How Peace Corps Is Like Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

I'm not saying I know what it's like to live through a zombie apocalypse, but there is one thing I can easily imagine identifying with: a scarcity of hot showers.  At the risk of overgeneralizing and speaking for everyone, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the way Peace Corps Volunteers feel about hot, on-demand showery goodness is probably how you would feel about them if you were to survive a zombie apocalypse for any longer than a month (or maybe less).

In general, we Peace Corps Volunteers in Azərbaycan are luckier than most in terms of access to basic utilities like electricity, water, and gas, which powers the stoves (I've seen no electric ranges) and has been the most reliable of the three in my experience thus far.  (I think there would be a real Tea Party revolution here if people had no way to boil water to make çay.)  However, hot showers (in which category I include crouching under a waist high faucet, as long as there's hot water pouring from it) can still be difficult to come by, and the reaction of Morgan and Duane in this scene from AMC's excellent adaptation of The Walking Dead pretty well sums up any given Peace Corps Volunteer's feelings about hot, like-manna-from-heaven showers.

Better Know a Holiday: 20 Yanvar (20th of January 1990)

20 Yanvar Memorial at Martyrs' Lane, Baku*

Preface.  I had wanted to post this yesterday, but by the time I had finished drafting, we lost power for the rest of the night.

The Day of Nationwide Sorrow.  İyirmi Yanvar (20 January) is a secular holiday to honor those who died on 19-20 January 1990 when the Soviet army rolled into Baku to put down a protest, killing approximately 130 people and wounding 700+ more.

Having occurred only 22 years ago, the tragedy is very much within recent memory.  I've talked to many a person who was there and/or who knew someone who was killed.  In my community, just down the way, is a street named for a friend's relative who died in the attack.

Burial of victims of 20 Yanvar*

It can be challenging for foreigners to understand the significance of 20 Yanvar in the national psyche of Azərbaycan.  To help put it in perspective for Americans, indulge me for a moment.

Imagine that it's the turn of the 19th Century in America.  The young nation has just elected its third president, Thomas Jefferson.   Only 25 years before had the people of these newly United States, living in some outlying territories of a world power, waged and won their War of Independence.  Maybe you and your family still remember the death, chaos, and fear first-hand.  George Washington, founding father and general during that war, had just died in 1799. The Boston Massacre, which foreshadowed the outbreak of the American Revolution, is freshly within living memory.

March 5, 1770, Boston.  Turmoil brews just under the surface of the city.  The taxation of trade to the outlying colonies is in dispute.  British troops have essentially occupied Boston to help enforce these taxes, the Townshend Acts, which are highly unpopular and considered oppressive by many.  Outbreaks of brawling between soldiers and your sons, brothers, and fathers are not uncommon.  You are afraid that, at any moment, the British will force you to quarter soldiers in your house.

Portrayal of Boston Massacre engraved by Paul Revere.
(Copyright expired.)

One evening, Edward Garrick - maybe you knew him from the barbershop where he was an apprentice - exchanges insults with a British sentry, Hugh White.  Tempers rise and White strikes Garrick on the side of his head with the butt of his rifle.  Garrick calls out.  A mob forms and begins throwing things at White, who calls for backup.  Seven soldiers join Garrick.  The crowd swells to around three or four hundred.  Some of them are your friends, your neighbors.  The Captain shouts for the crowd to disperse.  They do not, continuing to taunt the soldiers, yelling "fire!" The crowd knocks down a soldier, who drops his weapon.  He recovers his musket and discharges it into the crowd, shouting, "Damn you, fire!" In the confusion, the soldiers shoot into the crowd, killing three immediately and two others who die later of their wounds.   The crowd disperses.

Although only five people were killed in the Boston Massacre, it turned the tide of public sentiment against the British empire, which ruled from afar, and fueled the movement for independence.  In the aftermath, the British Parliament repealed most of the taxes in the Townshend Acts but retained the tax on tea, unknowingly setting the stage for the Boston Tea Party and, eventually, the Revolutionary War.

Imagine that, in addition to the feelings of patriotism associated with this and subsequent events on the road to independence, you knew some of the people who died.  They were your relatives, friends, or fiancés.  Maybe someone you had just seen the day before and took for granted you would see the next had been crushed by a tank 22 years ago.  Maybe that begins to capture the mixture of emotions surrounding 20 Yanvar in Azərbaycani culture, a combination of personal sadness, outrage, and nationalism.

The tragedy of 20 Yanvar 1990 is considered to have unified public support for independence and been a significant milestone in  the collapse of the Soviet Union, which experienced increasing difficulty ruling the outlying republics from Moscow.  Azərbaycan declared independence the following year.  Gorbachev later remarked in his April 27, 1995 speech in Istanbul that "[t]he declaration of a state of emergency in Baku was the biggest mistake of my political career....."

I don't mean to say that 20 Yanvar and the Boston Massacre were exactly the same (and not that the American Revolution and Azərbaycani independence were the same), but I hope that drawing some parallels can help non-Azərbaycanis to a better understanding of the culture and history. 

Stamp commemorating 20 Yanvar.** 

Most years, throngs of people process down along Şəhidlər Xiyabanı ("Alley of Martyrs" or "Martyrs' Lane") and around the eternal fire memorial in Bakı to honor the deceased, leaving red carnations (the symbol of 20 Yanvar) on the graves, but people have commented to me that due to the cold and snow this year, the throngs may have been slightly less throng-ish than usual.  Indeed, when I suggested on Thursday to one person that we go, the skeptical response was basically, "Well, if you want to..."  Certainly, I would be the first to admit that it was much more comfortable ("rahat," from the Persian, meaning "the palm of the hand" or "ease / tranquility") to watch the coverage on TV.  Bonus: better viewing angles and hot tea while you watch.

The story behind the red carnations.  I've heard a number of origin stories for the tradition of leaving red carnations on 20 Yanvar.  One is that red carnations were popularly exchanged among couples, and because there were many student couples among the protesters, the streets were strewn with red carnations during the chaos.  Another story is that Azərbaycan used to export red carnations to the rest of the Soviet Union, so in protest against the Soviet invasion, Azərbaycanis laid down their red carnations in the streets before the advancing troops. (An almost identical version of this story is recounted noted by another Peace Corps Volunteer here.) The most pragmatic explanation I've heard is that red carnations were plentiful in Bakı at the time, so when the unexpected and tragic need for massive quantities of flowers arose, red carnations became the flower of choice, essentially out of necessity.

Eternal Fire Memorial*

Some links about 20 Yanvar:

• A selection of Azərbaycani press coverage in English here (article and photos of President Aliyev paying tribute), here (general article), here (attempted protest outside Russian embassy), and here.
• Reflections by an Azərbaycani blogger on the dark events that occurred shortly after he had turned one.
• Other posts by Peace Corps Volunteers about 20 Yanvar here and here.

* Permission to use these images granted through the GNU Free Documentation License.
** Image in public domain pursuant to the law of the Azerbaijan Republic "On Copyright and Neighboring Right," No. 115-1Q of 5 June 1996.

Changing the World, One Person at a Time

You know how it's sometimes said that you can't change hearts and minds?  Well, don't believe it.   This kind of change may not be easy, and you may not even be aware of it, but it does happen.  Here's just one small example.

[As a reminder, Peace Corps' second goal is to help "promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served."]

Recently, an Azərbaycani (a/k/a "HCN" or Host Country National, in Peace Corps terminology) with whom I've become good friends confided to me that she did not always have a very good opinion of America and Americans.  (For the sake of privacy, (1) let's say she's a woman named "Ədalət," which means "justice" and I was told can be used for either a man or a woman, and (2) I'm going to keep things purposefully vague.)  

Ədalət shared with me that her views of Americans (before she actually met any of us) were based on portrayals in the media and word-of-mouth, and consequently, she had a rather dim view of our culture.  Think of all the negative stereotypes that you imagine Americans have around the world and you get the idea.  Then, let's say 6 years ago, she met a Peace Corps Volunteer ("PCV") in her community.  This PCV was the first American she had met in person.  The PCV helped her with her English (which had become excellent by the time I met her), and they became friends.

Through that PCV, she met other PCVs (of both genders) that year and in the years to come.  Ədalət said that she had many discussions about every topic you can imagine with these volunteers (religion, gender, politics, etc.), and that they did not always agree, but she came to respect them and their opinions and understand America with greater depth and nuance.

By the time I met Ədalət, she had already learned a lot about America, but we still had many, if not all, of those same discussions.  She told me that she still disagreed with certain things in America but that there were also many things that she admired, such as freedom of speech and religion.  I talked about how American values of tolerance and freedom are rooted in the Constitution and Bill of Rights, and she talked about how she was guided to be tolerant of other people's beliefs and opinions by the Quran. (Two goals, one stone.  Bam!)

I don't know when exactly the shift happened; perhaps not even Ədalət could tell you, but it took the accumulation of countless interpersonal moments and connections over an extended period of time for it to pass the tipping point.  Now, she even wants to work or study in America some day.

Ədalət still keeps in touch with that first PCV, and I'm confident that we will likewise continue to be good friends long after my own COS ("Close/Completion of Service"). 

I feel blessed that so early in my service a core part of the Peace Corps mission, which can seem abstract in its loftiness, has been reified into such a clear and specific example, and I'm humbled to have been even a small part of a larger continuing dialogue that has helped promote greater understanding - and dare I say it, peace - in the world.

A Day in the Life, or: A Crowd of People Stood and Stared

With the completion of Pre-Service Training ("PST"), and the swearing in of all 44 of us Peace Corps Trainees ("PCTs") as Peace Corps Volunteers ("PCVs"), my reflections on PST continue.  (More coverage of swearing-in here and here.)

As Peace Corps Trainees ("PCTs"), our typical daily schedule comprises about four hours of Azərbaycani language lessons (including the all-important break for tea ("çay")) and three to four hours of technical training, six days a week.  Sunday, the day of "rest," understandably varies from PCT to PCT.  Mine are usually filled with some mix of language self-study, host-family plans, laundry, Skyping with family in the US, "guesting," completing any outstanding projects for technical training, and sometimes actual rest even.

Background: Peace Corps in Azərbaycan

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Peace Corps in Azərbaycan, our class of PCTs (AZ9, which signifies the ninth year of volunteers in Azərbaycan) comprises three programs: TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language), CED (Community Economic Development), and YD (Youth Development).  Typically, about 50% of the volunteers are TEFL, with CED and YD at 25% each.  PCTs in each program are further subdivided into Community-Based Training groups called "clusters" for day-to-day cultural and language lessons.  Each cluster consists of about 5 or 6 PCTs and is led by a Language and Cultural Facilitator ("LCF").

Language Training

Mahirə, our incomparable LCF, deftly guides us through a seemingly endless forest of suffixes, vocabulary, and syntax with an impressive and delightful mix of skill, patience, humor, and warmth. As with any language acquisition, our studies involve a combination of pure memorization, repetition and practice, and countless comedic misunderstandings.

For example, once upon a time I attended a birthday party in my neighborhood.  As a good PCT, I prepared to inform my host family where I was going and looked up the word for "party," which I was pleased to find translated as "partiya."  Armed with one more word in my admittedly meager arsenal, I told my family where I was going.

Or so I thought.

Unfortunately, I had only skimmed the dictionary, and in my haste, didn't notice that "partiya" meant "party" only in the sense of a "political party."

It can be challenging in the wilderness of learning the Azərbaycani language, but we know we'll always find our way with Mahirə.  We're so fond of her that we've taken to calling her "Mahirə can."  From Azərbaycani, "can" literally translates as "soul" or "spirit," but it is also used as a term of affection or endearment.  (NB: Before you go around calling someone a container of soda, remember that "c" is pronounced like a "j" in English.)  Not only is she incredibly knowledgeable and skilled as a teacher of Azərbaycani, Russian, Turkish, French, English, and a little German, she is one of the most compassionate and devoted people I've met.  Her work with other NGOs (e.g., helping to improve conditions for people who live in mental institutions) is inspiring.  We, and Peace Corps, are lucky to have her.

Technical Training

For Community Economic Development ("CED") PCTs, technical training covers a range of topics to prepare us for service: presentations from current (mostly CED) PCVs regarding their projects, sites, host families, and service in general; special guest speakers on the government, economy, organizational development and capacity building, and the state of the NGO sector in Azərbaycan; methodology and tools for community development work; and our presentations and reflections on hands-on projects, which are generally known as TDLAs or Trainee-Directed Learning Activities.


Technical training is led by our Program Manager, Elmir, who is a highly (probably over-) qualified gentleman of great intelligence, wit, charm, skill, and fashion sense.  That training has flowed so smoothly and been so engaging is a testament to his teaching, guidance, curriculum development and implementation, and collaborative style.   His leadership facilitates the crafting of the best possible service for PCVs and host organizations while balancing multifarious and sometimes divergent needs, aspirations, and skills of all stakeholders. 


On the first day, I remember Elmir emphasizing that he wanted us to communicate openly with him our thoughts and aspirations for service, which are given due consideration even if they're not dispositive (as with all preferences expressed to Peace Corps).  A prior volunteer, who had a particular professional background and, in the absence of any expressed desires to the contrary, was assigned to a host organization accordingly - only for Elmir to learn one year into service that the PCV had wanted to take this opportunity to transition into a different type of work.  Taking this to heart, I had an excellent, open dialogue with Elmir, which greatly influenced the direction of my service.


Big Planet, Small World moment: We ran into Elmir near the Içəri Şəhər (the Old City from the 1100s; literally "inner city") while we were on the first of our two permitted visits to Bakı during PST.  Nothing noteworthy happened; it was just funny to me because it felt like I was nine year's old, running into my elementary school teacher in the grocery store for the first time and realizing that she was a regular person, too, having a life outside of her role as my teacher.

Routine

My street.

The morning call to prayer is typically around 6:30 am.  I'm not really sure because I try to be asleep at that time.  Usually ("adətən"), I wake up around 7:45 or 8:00, sometimes to the sound of roosters crowing, which as anyone who has spent time on farms or in Mexico knows, doesn't necessarily happen only at sunrise.  After getting ready to go to the local school, which graciously hosts our classes, in Ceyranbatan (which means where the gazelle drowned, in reference to the nearby Ceyranbatan reservoir), I eat a breakfast of bread ("çörək"), a hard, white cheese called "brınza" that is kind of like feta, homemade jam ("mürəbbə"), and maybe a hard-boiled egg, all of which is all washed down by the ubiquitous glass of çay.

[Digression for etymology nerds: Both the Azərbaycani and Hindi words for "cheese," "pəndir" and "paneer," respectively, appear to derive from the Persian root "panir."]

Gives new meaning to "Land of Fire"

There are three ways to school: (1) the (mostly) paved roads, which basically requires circumnavigating the town; (2) walking on some pipes that cut across the back edge of town; and (3) a muddy, sloped shortcut through a neighborhood alley and across a field.

Frankly, option number one takes too long compared to the short cuts, and my shoes and trouser cuffs are only marginally less muddy than going off the beaten path.  But if you do go that way, you might catch a glimpse of a pile of trash on fire!  (See left.)  Three common ways to dispose of rubbish are to set it on fire, get it (near) to the dumpster, or, if available, toss it in a nearby body of water.

Local dumpster area, after pick-up.

A word about trash.  It would be understatement to say that Azərbaycan might benefit from an effective anti-littering campaign, a la "Don't Mess with Texas."  Although there is regular trash pickup at the dumpster areas around town and perhaps even recycling (we saw some segregation of glass once), the collectors never seem to clear the whole thing out.  Also, a lot of people utterly miss the dumpster, which is basically a rectangular cinder-block enclosure that's open on one side.  It's as if you were to get near the dumpster area and suddenly become crippled by an existential crisis and, with a sigh of defeat, back of the wrist to the forehead, couldn't possibly be bothered to aim straight or walk the extra five steps to get your trash in the enclosure.  Anyway, although I wouldn't say that I no longer notice the little explosions of litter dotting the landscape, I do take it more in stride and accept that it's just how things are.  At the same time ("eyni zamanda"), I'm mindful of not falling into the habit of littering.

(I wonder if this is somehow connected to the
BTC pipeline (Baku-Tblisi-Ceyhan)...)

On the other hand, I'm thankful for this state of affairs in at least one respect.  About a month ago, I lost my right glove and have been walking around somewhat awkwardly with one hand be-gloved and the other in my coat pocket.  Just this week, however, I found the errant accessory along my usual path, peeking out from under some leaves and rubbish.  If not for the general lack of attention to clean up, I would never have been reunited with my prodigal glove.

Path number two to school is an adventure, as you can see from the pic on the right.  It's not as muddy since you're on a pipe for most of the way, but I wouldn't want to try it in the rain or snow.  After I discovered option number 3 while I was out for a jog, we've only used it a couple of times - most recently for nostalgic reasons.

Usually, I return home for lunch ("nahar"), which might be chicken ("toyuq") and potato ("kartof") soup, dolma (from the verb "dolmaq," meaning "to fill with or stuff), or chicken and rice ("plov") with fresh cucumbers ("xiyar") and tomato ("pomidor"), but always includes çörək, most of which is homemade by my host mother and/or sister in the ever-present big, red "easy bake oven" or in the təndir (a/k/a tandoor) oven outside.

Most families have one of these and often use it in lieu of
their regular oven.

[Etymology break: Terms words for "tomato" appear to derive, on the one hand, from either the Aztec "xitomate" or Incan "tomalt," or on the other, through the Latinate pomo d'oro ("apple of gold"), in reference to color, or de Moro (for "of the Moors"), in reference to supposed origin.  Russian uses "tomat," and Turkish uses "domates," but even though Azərbaycani is a Turkic language that has a lot of Russian words, it uses "pomidor," which is, incidentally, the same as the Polish.]

After lunch, it's off to technical, which is usually at the school across the highway in Yeni (new) Ceyranbatan, and is probably a 20 minute walk.  "Yeni" is so new that it doesn't have as many paved roads and sometimes other infrastructure.  (Incidentally, the schedule at the beginning of PST was technical in the morning followed by language in the afternoon.  Around halfway through PST, the schedule flipped.)

Tandoor oven in the backyard

I usually get home by 6 pm or earlier.  Shortly thereafter, we eat dinner, which could be any of the dishes that might be eaten at lunch.  Other common dishes are bozbash with kofta (meatball), fish (balıq), or, on special occasions, kəbab, which can be grilled chicken, lamb, or fish.  If there's time before dinner, I try to get in some exercise (running, if the weather's good, or yoga).

A Crowd of People

If only the second part of my Beatles reference involved mere standing and staring... While we're on the road, whether it's traveling to school or just the post office (poçt), the air is overtaken by a cacophony of children in school uniforms and/or young men clad in various shade of black shouting: "HEH-lo! HEH-lo! HEH-lo!" and "What is your name!" (they're usually not actually asking a question), accompanied by incessant laughter, pointing, and what one might generously consider mirth. (And this is after at least three years of having had PCTs in the community that I'm aware of since my host family has had three PCTs before me.)  And depending on whether you're African-American, Asian-American, and/or a woman you might also hear some of the following: "Hey, baby I love you!," "Chinese" noises, kung-fu noises, "JackieChan! JackieChan! (or "BruceLee!", for those who prefer to go old school)," or "negr."

I'll leave it up to you to guess what gets shouted at whom.

It bears explanation that although the word "negr" shouted at African-Americans here sounds an awful lot like the N-word, as used in Azərbaycan it does not mean what it means in the U.S.  It is a borrowed term from Russian (negr (Cyrillic: негр)), which is a neutral indication of race and does not carry the hateful intent or pejorative connotation that it does in the United States and elsewhere.  Nevertheless, this doesn't make it any less rude to shout at strangers, and the utterance still sounds offensive to American ears.  Maybe that won't change, but PCVs of all races (who have the language skills) have sometimes taken it upon themselves to choose moments (there's not enough time in the day to do it every time it happens) to explain why it is offensive to Americans and why it would be respectful for Azərbaycanis to refrain from using the word.  This approach comes from one of the many techniques with which Peace Corps equips PCVs to address any racial, sexual, and general harassment that may occur.

Depending on the size of your community, however, the shouting may improve with time as you get to know people in the neighborhood.  Which brings us to...

"Guesting," and Immersion

The routine is broken up by random occasions of "guesting," which involves visiting a neighbor's and/or relative's home as a guest, drinking çay, eating some sweet things ("şirinşəylər") like cookies, chocolate, or candies, trying to converse, maybe watching some TV, and maybe staring at each other for a while. Sometimes it doesn't feel like much is going on, but I remind myself that this is what immersing yourself in the culture feels like. [/nod]

The people of Azərbaycan pride themselves on their hospitality ("qonaqpərvər"), and they are as warm and welcoming in their homes as they may be formal in public.  (I may write about the public/private distinction in another post.) When guesting, it is customary to bring a gift of şirinşəylər.  On a related note, if you borrow a dish from a neighbor, it is customary to return it with food on it.

What happens while guesting is a lot like what my (host) family does in the evenings when everyone's home from work and school: we eat, talk, joke around, study, and watch TV.   Which isn't that different from what my family in America might do on certain evenings.

After supper, I do my homework or TDLA and maybe watch an episode of American TV before hitting the sack.

Rinse and repeat the next day. (Which is more than I can say for how often I actually rinse and repeat with shampoo in my hair...but that's another story.)

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Məktəb

Cow ("inək")

You know that idiom "...till the cows come home"?  I never thought I would wonder about this, but what do you do when the cows actually do come home?  Especially if they're not your cows.

Well, today I found out: You chase them away.

After some lunch-time studying, as I was getting ready to head back to school ("məktəb") for my Final Pre-Service Training ("PST") Assessment Interview with our CED Program Manager and PC Country Director, a couple of cows wandered through our front gate and proceeded, with seemingly great purpose and determination, into the backyard, where they began to make a meal of everything (vegetarian) in sight.

With much bemusement, two of my host brothers and I trotted along after them and briefly marveled at their unexpected presence before herding them back toward the front yard and shooing out of the gate.

And away they go

Mother Tongue

Introduction

Since language is one of the most important keys to any culture, you will find below a very brief introduction to the Azerbaijani language.  After I go over the pronunciation of the Azerbaijani alphabet below, I will make every effort in my future blog posts to write Azerbaijani (Azərbaycani) words as you would see them written in-country.

General Background (excerpted from our language workbook):

"Azerbaijani is a member of the Turkic branch of the Altaic language family.  Specifically, it belongs to the Oghuz Seljub sub-group, along with (Osmanli) Turkish and some dialects of Crimean Tatar.  Other well-known members of the Turkic branch include: Uzbek, Kipchak, Kyrgyz, Tatar and Kazakh. The Turkic languages closely resemble each other and form a complex of mutually intelligible dialects. The other two branches generally presumed to make up the Altaic family are the Mongolian and Manchu Tungus languages."

Brief History of the Written Language

Beginning approximately in the 7th Century, written Azerbaijani used the Arabic alphabet, which was replaced by the Latin alphabet in January 1929.  In 1940, a new Azerbaijani alphabet was created based on Cyrillic.  After independence from the Soviet Union, Azerbaijan returned to the use of a Turkish version of a Latin alphabet having 32 letters.  There are nine vowels and twenty three consonants.  Many of the letters sound the same as in English, but there are several special characters that have no English equivalent and a few letter that look like an English letter, but sound different.

Letter	Pronunciation
A a	father
B b	bat
C c	jam
Ç ç	chat
D d	dog
E e	enter
Ə ə	man; sad
F f	football
G g	no exact equivalent but similar to "g" in "give; singer"
Ğ ğ	no English equivalent; clost to French "r" in "pardon"
H h	hat
X x	no English equivalent; close to Scottish "ch" in "loch"
I ı	happen
İ i	beach
J j	massage
K k	keep
Q q	Goat
L l	lamp
M m	map
N n	nap
O o	often
Ö ö	heard
P p	paper
R r	radio
S s	city; south
Ş ş	shelter
T t	tapestry
U u	moon
Ü ü	no exact English equivalent; very close to German übung
V v	vector
Y y	yesterday
Z z	zephyr

Notable Linguistic Characteristics

Unlike English, which has a subject-verb-object sentence structure, Azərbaycani generally has a subject-object-verb structure (e.g., "My name Yoda is."), wherein the grammatical functions are indicated by adding various suffixes to fixed stems.  Suffixes on nouns generally indicate gender and number, but there is no grammatical gender, as there is in most Romance Languages.  Azərbaycani also has Turkic vowel harmony where the vowels of suffixes must harmonize with the vowels of nouns and verb stems.  

PC Language Training

In addition to technical training regarding community economic development, our schedule generally includes four hours of formal language training per day, six days a week, conducted by our (awesome!) Language and Cultural Facilitator ("LCF"), which is reinforced by self-study (i.e., homework) and immersion (i.e., host family/community interaction).  It's definitely challenging, but seeing how well the AZ7s and AZ8s communicate in Azərbaycani after two years or one year, respectively, is both inspiring and reassuring.

Baku to the Future

As with general living conditions, internet access varies from PCT to PCT.  Some host families have wifi; some have DSL; some don't have any internet. My own access is limited, so please bear with.

We PCTs are currently stationed in the suburbs of Baku (on the road towards Sumgayit), which we aren't allowed to visit yet, but here's a preview of the capital city.

Baku is Azerbaijan's capital (and largest) city, the oil capital of the Caspian region. This satellite photo shows remarkable details of the city, including numerous port facilities, which are part of the extensive network of offshore oil platforms in the Caspian. The oil platforms off Baku, built in the 1950s and 1960s, were the first offshore oil-drilling efforts in the world. Today, multinational upstream activities, sea-level rise (the Caspian Sea has risen more than 2 m in the past 20 years), offshore platform maintenance, and related environmental impact are hot issues in Baku.  Courtesy of NASA.

Downtown Baku.  Courtesy of CIA World Factbook.

The Maiden Tower, built sometime between A.D. 800 and 1200, is probably the most recognized structure in the Old City of Baku.  Courtesy of CIA World Factbook.

The New Colossus

On the bus ride from staging in Philadelphia to our Delta flight 72 out of JFK, it seemed appropriate somehow that we were not only departing from the airport named for the President who founded the Peace Corps but also that on our way out of the country we caught a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty, shrouded in so much fog that I unfortunately could not get a good picture of it.  Not all the world's tired, poor, huddled masses, yearning to breathe free, have the great fortune of coming to America, so we're going to them.  At the end of this journey, I shall look forward to returning under the glow of world-wide welcome from her beacon-hand.