The invisible woman amongst us

Back when I was only at my permanent site a month, I wrote a blog entry about being stared at (“Animal, vegetable or mineral?”). That was just over seven months ago. Oh, how things have changed. Not completely changed, but enough so that I now sometimes feel I live in an alternate universe. And maybe I do. I’ll have to check with Neil DeGrasse Tyson on that.

Today, I am convinced my town turned on me. I didn’t notice it at first, because things were kind of annoyingly normal. As in, I didn’t want to get out of my warm bed, I had the same breakfast as usual (qatıq (yogurt) and toast with jam), and my internet was down for the ninth day running. But it’s the last day of the month and I needed to go to the bankomat (ATM) for my rent money, plus I knew there should be something waiting for me at the poçt (post office). So I donned my Xanım Outfit (i.e., below-the-knee black skirt, black boots, black jacket and, to not be morose, a purple sweater) and went out to catch the bus.

I was in luck! It looked like the bus I wanted was just down the road, picking up a passenger! So I waited. And waited and waited, because it wasn’t actually a bus after all, but a bread delivery van. While I was waiting, though, a car pulled out of my apartment complex and stopped, the driver got out and, lo and behold, asked if I needed a ride to the town’s center!! Wow! “Hə!! Çox sağ ol!” This was awesome….this was the first time someone I didn’t know had offered me a ride! Am I being accepted? Finally??

On the drive in, I noticed there were traffic police seemingly everywhere. This, unfortunately, tends to make the drivers impatient and cranky, since they’re used to setting their own speed limits and making up their own traffic laws. And cranky drivers means everybody else needs to be hyper aware if they’re anywhere near a roadway, especially if they’re on foot. Pedestrians definitely do not have the right-of-way in Azerbaijan, and cranky drivers and pedestrians with questionable timing do not mix.

Happily enough, the bankomat had cash in it (because you just never know), and since that was my first stop, I fairly sashayed down the sidewalk toward the poçt. Money in my pocket and bus fare saved, I decided to pop into the aptek (pharmacy) on the corner to grab some rubbing alcohol. When I went in, there were about six customers waiting, which is normal for a centrally-located aptek. And there were no lines, just a cluster of folks crowded around the window where the pharmacist works, which is also normal. So I settled in at the back of the crowd and prepared to wait. I waited and waited, and waited some more, watching as more customers came in the door and very few left, with people ignoring the “line” (huddle?) of people already there and pushing their way to the window. Unfortunately, the pharmacist did not happen to be one of those who would say, “Hey, she was here before you,” but instead simply waited on whomever pushed their money or prescription in her face first. This is also pretty normal for here. I started to get impatient, then caught myself and realized I had nothing to rush off to today, nowhere to be by a certain time, and I could afford to wait as long as my patience held out.

Well, after about 15 minutes, it was wearing a bit thin. Two older women had each pushed past me (literally making me take steps to save my balance), so finally I edged my own way up to the window. Yay! Finally I was going to get my stuff and get on my way! Until 3 nömrəli xanım (older woman number three) thrust her arm past my ear and the clerk waited on her. I turned around to the woman and asked, “Seriously??” She wouldn’t even look at me. So I decided enough was enough, blocking the way to the window so nobody could pull that on me again, and the clerk ignored my presence and waited on someone else.

That’s when I stormed out.

And I don’t think anyone but me thought anything of it.

So now I’m trying to figure out which is worse…intimidating people with my Obviously Foreign Presence so that they give me space and stare holes in my head with their eyes? Or being The Invisible Woman Amongst Us. There’s a fine line in there somewhere, I’m convinced.

Sunday mornings

Through the wall behind my bed, I can hear the woman next door starting to do things in her kitchen. My room is barely getting light, and I turn over underneath my covers, determined not to let her industriousness influence me. Alas, it is bazar gün, also known as Sunday, and it’s the day I go to the main bazar in town to do my grocery shopping. I could conceivably go on other days, but I did that once only to find that the number of women selling dairy products is cut by about 75%.....bazar gün is definitely the day to go. Unfortunately, this means getting out of bed. By about 10am, the best food is pretty much gone (Azeri women would say by 8:30, but I really don’t like getting out of bed when it’s cold out), and since it takes me a half hour to get to the bazar, I need to get up.

I didn’t used to worry so much about my dairy products. In the States, I relied on half gallons of homogenized, pasteurized milk from the super market, vacuum-packed blocks of cheese and little 6oz cups of Yoplait yogurt, cherry and orange-cream, if you please. But here in Azerbaijan, I’ve gotten hooked on the real stuff. I don’t buy the fresh milk yet, because it intimidates me that I would have to boil it, and then what do I do with the cream (except mix it with a little sugar and pile it on some fresh bread)(which is bad)(well delicious, but bad)? I don’t buy the milk, but I do buy the fresh pendir (cheese) and qatıq (yogurt). The qatıq is plain (aka, kind of sour) and I will admit here and now that I have become addicted to it. Every morning I eat about 10oz of it, and when I don’t have it I’m very sad. So I have this huge jar I use to buy my qatıq….it’s a ‘bring-your-own-container’ system at the dairy section of the bazar. My huge jar, which holds at least two liters, costs a manat-20 to fill with fresh qatıq, which is about $1.60. I think that’s the same price as two or maybe three of those Yoplait cups.

When you buy qatıq, you find it doesn’t all taste the same. If you don’t like sour yogurt, and, take my word for it, it gets more sour by the day in your fridge, the best thing to do is ask if it’s şirin (sweet) and then taste it. There’s a method to the tasting, which caused me much embarrassment before I knew the deal. What you’re supposed to do is hold out your hand (palm up or down, it doesn’t matter), then the potential vendor will spoon a little onto your hand and you lick it off. You do NOT try to take it off the spoon, either with your fingers or mouth. Trust me. So the dairy section of the bazar is always my first stop, then I get anything else heavy and solid, like potatoes, onions, stuff like that. I try to be strategic when I shop, as I have to carry everything home in a bag on the bus, and it’s easier to pack as I shop rather than try to rearrange everything later.

Last on my list are always the yamurta (eggs) and çörək (bread). I have found that even if the price of eggs is 15 or even 20 qəpik per egg, if I ask for one manat’s worth, they always give me extra. Which is awesome, especially since it’s inevitable that I will break one on the way home. Part of this is because they ‘pack’ the eggs in a plastic bag, but part is because by the time I buy them, my bag is full and heavy, and I get clumsy as heck.

This morning I wore my special “lucky” necklace, a stone of lapis lazuli which my brother-in-law brought home from Afghanistan and had set as a Christmas present for me. If you didn’t know, lapis lazuli is purported to bring good luck to its wearer. It worked. Because even though spinach cost 30-qəpik a bundle, when I asked for a manat’s worth, she gave me five bundles. And I received 8 eggs for a manat when their price was 15-qəpik each. AND, when I went to buy my bread, the guy saw me waiting and had my order ready for me when I walked up!

It made sacrificing and having to pry myself out of bed kind of worth it after all.

As the world turns

It’s still winter, according to the calendar. We had a bitter cold snap across the entire country a few weeks ago. I recognize that, as compared to what the US has been through in early 2014, ours was negligible, and I am sorry for all of my friends and family in America. Many of my friends here in Azerbaijan had it much worse than I. Many volunteers were without running water for two or more weeks because the water going to their town or village froze solid. Some were reportedly melting snow to use for household chores. Many postponed bathing. Postponing bathing in the winter here isn’t all that unusual, to tell the truth. When there’s no central heating or insulation and you can see your breath inside your house, it’s actually understandable. I’ve heard tales of volunteers hiding out in their sleeping bags for most of the colder months. Hibernating, if you will.

But spring is coming to Azerbaijan. Days are getting longer, snow and ice melting, ground softening, all the usual signs. Yesterday I was happy to spend the entire day outside with sunshine and temps in the mid-teens (mid-50s to you Americans). Yesterday I started my first real project and it’s a wonderful thing. Yes, I think it’s actually a wonderful project full of potential and sustainability, but it’s also wonderful because of what it’s doing for my mental state.

I’ve found the past few months to be a bit challenging mentally. Struggling with the language, struggling with integrating into the community, struggling at work, it has all been just a bit much at times. I knew coming into the Peace Corps that life would be a struggle. I felt ready for it. What I didn’t count on was struggling with literally every part of my life all at once. The afore-mentioned language, integration and work issues. Financial issues. Loneliness and isolation. Feeling useless. Feeling ineffective. Wondering about my sanity. Wondering if I can stick it out, if I can suck it up and continue to live overseas beyond the Peace Corps. Wondering what the heck I’m going to DO after the Peace Corps. EVERYTHING.

Coping mechanisms have included telephone calls to friends I’ve made in the Peace Corps (because they will always be able to understand). I’ve been exercising. Cooking. Retreating into my e-Reader and the internet and binge-watching TV programs. Thinking up possible projects and fleshing them out on paper. Having other volunteers come to visit. All of these things helped, all of these things have contributed to the fact that I am still here. One other factor which is in my favor is my age, because only someone who has lived many years truly understands that, with time, things change, and if things are crappy now, they’re bound to improve soon…it’s just a matter of patience until that happens.

So things have started to change for me as winter is coming to an end. I have been trying for much of the past year to reconcile what I thought I wanted to do in the Peace Corps with what my assignment was. When I applied, I envisioned myself in rolled-up khakis or a sarong, working in a garden with drip irrigation, maybe doing a little animal husbandry. My assignment, though, turned out to include regular business attire and working in an office environment, and the closest I've come to animal husbandry is feeding the feral cat I found parked on my doormat for about two weeks. However, as any volunteer will tell you, your service is what you make of it, and to make it your own. I think I figured out a way to do that. My first real project is going to involve gardening for my organization. I get to dig in the dirt and smell tomato plants in the hot sunshine, all the while working on Peace Corps’ Goal #2: introducing those in your community to a bit of American culture.

They’ve already become (mostly) adjusted to my buzz hairstyle. Let’s see how they handle khakis.