If you haven't experienced being a host student, let me tell you what goes on in our minds: What if they hate me? What if they can't understand anything I'm trying to say? What if they completely neglect my entire existence? What do I talk to them about? What's dinner going to be like? What if I accidentally do something to offend them? What if they are terrible cooks? WHAT IF THEY ONLY HAVE A TURKISH TOILET?
I heard my name, and the coordinator was standing next to these two ladies, seemingly the same age. Maybe sisters? Somewhere in their twenties? They were smiling, what could go wrong?
... Turns out one of them was my age, Ula. And her mother, standing next to her, I could never actually figure out what her name was. I had no idea what in the world to call her that entire trip. They never really introduced themselves, and if they did my mind was overwhelmed by so many other things I never stored a name in my mind. Soooo, I just avoided any situation I'd have to address her.
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| My Host sister |
One thing about Azerbaijanis: They are way more stylish than anyone I've seen in America. All the time. The other day I went with bare feet and my bathing suit into the gas station, and that would sound so crazy there. No matter where we were going throughout the course of the trip, be it down the road to the little tendir (a special bread) vendor or to drop me off somewhere, there was a long process of make up application and hair styling. But man, did they look awesome. Plus, my host mother and sister were both gorgeous to begin with, so I always felt less impressive next to them, but that was okay. It was like being with models.
When you first meet these people you've never spoken to who you're going to live with for the next while, amusingly enough no words come to mind. So I just stood there, still trying to figure out if they were sisters, while my host mom kissed me on both cheeks and spewed random exclamations of enthusiasm, which I reciprocated after coming back to the real world.
We walked down to the car, which my host dad was waiting in, and were on our way.
Another thing about driving in Azerbaijan: It's common to not use your seat belt. In fact, all the cars I was in had these little seat belt end attachments that plugged into where your seat belt buckle should go, so the sound didn't go off. No seat belts on, just the attachment. I found that amusing. But not when I wanted to be buckled and there was this fancy seat cover in the back, preventing any access to what I have been taught was a lifeline my whole upbringing.
Well, when in Rome...
Then I got a big surprise. My mom, who took two months of an English class just to be able to talk to me (which still touches me. That was so sweet.) tried to explain where we were going. "Have you heard of the singer Emin?" No. "Would you like to go to a concert?" ... Now? Sure!
So with that, my sister would be accompanying me to my first concert.
But this was not anything like an American concert. Which is why I didn't see any concern in my tee shirt, jean shorts, and crazy ponytail get up. I mean, I've been to American concerts now and that's completely normal to wear.
It turns out ball gowns were actually quite acceptable at this here concert. Actually, everyone besides the fan club at the front of this open-air stadium filled with chairs and balloons looked like they belonged on the red carpet. And then there was me. The only white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, and so obviously American female there.
Azerbaijan doesn't have many foreigners visit. As in, by the end of the trip if we ever saw foreigners, we could easily pick them out and got excited over their presence. Also, Azerbaijanis have a habit of staring. Hardcore staring. In pre-orientation, we were warned of this, and to just look away. Their heads will follow you, and they didn't seem to make any effort to hide their staring. It was amusing after I was used to it, but the first night already self-conscious, I wasn't ready to be laughing at that situation.
But it turned out to be quite a bit of fun. Concerts, at least this one, are more formal there, everyone stayed in their chairs until the end, except for between songs when fans with gifts were allowed onstage with Emin to give him their flowers or whatever, and receive a hug and a smile. It was quite charming, actually. It was more personal and touching than the more closed-off concerts here.
After the concert, our parents picked us up and we went on a walk around the gorgeous city of Baku. This was my favorite time in the city, just walking around at night, seeing everything lit up. Because, really, everything was lit up. Blues, reds, greens, pinks, oranges, neons- it reminded me of Las Vegas but incredibly more classy. It was magical, and really can't be properly described, as hard as I may try.
We walked along the bay of the Caspian Sea, the Flame Towers in the background lit up sometimes like flames, and sometimes like the Azerbaijani flag waving majestically to imagined wind. The breeze was blowing off the water, and my family pointed to various things and spoke in broken, but understandable, English (except my dad, who only knew a couple words) what they were, and the history behind everything.
I noticed that you could ask almost anyone, and they knew the stories behind the city's wonders. The myth behind the Maiden's Tower, the purpose of the Flame Towers, the legend behind the window with the cat statue in Old Baku- everyone knew them. And, these things had stories to begin with. In America, there doesn't seem to be as much appreciation and interest in the little things. I mean, sure, there's always those statues you see around that may have some history, but how much does anyone care? Unless they're major historical figures, chances are few people actually know who that person is, and what they did. Without plaques, the citizens of Baku all seemed to know the stories of even the littlest details of their city. And it showed so much well-deserved pride in their country.
I learned about my family, as well. My sister was in the equivalent of junior year in America (they only have 11 years of school), and was the translator whenever my parent's decided attempting English is a waste of time for all they wanted to say. She knew she was pretty, and every opportunity presented fixed herself in a reflection. But heck, if I looked like her, I would too. Although there was never anything wrong in her reflection.
My mother, she tried her best to use English at all times with me. From what I understood, she was pretty high up in her business, which I think was a... Soda company? It may have been a car company. But she got free soda from her work... I don't know, she was in an office building and in meetings all day. She loved taking selfies. Like, loved it. Several times we stopped so she could take selfies with her husband. It was kind of cute, really, their poses.
My host dad, I loved him so much. He spoke little to no English, but he didn't need to for me to understand him. He mainly stayed to himself, but once he showed me this card trick. Basically, I rearranged cards like he showed me to by demonstration, until there were four piles. My sister translated that the top cards would read my thoughts, and I flipped them over one by one. They were all Jacks. "Boys, boys, boys, boys!" my dad exclaimed, and I burst into laughter. The one word he knew was "boys." They all laughed along with me, and I still look back on this as one of the most bonding moments we had.
Still walking around the night, sipping on the fresh-squeezed lemon-orange juice my dad bought for me from this orange-shaped juice stand, we headed back to the car around 12 am. Through the empty marble walkways, past the disco clubs pounding with heavy beats, under the dim street lights loyally showing us the way, the beauty of the city never ceases to amaze.
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| My Host Parents |
But the amazement flickered when the car ride came to be over 30 minutes... 40... 50... Where are we going.... You know I have to come back here by 10 am tomorrow, right? Oh, twisty dirt roads, great. Absence of buildings? I feel safe. Will someone please tell me where we're going? I started to get nervous.
Their summer house turned out to be over and hour away from the city. The traffic from the morning crossed my mind, but I figured they knew what they signed up for. So, we ate this marvelous late dinner (they don't seem to believe in early bed times. 2/3 A.M? No problem. It was hard to keep up with.) and they showed me my room, which was so roomy and way nicer than I had dreamed of. I just, I really appreciate everything they did for me. I need to get that out there.
Oh, they don't wear shoes in the house. I was never informed of this. I didn't notice everyone take off their shoes and exchange them for house shoes, they did it so smoothly. So when I walked in, I didn't understand the reaction from my host dad, who jumped and started exclaiming something, and my host mom gently pulled me back into the entry way and handed me some slippers. Oh.
CULTURE TIME!
Toilet paper. Well, that wasn't a thing everywhere. Including this house. We had been warned about it, but in public places they did have toilet paper, so it didn't seem to be a big deal. I was not prepared for actually having to deal with it.
Instead, they have this spray-hose next to the toilet.
I'll leave you to figure the rest out. I never fully did.
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They had a shower room. Not just a shower in a bathtub in a separate room, but like, you walked in to this little closet-sized tiled walkway, shut the door, and through another door was the entire shower room, the size of a large walk-in closet.
It took AGES to figure out how in the world to work it. And how to get it hot. And when it got super hot, how to get it cold. But it was interesting.
The thing is, my family didn't have any reservations with me being there. I was a bit surprised when my shirtless mother walked into my room to make sure everything went fine with my shower, if I needed anything, goodnight! It definitely made me feel as part of the family, but I don't know if I needed to be that part of the family. Oh well.
Sometimes in books, the character says "I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow." I never understood this until I got into bed that night.
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