25 December 2009
This is John Hugh Gahan III, Azerbaijan Peace Corps volunteer, 2008-2010, wishing people of all faiths a Happy Christmas. And what exactly does Christmas mean for all of us out here in this little country sandwiched between Russia and Iran like the bacon in your club sandwich (except there’s no bacon here. crap.)?
Well, I can say we still take on that same holiday spirit we had before leaving our home countries. This kind of thing sticks with you, and we, of course, are also here to support and remind each other that Christmas is here and we’d better get in the mood. Ain’t nothing wrong with that. I mean, heck, if we so chose to, I can honestly say that my rayon mate Charlie and I could’ve passed December 25th like any other day and not given it a second though. Thankfully, that’s not what we’re doing.
Out here in this little country, folks are meeting at different places to celebrate together. Like last year, Charlie and I will be in Şəki with several other volunteers, and it’s gonna be a rompin’ good time. Şəki has a nice hotel with some good eatin’ we’ll hopefully enjoy, and I also anticipate some Secret Santa action. Whoever receives the salted peanuts, hazelnuts, and two Carlsberg brewskies from me is gonna be lucky, let me tell you.
Yep, it outta be fun, no matter where we are. Signing up for this commitment assumes you’re willing to spend times like this away from home, and that’s no problem. To be honest, it has its good side, for me at least, in that I get to reflect on such occasions and appreciate them more. Kinna cheesy, huh? Even so, it’s very true.
And let’s not forget the meaning of Christmas, laid out plain and clear to Charlie Brown by Linus after the third or fourth spontaneous dance party, which spans borders and cultures worldwide, from Catholics in Chile, to Pentecostals in Oklahoma, to Orthodox Christians in Russia, and Anglicans in Singapore, that gives light to everyone despite seemingly overwhelming darkness. You can be anywhere, and nothing can overcome the great gift that we remember on this lovely day.
So Merry Christmas everybody. Enjoy it without reservation.
Friday, December 25, 2009
Coffee
23 December 2009
Ahhh…nothing like municipal election day. While Qumlaqians are at the school casting their votes, I’m in the quiet house, with only the roaring sound of my, no doubt, pre-Azerbaijani-independence radiator to distract me, and that’s really just a soothing noise that’ll hopefully put my mind at ease while I write to you.
The title of this entry tells it all. I’m a fan of coffee. It’s one of those American habits that I just haven’t given up while being away (except for Lent. But that’s different.).
Being a coffee drinker has brought attention here, simply because people really don’t care for it in this country. Perhaps they would if they gave it a chance, but they seem satisfied with the several glasses of tea they consume each day. No big deal.
It’s amazing how different you can make yourself look by doing things that people in America wouldn’t even bat an eye at. Let me give you an example. There’ve been at least a couple days in the however many months I’ve lived in Qumlaq in which I’ve carried a coffee cup with me and sipped it while walking to school. Though there’s nothing bad about doing that, it’s certainly not something anybody ever does around here, and, therefore, it caused several folks to give me a double take. I can remember one day last summer when my landlord’s little nephew, Famil, saw me with an empty cup in my hand and said, “Hey, look. He has a cup in his hand,” as if it was so strange. I suppose it was in his eyes. I’ve also had a boisterous older dude yell out at me as I passed him and his posse on the road, saying, “Where’s the coffee?” When you’re having a so-so day, that’s not so great to hear.
But let’s look at the other side of things. Some folks show positive interest in the lovely smelling, dark brown granules I mix with boiling water every so often. They’ll open the Nescafé container, breathe deeply, and ask, “Did this come from America?” I tell them no, and that I simply buy it from a market in town. The dude who works at the snack bar at the school asks me for some every time I bring it with me. Then there’s another teacher that takes one when it’s around. I mean, I’m not sure why, but, heck, who gives a damn? I tend to think these people may never’ve had a cup of java in their lives, but what do I care? I like it. Why can’t they? Another teacher that had a cup with me asked while we were in the teachers’ room, “Hey, John. How ‘bout we go have some coffee, eh?” Kinna like we were manly men, going off to do what manly men do. Just last night, while hanging out at a friends’ house, three members of the family, including the daughter, had some Joe after dinner.
Okay, none of this is very important. I didn’t even do anything, really, but perhaps I can take comfort in the fact that I may have “developed” Qumlaq to a certain degree. If not everybody speaks perfect English by the time I leave, perhaps they can at least give themselves the right to choose, while in a çayxana or the canteen, between coffee and tea. That’s democracy.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to mix up another mug of instant delight, because I choose to.
Ahhh…nothing like municipal election day. While Qumlaqians are at the school casting their votes, I’m in the quiet house, with only the roaring sound of my, no doubt, pre-Azerbaijani-independence radiator to distract me, and that’s really just a soothing noise that’ll hopefully put my mind at ease while I write to you.
The title of this entry tells it all. I’m a fan of coffee. It’s one of those American habits that I just haven’t given up while being away (except for Lent. But that’s different.).
Being a coffee drinker has brought attention here, simply because people really don’t care for it in this country. Perhaps they would if they gave it a chance, but they seem satisfied with the several glasses of tea they consume each day. No big deal.
It’s amazing how different you can make yourself look by doing things that people in America wouldn’t even bat an eye at. Let me give you an example. There’ve been at least a couple days in the however many months I’ve lived in Qumlaq in which I’ve carried a coffee cup with me and sipped it while walking to school. Though there’s nothing bad about doing that, it’s certainly not something anybody ever does around here, and, therefore, it caused several folks to give me a double take. I can remember one day last summer when my landlord’s little nephew, Famil, saw me with an empty cup in my hand and said, “Hey, look. He has a cup in his hand,” as if it was so strange. I suppose it was in his eyes. I’ve also had a boisterous older dude yell out at me as I passed him and his posse on the road, saying, “Where’s the coffee?” When you’re having a so-so day, that’s not so great to hear.
But let’s look at the other side of things. Some folks show positive interest in the lovely smelling, dark brown granules I mix with boiling water every so often. They’ll open the Nescafé container, breathe deeply, and ask, “Did this come from America?” I tell them no, and that I simply buy it from a market in town. The dude who works at the snack bar at the school asks me for some every time I bring it with me. Then there’s another teacher that takes one when it’s around. I mean, I’m not sure why, but, heck, who gives a damn? I tend to think these people may never’ve had a cup of java in their lives, but what do I care? I like it. Why can’t they? Another teacher that had a cup with me asked while we were in the teachers’ room, “Hey, John. How ‘bout we go have some coffee, eh?” Kinna like we were manly men, going off to do what manly men do. Just last night, while hanging out at a friends’ house, three members of the family, including the daughter, had some Joe after dinner.
Okay, none of this is very important. I didn’t even do anything, really, but perhaps I can take comfort in the fact that I may have “developed” Qumlaq to a certain degree. If not everybody speaks perfect English by the time I leave, perhaps they can at least give themselves the right to choose, while in a çayxana or the canteen, between coffee and tea. That’s democracy.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to mix up another mug of instant delight, because I choose to.
Monday, December 21, 2009
A Play in the Dirty, Dirty South
21 December 2009
Hello, again. After a little absence, I’m getting back on the wagon to tell you about the trip I made this past weekend. It was a goodun’.
For some time, one of my old friends from our “cluster” in Ceyranbatan had been advertising a performance, in English, of The Wizard of Oz. This volunteer, Jordyn Ginnity, studied theater in high school and college and has had a drama club going on at his site for a while. Considering his expertise, I thought it’d be worth making the long trip to check out the play. Not only could I witness a creative endeavor for a T.E.F.L. volunteer, but I could also check out a part of the country I hadn’t seen.
So I set out at eight o’clock Saturday morning from Oğuz to hopefully make it to Neftçala, a rayon about three hours south of Baku, by three that day to see the play on time. The dispatcher at the Oğuz bus station recommended I take a Baku marşrutka from a town called Xaldon, where people catch a lot of rides going every which way. On the road from Xaldon to Baku, there’d be a place I could get off that would be a straight shot, more or less, to Neftçala.
I did just that, but, according to the marşrutka driver, I’d just have to ride all the way into Baku and catch a ride to Neftçala from there. Oh, well. So I arrived at the new Baku bus station, took an hour-long city bus across town, and finally got on a van bound for Neftçala. I ended up getting there at around six o’clock, a ten-hour trip, more or less. Thankfully, there’d be another performance the following day.
It was interesting to go from the Greater Caucasus, where I live, to the Really Flaticus, where Jordyn lives. It’s like you’re driving along the Gulf coast of Texas, except there aren’t as many F-150s on the road. There was a great deal more oil equipment to my left as we were traveling south, and despite what many would call a less aesthetically pleasing ride along the Caspian coast, I felt a sense of peace as the sun was going down. Maybe it was the change of scenery. I don’t know.
When I finally made it, Jordyn greeted me and took me to his host family’s house. He lives in a nice place with nice people, and, better yet, he and the fam were making pizza that night. You gotta admit it’s pretty cool to make pizza with your Azerbaijani host mom, not to mention one that really knows how to prepare the dough.
After a nice evening of good food and conversation, we eventually hit the sack and rose the next morning for breakfast and a tour of the rayon. We, however, were derailed upon arriving at School #3, where Jordyn serves, by some concerning news. Jordyn’s director told us that the director at School #1, where the play was being held, wouldn’t allow the performance to happen that day because there was supposed to be a meeting. This was alarming, considering it was written, in black and white, that the play was to be held for three days, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Despite what may be on your work agenda, you can’t just tell a hundred spectators there’ll be no play due to a “meeting”. So Jordyn and I walked over to School #1 to figure things out, and, like Jordyn’s director told us, School #1’s director insisted there couldn’t be a play that day. Considering what was agreed upon at the beginning, this pissed Jordyn off, and he and the director got into a verbal altercation, culminating in the director trying to physically throw Jordyn out of the school.
This didn’t make either of us happy, and I’d be damned if I was gonna travel ten hours and not see a play. We marched back to Jordyn’s school and assessed the situation with his director. We tried to figure out where we could have the play that day and decided we could have it in the School #3 auditorium, which was a bit more…rustic…than School #1’s auditorium.
However, School #1’s director called us back over, so we rolled up our sleeves and headed back there. He told us we could have the play, just as long as we’re out of there promptly and clean up after ourselves.
This was a huge relief, and Jordyn could pat himself on the back for standing up. Clearly he got through to the man. I got there an hour early so I could meet the actors and actresses. They were all nice kids and were excited about what they were doing, and with good reason. The play was very well done, with great costumes and scenery. It was also very entertaining, as it kept the one hundred some odd people’s attention. I was impressed with Jordyn’s direction and the students’ performance. You could see from how they acted that they were doing something unique that they were proud of, and that’s huge in our work.
It’s really lovely to be able to take kids off the beaten path a bit. Whether it be teaching English a different way to having them perform The Wizard of Oz, it’s great to see them shine in something they aren’t used to. It gives hope for all people.
I also got to hang out in the east Texas of Azerbaijan, and that’s pretty cool, too.
Hello, again. After a little absence, I’m getting back on the wagon to tell you about the trip I made this past weekend. It was a goodun’.
For some time, one of my old friends from our “cluster” in Ceyranbatan had been advertising a performance, in English, of The Wizard of Oz. This volunteer, Jordyn Ginnity, studied theater in high school and college and has had a drama club going on at his site for a while. Considering his expertise, I thought it’d be worth making the long trip to check out the play. Not only could I witness a creative endeavor for a T.E.F.L. volunteer, but I could also check out a part of the country I hadn’t seen.
So I set out at eight o’clock Saturday morning from Oğuz to hopefully make it to Neftçala, a rayon about three hours south of Baku, by three that day to see the play on time. The dispatcher at the Oğuz bus station recommended I take a Baku marşrutka from a town called Xaldon, where people catch a lot of rides going every which way. On the road from Xaldon to Baku, there’d be a place I could get off that would be a straight shot, more or less, to Neftçala.
I did just that, but, according to the marşrutka driver, I’d just have to ride all the way into Baku and catch a ride to Neftçala from there. Oh, well. So I arrived at the new Baku bus station, took an hour-long city bus across town, and finally got on a van bound for Neftçala. I ended up getting there at around six o’clock, a ten-hour trip, more or less. Thankfully, there’d be another performance the following day.
It was interesting to go from the Greater Caucasus, where I live, to the Really Flaticus, where Jordyn lives. It’s like you’re driving along the Gulf coast of Texas, except there aren’t as many F-150s on the road. There was a great deal more oil equipment to my left as we were traveling south, and despite what many would call a less aesthetically pleasing ride along the Caspian coast, I felt a sense of peace as the sun was going down. Maybe it was the change of scenery. I don’t know.
When I finally made it, Jordyn greeted me and took me to his host family’s house. He lives in a nice place with nice people, and, better yet, he and the fam were making pizza that night. You gotta admit it’s pretty cool to make pizza with your Azerbaijani host mom, not to mention one that really knows how to prepare the dough.
After a nice evening of good food and conversation, we eventually hit the sack and rose the next morning for breakfast and a tour of the rayon. We, however, were derailed upon arriving at School #3, where Jordyn serves, by some concerning news. Jordyn’s director told us that the director at School #1, where the play was being held, wouldn’t allow the performance to happen that day because there was supposed to be a meeting. This was alarming, considering it was written, in black and white, that the play was to be held for three days, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Despite what may be on your work agenda, you can’t just tell a hundred spectators there’ll be no play due to a “meeting”. So Jordyn and I walked over to School #1 to figure things out, and, like Jordyn’s director told us, School #1’s director insisted there couldn’t be a play that day. Considering what was agreed upon at the beginning, this pissed Jordyn off, and he and the director got into a verbal altercation, culminating in the director trying to physically throw Jordyn out of the school.
This didn’t make either of us happy, and I’d be damned if I was gonna travel ten hours and not see a play. We marched back to Jordyn’s school and assessed the situation with his director. We tried to figure out where we could have the play that day and decided we could have it in the School #3 auditorium, which was a bit more…rustic…than School #1’s auditorium.
However, School #1’s director called us back over, so we rolled up our sleeves and headed back there. He told us we could have the play, just as long as we’re out of there promptly and clean up after ourselves.
This was a huge relief, and Jordyn could pat himself on the back for standing up. Clearly he got through to the man. I got there an hour early so I could meet the actors and actresses. They were all nice kids and were excited about what they were doing, and with good reason. The play was very well done, with great costumes and scenery. It was also very entertaining, as it kept the one hundred some odd people’s attention. I was impressed with Jordyn’s direction and the students’ performance. You could see from how they acted that they were doing something unique that they were proud of, and that’s huge in our work.
It’s really lovely to be able to take kids off the beaten path a bit. Whether it be teaching English a different way to having them perform The Wizard of Oz, it’s great to see them shine in something they aren’t used to. It gives hope for all people.
I also got to hang out in the east Texas of Azerbaijan, and that’s pretty cool, too.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
The Guesting Teacher
This entry might be relevant for all you teachers out there…or…maybe really for anyone with a steady job. It’s about a change every now and then, and, hey, a little change never hurt anybody.
Anyway, what am I getting at here? Good question. I wanna reflect on something Dad told me years ago when I started working for AC&T, an oil company in Hagerstown. He told me it’s pretty easy to go to work on your first day. What counts, though, is getting up and going the next day, and the next, and so on, even when you don’t want to.
Seeing as Peace Corps is my first job out of college (We’ll leave out any complications and just say that Peace Corps is a job, okay?), this is really my first consistent, year-round commitment. It is my job. I must get up every school day and teach eighth, ninth, and tenth formers with my counterpart, and as I go about each day, my dad’s words reverberate in my head.
Let’s go back to January. The New Year’s holiday was over, and it was my first opportunity to stand in the front of the class in Qumlaq and teach the students. I remember that day so well. I had my snazzy new black coat on, and I gave an enthusiastic, entertaining lesson. It was fun.
Eventually January turned into February. February into March. So on and so forth. I mean, I love the kids, but, every day? Every day I gotta put together a decent lesson and make the kids learn. I gotta sit in the teachers’ room and be sociable. I gotta have patience when the students don’t understand or when they act out. Not only do I have to do this every day, but I gotta do it at the same, tiny school in Oğuz rayon, Azerbaijan.
That’s not a bad thing. Everyone’s got their responsibilities, their places in the world.
But we can flip to the other side and say that change ain’t bad either, right? I mean, c’mon. We’re Americans. We run on change. And by change I don’t necessarily mean dropping everything and seeking something radically different. It can simply mean a different look, flashing your eyes in another direction.
Charlie and I had a teachers’ meeting a couple weeks ago. It was a small group of teachers, mostly from villages, and it was a productive meeting. While there, I met a lovely young woman named Humay. She teaches in a village called Kərimli, just up the road from Qumlaq.
This lady was very nice and motivated, so I offered to visit her school. She enthusiastically said yes, and I got up the following Tuesday and headed to the village.
It’s a bigger community than Qumlaq, with a bigger school. Upon arriving, some students showed me to the teachers’ room, and I sat quietly and waited for Humay to get there. When she arrived, we headed to a sixth form class (ages eleven and twelve), full of bright-eyed students, and we had a great lesson. The kids were pumped to have a newcomer at school, and they tried their best. After class, they swarmed me and asked all kinds of questions. Like me, they were getting a new perspective.
It’s also good to see folks like this in our line of work. As we go about the daily grind, we can fall into labeling ourselves and our counterparts as “unmotivated”. That’s a matter of personal opinion. But it revives the soul to be with folks who are genuinely motivated and want to do well. Humay doesn’t have to try. She can simply come to school, throw some lessons from the text at the kids, and head home. Humay does her best, though, and that says a lot about her. It kept me in check. It kept me on the ball when it’s easy to get off.
What am I talking about? Am I just talking about a nifty visit to another school? Well, yeah, I’m talking about that, but I also wanna encourage anyone to take a different look at things. If you’re a university student, visit a class at another school. If you’re a churchgoer, go to a different one on a Sunday. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Visit someone you barely know. Use new dental floss. Shop at a different grocery store. Whatever you want. Even if you step out, disapprove, and step back in, you weren’t really hurt in the process, right? Give it a shot. It might jar something loose in you.
Anyway, what am I getting at here? Good question. I wanna reflect on something Dad told me years ago when I started working for AC&T, an oil company in Hagerstown. He told me it’s pretty easy to go to work on your first day. What counts, though, is getting up and going the next day, and the next, and so on, even when you don’t want to.
Seeing as Peace Corps is my first job out of college (We’ll leave out any complications and just say that Peace Corps is a job, okay?), this is really my first consistent, year-round commitment. It is my job. I must get up every school day and teach eighth, ninth, and tenth formers with my counterpart, and as I go about each day, my dad’s words reverberate in my head.
Let’s go back to January. The New Year’s holiday was over, and it was my first opportunity to stand in the front of the class in Qumlaq and teach the students. I remember that day so well. I had my snazzy new black coat on, and I gave an enthusiastic, entertaining lesson. It was fun.
Eventually January turned into February. February into March. So on and so forth. I mean, I love the kids, but, every day? Every day I gotta put together a decent lesson and make the kids learn. I gotta sit in the teachers’ room and be sociable. I gotta have patience when the students don’t understand or when they act out. Not only do I have to do this every day, but I gotta do it at the same, tiny school in Oğuz rayon, Azerbaijan.
That’s not a bad thing. Everyone’s got their responsibilities, their places in the world.
But we can flip to the other side and say that change ain’t bad either, right? I mean, c’mon. We’re Americans. We run on change. And by change I don’t necessarily mean dropping everything and seeking something radically different. It can simply mean a different look, flashing your eyes in another direction.
Charlie and I had a teachers’ meeting a couple weeks ago. It was a small group of teachers, mostly from villages, and it was a productive meeting. While there, I met a lovely young woman named Humay. She teaches in a village called Kərimli, just up the road from Qumlaq.
This lady was very nice and motivated, so I offered to visit her school. She enthusiastically said yes, and I got up the following Tuesday and headed to the village.
It’s a bigger community than Qumlaq, with a bigger school. Upon arriving, some students showed me to the teachers’ room, and I sat quietly and waited for Humay to get there. When she arrived, we headed to a sixth form class (ages eleven and twelve), full of bright-eyed students, and we had a great lesson. The kids were pumped to have a newcomer at school, and they tried their best. After class, they swarmed me and asked all kinds of questions. Like me, they were getting a new perspective.
It’s also good to see folks like this in our line of work. As we go about the daily grind, we can fall into labeling ourselves and our counterparts as “unmotivated”. That’s a matter of personal opinion. But it revives the soul to be with folks who are genuinely motivated and want to do well. Humay doesn’t have to try. She can simply come to school, throw some lessons from the text at the kids, and head home. Humay does her best, though, and that says a lot about her. It kept me in check. It kept me on the ball when it’s easy to get off.
What am I talking about? Am I just talking about a nifty visit to another school? Well, yeah, I’m talking about that, but I also wanna encourage anyone to take a different look at things. If you’re a university student, visit a class at another school. If you’re a churchgoer, go to a different one on a Sunday. Go somewhere you’ve never been. Visit someone you barely know. Use new dental floss. Shop at a different grocery store. Whatever you want. Even if you step out, disapprove, and step back in, you weren’t really hurt in the process, right? Give it a shot. It might jar something loose in you.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Pat's Son
3 October 2009
Hmmm…I guess with yesterday being my Dad’s birthday, this entry has more relevance.
First off, I’m sorry to have taken such a long hiatus from my web log. If I had a good excuse, I’d give it, but I don’t, so I’ll just keep typing and hope you forgive me.
I think I might’ve touched on the importance of family around here. Not that it isn’t important where I’m from, but something happened the other day that made me smile. Let me break it down to you.
It’s become my custom to hitchhike back and forth from Qumlaq to town. That’s proven to be the easiest mode of transportation. Typically if I’m walking down the road, waving at each car that goes by, somebody picks me up pretty quickly. Sometimes I gotta pay them; sometimes I don’t. It just depends on the driver. You may question the safety of hitchhiking, but I can assure you it’s less dangerous than crossing the river on the way to town that, since the rains of last spring, became considerably more “raging”. Besides falling one time and getting my pants wet, I resorted a few times to crossing that damn river by means of a gas pipe. It scared the heck out of me, so much that I decided to figure something else out. Hitchhiking was the answer.
So, anyway, one day I caught a ride on the last leg to Qumlaq with a good friend of mine. We happily greeted each other, and I was curious to see unfamiliar faces in the car. Not that I know everybody in town, but I suspected a full car heading into the village during the end of Ramadan probably meant relatives were visiting from out of town. The man in the front seat next to my friend looked quite “grandpa-ish”, and he was wondering who I was. My friend tried to tell him I was John from the States, but that didn’t register. After trying to explain who I was, my friend finally asked me, “What’s your dad’s name?” I said, “Pat,” and he told the man, “Alright, this is John. He’s Pat’s son.” Eventually, grandpa got the picture…I think…maybe.
Anywho, that’s pretty nifty, eh? Being known by who your dad is. And that’s how it works around here. In a tightly knit community like this, where so much is passed down from parents to children, it’s no surprise people are known that way. You don’t easily escape your family, and with good reason. Most everyone in Qumlaq wakes up in the morning and works the same land their parents worked. There isn’t much moving around, if any. What many have is what’s been given to them, and when that’s the case, who your dad is matters.
And, of course, if you’re off doing your thing, whether you’re American or Azerbaijani, there’s probably something that reminds you of Mom and Dad, something that sticks with you. Yeah, my friend has called me “Pat’s son” since that day, and it works. It suits me fine.
Hmmm…I guess with yesterday being my Dad’s birthday, this entry has more relevance.
First off, I’m sorry to have taken such a long hiatus from my web log. If I had a good excuse, I’d give it, but I don’t, so I’ll just keep typing and hope you forgive me.
I think I might’ve touched on the importance of family around here. Not that it isn’t important where I’m from, but something happened the other day that made me smile. Let me break it down to you.
It’s become my custom to hitchhike back and forth from Qumlaq to town. That’s proven to be the easiest mode of transportation. Typically if I’m walking down the road, waving at each car that goes by, somebody picks me up pretty quickly. Sometimes I gotta pay them; sometimes I don’t. It just depends on the driver. You may question the safety of hitchhiking, but I can assure you it’s less dangerous than crossing the river on the way to town that, since the rains of last spring, became considerably more “raging”. Besides falling one time and getting my pants wet, I resorted a few times to crossing that damn river by means of a gas pipe. It scared the heck out of me, so much that I decided to figure something else out. Hitchhiking was the answer.
So, anyway, one day I caught a ride on the last leg to Qumlaq with a good friend of mine. We happily greeted each other, and I was curious to see unfamiliar faces in the car. Not that I know everybody in town, but I suspected a full car heading into the village during the end of Ramadan probably meant relatives were visiting from out of town. The man in the front seat next to my friend looked quite “grandpa-ish”, and he was wondering who I was. My friend tried to tell him I was John from the States, but that didn’t register. After trying to explain who I was, my friend finally asked me, “What’s your dad’s name?” I said, “Pat,” and he told the man, “Alright, this is John. He’s Pat’s son.” Eventually, grandpa got the picture…I think…maybe.
Anywho, that’s pretty nifty, eh? Being known by who your dad is. And that’s how it works around here. In a tightly knit community like this, where so much is passed down from parents to children, it’s no surprise people are known that way. You don’t easily escape your family, and with good reason. Most everyone in Qumlaq wakes up in the morning and works the same land their parents worked. There isn’t much moving around, if any. What many have is what’s been given to them, and when that’s the case, who your dad is matters.
And, of course, if you’re off doing your thing, whether you’re American or Azerbaijani, there’s probably something that reminds you of Mom and Dad, something that sticks with you. Yeah, my friend has called me “Pat’s son” since that day, and it works. It suits me fine.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience
Hello everybody. I'd like to take a minute and share another project with you all with which I'm involved. It's called Azerbaijani Boys Leadership Experience (or A.B.L.E.) camp. It's an amazing project that has touched the lives of many young men all over the country. Volunteers serving in the rayons choose promising boys to participate in this six day camp, where they learn about leadership, democracy, and how to make a difference in their communities. Of course, the campers and counselors also have a lot of fun. And the camp's effectiveness shows in the boys that participate. Some say it's the greatest experience they've had in their entire lives.
Now I'm going to give y'all a couple links. The first one is to an entry in my friend Jeff's web log: http://northwestjeff.wordpress.com/2009/06/29/support-able-camp-2009/
Jeff is leading A.B.L.E. camp this year, and this entry will give more information about the project and how you can help.
And here's a link to our Peace Corps Partnership Program grant page: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=314-055. It will also give some more background information about A.B.L.E. camp, and if you'd like to donate, you may do so on the page.
Thank you for reading about this great project. Any donations would, of course, be much appreciated.
Now I'm going to give y'all a couple links. The first one is to an entry in my friend Jeff's web log: http://northwestjeff.wordpress.com/2009/06/29/support-able-camp-2009/
Jeff is leading A.B.L.E. camp this year, and this entry will give more information about the project and how you can help.
And here's a link to our Peace Corps Partnership Program grant page: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=314-055. It will also give some more background information about A.B.L.E. camp, and if you'd like to donate, you may do so on the page.
Thank you for reading about this great project. Any donations would, of course, be much appreciated.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Azerbaijan Softball
Hey, y'all. I'm going to take a minute here to tell y'all about an ongoing project in Azerbaijan. For years, volunteers have been organizing softball teams all over the country, giving them an opportunity to teach Azerbaijanis about the game and have some fun.
This year, they're working hard to gather the necessary funds to keep the project going. They would love a donation from anyone willing to give five dollars or more. You can visit this website for more information about the project and how to donate: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=314-052
I, for one, am a big fan of this project and hope it can achieve the same success it's experienced in past years. If you're interested, please take a look at the link, and any donations would bbe greatly appreciated. Thanks!
This year, they're working hard to gather the necessary funds to keep the project going. They would love a donation from anyone willing to give five dollars or more. You can visit this website for more information about the project and how to donate: https://www.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=resources.donors.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=314-052
I, for one, am a big fan of this project and hope it can achieve the same success it's experienced in past years. If you're interested, please take a look at the link, and any donations would bbe greatly appreciated. Thanks!
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