The Last Blog Post

Over the last three years, we have taken a journey together.

It started In the beginning [link], will end with this last blog post, but oh! there is so much in-between.

I wish I could sum up the best things about my service in just a few sentences, but alas. I cannot. There is so much I want to say about being a PCV, but I have to believe that it has already been written within these pages.

For anyone out there who stumbles upon this blog, I hope the information contained here will help you decide if Peace Corps is right for you (see Frequently Asked Questions [link], the PC Experience [link], PC Life [link] or PC Process [link]. I hope the stories, anecdotes, and soap-box rantings give you some sense of what it means to serve in such a distinguished institution. I have loved at least 78% of every minute of being a PCV. It is hard to imagine the rest of my life as an RPCV, but I know I can do it. Besides, I really don't have a choice. They delete my email from the group listserv this week.

For all those inquisitive folks out there who may be wondering what I will be doing with the rest of my life, I hope to post tiny (one liner) updates from time-to-time. These won't be regular, but I hope to show the impact Peace Corps has had on my life (at least for the next year).

Anyway, before I succumb to the tears threatening to fall any minute now, I just want to say:


Hörmətcilər (Azərbaycanlılar),

Sizinlə xidmət etməyə imkan üçün ən lap daha çox sağ olun. Mənim xidmətim lap əla (zorsa) idi. İndi ən yaxşı Azərbaycanlı dostlarm almışam və sizə görə mənim sevgi gücüm çoxalır. Sağ olun demirəm. Helelik deyirəm.

Oh yeah. And I am not on Facebook. You are going to have to email me [link] if you want to say hi.

I am still working?

Awhile ago, I wrote a post about "checking out" [link]. I find that each PCV goes through a slightly different, yet similar, checking out process. Work slows down and then ends completely. Good-byes are said and last meals shared. Weird handshake-hug-kisses are given and everybody starts crying.

For me, I promised to stop by (Zaqatala) for a few days on my way out of town and fetter out a final action plan for a community English teaching co-op. I also am hoping to edit the final draft of a young girl's university personal statement. I also agreed to spend New Year's with Könül's family before saying my final good-byes. Yeah. This is happening.

Three years ago, I thought leaving would be rather easy. I didn't anticipate the gut-wrenching feelings I would be experiencing or the promises that would rush from my lips (such as, yeah. Give me 6 to 8 months, and I will be back). As I sit here in Baku, being poked and prodded, I know that this is just a check box in the final chapter of Löki's life as a PCV and the beginning of my life as an RPCV.

Four Days

In 4 days, I will be an RPCV.

I find this rather unbelievable, thus I have committed to avoiding the obvious. I think this is very healthy* and although I appreciate the countless PCVs, friends, and family who call/email/Twitter questions, when my procrastination results in my very healthy and normal emotional breakdown and I finally make a post-Peace Corps plan, I will let you know.

So...more "Happy Holiday" emails please. Less, "So, what's the plan" Tweets.

*Yup. I get that this plan is a bad plan. I just have no idea why it is more scary pondering my inevitable return to the U.S. than it was preparing for three two years overseas.

Ready to Start Missing Outhouses

Just this week, Könül took me to her mother's village to say good-bye to her family and see this infamous place (infamous because we talk about it all the time, but I always seem to have an excuse not to take the 30 minute bus out there).


After a wonderful (read: WONDERFUL) lunch of fried potatoes and canned green tomatoes, we took a quick trip around the vil. Of course, I first needed to stop by the non-portable porta-potty. One of the cleanest outhouses I have visited in Azerbaijan, I have decided these puppies are not going to be something I miss. Bring on the squishy toilet seat covers and fluffy rugs!

Turmoil

That is what I am experiencing right now.

Well, that and immense procrastination.

Today, the new Az9 Zaqatala Volunteer off-handedly commented that it's got to be hard leaving after being here for 3 years.

Yeah.

It is.

I remember the day I left Alaska for Philadelphia (the staging site for PC Azerbaijan). I had signed up to ride stand-by and was lucky to get a seat on the earliest flight out of Nome. My dad and friends were waiting at the airport to say good-bye, and I barely waived to them as I bounded out to the plane. It seems so long ago now, and such a different time. I arrived in NY and hung with family - making jokes and being silly up until I stood in line waiting at the hotel to sign in and begin the next 2 years of my life. I stood, sandwiched between a young man named Charlie and another named Evan. We talked about blog-stalking each other and our ridiculous pre-service blog posts. After those awkward moments, I found my hotel room and met a person who would become one of my closest friends in PC, Amy T. (Amy and I would eventually be placed at the same site together). Later, I sat at a round table, across from a guy from Alabama (who I later learned studied Russian at his Alabama university and played in an instrumental rock band) and a couple who arrived later than late. That evening, I would find out that the husband of that duo shared the same birthday as me (along with half a dozen other similarities). Hours later, I would agree to head to dinner with a group of unfamiliar people and inadvertently try to shame a devout Jewish friend because he refused to add bacon to his veggie burger. He would also become one of my closer friends, a person who eventually (and unknowingly) lead me to the faith I now claim wholeheartedly.

Arriving at JFK, I would eat at least 4 Hebrew National hotdogs while waiting for our plane to leave and annoy a young man enough that he thought I was the most anal-retentive person alive. Three months later, we were inseparable.

In Azerbaijan, I would puzzle over why locals were not eating dinner (we arrived at the tail-end of Ramadan) and persuade an Azerbaijan to exercise with me in the early morning after less than 4 hours of sleep. Three days later, I was introduced to my host family which I never imagined would be the beginning of the next 3 years of my life.

I have had 4 birthdays in Peace Corps (one while waiting for the plane to taxi away from the Nome airpot), 4 Christmases, a standing case of ringworm that just migrates across my body, lost 15 lbs, gained 15 lbs, ate sheep head soup, and pooped in my pants.

How will I ever top all that?

From LCF to PCV*

On December 8, I officially have been here longer than dirt, well, that's not true...but I have definitely been here longer than high-speed wireless Internet.

Anyway, the newest group of PCVs (Az9) swore-in (went from trainees to Volunteers) last week. Although I arrived a bit frustrated (bad day for mass transiting), it was a surreal moment. But, let's forget about all that for a moment and focus on the topic of this post...which is not that.

A few days after, I was finally back in Könül's home [with Könül], eating dinner and listening to her struggle to describe the last 3 months to her family. Pictures were shown, videos played, stories told, but it was obvious Könül was having difficultly capturing how her experience changed her.

Later that night, we sat and talked about her future. All we needed to do was replace her smiling face with mine and there would be no difference between us.

It never occurred to me how similar our experiences would be. For non-Bakuvian LCFs, spending 3 months away from family, living with a host fam (yup, they have to do that too), and experiencing Bakuvian life, well, it is almost as foreign to them as going from the US to Azerbaijan is for us PCVs. Dialects are different, new customs are introduced, and don't get me started on the food...Zaqatala is no Baku. Adjusting and teaching six-days a week must have been a bucket load similar to the beginnings of Peace Corps life anywhere. Geez. It seems so apparent now...

Anyhoo, here Könül is, going through readjustment after returning home, just like I will be. A little scary and intimidating, I find it ironic that just last week I was worried that in a few months, Könül and I would have nothing to talk about. Eh. Not a problem now.

*LCF=Language and Cultural Facilitator & PCV=Peace Corps Volunteer

"Checking Out"

So, there is this phenomenon that happens around COS (Close of Service) to all PCVs. It happens to each of us at a different time and in a slightly different way, but it follows a pretty common path. For now, let's call it...checking out.

I mean, that is what everybody else calls it, so we might as well stick with the verbiage, right?

Anyway, everybody checks out at one time or another. Whether it is changing jobs or moving to a new city, distancing yourself from those around you (and procrasinating packing up your crap) - this a pretty normal thing. Still, in Peace Corps it all takes on that special emotional tint (ahhhh! Spider crawling on my computer screen. Help!) that colors everything involving service.

In this case, it involves finding closure to a chapter in your life and (possibly) concluding those intense emotional bonds you have developed over the last two years. It also means finishing up grant reports, filling out all the final paperwork, and making future plans...something I am not succeeding at right now.

Anyway...speaking for myself, checking out has been a battle. In all honestly, I don't want to do it. I am procrastinating like crazy. I have no idea when I will return to Azerbaijan. I am hoping sooner than later, but...I'm currently jobless, a plane ticket costs lost of money, and I kind of don't want to increase my enviro footprint anymore than I already have - flying to Alaska is gonna burry me.

So...for all intents and purposes, this really is good-bye.

I know, I know. There is email and Skype and the U.S. Postal Service (Inshallah), but come on! It's gonna be hard keeping contact. Inherently, my life is on different path than those here in Azerbaijan and trying to maintain the bridge between the two worlds is going to be a struggle. Living here was the easy part. Now, somehow, I think maintaing these relationships will be the hardest part of my service.

Yup. I scared the spider away with my Spider-Scare-Away face.

I am weird now.

I mean, I was totally weird before. Who (in their right mind) relates everything to Star Trek episodes? It is just, now I can relate everything to not just Star Trek The Next Generation, but also Star Trek Voyager, and Star Trek Deep Space Nine. I am working on my Original Series references.

I have spent an inordinate amount of time watching Star Trek series in Peace Corps.

Okay. Back on topic, and not Star Trek related, I am weird. I noticed this a few days ago when I was trying to talk with a friend about faith and went off on a bunny trail about my bowel movements.

Who does that?

PCVs (soon-to-be RPCVs). That's who.

Three years of Peace Corps service and I am way more socially awkward than I already was. Now, when I see a girl and boy walking alone together I cannot help but get whiplash from staring at them. Casual touches from boy - friends make me agitated and the idea of not spending all my computer time parked in front of a space heater or floor fan seems too foreign to contemplate.

Adjusting to a different culture, a different way of viewing the world, was hard. I struggled for 6 months to understand simple concepts that even children here instinctively knew (like standing when someone important enters a room). Three years later, I have to re-adjust to my own culture after years of being away. I am worried I won't be able to do it. I am worried I will make a spectacle of myself or freak out in a shopping aisle. I worry about having normal conversations that do not revolve around how much fiber I had that week.

I know these are all normal parts of preparing for re-entry, but I feel like I am going to be the odd man out at every turn. I know. I know. I should not be worrying about this...but I am.

Doing All The Things

As my COS date gets closer, I have noticed something off-putting:

I am becoming frantic. 

Last week, I listened to 13 back-logged NPR Fresh Air podcasts. Two days ago, I catalogued all my books and brought half to Baku. Guess I will not be reading Schindler's List anytime soon (even though it has been on my to-read list for the last three years).

Doing All the Things has become kind of a mantra for me. Too bad most of "all the things" won't happen. I wanted to learn to write and read Russian. I wanted to read the entire Quran. I wanted to go to Turkey. So many things I wanted to do and now my three years are up. I've started to ask myself what the heck have I been doing with my time, but stopped. It's too late to look back on all my missed opportunities. Now, I can only look forward and make a list of all the things I want to get done in the U.S. - Geez. That's what I should have done in the first place, made a list.

Totally wrote this on my new-used iPhone, Spot.

The Emotional Roller Coaster

Today, something frustrating happened. As a PCV who's getting ready to leave this country, I find my emotions are on a hair's trigger. I remember feeling this way when I first arrived, but somewhere down the line, everything just sort of balanced out. I began to understand the cultural nuances and chalked a lot of stuff up to a lack of information and access to diversity.

Fast-forward to today and I wanted to dress down that curious grandpa in the most harshest of ways. I also wanted to immediately call someone and complain. I wanted to get online and rave. I needed to have my feelings validated.

This emotional stress does happen a lot when you are a PCV. It's hard, being so far away from other Americans and especially the friends and family that you know would agree with you because they got your back. I read the current trainees' blogs and I remember how it felt to just have arrived in this country and ride that emotional roller coaster. I just can't believe I am on it again.

It's hard, taking that deep breath and reminding yourself of all the things you know. When I do call a friend to complain, I often get dressed-down myself. I overreacted. I mitigated the importance of cultural communication styles. I misinterpreted the intentions. A part of me wants to explain away saying," I know, I get it. I've been here 3 years." I also know that just because I've got those 3 years under my belt doesn't mean I am some all-knowing and powerful PCV who can dictate the cultural norms. I still make mistakes. I still struggle.

It just sucks that that emotional roller coaster sticks with you for your entire service. Sometimes you are on the big climb up and other times you are plunging back down. Personally, I try to keep all the crazy contained as I know regardless of how well I explain it, I inevitably will just make my host country and myself look bad if all I did was write the negative. Conversely, writing just the positive makes for bland reading. Finding that balance, well, that is part of the roller coaster too.

The Calm Before the Storm

So, a few days ago, I was hanging out in my house, watching my cinnamon rolls rise when I thought to myself: I really should get to job searching. Eh. I will do that tomorrow.

I woke up the next day, less than excited to start my Internet searching when BAM! (more like bam..., but I am using artistic license to make this story more exciting), I looked out my window to see snow blanketing the trees and icicles hanging from my laundry.

I also realized I had no power.

So, I shrugged my shoulders and worked on my DOS (Description of Service - a comprehensive document detailing everything I have done during the last three years...yeah. I was bored).

I then decided that for the remaining 30% of my computer battery life, I would read an epub version of Percy Jackson and the Titan's Curse [link].

I was confident the power would come back on.

Later that day, I finished The Emperor of Scent [link] (interesting book) and started The Life of Pi [link].

I decided to make Thai pumpkin soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

The power did not return.

I decided the last 25% of my iPhone battery life should be spent listening to the audiobook version of The Scarlet Letter [link] (free on iTunes!).

I wrote three letters by candlelight.

I went to bed at 9:45 p.m.

I woke up at 7:15 a.m. Still, no power.

I took a shower with just my Nalgene solar lantern [link] to light my way.

I put on every pair of long underwear I own and then jeans, two sweaters, two pairs of socks, and my super slippers [link].

I boiled water and washed dishes.

I visited my favorite vegetable seller in the bazar and brought her throat lozenges (she is sick).

I went looking for electricity to charge my phone (futile attempt).

I returned home and by 4:50 p.m., the lights were flickering on and off. I unplugged my refrigerator.

I melted the ends of candles so they would stand upright in a dish.

My host brother called. We went and got tea. He showed me pictures of his most recent trip to the U.S.

I returned home to semi-constant light (8:30 p.m.).

I woke up at 7:45 a.m. and the lights were on! I wonder if that milk is still good?

(Apparently parts of town are still without power and local gossip is that it will be a week before everybody has power again. Geez.)

So, what is the point of this story? Well, I learned two things:

1. Using an electric space heater to heat your tiny apartment in a country where electricity is inconsistent at best is not fun; and,
2. I really should have brought more single-player board games that do not require ambient light...or, a solar-charger.

The End is Nearing...

I keep starting this post and then putting it off. I know I should stop writing, hit publish and then [really] begin the process of saying good-bye. I mean, in just a few short months, its gonna be that old adage

You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

Geez. [This is usually the point where I stop writing and instead queue up an episode of Star Trek Voyager].

It's been such a wild ride. Just the other day, I came to another one of those big, life-changing realizations when I ran smack dab into another cultural habit that I have never heard of. It blows my mind that every day I learn more than a handful of new things even when I have been here for 3 (+) years.

I mean, come on!

It is just...whew. I cannot believe these past 3 years have gone by so fast. Wasn't I just celebrating turning 25 and heading off to begin my adventure? Didn't I just spend 30 minutes trying to explain to my host mom that it's not that I don't like milk it's that I cannot drink milk without horrible consequences (still have no idea how to say consequence in Azerbaijani)?

Time has really flown by and here I am, procrastinating on the next step. I still have yet to really get down to the nitty-gritty of job searching (I am holding out for my dream fellowship) and I haven't even confirmed my COS date with staff. All I got is a ban on out-of-country travel (during a PCV's first three months and last three months of service, travel outside of their host country is prohibited) and an email box full of end-of-service documents to start working on.

Geez (again)...I will keep you posted on what's what - unless you all have suggestions…