The Oath

I loved everything about swearing-in day yesterday; the trip to the hotel; the unexpected amount of cameras and video crews; the speeches – both in English, Azerbaijani, and a few highlighting the celebration of Peace Corps’ ten years in Azerbaijan; the chatting with fellow volunteers and friends and new acquaintances; but there were two things I liked the most.

FIRST – and I know you were all on the edge of your seats for this one – the piano playing did NOT suck terribly. (Hollah!)

At least, that is my biased opinion, and I’ve firmly decided that I am allowed to look at it from a personal standpoint. I have rarely performed at this sort of event, and  I did so confidently. Furthermore, those songs weren’t so challenging, but I haven’t played in such a long time – and I learned them. Like, seriously learned them. Which was good, because at the ceremony, during the end of the Azerbaijani National Anthem, the air conditioning turned on right above the piano and flipped over my sheet music. I made something up a bit, and (hopefully) no one noticed. Or at least they didn’t tell me. Or, rather, I don’t think I would have cared anyway. It was a big challenge, and I did it, and I loved it. I feel so great about the whole piano part it was totally worth it.

SECOND, I choked up a bit, team. Like, there were some serious tears about ready to stroll down my face, and not at all when I expected it – because I seriously did not expect it at all, especially when it did.

There is an actual swearing-in component (in case that wasn’t obvious), during which the Ambassador administers the following:

I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States

against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same;

that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well

and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.

 

It takes quite the solemn turn. After laughing together and enjoying heartfelt speeches, we suddenly stand up, raise our right hands, and together vow to serve. As the Ambassador read the line, “defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies…” I don’t even know what happened, but a got just totally verklempt and it was bizarre and beautiful and I felt so much more… connected, maybe? or confident? or excited? I can’t exactly pin it, which is why I’m turning to Linda Richman to summarize it all as totally verklempt.

I had to sneakily wipe away a few strays, but we proceeded along faithfully until we pulled a Justice Roberts and fumbled the ending after the Ambassador went a little long. Such is life, though, and it made it all the more special.

It was not a moment I had heavily considered, though it was really what the day was all about – I mean they don’t call it “Swearing In Day” for nothing.  More than anything, those words and, of course, picturing Mike Myers in drag, encouraged me to seriously consider our place as volunteers during the next two years – which we are OFFICIALLY starting!

I think I’ve said this too many times but I can hardly believe we are actually doing what we have talked so long about doing. I feel like I’m nine years old again when I couldn’t wait to be ten so I could be two handfuls and now I don’t even want to consider how many handfuls old I am because it all happened so fast and I STILL remember looking forward to being two  and now its so long ago I feel as if I’m a completely different person looking back on that weird moment and I’m not even sure why I’m putting this much emphasis on turning ten nor why I’m using it in a run-on sentence, but that’s how quickly and intensely and amazingly I feel about finally being here. Now.

There are big things up ahead, people. Big things – and I’m totally ready.

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,

All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,

Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,

Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,

A grand, sane, towering, seated Mother,

Chair’d in the adamant of Time.

- Walt Whitman, “America”

 

 

Something Even Better

My favorite moment, today:

After piano practice today (still chugging along, team – more on that later!) we were given a ride back to language classes in one of the staff vehicles. While the other two trainees chatted-up the driver (whose life, by the way, is worthy of several dozen novels; he is crazy awesome and intense), I found a brief moment to just tune out and lean my face against the cool, glass window. We took a side road back to school along the Caspian – and when I say side road, I mean we climbed over a dune and drove right on the beach.

A storm was just beginning, the wind bringing in both dark clouds and the terrifying dead fish/oil/garbage/sea-salt smell. He drove fast, swerving around pot-holes and the occasional tire or car part or pile of bottles.

Under the clouds, we passed beauty as well as change: young men in cars with loud music, parked by the breaking waves; whirling tide pools with sides of sea foam; several tea houses in various states of disrepair; men fishing, their tall poles confidently cast into a sea that will inevitably bring them little; an abandoned restaurant turned horse stable, a dead horse lying among the rest; the ever-enticing and ever-terrifying theme park in the distance.

I caught the tail-end of  the conversation up front. “During Soviet times,” our driver said, “there was a little railroad here on the beach for the children. I liked that very much.”

We caught up to the remains of an old beach road that went from the main town to the suburb where our schools are located.  “This used to be the best,” our driver said. “I could come down here and drive fast. I mean, really fast.” He smiled.

We eventually veered off the beach road and onto the winding gravel streets. Talk turned to cars and driving and we passed a mosque and many men coming out of service.

After we dropped the other trainees off at their school , I was left with the driver and, not wanting to always be the silent back-seat passenger, picked up where the conversation left off.

“What would you say is your favorite car ever?” I asked him.

“That is easy,” he said. “A Jeep Wrangler. You know this?”

“I know this well,” I said. And I do – I have coveted this car on and off for years.

“They have rich history in war,” he said. I agreed. “They were used in World War II  – then the Willys Jeep, I think?”

“You know this!” he shouted, obviously impressed and my ego skyrocketed. The man has no clue the infinite wisdom of all things cars I have known since childhood.

“They are now Chrysler – such a great car!” He went on, adding their change from AMC to Chrysler and how the tops come off and their four-wheel drive capabilities and so forth, ending with “and someday – it will be mine!” He laughed.

As we pulled up to the school, his eyes caught mine in the rearview mirror. I turned away, trying not to embarrass either of us.

“What about you? What is your favorite car?” he asked as I grabbed my bag to leave.

“Well,” I said, “My family owns a Ford – a 1954 Skyliner. Do you know this?”

“Of course I do!” he said. “Very sleek – nice sky light. What is inside?”

“A 351 Cleveland,” I said. “It is old, but it is perfect.”

“Yes, this is a good car,” he said. He turned his smile down and continued: “But this – this is for men! This is a strong car!”

I brought my eyes back up, again meeting his in the mirror. “Yes, it is. You are right, and I am not a man – but I am something much better!”

He laughed, shaking his head and wishing me a good afternoon, and I laughed too, wishing him an even better one.

 

COURAGE yet! my brother or my sister!
Keep on! Liberty is to be subserv’d, whatever occurs;
That is nothing, that is quell’d by one or two failures, or any number of failures,
Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any unfaithfulness,
Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes.

 - Walt Whitman

 

Tattoos

I will probably never get a tattoo.

It’s not that I have anything against them. In fact, I think there are some really awesome tattoos. I know people who have the coolest and most personal words and designs and they all have these inspiring and amazing stories that go along with them.

I wish I could confidently stroll into a tattoo parlor and demand for the finest artist to ink the most fantastic design forever on my skin. I really want to want a tattoo.

Here’s my problem, team: I am outstandingly mediocre.  Do not read this as an outcry for boosts of enthusiasm or sympathy.  Because if you do, I will be livid.

I am, and probably always will be, pretty good at a lot of things, and I love this about myself.

Sure, I’m not a great runner; I never won any races, but I did a solid job and I have fun pushing myself. I would call myself fairly intelligent, but I’m not out winning genius awards of trophies or pendants – or whatever it is natural Einstein’s get for being awesome. (Gift certificates, maybe? T-shirts? That would be pretty b.a.) I wouldn’t call myself an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but I love to doodle and can draw a pretty mean cartoon character if you give me enough time. Once I also collected stamps for a few years. And then snow globes. But none of them ever to the point where I had a swooningly huge and elaborate collection.

Mostly, I think I just face an overall lack of conviction and enthusiasm. It’s not like I’m uncommitted – I always stick things through to the end and do my very best. But I just like so many things and want to try everything and don’t really mind if I am not the best when I finish. Also, it never seems to matter to me if I am outrageously talented or not. What’s the big idea, anyway?

Which leads me to my dilemma.

Amongst many things, I also play the piano, the guitar, the violin, and the mandolin – all to varying degrees of decency. I don’t rock at any of them, but I feel pretty solid about my talents. I just like doing them.  I love to diddle around on the keys, which I was doing one day (so poorly), when I was asked to play for our swearing in ceremony. Not just any song, but both national anthems.

Why I said yes I will never know.  Sure I can play the piano, but can I really play the piano? Would I ever tattoo a big ol’ keyboard on my upper arm? Heeeeell no.

I am now faced with this weird concern that I will fail miserably, but I also have this slightly inner confidence that says, you know what, you can do this. Ms. Jackson would be proud of you!  All those hours spent in her tiny little home slamming away on her ivories while she forced you to spit out your gum were not in vain!

On the other hand, I can’t even play a song from memory. I can read music and figure it out okay, but it will take me a minute.

On the other hand, no one else volunteered.

At the same time, Olivia, you suck. You can’t even really read the bass clef well to save your life.

Ugh, people. I will have to report back when this is all done. At that point, I will either have this burning desire to get some sort of piano-themed memento inked eternally on my wrist, or a giant FAIL! slammed on my forehead.

Stay tuned, friends.

 

 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,
Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide,
Over the dense-packed cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O death.

 - Walt Whitman

Confidence

We are in the thick of things, folks. Only three weeks until we – assuming all goes well from here on out – become official Peace Corps volunteers.

Which means, from today until then, we find ourselves in a solid routine of technical class followed by language class followed by homework, host family bonding, clean-up, getting ready for bed – over and over. Though predictable, (for the most part – I mean, really, I have no idea what I am getting myself into each day, and even the most routine of activities is subject to all kinds of chaos) I like the consistency and comfort I gain each day.  While it can be a bit monotonous, I also like the confidence boost I get by successfully and optimistically moving through each new day.

My biggest moment today is more of a feeling. I know, it bums me out just thinking about it as well, but I have to say I am quite proud of the internal progress I am making. I can tell already that this experience, which will (hopefully, I think) influence me in so many ways, will definitely play a huge role in altering those things inside which team up to make me who I am.

When we first moved to country, as you know, I was a bit of a wreck. Like, way more than I expected to be and should have been.

“I can’t listen to this song; it reminds me too much of summer with my friends!”

“This shirt reminds me too much of my mom – I can’t wear it without crying!”

“I can’t eat food – I used to eat food before, too!”

It was really pathetic.

If you had the power to watch my video chats with my family, you would also see what a sad little being I was as well.

It’s not so much that I wanted to go home, but the suddenness from which we were split from all those reliable comforts and routines, even though we’ve been preparing to go for quite some time, hurt unbelievably so.

BUT TODAY, friends, I was not a blubbering idiot!

Before we left, our family and friends wrote us amazing letters to read throughout our service. We decided to do our best to save one per month.  And this month, we happened to grab one from my amazing grandmother, whom I love and miss immensely.

It was so sappy and motivating and perfect – just the thing to set me off on a whirlwind of sloppy tears and laments.

Instead, however, I felt so inspired.  Instead of wishing to be back in her cozy house sharing a meal we cooked together, I was grateful and energized by her words. Yes, I thought, I CAN do this.

Additionally, when I spoke to some of my family on Google Voice yesterday, I didn’t even get worked up once when we hung up. Instead, I was happy. I was happy to speak with them and happily looking forward to the next time we could speak again but not, for once, too unhappy after I saw their faces and missed their laughter.

This may seem like chump, but to me, this optimism, this ability to be perfectly content, means the world.  We have three weeks prepared and ready and set to go, and I am (finally) ready as well.

And this most special day ALSO happens to be my lover’s birthday as well.  Walt has been such a champion through all this so far, it’s hard to imagine he could add something more, but here is just the thing:

O the joy of my spirit –it is uncaged – it darts like lightning!

It is not enough to have this globe or a certain time,

I will have thousands of globes and all time.//

To push with resistless way and speed off in the distance.//

O the joy of the vast elemental sympathy which only the human soul is capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless floods.

-          Walt Whitman 

Site Visit

I feel like I just climbed out of a Margaret Atwood novel.

Today, I am finally back in my little Sumgayit apartment after visiting our future home for the next two years in Barda, Azerbaijan, and to say that I had thousands of small moments would be a gross understatement.

It was my first time traveling through the country on my own, and though I handled it (almost) like a boss (with tons of help), I just need to confess now that I am terribly needy and could never be a hermit, unless I was a hermit with a small group of people I know and we would occasionally have a few parties and meet our neighbors and travel a bit and always be together forever.  That sort of hermitage I like.

But since our programs had different site visits, I was fated to travel from Sumgayit to Barda solo, and, though I was dying inside for days, it frankly was not bad at all.

I really struggle to stay away from giving you the play-by-play of my adventures, so I will first just give a few small tidbits and follow up with a quick story I’d like to pass along.

• We will live with a host family consisting of an aunt (I just can’t call her Mom), uncle, and their two teenaged children who study at the university. The won’t be home much, but they are amazing. I was nervous to meet them, but they are incredibly polite and intelligent. We played chess. How rad is that?
• I visited my host aunt’s schools – she teaches five classes at a local school and two at an IDP school.
• I attended both a wedding and a funeral in the span of three hours and both were nothing like I expected and a million times more fascinating.
• I met with my colleagues (albeit very briefly) and was introduced to the building where I will work.
• I had a LOVELY lunch and afternoon with some of the current volunteers at my future site. They are so sincere and helpful, they have already made the tough transition infinitely easier.
• I can almost find my way back to our home if need be!
• I learned how to make dolma and plov from scratch, as my host aunt has taken it on as her personal goal that I will “no longer be a bad wife” when I return to the states. So, that is progress.
• In general, had a fabulous time with my host family, and look forward to seeing more of my work site and community.

One of my favorite moments, though there are many, took place the first evening. After my family let me settle in the house a bit and we ate dinner and tidied up, Aunt asked me if I wanted to head over to the neighbors’. Tomorrow they are having a wedding, she said, and we should go say hello and wish them the best.

They lived right across the street and as we went to meet them, I had the strongest recollections of visiting my grandma who lived in Florida. There was something about the way the gate creaked open; something about the quiet way we stepped out under the fruit trees and moved slowly in the charged evening air towards the lights and bustle of our neighbors that made me equally excited and mournfully nostalgic.

“Our neighbors,” Aunt said, “they are very poor. But sweet. I like them very much.”

A large group of men sat at a long, white table covered with ashtrays and remnants of the evening meal.

“Here,” said Aunt, “before a wedding, we eat an ox liver. They are busy now, wishing the boy good luck and eating together.”

We didn’t join the men, but moved towards the house where the women stood making meat-pie crust for the next day’s festivities. Immediately, I liked them too. I have been hugged and kissed by more strangers since coming to Azerbaijan than I could ever count, but never so sincerely. Each little woman pulled my face close, welcoming me and calling me their sweet daughter.  Thank you, thank you, nice to meet you -  it became my small chorus and smiled response to their all their attentions. Thank you, thank you, nice to meet you.

I was given a stool, and sat under the one yellow lightbulb watching young girls run in and out of the house, bringing water and moving dishes while their mother’s and grandmother’s and aunt’s talked of weddings past and how much work they still needed to do and my, wasn’t Fatima looking so much better these days and when will they ever paint that fence they keep talking about?

We only stayed a short while, hugging the bride-to-be and offering our help if need be. They couldn’t offer us tea, they said, as they had many pies to make and the gas would turn off at eleven so they needed to hurry.

And, just as I was feeling the most comfortable I have been since moving to this beautiful new country, Aunt told me we must be going.

And just like that, we waved and kissed and wished the couple the very best for the next day. We ducked back under the mulberry tree and crossed the motionless street, the last of the laughter dying away with the slam of our heavy gate.

And though I had a pleasant and encouraging visit, for some reason this very perfect and quick evening still remains my favorite, and I can still imagine the methodical flip of the pies and the smell of the men’s cigarettes in the distance.

 

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems

You shall possess the good of the earth and sun….there are millions of suns left,

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand…. nor look through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,

You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself. 

 

- Walt Whitman

 

 

 

I am Sure

Once upon a time I wrote this funny encounter I had with a bathtub that turned out, after a series of discoveries, not to be true.

Additionally, a spouse (who will remain nameless) told me he felt it seemed quite pessimistic.

I felt awful.

I by absolutely no means wanted to sound critical or judging or in a tough bind; in fact, quite the opposite. I am so grateful for where we are and what we have it is just crazy.

But the point is moot.

Either way, it made me realize something huge. Even though this a dorky little blog like ten people read, I can’t under estimate words or moods or adventures. As a volunteer (and, I guess, on a deeper, nerdier level, a person), the last thing I want to do is come across as sounding harsh to my beautiful host country. Or, really, anything in general.  While I won’t pretend that tough challenges and bad moods never grace my doorway, (I mean, they do. A lot.) these might just be things I digest on my own.

It’s hard to find the right balance between being curious and thinking critically and their opposite reactions of judgment and immediacy.

The point is, though I don’t want to lie about realities, I also don’t want to ever misrepresent anything, in any sort of light. I don’t want to write about nothing to be safe, but I also don’t want to write about everything to push or change or alter in ways I shouldn’t.

Maybe you are much smarter than I am – and if you have some advice here, please pass it along. I would love to know what it means to share and think and write – I mean really write something. (Maybe just write for yourself? Write and post later? Send smoke signals? Who’s to say – not me, certainly…)

Until then, friends, here’s my favorite thing I learned today:

If you want to say “I am sure” in Azerbaijani, it goes something like this: Mən əminəm. (Men ah-mee-nahm.)

Get it?

How cool is that.

What is that you express in your eyes?

It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life.

- Walt Whitman

 

Baku (Briefly)

Today we became officially brave explorers as we made our way into Baku – the capitol of Azerbaijan.

To give you an idea, here are three super authorized statistics from Wikipedia:

• The first written evidence for Baku dates to the 1st century AD
• Baku is the capital and largest city of Azerbaijan, as well as the largest city on the Caspian Sea and of the Caucasus Region
• In the Lonely Planet ”1000 Ultimate Experiences”, Baku placed 8th among the top 10 party cities in the world

On a more personal level, here’s a rundown of our Big Baku Adventure:

After meeting at the bazar here in Sumgait, we popped onto a marshrutka (only 50 qepik!) to take us into the city, just about half hour away. The van was booking it, almost on level with the best Disney World adventure rides.

Once we arrived, our itinerary had us going to Martyr’s Lane first, but in transit we decided to stop at The Baku Roasting Company, as it by far is the best (and, really, the only) true coffee shop in Azerbaijan.

That in itself was a trip; the moment we stepped inside, it was like being in the Acoustic Café back in Eau Claire. Big windows, solid wooden tables, dark coffee smells, soups of the day – and so many smiling Americans! Just as we were sitting down, in walks the American ambassador to Azerbaijan and his lovely wife. We had the opportunity to meet with him briefly a few weeks ago, but it was totally surreal to have coffee and see him in his khakis, enjoying a Saturday with his wife (and security agents, of course). We talked with them briefly, and they then invited us to ride along with them into the city center to see the flowers.  After a quick call to hq, we were told YES, please do! I’ve never been in an armored vehicle before – what a trip! Such thick windows! I cannot express how kind and sincere they were – truly an amazing experience.

Yesterday was Flowers Day, in honor of the late president’s birthday. They deck out a park in the city center with millions of dollars worth of flowers in various designs and patterns, everything from Shrek to a big “90”, to a gigantic archway. We didn’t venture all the way in, but it was a crazy sight to see.  Here we parted ways with the ambassador, but only after the best photo-op of the day.

Next, we visited Martyr’s Lane, a memorial to the citizens of Azerbaijan who died defending their country. It was a very somber but intriguing place. At the end is a big overlook to see all of Baku in its glory.

We meandered quickly through the Old City, and made our way to lunch at an expat’s Mexican restaurant. Talk about strange! To order Mexican food in English to an Azerbaijani waitress – I love it. I made a lovely impression on our new expat friends by spilling my drink all over the floor, but it wouldn’t have been the full awkward Olivia experience without. Ah, such is life.

We also walked down by the Caspian and I held a monkey – no big deal – and we also took a tour of the Peace Corps office and lounge. You feel sort of official, I think, when you are finally allowed in this place. We are still not yet volunteers, but getting there.

When I came home tonight, the furniture we have been in the process of getting all week finally arrived. In thirty boxes. I write this at 1:42a.m. Still no internet here, so I will share it when it turns on. Who knows, I may still be awake! I think the bed is nearly finished – but who’s to say.

As much as I wanted to put up a giant stink about it, it has turned into a relatively pleasant evening. Almost like a holiday – we are all waiting up anxiously for the new fancy furniture. We’ve made some jokes, my host dad gave me a big bag (seriously, this was huge news and was awesome) and we ate sugared strawberries. All is well with the world.

It was quite the surreal experience. Everything I feel and think while in Azerbaijan so far totally slipped away while we walked down big shopping centers – with the Gap, McDonald’s, Schlotskys – and visited the sites, running into other tourists. It felt like a completely different country, but it was still new and totally amazing.