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

How to Bucket Bath an Afro

You will need

1 metal bucket
1 plastic bowl
2 large washing tubs
An "eh" towel

The Process 

1. Bring a metal bucket full of water to a boil. Performing an entire bucket bath (i.e. washing yourself too) is not recommended. You will need to boil a lot of water and you will get cold and annoyed quickly.
2. While waiting for the water to boil, separate your hair into 4 sections.
3. Remove water from stove and carry to your hamam. Be careful not to douse yourself in boiling hot water. That is not fun and it makes a HUGE mess.
4. Fill a large washing tub half-way full of cold water. Pour in half the bucket. Check the temperature (remembering your head is way more sensitive than your hand) and adjust as necessary.
5. Kneel over another washing tub. A rolled-up towel placed under your knees helps.
6. Unbind one section of hair and using a medium-sized plastic mixing bowl (plastic is necessary), wet the section, using your fingers to help the process along. Repeat with each section, re-binding each section afterwards.
7. If the water is too cold, scoop out some hot water and pour into the washing tub. The plastic bowl will not shatter with the temperature change.
8. Unbind a section and work in shampoo or whatever you are using (I have been using a mixture of Castile soap and baking soda - great for dandruff). Re-bind.
9. Rinse using previously described rinsing method.
10. Unbind a section and work in conditioner if using. Repeat rinsing method (re-filling water bucket as necessary and dumping used water as necessary). Make sure to pay special attention to the hair line as getting water to these parts can be difficult.

Good luck. My back always hurts afterwards.