The Hat Off His Head

Azerbaijanis are know for being hospitable, and extending their generosity to their guests at any expense.  This goes way beyond the huge feast that is prepared and served when someone is "guesting."  These feasts can make an American Thanksgiving dinner look like a snack.

Early on during my stay in Xirdalan, a neighbor who noticed I was chilly one morning went into her house and came out with a sweater for me to wear.  I declined her offer of the bright yellow with black polka dots sweater, but appreciated the gesture of her trying to take care of me.
Recently my friend Tom  wanted a certain kind of hat.  A neighbor who speaks English started chatting with us as we walked home from school.   The neighbor was wearing the kind of hat Tom wanted, and Tom asked him where he got it so he could buy one himself.  The neighbor took his hat off and insisted on giving it to Tom.  This was the first time we had seen or talked to this man!  
I don't know if my last clothing related incident is related to the same kind of "caring" but it does show that Azerbaijani's are paying attention to us.   A woman stopped my friend Lindsay on the street today to point out that Lindsay had buttoned her coat wrong.




R

Getting a haircut

I can't really describe the myriad differences between my life here in Azerbaijan, and life in the U.S., but the simple process of getting a haircut  has some good examples.  Sunday afternoon, I decided I couldn't put off the inevitable haircut any longer. 

I put on a sweater and a fleece jacket over the t-shirt and silk long john top I already had on.  Then I put a coat on top of all of that.  I ventured into the yard, and checked the laundry I put out to dry yesterday.  It was wetter than when I hung it up, since it poured overnight.  I have yet to see a clothes dryer here.  

I walked through my neighborhood, and into the bazaar that was bustling with weekend shoppers.  Need a chicken for dinner?  You can buy a live DIY one, or a fresh or frozen one from one of the small stores that line the bazaar.  Or you could buy one from the guy who is selling presumably fresh ones out of the trunk of his car.  I guess refrigeration is not an issue when the temp is in the low 40's anyway.

I walked through the school yard, and headed for the salon.  On just about every corner there is a guy  with an ancient scale set up on the street, selling some sort of produce out of his car.  Apples, chestnuts, and walnuts seem to be what's most available now.

I notice some live chickens out in front of some building supply stores.  Then I notice the chickens are making themselves at home in the stores as well. Maybe you can get dinner along with your building materials.

After walking across town, I get to the salon, where I am greeted warmly despite the language gap.  I make a cutting motion on my hair and I am settled into a chair.  In an elaborate pantomime, it is determined how much I want my hair cut, and the stylist goes to work.   She doesn't seem to mind when I point out the cut is lopsided and fixes it right away.  I'm pleased, and the price is 4 manat.. about 5 dollars.  No tipping in Azerbaijan.

On the way home, I stop in the bazaar to buy some packing tape.  The shopkeeper says it costs a  manat.. but I know better..  so the bargaining starts for something as simple as a roll of packing tape. When your cash allowance is a little over 2 manat a day, every qepik counts.

Finally, my errands are done, and I trudge home in the cold, wondering about the prospects for lunch.   When  I walk into my house, I am greeted by my host mom, who  offers me  hot chicken soup, with mint sprinkled on it.  What could be better?

If They Only Knew...

I often wish that Americans who, in a knee jerk reaction to world events, vilify  Muslims, could meet my host family, and others who live a similar life here in Azerbaijan and in other mostly Muslim countries.

  My host mom is “modern” as they say here.  She teaches at a university, and at a local school, and she tutors more than 20 students  preparing to take the very  difficult University Entrance exam.

Like moms in the U.S. and around the world, she balances her work with organizing and overseeing the household, cooking and doing housework that’s needed.    We often talk about the pressures of doing it all,  as so many of us have. 

But  when the time comes, she slips away from our conversation, to put on her covering and do her prayer at the designated times in a corner of the kitchen.   When we talk about the future,  her conversation is laced with “Inshallah,”.. God willing. She is committed to  her religious practice.  Although her holy book  may be different,  her values are very similar to those held by Americans in most mainstream religions.

No change, no problem

Anyone who has encountered a snarling  driver behind the wheel of a bus in a major U.S. city would appreciate the transit system here in Azerbaijan.  If you want a ride, you can pretty much flag down the bus, and it will stop for you where you are.   It will probably be packed with people standing in the aisle.  No worries, you can get on and off using one of the back doors.    Just say "Saxla" when you want to get off.. and  the bus stops.
If the aisle is too packed for you to make your way to the front to pay, it's no problem.  You just get out,  walk up to the front door, and hand your bus fare (20 qepik) to whoever is standing there.  He or she will hand it to the driver for you! If you don't have change, it's not a problem.  The person standing next to the driver will hand him your 5 manat bill for example, and hand you your change back!  It's all an understood honor system, that seems to work for everyone.

Shirvan Site Visit

I probably should begin at the beginning with my arrival here in Azerbaijan, but that seems like light years ago. Since then I have been immersed in language and "technical" classes, 6 days a week, at least 8 hours a day.
My apologies now, but the letter that comes ater "E" in the English alphabet is not working on my computer. When you see questionable spelling add that letter so the word makes sense.
That said, here's a bit about my site visit.

A week ago, the 40+  Peace Corps trainees who make up AZ9 were sent on site visits to stay with working volunteers to see what it's like in villages and cities around the country.  I went to Sirvan, about 2 hours south o the capital, Baku.  I got a seat in a marshutka, a van type bus, packed with at least 4 rows o passengers, maybe 5, and no aisles.  We rattled down the highway, and I had no idea where I was supposed to exit.  The marshutka was heading to a town past my destination.  I did as previously instructed, and dialed Carrie, the volunteer I would visit.  Then I passed my cell phone 3 or 4 rows up to the driver, so she could explain to him where I needed to get out.  The cell phone was passed back to me and I could only trust in their communication.

About  30 minutes later, the marshutka exited the highway, and headed into a town.  It was a detour, just or me. What service!  It stopped and I was told to get out..   I called Carrie, and she directed me to her building a block away.

Carrie and counterpart, Camilla

 

I spend 4 days with her, meeting  her counterparts, watching her classes, and going guesting ater school.  It was an interesting look at what she does, and how she makes it all work.  Sirvan (pronounced Shirvan) is a nice size city, but the terrain reminds me o the area east o the Palm Springs metro area.. dry, with some rolling hills in the distance. She was testing students to see whether they could come to her conversation club.  Many  are eager to learn English, but she wanted to screen out those who were not.  Dozens o students came to take the test,  and later pestered her to see whether they had done well enough to get into the "club." 

Sirvan "Park"

 On Thursday, I headed back to Xirdalan, where I am staying with a wonderul host amily.  Back on the marshutka to something called the Bina Bazar..  which looks like the AZ version o an outlet mall outside the city.  Then onto a city bus, to take an hour long ride around Baku to the bus station.  Alas, my bus to Xirdalan didn't depart rom the bus station.  One driver motioned me to get on his bus, so I did.. and several blocks away he stopped, opened the door, and pointed to some stairs up to the highway.   I got out, cllimbed the stairs, to what amounted to a bus stop on the reeway.   I waved at the 325 as it came speeding along.  It stopped and picked me up or a crowded ride to the suburb.  When I spotted a neighborhood landmark, I tapped my qepik on the window, and the bus stopped or me to get out.