserves, Shokki Mokki (cheaper version of Nutella), and peanut butter from America. Usually a combination of two. I try to remember to take my vitamins and probiotics.
Somewhere along the lines I put my clothes next to the pech in order to get the Artic chill out of them. I have to make sure my host brother is either securely asleep, or gone to his college prep courses, before I change, hovering around the pech. It takes a frustrating amount of time because of all the layers I put on.

Every day, other than the days right after a shower, I powder my hair so I don't look like a big greaseball. I wrap my scarf around my neck, put on my hat and coat, grab my bag and my boots (which also get put by the pech to warm up) and head out the door, stopping to stick my feet in plastic bags before I put on my boots, because water always gets through and I HATE having wet feet.

I walk to school on terrible village roads (completely icy as of late) with my wedge-heeled boots. I always try to listen to my iPod, but sometimes my "zone" gets inturrupted by fellow teachers walking to school or acquaintences who offer me car rides.

Once at school, I make my way up to the teahcer's room on the second story (first story is 1st through 4th grade classroms and canteen, second is 5th through 9th, third, 10th and 11th), giving greetings to anyone I pass. I have four counterparts at school, the English teachers I have chosen to work with and to whom I am supposed to be passing new skills.

I have 5th and 8th grade with Ruqiyyet, who went to University in Baku and is by far the best English speaker; she has the adorable British-Azeri accent that teachers here develop. She is twenty-five and a natural beauty with honey-colored eyes and pale skin. I know she has the language skills to become a phenomenal teacher, but she is very accustomed to the traditional style of teaching (as all of Azerbaijan is).

I share a 4th and a 2nd grade with Aynur, the girl who came to the conference in Baku, and also to pick me up when I arrived in Muxax. Now Aynur is an interesting girl. She's pretty dopey but doesn't know it. Yet she's the only teacher who doesn't speak to me in Azerbaijani, which I give her mad props for. She's very comforatable speaking English (although it's kinda bad), which is a big obstace for any ESL learner to overome. She had a job at the airport as a translator, but her father didn't want her working there because she would be the only female employee, and he told her to be a teacher instead. (This is a very typical story in Azerbaijan.) He might have had half a right mind to do that, because Rubabe insists Aynur has a bad reputation. This is most likely exaggerated village rumors; the only thing I know for sure is that she has an intuitive sense of fashion, and the body to back it up. She also has shaped her eyebrows, which is traditionally held off on until a girl is engaged.

Anyhow, the next teacher is Esbet, who I have the other 4th grade class with. Let me tell you this: she looks like a female Snape, but attractive. Some say this is impossible, but I will get a photo one of these days to show you all. She is a pretty stict teacher, too: never cracks a smaile in the classroom, but is friendly with the teachers and such. I'd have to say her English is the poorest, and even the one tutoring session I've had with her on Unit 1 of an Essential Grammar book has broken new ground for her. BUT, for that class I had made a story board for the text we had, and two texts later, she brought her own home-drawn storyboards to class! I was so happy that she had taken an idea so easily and quickly, without me even telling her about what it is and how to use it.

Last is the sweet Zenfira. She's a year younger than me, with a one-year old son (it freaks me out a little, over here, all these girls who are actually younger than me but have a more mature countenance because they are mothers, and have had household responsibilities since young ages, due to the culture and environment here). Her English isn't too strong, either, but she is very eager to learn, and also has already recreated a prop that I have used: flashcards.

I see potential in all my counterparts, and, Inshallah (God willing), I will do a good job of empowering them and they will teach these children a thing or two about English!

Back to my routine: on Tuesdays after lessons, I have conversation club with the teachers and any other adults who want to join us. More details on this in another post. Otherwise, I head home and begin my afternoon vegetation. Upon arriving home, I promptly change into my houseclothes, get another cupful of water and wash my pits and feet again. (I get a shower approxiametly once every 4 days; it was once every 3 days before all this freezing nonsense started, which is really good for Azerbaijanis; I am lucky that my host moms value a shower as much as I do.)
I always enjoy a cup of tea, and have lunch with my host mothers (Rubabe and Nefset). I wash the dishes. After that, I try to lesson plan, make visual aides, write blog posts, and do other productive things. Usually I just read a book, study Azerbaijani, watch episodes of Seinfeld on the computer, play Bejeweled, or stare out the window or at the tv. At least every other evening, I go next door to use the internet, and when I'm lucky, get to Skype with somebody.

Dinner gets eaten somewhere along there. I help out when I can. At about 9 to 10, I get ready for bed by washing my face and brushing my teeth. I fall asleep no problem, usually have stupid dreams, and wake up the next day to do it all over again.

So those are weekdays at least. For now. A separate post will regale you with details about Saturdays and my site mates. Until then!

Uşaq kimi

You'd think that during a Peace Corp Volunteer's first month of service at site, she or he would feel like a badass, like a lean, mean world traveler, dropped off alone in some random location in a forlorn corner of the world, forced to utilize the 10 weeks of language and culture learning to her or his best ability, and also have to continuosly emit the diplomatic and politically correct air of an embassador.

Well, technically I am doing all those things, but actually I've been feeling like I did, twelve, fifteen years ago. Yes, feeling exactly how I used to as a child. Let me explain.

I've lost most of my independence. For starters, I don't have a car, and don't know where most things are (I can get to the city, Danachi, and the school by myself, although relying on the public transportation's schedules); if I need to get somewhere I need help arranging a ride via a taxi, or a grandpa, uncle, brother, etc. who has a car.

I get toted around, more like a doll than a finely cultivated human being, to people's houses who I don't know and have never been in before. I can't participate in the "grown-up" conversations because I can't understand the language. I have to stay until the adults decide it's time for me to go.

I don't have intellectual conversations anymore. I get asked the same questions over and over again, as a child does. "How old are you? Do you have a mother, father? How many brothers and sisters? Which is better, America or here? . . . " etc.

I have to deal with other people's kids. I'm not talking about about at school--because that's one place where I get reprieve because I am clearly in an adult position over my students--but in the home. I used to babysit a lot, and being trapped in a house with unruly children is nostalgic, not in the good way, but in the oh god, why is this happening to me again, I thought I got past this way.

I have to hide my "naughtiness" and lie to my mom: "Yes, of course the boys at the party slept in the other room . . . No, I don't drink, I don't like it . . . Yes, we're engaged, in fact I want to have my girl's wedding at Terane Soray (the village wedding hall)! . . . " etc. (Although the last one isn't a full lie, I am playing with the idea of having a wedding here. It would be so fun! But probably won't be able to afford it.)

My adult relationship with my significant other has been reduced to texting and Skyping.

Like when I was a teenager, I am unhappy about my figure and feel the nagging need to do stupid little exercises, and also to eat less food.

I eat the food that my mom prepares for me, have to get up early every week day for school, and endure the constant badgering of a younger bother.

Worst of all, it is winter, and a freakishly snowy one at that. So all I ever feel like doing is burrowing myself in the house and hibernating like a fat bear. Give me warm milk and let me watch Cartoon Network all day! (one of the few English channels we have)

So yes, these are the situations that are creating in me emotions that I haven't had in a long time. It's a litle bit surreal, like having a chance to be a child again. Although I didn't particulary want to relive childhood (I was a perfectly happy young adult), it's still an interesting experience nonetheless.

I'm not really complaining; after all, Peace Corps duly warned us about this exact problem. We're in the community entry stage, at the mercy of our towns and villages to be shown how life is here. And thus far my community has truly been great, I've experienced no harrassment, spy accusations, or roadblocks in my workplace. And the hospitality that this country takes great pride in has helped my transition so much.

Spring is, thankfully, just around the corner, and it is my light at the end of the tunnel. At least, that's how I envision it. Is it my final emergence through the Azerbaijani birth canal? The passage towards community development enlightenment? Or just a reprieve from the cold? I don't know, but either way I am so ready to be done with this snowed-in feeling.