(No, I don’t keep track of William Shatner’s birthday. It’s just that my blog postings are usually written on some day of significance and today I wanted to write but didn’t know anything significant that happened. So I googled a birthday and this is what I got.)
Today I went for a morning walk for the first time in a very long time. I need to do this more often, and now that it’s light out earlier and the mornings aren’t so cold, I will. It’s not hard to walk on cold mornings; it’s just hard to get out of bed when there’s no heat.
Today I went for a morning walk for the first time in a very long time. I need to do this more often, and now that it’s light out earlier and the mornings aren’t so cold, I will. It’s not hard to walk on cold mornings; it’s just hard to get out of bed when there’s no heat.
During today’s walk I wore my white Nikes, and they attracted a lot of attention. Since moving to Samaxi in December it’s been cold, so I’ve worn my dark brown boots. Those get plenty of stares and dirty looks because they have treads are aren’t the heeled things that most women wear around here. But they never brought me the looks that my white Nikes did this morning. Some people, mostly older women, looked at me with fear. The men looked kind of amused, and some young and middle-aged women just averted their eyes. The people who know me didn’t have any reaction other than the normal friendliness. I just said “sabahiniz xeyir” (good morning) to all of them, and most of them returned it.
I wonder why the older women are afraid of my shoes? I know they see them as little kids’ shoes; nothing for an adult to be wearing, especially someone my age. I wish they’d just try on some Nikes and walk around in them for awhile. Though I guess if they’ve been wearing heels most of their lives, flat shoes might not feel too good. But it’s worth a try. I'll give it a try the next time an open-minded Azeri woman pays a visit.
Older women and professional women are called “xanim,” out of respect. When someone is addressing me in a professional setting, they call me “Julia xanim.” It’s pronounced “hanem” – the “h” is really that hacking noise that comes out of the back of your throat before you spit. It’s a common sound here. Two letters in their alphabet use it: the “x” is a hefty version and a milder version is the “ğ”. Plus, people spit a lot here, so I hear it all the time when I’m walking around. Well, the men spit. Women just hold it all in. They don’t use Kleenex and never blow their noses, but there are lots of people with colds and flus here, so it must go somewhere. I’ve heard Basira spit when she’s in the tualet, so maybe they just wait for the right time and place.
This week when I was out for a walk with Basira and her grandson, she taught him how to spit. His name is Ali and he’s 12. He has a cold that’s clearing up, and he was trying to clear the junk out of his sinuses onto the street by holding one nostril shut and blowing it out. To my relief, Basira told him to stop doing that, but then she told him how to get rid of it another way. She taught him to inhale it into the back of his throat, hack it up, and spit it onto the street. It took him a few tries, but when he finally did it correctly, she patted him on the back and congratulated him with a “sağ ol” which means “thank you,” “good bye,” “good for you,” and a host of other things depending on the context and circumstances. I was amused, not disgusted - I’ve gotten so used to seeing guys spit around here it wasn’t as big a deal as it would have been six months ago.
Older women and professional women are called “xanim,” out of respect. When someone is addressing me in a professional setting, they call me “Julia xanim.” It’s pronounced “hanem” – the “h” is really that hacking noise that comes out of the back of your throat before you spit. It’s a common sound here. Two letters in their alphabet use it: the “x” is a hefty version and a milder version is the “ğ”. Plus, people spit a lot here, so I hear it all the time when I’m walking around. Well, the men spit. Women just hold it all in. They don’t use Kleenex and never blow their noses, but there are lots of people with colds and flus here, so it must go somewhere. I’ve heard Basira spit when she’s in the tualet, so maybe they just wait for the right time and place.
This week when I was out for a walk with Basira and her grandson, she taught him how to spit. His name is Ali and he’s 12. He has a cold that’s clearing up, and he was trying to clear the junk out of his sinuses onto the street by holding one nostril shut and blowing it out. To my relief, Basira told him to stop doing that, but then she told him how to get rid of it another way. She taught him to inhale it into the back of his throat, hack it up, and spit it onto the street. It took him a few tries, but when he finally did it correctly, she patted him on the back and congratulated him with a “sağ ol” which means “thank you,” “good bye,” “good for you,” and a host of other things depending on the context and circumstances. I was amused, not disgusted - I’ve gotten so used to seeing guys spit around here it wasn’t as big a deal as it would have been six months ago.
Lots of things that weren’t normal six months ago are commonplace now, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ll stop coming up with things to write about on my blog. Lots of things that are customary or habit in the States are already lost. And things that seemed unusual to me when I arrived are normal now.
While walking by a butcher this morning, I saw the back half of a seal lying on the ground. It was cut cleanly in half. I don’t know where the head half was, but the back half, with fins, was just lying there on the pavement along a major street that runs through town. Now that was something I’ve never seen before, so it stuck in my memory. But how many things don’t I notice anymore?
And how hard will it be to drive a car when I return? My guess is that I’ll need to practice somewhere safe – a huge, empty parking lot like I did when I was 16.
I just took a break to eat breakfast. The kids who were here yesterday (see The Day After Novruz blog) are still here, and now they’re watching Dennis the Menace cartoons on TV. Dennis, his mom, and especially his dad look really funny with Azerbaijani gibberish coming out their mouths. I couldn’t help laughing.
This particular Dennis the Menace cartoon was set in the Mid-East. The bad guys looked very Persian, with turbans, gowns, black hair and mustaches, and black eyes. The good guys that Dennis hung out were from the Mid-East, too, but they didn’t have so much dark hair, no mustaches, and wore their gowns with shirts and ties under them, like the oil sheiks in Saudi Arabia. And Dennis was riding a camel. I wonder what these kids think of all that? Anything? They’ve probably never been out of Samaxi and probably don’t know anything about the Mid-East. Much of the Azeri culture comes from Iran, but people here don’t seem very fond of that country. There are no gowns or turbans here – the people dress like most Russians/Eastern Europeans. And, regardless of their location or culture, the people see themselves as European. This is the first democracy in this part of the world and, as I’ve said before, they are not religious, though that might be changing as they try to establish their post-Soviet identity. I look forward to watching what happens here.
The local people I know who have enough money are trying to leave. I know a few who are going to the States or Canada and a few who want to go to Western Europe. One is getting a US residence visa for his mom now, and once she is over there, he’ll go over himself. It’s easier to get a residence visa when you have immediate family in the States. But marriage is the quickest and easiest way to get a residence visa, and I know a few American Peace Corps volunteers and employees who have gotten married to Azeris while here.
Most Azeri people don’t have the means to leave, though. And their family ties are super-strong, so if their immediate families can’t go, they rarely leave. Another Azeri I know speaks English, French, and German, and wants to move to Europe. I don’t know what’s keeping her here, but it looks like she’s stuck for now. Someday I’ll ask her.
I received good responses from the blog I sent by email yesterday – most people see this as a pretty tough place to live. What I haven’t talked about is what is easy about it compared to the US. In the US, people are regularly bombarded with decisions, choices, and dealings that create a high-stress environment that I don’t see here. I’ll write more about that later. Right now it’s time to go to the Internet Club to post this and then get some work done.
Çox sağ ol!
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