First Free Day

After a week in-country and not having much more than an hour to myself thus far, my first “free” day (i.e., no school or training) finally arrived. My sanity being on the precipice, it could not get here soon enough. I woke before the rest of the family, which was unfortunate in that there would be no warm greeting or hot tea waiting for me to consume. On the other hand, it meant I could go back to my room and actually goof off without having to think too hard. Tea be damned….not thinking wins out every time! There’s just something about not being on display or on edge, wondering if someone’s going to speak to me and if they do, whether or not I’ll understand what the heck they’re saying….there’s just something about chilling which is oh-so-irresistible at this point of the game. After an hour and a half of reorganizing my school papers into my newly-purchased expanding-multi-pocket folder, reading the assignment due this Thursday and jotting down some questions, the old stomach was starting to growl. Luckily, I have a stash of mandarin oranges, water and assorted snacks. (This shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who knows me, but might to my Azerbaijani mama.) The family starts to get up, and there’s a new surprise for breakfast this morning. In addition to the chorek (bread), yagh (butter), sur (kind of a whipped sour cream cheese) and hazelnut spread I have each morning, there’s a dish of something like sweetened condensed milk, which is spooned onto the bread and eaten. It’s good, but for me adds nothing but calories. Post-breakfast, Mama teaches me how to use the washing machine for my laundry, and I get out my computer to attempt to make a Zumba playlist. I showed the older of my two sisters here a few moves the first day I moved in, and she expressed an interest in exploring the wonders of Zumba, so that’s on my agenda for the day. After sitting all week, it will be great to actually do something besides walking to training and classes. (Just a note: literally within thirty minutes of arriving at my new home, my sister and mother informed me that, “you’re not very fat.” I let them know I thought this was a good thing.)

Unbeknownst to me, Mama has paid more attention to the laundry than I, and has hung my things out on the line in the yard to dry, much to my embarrassment. Feeling a little useless, I do a little weeding in the garden she planted this week. The sun feels so good, and the pishik (cat…well, kitten, really) I made the mistake of befriending (i.e., petting because nobody else pays it much attention) came running over to be petted and scratched. Mama walked by as I was petting it, and I mimicked its purring. She didn’t seem impressed. At about 1:30, my sister came to me and said I should put on nicer clothes because we were going over to her aunt’s house for a henna party. This wasn’t what I had in mind for the day, really….I was looking forward to zumba-ing, showering, and walking around town taking pictures. But okay, a henna party sounded interesting. So I put on a knee-length black skirt, a work top and the black tights suggested by my sister, which I thought was a bit of overkill but which saved me from getting a chill later. Off to the aunt’s house we went. There ended up being about two or three dozen women there, seated at a loooonnng table shoulder-to-shoulder. For the first hour or so, we had a cup of tea and just sat and talked. At this point, while I’m doing well in my language classes, if I’m faced with someone asking a question I’m like a deer in the headlights and my mind goes nearly completely blank. I think Mama warned them I don’t have much proficiency yet, because they mostly ignored the fact I was there. Sometimes I could tell they were talking about me, but nobody really stared or made me feel uncomfortable….I just couldn’t understand much of anything and didn’t say more than two words. I tried not to think about how nice it was outside and how lucky I was to be invited to this party. I really did. But as the hours passed, I watched my free day slip away, helpless to do anything about it.

Eventually the food was served. First course was a mayonnaise salad….mostly mayo with some veggies mixed in. (this is very common in Azerbaijan; they’re heavy on the oils here) I watched in awe as a girl of about six devoured a plate of this salad with a tablespoon about three times larger than her mouth, and she didn’t spill one bit. After the salad course, bowls of potatoes and beef in an oily sauce with cilantro (not my favorite herb) were served. Everything here is served family-style, and people reach across each other without an “excuse me” to be heard, grabbing drinks or more food or napkins, etc. Also, conversation basically comes to a grinding halt when there’s food on the table. It’s time to get down to the business of eating. Meals are quiet and quick in Azerbaijan. The potato and beef  dish is quite good, despite the cilantro (again….ick), and once I’ve finished my serving, that plate is removed to reveal a clean one, just in time for the plov (national dish of rice with varying fruits, such as apricots) and some meat I’d rather not try to identify, thanks. It was all very good. VERY good. I just wasn’t ready to eat this much food today.

The best part of the day today was watching the facial expressions and body language of the women. On the street and in public, Azerbaijan’s women are extremely reserved and mostly wear dour expressions or downright scowls on their faces. Behind closed doors, though, it’s apparently a different story. Plenty of gesticulating to get a point across, lots of laughter, huge smiles and obvious teasing. Watching someone tell a story is the same in any language; so much can be gleaned from tone of voice and gestures. One nana (grandmother) at the other end of the table was bemoaning long and loudly about someone’s (an individual? A nationality? A generation?) rudeness because they don’t say, “choke sa-ole” (thank you very much) with any great frequency. After a bit, she moved to my end of the table, and when I had the opportunity I made sure to tell her, “choke sa-ole,” upon which she commented with a smile.

Score one for the amerikaliyam.