The "New" Place

The "new" place

When Jessica and I reached the driving age, we bought a very old Oldsmobile Cutlass Ciera. We called her Cici for short. She may have been the worst car I have ever owned, but she had style and character. Her nameplate had fallen off and she had a hula girl stuck to her dashboard and her AC didn’t work. She made Jessica and I independent though, and for that she still holds a place in my heart.

A few months ago (maybe a year ago) I wrote a post about my apartment in Azerbaijan. “The Money Pit” was home to Kate and I for 6 months. It was a real mess, but I loved that apartment the way a person loves their first POS car. It was my first time on my own, my first time in a place that wasn’t paid for by my parents or on university property. There were a lot of life lessons learned in that apartment. I learned how to be a small-time plumber, a big-time housekeeper and how to ventilate a hybrid apartment/oven in 1000 degree weather.



Alas, a crazy lady was our downfall, and Kate and I were forced to move. After collecting our next month’s rent, she asked for 50 AZN (manat, the Azeri currency) more than our normal rate of 100AZN/month. She told us that the rent would be going up by 50%, and Kate and I decided to start looking for a new place. As much as we loved our neighborhood (the free meals were endless), we couldn’t justify paying 50AZN more for a place that wasn’t worth 50AZN alone.

With that, we went on a search for a new place. We asked everyone we knew, and even reached out to people we didn’t know. When two single American girls ask for a new place, the questions are endless, but they usually are “You want to live alone?!”, “You don’t have a family here?!”, and the granddaddy of ‘em all, “Who will cook your food?!”. You see, for some reason nobody thinks we can cook here. So they always assume we have someone cooking and cleaning for us. I am here to say, we do it ourselves folks!

So even though we were VERY CLEAR about wanting to live alone and not with a xanim, we were shown many places with old ladies living in it. Sometimes in Azerbaijan, there are old ladies around who, for some reason, don’t have anyone living with them, and they get scared. They want someone to live with them to protect them. Apparently Kate and I look like two bad asses, because we were shown these houses. Either they were showing us the houses that no one else wanted (those women can be crotchety!) or they really didn’t believe we wanted to be by ourselves. Either way, we finally found our new place when a guy at the bazaar told us he knew someone who knew someone (it’s a mafia bazaar) and we could take a look at the place. Well, it was a huge house with a nice yard with persimmon, apricot and pomegranate trees in it. And a barking dog. So we asked when we could move in, and we packed our apartment up that day.



Our old landlady (I have mentioned she’s crazy, right?), heard wind that we were moving, and as we were getting ready, she came over to the neighborhood. She got up in our faces, yelling things we couldn’t understand, and making a huge scene only proper for Jerry Springer and the taxi guys at the bus stops. I caught “animals”, “didn’t give me my money” and “filthy” in the rant, but before we had a chance to respond, our neighbors were at our side, defending us from the crazy xanim from hell. In all the chaos and references to donkeys, it was touching to see our neighbors take up our battle when they didn’t even need to get involved. They went to the mattresses for us.

Anyways, we ended up at the new house without any other incidents. We have at the house internet, heat, hot water a stove and a big kitchen. It’s not dusty, it’s cool because of the awning over the porch, and we have two cribs just in case Kate and I want to start a family. And the beds are way more comfortable. The only problem is our landlady is right across the street. I will direct you to a post by my colleague Aaron McKean about landlords/ladies in Azerbaijan: http://aaronmckean.wordpress.com/2011/04/03/landlord-invasion/. In a nutshell, landlords have all the rights in Azerbaijan, it is still their house, and they can walk in any time they want. So our landlady, being very interested in us Americans, walks in all the time and inspects our cleaning and the way we live. No privacy.



This house has been the source of headaches and laughter. Kate and I had to share the living room and sleep on the floor for all of winter because our gas stove only heated one room. We have been able to plant a garden, but not able to grow anything. The landlady’s dog is kept in our backyard, but he barks ALL THE TIME and does not want to be patted. What’s the point in being a dog if you don’t want to be patted?
Our most recent excitement with the new place was that a family moved in next door. By next door, I mean in our compound, in the formerly closed off part of the house. We would be sharing a bathroom, shower room and yard with these new people and we were nervous.

The Peace Corps gods smiled upon us the day they moved that family into our house. The mother and father are about our age and they have two kids, a girl who is 6, Guller (pronounced gool-air), and a little boy of 4, Habil (prounounced Hab-eel). Guller is very smart, in a devious way. She has her brother follow her around all over the place, and when she gets bored with him, she gets rid of him by hanging ou with her mom (which Habil would never do) or get rid of him in more creative ways. One time she hid one of Habil’s toys on our porch and he was searching all over for it. When he asked his sister where it was, she said it was in the dog house and proceeded to go watch to see if her brother was eaten by the mean dog. I saved Habil from being an appetizer, but I saw something in Guller that day that I once saw in my big sister Lisa (go hide and I will find you). The boy Habil is a crack-up. He’ll do anything for a laugh and laugh at anything. He insists on being called “Habil Muellim” (Habil teacher) and conducts lessons daily in how to ride a tricycle (which he falls off of constantly). The parents give us stuff from their garden all the time, and the fruit on the trees is never-ending.



The “new” place is great. Kate and I are comfortable in our surroundings and have a house that stays under 95 degrees when the thermometer outside hits above 100. We get free fresh food, fun time with funny kids and have spaces to ourselves. However, we still go back to the old neighborhood to visit the xanims that stuck up for us a year ago and hang out with the neighborhood kids for old time’s sakes. While the new house is shiny and fun, the old house still holds a place in my heart. Like Cici.

First picture: The bathroom a our old place.
Second picture: Me all packed up and ready to go with all our worldly possessions.
Third picture: The kitchen at our new place.
Fourth picture: Habil Muellim playing soccer in our patio.

My Last Novruz

This is a post I wrote a few months ago, but didn't post it. Here you go, more to come soon, I promise.

So this past week everyone in Azerbaijan got the week off for a holiday called Novruz. It is the celebration of spring here, and my favorite holiday in Azerbaijan.

Novruz is a mixture of Halloween and Easter with a ton of tradition, celebration and food. Each table is supposed to have certain things on it including candles, special types of cookies, grain, baklava and a big ol’ heap of grass. Kate and I did bought not a single one of these items, but somehow, most still ended up on our table through gifts. Our neighbors, host families and even store owners have given us things to put on our table. Since Kate and I don’t really have Azerbaijani guests over (I think people are afraid of what we may serve them), we have been eating the gifted sweets for about two weeks now. I am seriously thinking about how I am going to lose my “Novruz 15”.

So I have talked about guesting a lot, I actually think I did a blog post on it. But for those of you who can’t figure it out, guesting is going over somebody’s house and having them fill you to the brim with food. To be an American living in her community for over a year, Novruz is guesting on steroids. On the Tuesday before the holiday (which is actually also a holiday) I ate two dinners and have never been so stuffed in my entire life.

My Every Thanksgiving, I warn my darling twin sister about the dangers of eating too much too quickly. I usually council her on portion control and taking it slow, and she usually ends up in pain, still eating a slice of pie. This Novruz, I did not follow my own advice. I definitely overate and was in pain for most of the week. The traditional food at Novruz is plov (a delicious rice dish), kebob (chicken, sheep, cow, whatever you can get your hands on), dovga (a sour milk with greens dish that is mostly gross to Americans but I actually don’t mind) and Russian salad which is a bunch of vegetables covered in mayonnaise. After dinner, comes dessert with a delicious treat called shekerbure. This is a traditional Novruz cookie filled with nuts and sugar. Actually, most of the sweets are filled with nuts and sugar. Also eaten is baklava, which is probably my favorite part of Novruz. Kate and I were gifted a few plates of baklava and a week later were still eating the stuff.

During Novruz, there are specific customs that are celebrated. Here are a few of the traditions I celebrated with my community some I know the reason why they do it, some I do not:
• Papaq atmaq: In “Throwing the hat”, kids creep up to your door so as not to be noticed, knock and throw their hat at it and run away. They are not supposed to be seen by the person in the house or their hat will not be filled. The person in the house fills the hats with sweets, eggs and/or candies.
• Egg game: I have no idea why they do this at Novruz r what it means, but the egg game is when you take an egg and hold it up on its end, hit it against another egg’s end and whomever’s cracks, that person must give up their egg. I apparently am not so good at this game because I always lose.
• Listening at the door: During Novruz, you are supposed to listen at the door of a neighbor’s house and whatever you hear, that will be your fate for the next year. Last year I heard a mother screaming at her kid, which I guess meant that I would have to discipline kids a lot in the year (which I did). This year I heard the Television and didn’t understand a thing. That makes me nervous…
• Reading tea leaves: You are supposed to read the tea leaves at the bottom of your cup during Novruz.
• Hopping over fires: It is customary to hop over fires during this time so that your troubles fall into them and the fire burns them away. I was surprised I could even hop my butt over the fire because I was weighed down with food.

The festivities were wonderful this year. In each region, the city normally holds a huge celebration in the city center. Goranboy had a small but wonderful celebration where there were traditional costumes, horses, dancing and a huge bonfire. I also went to the bigger city of Mingechevir to see what they had to offer. They also had girls and boys dressed in traditional clothing but they had a ton of kids participating. They also had food vendors and a tightrope walker. People had to stand crowded around the circle of activity, but as foreigners, we received special treatment and actually got to walk amongst it all taking pictures and talking with the kids.

Overall, I will miss Novruz celebrations. It is by far my favorite holiday to spend here (even though we slaughtered a turkey for Thanksgiving this year). It is a time of traditions, coming together, and eating as much as humanly possible, and that is what every holiday should be about.

Just call me Skywalker

Just Call me Skywalker

This past week I ventured into the capital city here in Azerbaijan, Baku. We had our Mid-Service conference (that’s right, I am OVER half way done!) and I got a chance to be there for a week and really thought about what this city means to me and my service.



You see, Baku is like the force, there are two sides to it. There is the light side that helps me through my service and is the center of the Peace Corps world in Azerbaijan. The dark side is the one that keeps you drinking all night in the city instead of doing your work out in the regions. We, as Peace Corps Volunteers are all Skywalkers, but we are forced to choose the Anakin way or the Luke way of handling Baku because the force is a powerful thing. It can chew you up and spit you out before you know it.

The light side of the force is Baku as the land of plenty. The reason I call it this is that in Baku, one can find and do things they normally can not do in the regions. I often visit to buy food supplies like parmesan cheese, soy sauce and syrup. I can go out for dinner and get Thai, American, Chinese, Lebanese, Wookie (JK!) and many other types of food. I can go out and have a drink with my fellow Jedis, and I can actually encounter people who speak English and can help me in my quests for different items. It can present me with opportunities to obtain funding, meet with officials, and gather ideas for my projects. In Baku, I have met many ex-pats who have been more than gracious in housing homeless, moneyless volunteers and with whom I can play ultimate Frisbee or soccer. Also in Baku, you can find the most obvious symbols of Azerbaijani culture including the old city and Maiden’s Tower. This collides wonderfully with the modernity of a European city and a youth population that is coming into their own contemporary views on politics, culture and the role of Azerbaijan in the world. It is a fascinating place to be while at the same time rest and respite from day to day life in the regions.



Nonetheless, the other side of Baku is a dark one. It is a city that drains you of money, exhausts you to the inner core, and traps you to stay for longer than you intended. In Baku, I will spend 20-40 AZN per day on food and transportation. In the regions, I spend about 4 AZN or less. Baku is the only time I let loose my sins. I go out until late at night, drinking and partying. I can get a lot done in Baku with all its resources, but it takes me twice the time it would in the regions. In regards to culture, Baku may have a lot, but it is a rare Azerbaijani who says they are actually from Baku. Many times they will claim a region as their cultural heritage even if they are born in Baku because each regional culture is passed down to children. In Baku, the regional culture in modernity and Azerbaijanis want a past to hold on to, not an ever-changing city. The new city landscape even includes a hotel that will eventually look like the Death Star!!! (http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/03/baku-deathstar.php) With all that there is to do and the accommodating nature of the wonderful ex-pats, I have a propensity to stay longer than I originally intended. If I go for a weekend, I may stay an extra Monday. This may not sound terrible, but it means I am speaking in only English for one more day, working in a community that isn’t mine for one more day, and spending WAY WAY over my budget for one more day and these days add up.



When I get back from Baku, it is like I have been in limbo, struggling between the sides of the force. One part of me is glad that I went. I had gotten to see my fellow volunteers and catch up over a few beers, restocked my cabinet full of American goodness, and reconnected with my Baku contacts. The other part of me is ecstatic to be back in Goranboy. I rest up, recuperate, get to speak in Azerbaijani and work on my projects within my community. I actually feel like a Peace Corps Volunteer again, and this is the light side of the force at its best.

Just call me Luke I guess.



Pictures: View from Martyr's Ally overlooking Baku, Some PCV's at the Maiden's Tower, Me fighting the Death Star hotel before it gets built

Back in the USSR

Back in the (former) USSR
Well, about a three weeks ago, I returned from my trip to America and resumed my second year of two in my stint as a Peace Corps volunteer. America was a great vacation, but it feels good to be back. Things have gotten crazy over there! There are pregnant teens on TV and kids from a place called Jersey Shore going crazy all over the place. I had to ask what was with the fist pump multiple times. I caught myself pretentiously saying “Well in Azerbaijan…” a few times, and felt like a little alien while adjusting back to American culture. I could not speak my thoughts openly because people actually would understand what I was about to say, and getting used to the front seat of a car, or even driving, was a step. I did adjust to good wine pretty quickly though.
The time flew by, and finally it came to say goodbye to my family again. Saying goodbye this time was harder than the first time. I was trying to say bye to my little muffin of a niece and all she had interest in was her new dinosaur walker. My poor father drove me to JFK and saw me off through the security gates while I was teary-eyed the whole time. He was a trooper. But as soon as I got to the gate and boarded the plane, I got excited to come back. I like to travel, and even my eight hour layover in Moscow wasn’t too bad. I got off the plane in Baku and immediately met up with another volunteer to go back to the Peace Corps office to sleep off my jetlag.
The next day, I found out from my sitemate Kate that I couldn’t go home because our landlady needed to use our house. I was homeless, so I spent time readjusting in Baku. A few of us had come back from a trip to America at the same time and we spent time together getting reacquainted with Azeri life. I went from Baku to Mingechevir and it took a total of 4 days to get back to Goranboy. I was uncomfortable the whole time I was travelling and unsure of myself. The minute I stepped back into Goranboy I felt at home again. I got a huge hug and Salam from Kate’s host family and all the kids were excited to see Kate and I (she had gone to America too). I haven’t really fell back into a routine as of yet, but since being back, I have met up with some of my Azeri friends, my counterparts and played soccer with the kids. I have been relieved to realize that I actually haven’t forgotten my Azeri language skills and have conversed all about America and my time away with the people I have grown to love to have a part of my daily life. I have also been able to see my Peace Corps family. They are an incredible comfort and it is great to see them after a while. I know I was only gone for two weeks, but it was a long time to be away!
Now it’s nose back to the grindstone. I have a bunch of projects I would love to do in my community while the kids are pushing to get clubs back up and running. I’ve got less than a year left, and I intend to make it count. The first year went by so fast that I feel rushed to make everything happen RIGHT NOW. And of course, I will write about it.
Okay, per accordance with a friend, I will keep this under a page, and write more often. Expect to hear from me weekly (inshallah) and with shorter, more manageable stories.
Till next time,
AK

One Year Down

One Year Down

On October 1, I passed my one-year mark in country as a volunteer. This year has been a rollercoaster, from meeting awesome people to living in the Money Pit. I have changed my language, dress, daily schedule and the way I go to the bathroom from what I am normally used to. I have celebrated weddings, mourned deaths and welcomed new lives into this odd country all while trying to figure out what the heck is going on. I have missed very important graduations, engagements, holidays, deaths and births of my family and close friends back home. I have learned that you can love someone you have never met, that people of the world are generally willing to help someone who is lost (physically or mentally), and the only thing you really need to be happy is the company of good people.
Kate and I just had a trainee come and visit us at site, and she was telling us of all the awkward situations that she has encountered in her short three weeks in Sumqayit. She told of the excruciatingly painful first night at your host family’s house, where you are not able to converse with your new family and you look for cues about how to act from anywhere you can take it. Many followed the ways of their small host brothers and sisters, and therefor behaved like little kids. My first day was full of highs and lows. I was greeted by a man who was smiling ear to ear (my host dad Adigozel) and felt relieved. I then was shuffled into my new bedroom, where I was served grapes with HUGE pits in them and left along to unpack. I did not know whether to eat the pits or spit them out, so I spit them out and put them on the plate. I then spent an hour sitting on my bed not knowing whether to come out of my room and face the trials of pantomime or wait until I was called. It was an intense hour of trying to remember what our language teachers had taught us in the three days of orientation (I could get through about 30 seconds of conversation with hello, how are you?, my name is Amy). After the hour, my host mom came in to gather my dishes and she looked at me as if I had three heads. I thought I had set up everything wrong or was not following some secret protocol, I came to find out that Azeris eat those huge pits in the grapes and no one spits them out. It was her first realization that I was an alien. The rest of the night was spent watching TV and shaking my head yes and no to questions I didn’t understand. “Are you a spy?” “Yes.” “Do you like to take showers?” “No.” I am surprised I didn’t get into serious trouble that night.



Our trainee also talked of the budding friendships that she and the other trainees are forming. She has informed us that they have all just settled down and gotten to know each other, and are spending time at each other’s houses. She texted people the whole time about what she was doing in Goranboy, and it made me happy that the trainees are getting so close. I wouldn’t have made it this far without the crazy cast of characters that have entered my life on this journey. My fellow YD volunteers have been the support that I have needed throughout service and I like to think that I have been theirs. We were a weird group from the beginning, from Jackie wearing her nametag upside-down on purpose, to Eli telling us all he did sex in a bucket (he used to work at a Salmon fishery). We were close in Tagiyev, and are still, while being physically far apart, very close to each other. We have supported each other in clubs, camps and Toga parties. There have been housewarmings, bitching sessions and football games. Life in Azerbaijan has been enriched by my colleagues, and we are always each-others cheer-leaders.



So as Kate and I await the Peace Corps to tell us who our new site-mate is, I am particularly reflective of Kate and my big move out to site. I remember being the ONLY ONE of the YD's who cried as I left, and Kate telling me I made her look bad, because she didn’t cry. I remember my counterpart leaving me at my new family’s house and saying he would be back in a few days. In those three days, I remember being trampled by xanims in a celebration of the former president, getting to know my host sisters, and finding out I could talk to Kate for free on the house phone. I would hear my host sister’s giggle when they answered the phone and immediately know it was Kate trying her best to get her off the phone and me on it. Those first few months I learned a lot about being in the regions, about my site, and basically learned how to be a volunteer through experience.



Since moving out with Kate, time has moved at a deafening pace. I have done clubs, special events and training sessions. My favorite time has been just hanging out with the kids. They treat us like we are one of them, and sometimes I think I am 12 years old again. Peace Corps is supposed to be a growing experience, but I seem to be growing backwards. I found myself the other day after a computer lesson throwing the acorn-like seeds of the trees at one of my students and then hiding behind another as he retaliated. At soccer, I forget that I am in a foreign country, because the kids remind me so much of the kids I used to coach every summer. I forget they live halfway across the world, and just play for two hours. I hang out with the kids in the neighborhood playing catch and talking. Kate and I stay out there for so long that we don’t realize that it is dark out, just like Jessie and I did when we were kids. This time it is a little worse, because then we have to ask a 14-year-old boy to accompany us home, but you get the gist.
So Kate and I have moved into a new house. We are cleaning and taking care of it and our newly adopted puppy (who is actually the neighbor’s, we just take care of it). We budget out every month so that when pay day rolls around, we aren’t begging xanims to feed us. We go guesting and take pride in the way we host people. We are acting like grown-ups, but at the heart of it all, we are still kids. This past year I have learned many new things, and really learned to be on my own, but the best times have been when I am still a kid.


Pictures: My first host dad and his wonderful smile, some of the YD's in Baku, me playing the kids at chess on "Youth Day" in Goranboy

The GOATS

Goranboy GOATS

So I have written about softball in Goranboy before, but the most epic event since the addition of our two stop lights in spring (with countdown clock action!) has happened in this small-time town. This past weekend we hosted the kick-off tournament for the Peace Corps Azerbaijan Softball League (PCASL?). It was a fight to get this tournament on the agenda because at the time games were being scheduled, Goranboy hadn't had what critics would call a “real team” yet. However, in full faith of the two experienced managers of the Goranboy franchise, the date was set and funds were allotted for a Sunday Fall Spectacular in G-Town.

The date was set three weeks in advance of the game. Kate and I panicked a little hearing that. After we had put up so much of a fuss about not having a tournament in Goranboy, they were giving us the kick off tournament, and we didn’t even have a team put together. We had also had trouble in the past to gather kids even to play pick up. We dropped our other projects for a week and just went on a recruiting spree. I went to school number 2 and tried to pick up some of our club kids, put up signs at my work and then I pleaded my soccer kids to try a new sport, concentrating on the weaker links who maybe be looking for a change anyways. I struck out on three swings (forgive the pu!). Kate was the Theo Epstein of recruiting. She went into the Russian school, a school we have previously avoided because many of the English teachers don’t know English and we unfortunately don’t speak Russian, communication has been an issue. But Kate got 8 young men to sign on to participate in the start-up team.

Our first practice was one week before the tournament. We taught the kids how to field the ball and what to do with it after you had it in your hand. We taught them about half of the rules of softball. I am now convinced softball and baseball are the most complicated sports in America. They have about a million rules and some of them make no sense. I began to fear the question “Why?” from these kid because I honestly did not know the answer. I remember some of my first softball moments, and one of them is playing catch with my older sister Lisa. She told us never to catch the ball underhanded when it is near our face. I asked “Why?” and she replied: “Because you will break your nose”. I thought my sister was so experienced in the ways of softball because I had seen her break her nose that fateful day when she tried to snag a line drive with her glove underhanded. It made perfect sense to do the OPPOSITE of that. But try telling a bunch of kids with no reference to the game that they will break their nose if they catch like that, they will put the glove down and walk away. Who wants to break their nose for a game that makes no sense?

After a week of practices and an Azeri ringer brought in from Baku as a translator (Dice-K watch out, the new field of international stars is coming from Azerbaijan with translators!) we were as ready as we could ever get for the tournament. The kids were excited to play, but after the last practice before we played, I was cooking dinner when I heard Kate shouting from her room “Tell the other coaches to bring their bench players!”. We weren’t too confident that the kids could even play the game, never mind go up against the 3-year veteran giants of the PCASL: Mingechevir
and Ganja.

So game day comes and it is raining. I made the executive decision to PLAY BALL! and amazingly all the kids showed up. We had 12 kids wanting to play that day. Kate and I had the great idea to call the kids the Goranboy Goats. We had sheep and goats grazing on our practice field all week, and it sort of just rolled off the tongue. I also reminded Kate that like LL Cool J, Michael Jordan and Muhammad Ali; we were the G.O.A.T.s. Mr. Cool J is known as the Greatest Of All Time, and that is what Goranboy was soon to be known as. So when Kate informed the kids that our team name was the Goats on game day, they naturally asked what that meant. She told them “Kishi”. The actual name for goat is “Kechi”, Kate was a little confused and neither I nor the translator were there to correct her. “Kishi” is the word for “men” in Azerbaijan. So the 12-13 year old boys puffed out their chests, called themselves the men and proudly cheered GO GORANBOY GOATS!

We saw their tiny chests deflate when the other teams walked into the venue. The Mingechevir and Ganja teams consist of university students, while Tovuz is all 15/16 year olds. They were all huge compared to our goats. We really had a bunch of kids (hehe). We got crushed by all the teams, but the other teams learned a lot too. They learned to teach while taking the goats under their wing. The older kids taught the younger kids the ways of the game, like my older sister taught me how not to get my nose broken (even though years later on a Fourth of July my dad would slightly break my nose with an epic pop fly). When our guys would run past second base into centerfield, the player out there would gently remind him that there is a crucial 90° turn to third base. When our tiny player (7 years old swimming in his uniform) got up to bat, the pitcher would fumble the ball to give the kid a chance, and when our guys made a good play, they would cheer for the goats.

After one week of learning the game, their fielding skills were amazing. They did not allow too many balls through their legs, the pop flies were caught and they knew to throw the ball to first base. Unfortunately, they did not know to throw the ball to second, third or home. They concentrated so much on first that the other runners were still in sight, but out of mind. I tell you, just getting the out at first is not a winning strategy. Also, for as good as they were in the field, they could not compete at the plate. Their arms were ½ the size of the Mingechevir kid’s arms. They also did not have a great eye for hitting. Our 7-year-old had the best contact with the ball on the whole team!

Our guys impressed me that day. They took the other team’s instructions in stride, and were inducted into the PCASL culture of inter-region friendship and fun rivalry. After being crushed every game, they are ready for practice on Wednesday and want to play all of these teams again in the near future. With all this enthusiasm, natural talent and perseverance Kate and I think that by the end of our time here, we will really be the managers of our the G.O.A.T.s.

Katherine the Great

Katherine the Great

Okay, so I have written a lot about my life here, the stuff I do, the things I learn, and the people I meet. However, I have not yet talked extensively about one of the most important people in my Peace Corps life. My site mate Kate is one of the most unique individuals in all of Azerbaijan; people ask me how she is with a big smile and the expectation of hearing a hilarious story. It proves for an interesting life.

Kate and I are what the rest of our peers call “Peace Corps married”. This is an arranged marriage through the Peace Corps and only happens in rare instances. We have been grouped together since the beginning. We were roommates in Philadelphia the night before we left for Azerbaijan, we are in the same technical group (Youth Development) and we were in the same Azerbaijani class during training, which meant we lived in the same development outside of Sumqayit. At the end of this training, we found out that we would be at the same small site, as site mates. We have been through every stage of the Peace Corps together, so far.



During Pre-Service Training (PST), I formed bonds with the people around me. My peers were my support network, and we were together so often that we would laugh about stuff together without acknowledging it aloud. Kate would be the one who would ask “what are you laughing about?” She's tattoed, i have my ears pierced. I stayed on the beer wagon for a month, she fell off the first week. During class, I had vocab lists mapped out, she had great stories as to why hers weren't. She doesn’t care what people think, I am very aware of the rumor mill and try to avoid it. Kate used to like to sneak out of her host family’s house, and one night I was sitting quietly in my house with my host family when Kate’s family called. My host dad asked me where Kate was, and I had no idea. I told my host dad I had not a clue but I was sure she was fine. I guess she had told her host family that she would be out with me and when she was late they got worried and called my family. Rule 101 of sneaking out: tell your accomplice that she is your accomplice, or your cover is going to get blown. There are a lot of differences on the surface between Kate and me.

Therefore, when our project manager, Tarana, told us that we would be going to the same site, I had my reservations. While I had formed close bonds with the rest of the people in my Azeri class and many in my technical training group, Kate was aloof and we hadn’t really gotten to know each other very well. I liked her enough, but was nervous about the person that was about to become my site mate. Recently, I have talked to the other people in our technical training group, and they said (laughingly) they had the same reservations I had. To my knowledge, Kate didn’t overthink it as much as I had. So we entered the next two years together on completely different pages.




Our first month was a time of getting to know each other. We were able to hang out pretty much every day because, let’s face it, there’s not too much else to do here. We went to each other’s work and home all the time, went on walks, talk about the frustrations of our life without internet, than visited the creepy internet club we found together. We quickly realized, to borrow Rick Blaine's words, this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

We have had many crazy adventures together, and I will highlight a few of them here. The first big adventure was when in February when we went into Baku for a GLOW meeting and the Superbowl. We got caught in a snowstorm visiting our former host families, but neither of us wanted to stay in the village for another night. We made the terrible decision to take a cab to Baku because the buses refused to go to Baku (the roads were too bad for the bus, but a cab can do better, right?).

Well, the whole way down I was clinging to the seat, my knuckles must have been white. We spun out three times on the road, which wasn’t a big issue because there wasn’t anyone else on it! The car got about 6 miles within the place we were going to and hit traffic that was going into Baku. The taxi driver decided to turn around, because the road was closed. Kate and I looked at each other and made the decision to walk the rest of the way, hoping to find a Good Samaritan who would take us the rest of the way when the roads opened up. Well, we trudged in the snow for the entire six miles while cars inched along. If the drivers got even a few feet of room, they would gun their gas and slip and slide all over the road. I wasn’t in New England anymore; these people don’t know how to drive in the snow. We eventually got to our destination after many static panic filled phone calls (WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU ALIVE?) and on time for the meeting to boot.

Another classic adventure would be our attempts to find a house. I have written about our apartment in a previous blog post, but I will repeat myself a little here. For as bad as our apartment is, we have been shown worse. Our apartment has no hot water, no gas heater, no refrigerator and no chairs (we had 5, but since living here we have broken two, it’s getting desperate!). We are the only PCV’s I know that have to borrow spoons, forks, and plates if someone other than us eats at our house. We decided upon this house because unlike the bigger cities, the small Goranboy does not have a huge housing market. We also have a new infestation of bedbugs (we think) in Kate’s room which we have been battling vigorously (I mainly make sure they don’t go into my room!).

We didn’t even intend to live together at first, but couldn’t find two apartments/houses in our price range, so we decided to live together. It was the best decision we made. Even though the apartment is awful, we enjoy living together and our neighbors are amazing! We have kids outside to play with, xanims to ask our silly questions to, and people who are willing to stick their necks out for these two crazy Americans if we need it. We also have a system for living now: I cook, Kate washes dishes. It’s pretty awesome. If one of us is ever gone, it is pretty lonely. For example, when I went out for two weeks to do my soccer project, I got a text from Kate saying “I just ate pasta with Ketchup on it, I miss you. Come home soon!” When Kate recently went to Germany for 10 days, I got really lonely and went guesting every day to have company. I didn’t want to cook if I had to eat alone and no one was going to tell me how good of a job I did!

Outside of the adventures, we work well as a team. Kate makes things relaxed and comfortable, I help with the communication. When Kate gets frustrated, I calm her down, when I get frustrated, Kate helps me let it out. We do many things together, but have our separate groups too. Kate likes to have actual conversation clubs with the better English speakers, and I like to hold computer classes. Kate wants to work with disabled kids and I want to work with girls in sport. Kate works with all women, I work with all men. Both have their unique difficulties which Kate and I are trying to work out. We have been doing softball together and are trying to write a grant together. I get called Kate at least 10 times per day, and Kate gets called Amy. Some people even think we are the same person. Even Peace Corps volunteers treat us like we are attached at the hip. If people can’t get ahold of us, they’ll call the other to find the one they’re looking for. Kate’s host mom had to explain to a few Azeri’s that we are TWO people, that there are TWO American girls living in Goranboy at one time. Remember the twins and Lord of the Flies, SamnEric? Well, Kate often refers to us as KatenAmy. I don’t have a problem with it, I have been dealing with being confused with another person all my life (I can’t get away from it Jess!). Kate is fine with it as well, she is confident enough that there is no danger of her losing herself.



Life is good with a great site mate. Where I had reservations before, there is nothing but relief that Kate is with me. I have great friends here, but she is the first one I would go to if things were to go wrong. In a situation where it’s hard for people who know you well to know what you’re going through, Kate knows exactly where I’ve been, what I’m doing and where I want to go. While she and I are different people, I would trust her to give sound advice on counsel I am seeking. It makes my life easier here to have someone to share the everyday things. The frustrations when people don’t understand me, the small successes (like finding cheap cheese!) and the bizarre are all shared and discussed.


So here’s to Kate
(this is a little late)
she’s my site mate.
We can relate
when frustrations won’t abate
living in a different State.
It must’ve been fate
because she really is great!

Pictures: Kate at our Thanksgiving celebration, Kate and I in Baku, Kate and I at our Swearing in Ceremony