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!
Friday, June 5, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
A Curious Little Kid
29 May 2009
Today, I’m going to touch up on a couple topics I’ve mentioned before. I’m going to kind of combine the two, and we’ll see how it works out.
I’ve written to you all about my little host brother, Rustəm, a really good kid. I’ve talked about his creativity and letter writing, and I’ve also said a thing or two about the simplicity of village living.
Well, this village, where generations of Mahmudovs (my host family’s last name) have lived, is the perfect place for a kid like Rustəm. I thought to write about this after hearing him carelessly sing to himself in the hallway and playing badminton with him after lunch. He enjoys my company as a playmate, but he beautifully goes off into his own world as well, and what a setting for such behavior.
I’m pleased as punch to see him nearly every day, wandering about the trees and rivers, running around aimlessly, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. He loves when I ask what he’s up to, so he can show me. An example is when he rigged something up with rocks that would hold a vine back so he could swing farther on it. Like I said, he’s very creative, and all he needs is what’s laid out for him around Qumlaq.
Sure, this is a small village, smaller than any community I’ve lived in, but its simplicity is satisfying. I wrote before about how people just walk around town, and when I ask them what they’re up to, they say, “Nothing.” I wouldn’t say “nothing” implies “We’re being worthless,” though. Rustəm may say “nothing” when I ask what he’s doing, but, in reality, he’s enjoying his childhood, emulating, according to my Azerbaijani teacher, Sevil Müəllimi, how his father, Firuz, acted as a child.
So there may not be a bunch of bells and whistles to entertain us around Qumlaq village, but I can say that people – in partucular, young people – are content with what they have. When I see folks cheerfully greeting their neightbors or Rustəm curiously wandering around, that comes to light, and it inspires me.
Today, I’m going to touch up on a couple topics I’ve mentioned before. I’m going to kind of combine the two, and we’ll see how it works out.
I’ve written to you all about my little host brother, Rustəm, a really good kid. I’ve talked about his creativity and letter writing, and I’ve also said a thing or two about the simplicity of village living.
Well, this village, where generations of Mahmudovs (my host family’s last name) have lived, is the perfect place for a kid like Rustəm. I thought to write about this after hearing him carelessly sing to himself in the hallway and playing badminton with him after lunch. He enjoys my company as a playmate, but he beautifully goes off into his own world as well, and what a setting for such behavior.
I’m pleased as punch to see him nearly every day, wandering about the trees and rivers, running around aimlessly, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. He loves when I ask what he’s up to, so he can show me. An example is when he rigged something up with rocks that would hold a vine back so he could swing farther on it. Like I said, he’s very creative, and all he needs is what’s laid out for him around Qumlaq.
Sure, this is a small village, smaller than any community I’ve lived in, but its simplicity is satisfying. I wrote before about how people just walk around town, and when I ask them what they’re up to, they say, “Nothing.” I wouldn’t say “nothing” implies “We’re being worthless,” though. Rustəm may say “nothing” when I ask what he’s doing, but, in reality, he’s enjoying his childhood, emulating, according to my Azerbaijani teacher, Sevil Müəllimi, how his father, Firuz, acted as a child.
So there may not be a bunch of bells and whistles to entertain us around Qumlaq village, but I can say that people – in partucular, young people – are content with what they have. When I see folks cheerfully greeting their neightbors or Rustəm curiously wandering around, that comes to light, and it inspires me.
28 May
27 May 2009
It’s interesting to look at the next couple days’ progression of events. As all teachers and English education Peace Corps volunteers in Azerbaijan know, this is the last week of school. After Friday, the summer and, basically, whatever we feel like doing ‘till September, will be ahead of us, which is a nice thought, unless you’re like Charlie and me and are afraid you might get a little bored. We’ll see how it goes. Anyway, I’m kinna getting off the topic (already).
With that said, Thursday is a holiday. Wow, what a convenient time for one. What’s it celebrating anyway, that we’d be off from work and school on the day before the last day of school?
Well, it’s celebrating the day Azerbaijan became an independent republic in 1918. Now, hold on. Isn’t there a lot of other stuff that happened between then and now? Yeah, plenty happened, but let’s take a look at Azerbaijani history around this time.
We’ll start over a hundred years before 1918. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Azerbaijan was ruled by several independent Persian khanates, or small regions under the control of a khan, or ruler. In fact, the diverse culture of Azerbaijan’s present rayons can be attributed to this era, as several of these khanates corresponded with present day rayons, such as: Shirvan, Ganja, Quba, and Shaki.
At the turn of the nineteenth century, Russia became a big threat in the region. By this time, the area of present day Azerbaijan had been conquered by Agha Muhammed Khan Qajar. This khanate declared war on Russia but was eventually defeated, and, in 1813, Russia controlled the territory. The Persian Qajars submitted to a final settlement, the Treaty of Turkmenchay, in 1828, which established the present day Azerbaijan-Iran border.
During this period of Russian rule (not to be confused with the Soviet era, which came along a century later), petroleum was discovered and exploited, and Azerbaijan experienced great prosperity (for the rich, at least) and growth. This was extremely important, not just in terms Azerbaijan’s economy, but also its society.
But why? The great disparity between rich and poor as a result of this exploitative economy brought on the emergence of an Azeri nationalist intelligencia that sparked quite a discourse in the region. It took a stand against poverty, ignorance, and extremism, and called for reforms in education and the rights of dispossessed classes, including women. These may have been unprecedented values, as present day Azerbaijan, throughout its history, had been ruled largely by oppressive outside forces.
These values clearly stuck as Russia lost its grasp on the area as a result of its involvement in World War I and the Russian Revolution of 1917. And on May 28th, 1918, Azerbaijan became an independent democratic republic. It was the first democratic republic in the Islamic world.
Of course, this was short lived, as Azerbaijan became a Soviet republic in 1920. Nonetheless, May 28th deserves great recognition. It doesn’t merely celebrate the brief Democratic Republic of Azerbaijan established in 1918, but the triumph of freethinking. While being passed from one ruling power to another, a movement emerged that recognized the solidarity of the Azerbaijani people. When I look at Azerbaijanis today, I see very nationalistic people, people that are proud of their heritage, and that may have a lot to do with this independent thinking that prevailed in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, giving great relevance to May 28th 1918, when Azerbaijan first became it’s own republic.
It’s interesting to look at the next couple days’ progression of events. As all teachers and English education Peace Corps volunteers in Azerbaijan know, this is the last week of school. After Friday, the summer and, basically, whatever we feel like doing ‘till September, will be ahead of us, which is a nice thought, unless you’re like Charlie and me and are afraid you might get a little bored. We’ll see how it goes. Anyway, I’m kinna getting off the topic (already).
With that said, Thursday is a holiday. Wow, what a convenient time for one. What’s it celebrating anyway, that we’d be off from work and school on the day before the last day of school?
Well, it’s celebrating the day Azerbaijan became an independent republic in 1918. Now, hold on. Isn’t there a lot of other stuff that happened between then and now? Yeah, plenty happened, but let’s take a look at Azerbaijani history around this time.
We’ll start over a hundred years before 1918. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Azerbaijan was ruled by several independent Persian khanates, or small regions under the control of a khan, or ruler. In fact, the diverse culture of Azerbaijan’s present rayons can be attributed to this era, as several of these khanates corresponded with present day rayons, such as: Shirvan, Ganja, Quba, and Shaki.
At the turn of the nineteenth century, Russia became a big threat in the region. By this time, the area of present day Azerbaijan had been conquered by Agha Muhammed Khan Qajar. This khanate declared war on Russia but was eventually defeated, and, in 1813, Russia controlled the territory. The Persian Qajars submitted to a final settlement, the Treaty of Turkmenchay, in 1828, which established the present day Azerbaijan-Iran border.
During this period of Russian rule (not to be confused with the Soviet era, which came along a century later), petroleum was discovered and exploited, and Azerbaijan experienced great prosperity (for the rich, at least) and growth. This was extremely important, not just in terms Azerbaijan’s economy, but also its society.
But why? The great disparity between rich and poor as a result of this exploitative economy brought on the emergence of an Azeri nationalist intelligencia that sparked quite a discourse in the region. It took a stand against poverty, ignorance, and extremism, and called for reforms in education and the rights of dispossessed classes, including women. These may have been unprecedented values, as present day Azerbaijan, throughout its history, had been ruled largely by oppressive outside forces.
These values clearly stuck as Russia lost its grasp on the area as a result of its involvement in World War I and the Russian Revolution of 1917. And on May 28th, 1918, Azerbaijan became an independent democratic republic. It was the first democratic republic in the Islamic world.
Of course, this was short lived, as Azerbaijan became a Soviet republic in 1920. Nonetheless, May 28th deserves great recognition. It doesn’t merely celebrate the brief Democratic Republic of Azerbaijan established in 1918, but the triumph of freethinking. While being passed from one ruling power to another, a movement emerged that recognized the solidarity of the Azerbaijani people. When I look at Azerbaijanis today, I see very nationalistic people, people that are proud of their heritage, and that may have a lot to do with this independent thinking that prevailed in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, giving great relevance to May 28th 1918, when Azerbaijan first became it’s own republic.
Go. Come. Sit. Stand. Eat. Drink.
26 May 2009
I admit that’s kind of a weird title for an entry, but it’ll hopefully make more sense in a moment.
I’m fascinated by the Azerbaijani language. It’s different than any language I’ve ever heard, and with good reason. It’s part of a family of languages with which I wasn’t the least bit familiar until coming to Azerbaijan. It’s interesting what goes through your head before coming to another country whose language you don’t know. I can remember running around the neighborhood in Driftwood, Texas the weeks before coming to Azerbaijan, thinking, “Yep, I’m going there for two years. I’m going to learn the language, although I have no idea what it sounds like.” Then, I remember learning my first Azerbaijani sentence: “Mənim adım Condur (My name is John (Remember that “Con” is pronounced like “John” in Azerbaijani.).)”. Wait. Where’s the verb? What’s with the upside down ‘e’? What’s with this crazy language?
Well, like other volunteers, I got the hang of it. I can pronounce the words okay and tag the verbs onto the ends of the sentences. As you start to get it better and better, you notice certain trends in how people talk. The command form of the verb is used a lot. Let me give you some examples:
Example 1:
John: Hey, first host mom, I’m going running.
First Host Mom: Run!
Example 2:
First Host Mom: Eat!
Example 3:
First Host Mom: Drink!
Example 4:
Random Group of Dudes at the Çayxana: Come. Drink tea!
Example 5:
Second Host Mom: Come. Eat bread!
Example 6:
Second Host Dad: Come. Eat Bread. Afterwards, sit. Write.
Do you get the picture? This is how folks talk a lot of the time. It’s funny when you think about it, kind of a style of talking that’s, in a sense, encouragement through bossiness. I mean, it sounds bossy, but it’s really just their way of getting the message across in a short-and-sweet fashion. When you tell the passerby, “Come. Drink tea!” that doesn’t mean he has to sit down and have a glass with you. That’s just your way of inviting him. When my host mom would tell me, “Run!” it was to send me on my way. She could’ve cared less if I run. The same goes for lots of scenarios.
Languages are funny, and the more you learn about a foreign language, the more you understand the people’s difficulties with English. For example, an Azerbaijani may tell you, in English, “Give me book,” which sounds rude to us, but, well, that’s what they would say in their own language. Similar trends occur in other languages, as well. I tell ya. It’s interesting stuff.
I admit that’s kind of a weird title for an entry, but it’ll hopefully make more sense in a moment.
I’m fascinated by the Azerbaijani language. It’s different than any language I’ve ever heard, and with good reason. It’s part of a family of languages with which I wasn’t the least bit familiar until coming to Azerbaijan. It’s interesting what goes through your head before coming to another country whose language you don’t know. I can remember running around the neighborhood in Driftwood, Texas the weeks before coming to Azerbaijan, thinking, “Yep, I’m going there for two years. I’m going to learn the language, although I have no idea what it sounds like.” Then, I remember learning my first Azerbaijani sentence: “Mənim adım Condur (My name is John (Remember that “Con” is pronounced like “John” in Azerbaijani.).)”. Wait. Where’s the verb? What’s with the upside down ‘e’? What’s with this crazy language?
Well, like other volunteers, I got the hang of it. I can pronounce the words okay and tag the verbs onto the ends of the sentences. As you start to get it better and better, you notice certain trends in how people talk. The command form of the verb is used a lot. Let me give you some examples:
Example 1:
John: Hey, first host mom, I’m going running.
First Host Mom: Run!
Example 2:
First Host Mom: Eat!
Example 3:
First Host Mom: Drink!
Example 4:
Random Group of Dudes at the Çayxana: Come. Drink tea!
Example 5:
Second Host Mom: Come. Eat bread!
Example 6:
Second Host Dad: Come. Eat Bread. Afterwards, sit. Write.
Do you get the picture? This is how folks talk a lot of the time. It’s funny when you think about it, kind of a style of talking that’s, in a sense, encouragement through bossiness. I mean, it sounds bossy, but it’s really just their way of getting the message across in a short-and-sweet fashion. When you tell the passerby, “Come. Drink tea!” that doesn’t mean he has to sit down and have a glass with you. That’s just your way of inviting him. When my host mom would tell me, “Run!” it was to send me on my way. She could’ve cared less if I run. The same goes for lots of scenarios.
Languages are funny, and the more you learn about a foreign language, the more you understand the people’s difficulties with English. For example, an Azerbaijani may tell you, in English, “Give me book,” which sounds rude to us, but, well, that’s what they would say in their own language. Similar trends occur in other languages, as well. I tell ya. It’s interesting stuff.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The Burial
14 May 2009
In my last entry, I talked about things that bind cultures together. Well, there’s another one, and it’s obvious: death. Not the friendliest word, huh? I guess it depends on how you look at it. Whether it comforts or shakes you, it happens. Nobody can avoid it, no matter where he’s from.
What may separate us is how we handle it. I mean, all people have they’re own way of coping with such a profound part of life. Growing up, I experienced it when loved ones passed: the visitation the night before, the service at the church, and the burial. It’s all powerful and wonderful.
A Russian teacher at the school’s mother recently died, and Firuz, my host dad, encouraged me to go to the burial. Death’s an interesting thing around here. You just happen to hear about it from one person or another. There’s no big announcement, which might be a good thing. A man actually committed suicide recently, and I just heard about it from some folks here and there.
Anyway, at about three today, I waited at the center of town for a car to take me and whoever else to the cemetery. We got there, and it was me and a random assortment of men, wandering around, checking out the gravestones with the deceased’s pictures etched into them (interesting, huh?). One little boy, whom I have for English club, was crying with his face pressed against the leg of an older man. I felt kind of weird just standing around with these dudes, wondering what was going to happen.
Before I knew it, a large group of men walked into the cemetery. I approached them and joined the procession. They were hoisting the body, and they eventually made it to the hole where the body would be placed. It was carried on a big wooden plank, with blankets wrapped around it. There was no coffin. It was eventually placed into the hole, and a wooden board was put on top to seal it in. After the body was placed, several men took turns shoveling dirt into the hole until it was filled.
Once that was finished and the prayers were said, we processed out. I asked Firuz why no women came, and he told me they would come a few days later. That’s the tradition. We then went to the deceased’s house and had tea and chatted a little. It was a nice way to unwind a bit after being at the gravesite.
It’s interesting experiencing death in another culture. Like I said, it happens everywhere, and I honor how it’s done here. I’m sure it’s hard for those involved, but they also accept it. In a world where health care can vary, you sometimes must step aside and let the person die. I never heard any news coming up to it. All I heard was that Mrs. Taxıra’s mother died. I might be wrong, but I can picture her loved ones, sadly, but earnestly, nodding their heads in the living room, saying, “Yep, it was her time,” and that makes sense. Like Dad says, we aren’t immortal.
In my last entry, I talked about things that bind cultures together. Well, there’s another one, and it’s obvious: death. Not the friendliest word, huh? I guess it depends on how you look at it. Whether it comforts or shakes you, it happens. Nobody can avoid it, no matter where he’s from.
What may separate us is how we handle it. I mean, all people have they’re own way of coping with such a profound part of life. Growing up, I experienced it when loved ones passed: the visitation the night before, the service at the church, and the burial. It’s all powerful and wonderful.
A Russian teacher at the school’s mother recently died, and Firuz, my host dad, encouraged me to go to the burial. Death’s an interesting thing around here. You just happen to hear about it from one person or another. There’s no big announcement, which might be a good thing. A man actually committed suicide recently, and I just heard about it from some folks here and there.
Anyway, at about three today, I waited at the center of town for a car to take me and whoever else to the cemetery. We got there, and it was me and a random assortment of men, wandering around, checking out the gravestones with the deceased’s pictures etched into them (interesting, huh?). One little boy, whom I have for English club, was crying with his face pressed against the leg of an older man. I felt kind of weird just standing around with these dudes, wondering what was going to happen.
Before I knew it, a large group of men walked into the cemetery. I approached them and joined the procession. They were hoisting the body, and they eventually made it to the hole where the body would be placed. It was carried on a big wooden plank, with blankets wrapped around it. There was no coffin. It was eventually placed into the hole, and a wooden board was put on top to seal it in. After the body was placed, several men took turns shoveling dirt into the hole until it was filled.
Once that was finished and the prayers were said, we processed out. I asked Firuz why no women came, and he told me they would come a few days later. That’s the tradition. We then went to the deceased’s house and had tea and chatted a little. It was a nice way to unwind a bit after being at the gravesite.
It’s interesting experiencing death in another culture. Like I said, it happens everywhere, and I honor how it’s done here. I’m sure it’s hard for those involved, but they also accept it. In a world where health care can vary, you sometimes must step aside and let the person die. I never heard any news coming up to it. All I heard was that Mrs. Taxıra’s mother died. I might be wrong, but I can picture her loved ones, sadly, but earnestly, nodding their heads in the living room, saying, “Yep, it was her time,” and that makes sense. Like Dad says, we aren’t immortal.
Drinkin' Tea with Grandpa
14 May 2009
There’re certain things that bind cultures together. What comes to mind? Laughter? Hospitality? Family? Love? You can see these everywhere you go, but there’s one that might not come up so quickly, and it’s essential. It’s the backbone of any society. It’s grandpas. You know who I’m talking about: the men sitting at the corner booth of the Huddle House, sipping coffee with the sun shining through; the fellows hunkered down on the front porch, watching kids go by and chatting about how it’s "just not the same" nowadays; the gentlemen standing on either side of the front door at your church, greeting you with a smile as you walk in. Yeah, you get the idea.
Guess what. Azerbaijan’s got ‘em, too, and I’m pleased. Now, I didn’t know what to think as I passed these gentlemen every day on my way to school. They frequently sit together at the bus stop, not necessarily because they’re going somewhere, but because it’s a good sitting spot. They’d always greet me kindly, but I’d keep on my way to class.
One day, I took a load off at one of the two çayxanas in the center of the village. The Qumlaq çayxanas are pretty rustic, on a side note. Ain’t nothing in ‘em but a few tables and a set of dominoes. That’s all you need, though, it seems. Anyway, I sat there, and a pot o’ tea was delivered to my table, where I sat and had a glass by myself. Seeing as it’s not so much fun to drink a whole pot by yourself, I decided to try my luck at socializing and brought my glass and pot to a table of grandpas. I was pleased as they welcomed me kindly to the group, and we happily sat there and shot the breeze together. We talked about our homelands, and they gave me expert advice, like how drinking plenty of tea will keep me from getting ill (Heck, maybe they’re right. I haven’t suffered much sickness since being here.). It was a nice exchange, and I’ve been back since, with good reason.
I like these guys. They have a good attitude. They aren’t macho or grouchy. In fact, they joke around like kids more than anything, always trying to "get each other’s goat". I don’t know if they like me so much, but they seem to appreciate how I’m a change in their routine. Heck, whatever it takes.
Here’s some advice, hang out with a grandpa or two. Learn from him. Joke with him. You’ll be glad you did. Sit down with the fellows at the Huddle House. If they sneer at ya, no harm done. If they welcome you, you made a few new friends, and like I said in the "Çayxana" entry, you’ll also appreciate the value of friendly company. Outstanding.
There’re certain things that bind cultures together. What comes to mind? Laughter? Hospitality? Family? Love? You can see these everywhere you go, but there’s one that might not come up so quickly, and it’s essential. It’s the backbone of any society. It’s grandpas. You know who I’m talking about: the men sitting at the corner booth of the Huddle House, sipping coffee with the sun shining through; the fellows hunkered down on the front porch, watching kids go by and chatting about how it’s "just not the same" nowadays; the gentlemen standing on either side of the front door at your church, greeting you with a smile as you walk in. Yeah, you get the idea.
Guess what. Azerbaijan’s got ‘em, too, and I’m pleased. Now, I didn’t know what to think as I passed these gentlemen every day on my way to school. They frequently sit together at the bus stop, not necessarily because they’re going somewhere, but because it’s a good sitting spot. They’d always greet me kindly, but I’d keep on my way to class.
One day, I took a load off at one of the two çayxanas in the center of the village. The Qumlaq çayxanas are pretty rustic, on a side note. Ain’t nothing in ‘em but a few tables and a set of dominoes. That’s all you need, though, it seems. Anyway, I sat there, and a pot o’ tea was delivered to my table, where I sat and had a glass by myself. Seeing as it’s not so much fun to drink a whole pot by yourself, I decided to try my luck at socializing and brought my glass and pot to a table of grandpas. I was pleased as they welcomed me kindly to the group, and we happily sat there and shot the breeze together. We talked about our homelands, and they gave me expert advice, like how drinking plenty of tea will keep me from getting ill (Heck, maybe they’re right. I haven’t suffered much sickness since being here.). It was a nice exchange, and I’ve been back since, with good reason.
I like these guys. They have a good attitude. They aren’t macho or grouchy. In fact, they joke around like kids more than anything, always trying to "get each other’s goat". I don’t know if they like me so much, but they seem to appreciate how I’m a change in their routine. Heck, whatever it takes.
Here’s some advice, hang out with a grandpa or two. Learn from him. Joke with him. You’ll be glad you did. Sit down with the fellows at the Huddle House. If they sneer at ya, no harm done. If they welcome you, you made a few new friends, and like I said in the "Çayxana" entry, you’ll also appreciate the value of friendly company. Outstanding.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Bizim Pay
17 April 2009
When you receive a little something in the mail, what’s your first reaction? It may be to tear it open at the post office, where you friends can see and congratulate you on your new treasure. It also may be to take it back to your room and open it in privacy. This is what I usually do when I receive a package, letter, or whatever. I wait until nighttime, when I’m done with my work and it’s quiet. There’s something very gratifying about waiting until that moment. I honestly hadn’t realized the value of a good letter until I came here.
I like the attitude folks have about this sort of thing around here, especially when it comes to packages. I recall a time in which a package had arrived from my aunt Nita. One teacher told me a package came, then another, then another (I guess news travels fast.). Then I went home, and my host dad also told me about the package. "Okay, okay, I got it," I thought.
The next day, a teacher wanted to know what was in the package. It’s not like there was anything too personal in it. It was just that…well…I wasn’t too comfortable giving out that kind of information. Sevil Müəllimi, my Azerbaijani language tutor, told me that’s just how things work around here. Someone receives something, and everyone wants to know about it. People want their share, or "pay" (pronounced like "pie") in Azerbaijani. "Bizim pay" means "our share", and that really is how things roll around here. One thing belongs to everyone. When I first met my host family here in Oğuz, I gave them some chewy pecan pralines, a signature Texas treat. Well, my host mother didn’t keep them to herself and the family. She gave them to her friends around the village. I shared some Snickers bars with my host family, and Aybəniz saved half of hers to give to Aygьn, her dear friend. A similar thing happened when I shared some Starburst Jellybeans with Hцkьmə and Rustəm. Hцkьmə took a couple for herself, then some for a friend. When I brought a bag of Robin’s Eggs malted milk balls to school, a teacher made sure everyone in the teacher’s room had one. Just one is enough for everyone’s share (While I have no problem eating them by the handful. That probably won’t change.).
Despite the ups and downs that can come with being in a new culture, there’s something utterly beautiful about this. I can yell at the students in class or hide from the unwanted attention, but there’s something to be said about a thirteen year old girl saving a few jellybeans given by the American for her good friend.
When you receive a little something in the mail, what’s your first reaction? It may be to tear it open at the post office, where you friends can see and congratulate you on your new treasure. It also may be to take it back to your room and open it in privacy. This is what I usually do when I receive a package, letter, or whatever. I wait until nighttime, when I’m done with my work and it’s quiet. There’s something very gratifying about waiting until that moment. I honestly hadn’t realized the value of a good letter until I came here.
I like the attitude folks have about this sort of thing around here, especially when it comes to packages. I recall a time in which a package had arrived from my aunt Nita. One teacher told me a package came, then another, then another (I guess news travels fast.). Then I went home, and my host dad also told me about the package. "Okay, okay, I got it," I thought.
The next day, a teacher wanted to know what was in the package. It’s not like there was anything too personal in it. It was just that…well…I wasn’t too comfortable giving out that kind of information. Sevil Müəllimi, my Azerbaijani language tutor, told me that’s just how things work around here. Someone receives something, and everyone wants to know about it. People want their share, or "pay" (pronounced like "pie") in Azerbaijani. "Bizim pay" means "our share", and that really is how things roll around here. One thing belongs to everyone. When I first met my host family here in Oğuz, I gave them some chewy pecan pralines, a signature Texas treat. Well, my host mother didn’t keep them to herself and the family. She gave them to her friends around the village. I shared some Snickers bars with my host family, and Aybəniz saved half of hers to give to Aygьn, her dear friend. A similar thing happened when I shared some Starburst Jellybeans with Hцkьmə and Rustəm. Hцkьmə took a couple for herself, then some for a friend. When I brought a bag of Robin’s Eggs malted milk balls to school, a teacher made sure everyone in the teacher’s room had one. Just one is enough for everyone’s share (While I have no problem eating them by the handful. That probably won’t change.).
Despite the ups and downs that can come with being in a new culture, there’s something utterly beautiful about this. I can yell at the students in class or hide from the unwanted attention, but there’s something to be said about a thirteen year old girl saving a few jellybeans given by the American for her good friend.
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