Gobustan, Mud Volcanoes, and Clubbing

Gobustan. Basically history in it's most preserved form. This wasn't just Azerbaijan history anymore, this trip was all about the origins of humankind. Driving out to this barren, desert wasteland, us Arizonians were feeling quite at home. Then the van tilted up, and those of us formerly playing card games and singing in the back became focused on the views that were flying by at 50 miles per hour. 

It was like taking a trip back in time. Besides the building at the top that served as the little museum for this nationally reserved park, no buildings. No signs of life. 

We got out, ruining the eerie silence with our noisy rambling, and trotted towards this museum that gave us a small tour that was probably super informative and interesting. I wasn't really into the whole "walk along and earnestly pay attention and memorize every detail" mood so... I honestly can't tell you a thing I learned in that museum. I do remember it was pretty interactive and had some cool computers that were supposedly intended to virtually color pictures of cavemen, but ain't nobody got time for that. 

There was this cool fish though. 

There was this room with the hieroglyphics deciphered in possible ways 

When I say Gobustan was history, I mean that for miles and miles there are well-preserved mountainous cave drawings. Carvings, scratches, imprints, fossils- this is the place to go if you want ancient history. And although I've never really cared for that ancient of history, this was fascinating seeing in person. With the quiet, the view of the Caspian Sea in the background, and the breeze that made the sun quite tolerable, who wouldn't enjoy this outing? 

After a break to check out the view, take pictures of nearby carvings, and pose off the ledge of this cliff dramatically, we boarded the bus and headed a couple miles to the mud volcanoes. This is what we really wanted to see.

We didn't know what to expect. But then we climbed up this strenuous hill and saw what they meant by "mud volcanoes." You see, these were active.

So, these mini volcanoes were bubbling along with this gray, smooth, and so tempting to touch mud. The strangest part was that when you expected it to be hot, it was quite cool. Apparently, there are spas around Azerbaijan that take this kind of mixture and put it on your skin. When we heard that, we were all over it.

Well... TInley fell in. While trying to clean herself. Half a leg, covered in wet mud. Funny!

Free spa? All over it! Or... its all over me... 

It was leadership training in itself helping one another go up and down these rocky and incredibly unstable hills. We all got super dirty. But it was fun playing with the dried mud chips and splashing with weird textured mud.

Mud covered, tired, and laughing, we had to go back eventually. Except it kind of slipped our minds that we were going to a party tonight. Like, right then. Oops. Worth it!

We made it back to the Caspian Business Center and immediately walked over to this party a couple blocks down the road. We knew there was quite a few other kids from some other program, and they were all waiting for us to arrive. What we didn't know that this was basically a club but without alcohol.

We walked in, cheers erupted, and the well-lit room turned into the classic night-club scene. Neon swirls dancing across our faces, heavy beats of the bass drum vibrating our bones, bodies everywhere- dancing, laughing, singing. Sweating, throbbing, disorientation, this sick feeling creeping up, the Americans slowly dropping out and the Azerbaijanis jamming on.

I had a blast, honestly. But I seemed to be one of the few. Many people were found outside, trying to get fresh air after only half an hour. I really just wanted to continue dancing.

Unfortunately, I had to leave soon. That was a funny story in itself. My family attempted to call me several times, but I could never really hear them no matter where I went, and understanding was a whole different story.

Thank my lucky stars my friend Kamran was willing to take the time to talk to my host sister to give directions to where I was, stayed outside with me until my dad got there, and went to talk to my dad and translated to me that he said "We miss her at home, we love having her."

As the lit-up Baku sped by the quiet car containing myself and my host dad, I really just wanted to keep dancing.

How Internally Displaced Persons Changed My Life

Long story short, because of the war with Armenia there are now over one million IDP (internally displaced persons) in the country of 9 million. So over 11% of the population has been kicked out of their homes and the livelihoods they spent generations in. Places of worship have been burnt down, villages and homes destroyed, and the territory taken over. Basically, these people needed places to go until they are able to get their homes back. So, IDP camps formed. And we were able to visit one.

You may have read about these places. You see them on the news. You understand that these people are going through something terrible. But unless you've experienced it, you don't really understand. I can't begin to fathom how it must feel to lose everything and not even be allowed in the vicinity of where you're entire world has ever been. And seeing where they were relocated, seeing the pain in the parent's faces and the way the children interacted, it was something I wasn't quite emotionally prepared for.

Photo credit in this post goes to the lovely Maggie Broderick, one of the American adult participants.

While driving down the road to the residence, the apartment buildings we drove up to could have easily been a set of The Walking Dead- obviously needed better construction and some upkeep that just needed funding. We were warned before hand of a couple things to expect:

-The kids won't share. They have so little that everything you give to them (we brought them paint and brushes- we were going to paint a mural on a wall in the middle grounds), they feel like they need to save it, protect it. 

-Don't take pictures with the [older] kids (especially for American girls, don't let the boys take pictures with you with their devices). I was told this was because they did undesirable things with said photos. To be honest, no one followed this rule. 

-Parents can be grabby. Like the kids, they don't have many possessions. For example, one of the American adults was showing a mother a postcard, and the mother grabbed it and took it into her room and didn't return. 

-No one speaks much English. Maybe a few words. Be warned.

The home for everyone in this camp.

The play area for the kids- wall decorated!

So with that, we entered. First we were brought into this small, two-roomed school and sat down with the 50-odd kids aged maybe 4-16. We were told those two tiny rooms served as the only school available. At first, the children all stayed slightly away from us, which I couldn't help but be reminded of abused puppies trying to figure out if they could trust a new person or not. 

Then we were brought out to play games with the kids. When at first these games were awkward and had no direction, soon groups broke off into their own games. The kids, warming up to our smiles and paint offerings, wanted to play. Two boys had me chase them around for about half an hour until I threw in the towel, and then they ran off to their own fun. A little girl painting on the wall asked me how to spell my name and wrote it for me in paint with a happy smile, which was rather touching.

The kids started interacting fairly fast

But the kids soon became demanding. When the paint ran out, they came to us asking for more. We were told they were used to this sort of thing. Foreigners come, give them stuff, and leave. Its a norm, and they try to milk everything they can get, because why wouldn't they?

Which makes me feel sick, sick that this has happened to living beings, sick that there isn't more being done to help. There doesn't seem to be any sight of permanency to these kids, and the few constants in their lives aren't in any way comfortable.

Paint out, American teens continually being warily reminded by the Azerbaijani YLPers and adults that we should stop posing for pictures the kids were taking, running out of things to do, and having hardly a basis for communication. What to do?

Well, as I walked up to two twins wearing matching red kitten shirts, I smiled and decided to attempt to teach duck duck goose.

Alright, so trying to teach some first graders how to play even this game without having language as a tool proves difficult. But somehow, I managed to get the idea across. And when the two girls were seen running in a circle around me, giggling and tapping each other's heads, others joined. So suddenly we had a rousing game of their own version of duck duck goose in the middle of the playground. That kind of rocked. Except man, those guys were fast.

Soon kids just ran up to me beckoning for me to pat their heads, because they associated that with being able to chase someone. That was cute.

This was a bittersweet experience. Seeing a camp like this first hand, it really showed how little they had. Yet, it was fun being able to make their day better, seeing the smiles and running around with kids who were proud to show off what they had. Who know, maybe several years from now they'll look at that wall we painted and remember the fun we had that afternoon. Maybe we had an effect on their lives, maybe they'll tell their own kids about it.

But then again, maybe not. We were just another round of tourists with gifts. Maybe as soon as we left they were asking their parents when the next tourists were coming. The only thing they really have to look forward to. Just another afternoon of pitying, oblivious, and weird-sounding foreigners who bring gifts like candy and toys.

I want to create something permanent for them. I want to go back, I want them to have trust and confidence in something positive. I want them to have things to share, to have education to grow so they can get out of this rut that must be so, terribly challenging to escape from. I want them to not see foreigners as just strangers, but as friends.

Non Governmental Organizations

Arriving half an hour late, I walked into the darkened classroom and quietly began  listening to presentations focused on nonprofit organizations.

Non-governmental Organizations, NGOs, were something I hadn't even heard of. Easy enough to figure out by the name, but I didn't expect the entire idea to sweep me off my feet and enchant me with common sense and inspiring goals. Representatives from a couple of major NGOs all over the world came to tell us about who they are, what they do, and how we could help. Such as:

Oxfam International (<http://www.oxfam.org/en/about>), an organization dedicated to fighting poverty (1 in 3 people in the world live in poverty) by teaching communities innovative solutions to hunger, thirst, and job handling.

Education Public Support Association of Youth of Azerbaijan (EPSAYA) (<http://www.epsaya.az/index.php>): Has a goal of building life skills in youth by hosting trainings, debates, clubs, classes, and various events in order to raise social awareness. They also have domestic violence help centers and staff.

United Aid for Azerbaijan (UAFA) (<http://www.uafa.az/en/index.php?lang=en>): Was founded to "aid long-term development of life in Azerbaijan, with particular focus on children, health and education." Only 23% of children in Azerbaijan have access to school (only 16% in rural areas), and this program focuses on education, reaching out, and helping one another instead of giving up.

SOS Children's Villages (my personal favorite) (<http://www.sos-childrensvillages.org/>): This organization works on social intervention with abusive homes, and serves as an orphanage or place for children who need a home to go. We actually had the privledge of visiting an SOS center, and I was impressed by what I saw. Although this program is under-funded, there was a little community of houses in which each house had about 11 kids living in with one or two "mothers" to take care of them all. They had education, food, and shelter for these kids who otherwise would have nothing, and although they are struggling, they continue to save children all the time in locations all over the world.

These were just a couple of the presentations we had this day. The realization I had this day was as such:

Americans are so privileged. As in, there is no place in America you could go and see the amount of despair, hopelessness, and poverty you find in other countries. Not even close. 23% of Azerbaijani kids have access to schools? That's insane. While here, kids are required to go to school, and we complain about it! Sitting in the computer lab full of updated Windows computers, doing our free college-level classwork surrounded by kids we've grown up with in this educational system, full from the lunch we packed or bought from school, ready for the last bell to ring so we can get on the supplied transportation to go to our granite-countered, air conditioned, and modern homes. And we have the audacity complain.

I immediately noticed a difference in the approach to school my Azerbaijani acquaintances had as opposed to myself and friends here in America. They, overall, seem much more joyed to go to school. I mean, of course they talked about how classes are sometimes boring or their teachers were mean, but I never heard anything close to a "I hate school!" Everyone was positive towards the concept. Appreciative. Generally (again, there are always exceptions. I'm not saying that every single person is unappreciative all the time), we don't appreciate what we have here as much as we should comparatively.

Countries treat the  educational system like a competition. What country is ranked where? How can we beat the "super smart countries" like China and Japan? Let's add new Mac books, technology, longer teacher training programs, fix up the bumps in the sidewalk to create a cleaner-looking learning environment. Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent every year on unneeded "improvements" to the "educational system," while we leave other countries who could actually use that money to, I don't know, get access to schools?

How about instead of needing to compete against the world, we work together. If countries could put their ideas, their tools, their backgrounds and knowledge and experiences together, that's when we would all win. While I do agree that competition does create incentive for improvement, why couldn't improvement itself be an incentive?  Instead of saying "We must beat the Russians to space!" we could have made faster and more impressive scientific discoveries if we had instead said "Hey Russia, want to help us build a rocket?" Boom. Efficiency.

It's easy. There is no law saying "don't cooperate with other countries," no rule that specifies "good" countries from the "bad" ones. All we have to do is work together, and then when everyone is caught up, when the poverty-struck countries are self-sustaining and have access to education and resources and technologies, then their input would help move the world along even faster.

1 of 3 people live in poverty. That's 33% of the world that could be chipping in to progression.

Azerbaijani History and the Ambassador

After the meeting over the Nargorno-Karabakh dispute, we headed over to a near-by cafe where I ordered a rather displeasing fish salad and this decent chicken soup. Some adventures don't work out.

Afterwards, we went to an old mansion that had been donated as a museum, and were able to see first-hand how gorgeous interior design was in old-fashioned Azerbaijani buildings. The museum gave us these bags to put over our shoes in order to not track anything in to the house, so the twenty-odd group of chattering Americans made their way through a guided tour full of historical facts and wonderful architecture decisions.  

They had some random framed things, such as this traditional rug.

I'm obsessed with the chandeliers in this mansion. Such ornate detail was given to everything, especially the ceilings. 

This is traditional Azerbaijani woman's wear. My friends have dresses like these for special occasions, such as the holiday Novruz.

Again, the ceiling. Hours upon hours must have been spent with this detail. It was absolutely stunning. 

One room had a ceiling entirely of fragmented glass like this. The effect was dazzling. 

Next came the party. I don't believe I've thus far mentioned this invitation that everyone on the program received a few days before departure:

The Ambassador of the United 

States of America

Richard L. Morningstar

requests the pleasure of the

company of 

Ms. Marissa Beseda

at a reception

in honor of the Youth

Leadership Program

Participants

on Friday, July 12, 2013

at 6:30 p.m.

We were all excited. An invitation to the Ambassador's residence? Who else can say they've had that opportunity? We had no idea what to expect. I was thinking something along the lines of a formal, business-y dinner and a quiet meeting with the Ambassador. 

I probably should have just given up on my predictions.

First, we arrived at this old, torn, and grubby-looking painted brick wall. Just dropped off in the middle of this more ghetto area, us students having no clue why we were there. Then slowly we were let through this high gate, having our names checked at the entrance. It felt like I was a part of some exclusive party, and my name was "on the list."

If there was ever a real-life application of the saying "don't judge a book by it's cover," this would be it. The old, mangy wall was hiding this ginormous, extravagant mansion that was bright yellow with white columns and stood in the back of a large courtyard, where people were already gathering. 

We put our personal things inside his front closet and headed out to converse with the other internationally involved students. Then some signal I missed brought everyone into the front room where a dinner of assorted finger foods, both American and Azerbaijani, were being feasted upon. 

So far, pretty chill. Nothing incredibly unexpected. Until a little speech by the Ambassador ended with "Azerbaijani's love to dance" and a DJ came out and started blasting popular music. And before I could fully come to terms with what was happening, we were having a dance party in front of the Ambassador of the United States's residence. Not only that, but he was jamming along with us. This 68 year old man dancing to Nikki Minaj and Lady Gaga. 

That's a sight I never expected to see. 

But it was fun. Occasionally the DJ would play a traditional Azerbaijani song and they would teach us Americans how to dance, which we pretty much failed at but laughed while trying. A conga line, partner dancing, everyone singing the chorus to assorted songs, it was movie-like. 

Myself with two amazing sisters in front of the Ambassador's

Unfortunately, it had to come to an end. My name was called by a security guard, and I said goodbye to all of my new and old friends and headed out the huge gates that separated me from the comfort of familiarity into complete confusion. 

My family wasn't there. Just this strange man and a couple random cars. I looked around awkwardly, wondering what I should do. The man inspected me closely then motioned for me to get in his car. He didn't speak much English. I had the faintest idea he could be the driver that I didn't pay attention to when he drove me and my host mom that morning. So, against all common sense, I got it the car. 

Turned out to be my driver. Whew. But I won't lie, I sent my friend Stephen a "if I don't show up tomorrow I've probably been kidnapped by this strange man please let the adults know" text. 

That situation was amusing in hindsight. 

But what isn't amusing is the confusion I had when I got to my house and this unknown woman ushered me in, with no sign of the rest of my family. 

Yeah, they never came back that night. I didn't figure out until the next day who this lady was. Aunt Leyla, this middle-aged, 100% no English spoken or understood woman who didn't look too comfortable with the situation either. 

But I did figure out from the dinner she motioned me to sit down to that she was an excellent cook. The best food I had on this entire trip was made by her hardworking hands. I really wish I knew the names of these dishes, because then I would recreate them everyday until I could get it to be like how she made it. And then open a restaurant and become super successful. Of course I'd credit her through all my success. 

This picture is awful but all I have. It was this brown rice and meat dish, mixed with assorted vegetables and like all Azerbaijani food, super oily. I dream about this. Honestly. There was also this popular cold drink (or soup) called ovdukh that is a liquidy white yogurt mixed with assorted herbs (for a recipe, go here: <http://www.news.az/recipes/24783> ). I did not acquire the taste buds for this. 

Between this entire plate of rice/meat and the dinner at the Ambassador's, I was stuffed. I motioned this to her, and tried to show my thanks and love of her cooking. I hope she got my message. She wouldn't let me help with dishes or anything, so I went into the other room where the gifts I gave to my family were, picked up some postcards of my home town, and took them to her. 

I believe I was able to communicate the meaning behind each photo, either that or she is also a talented actress, and with my attempts to reach out to her she seemed to get a bit more comfortable with me. I wish I knew at that time who she was! She helped me with the shower and lent me a hairdryer when she saw I didn't dry my hair afterwards (that's kind of a big deal in Azerbaijan, going out with your hair wet. Unacceptable.), and I motioned a good night and a thank you. 

I wish she had been able to communicate what my family had in store for me the next day. 

Nagorno-Karabakh and the World

Breakfast of the Day: Lavash (which is essentially a tortilla), with an overwhelming amount of butter and that feta-like cheese I was never found of, spread lovingly by my host mother, peach jam, tea, watermelon, cookies, chocolate, and tea cakes.

I'm liking this whole "tea and dessert all the time" thing.

Although we were an hour away and already running late, my host mom (while waiting for their personal driver) showed me her garden in the front and had me help water it. In return, she gave me a rose from her bush and a little cucumber. I put the rose in my hair and her ecstatic grin assured me that was a smart move.

The roads stress me out. I'm not really used to rush-hour, even in America. And rush hour in Azerbaijan is even more interesting. I was half an hour late (they kind of believe in the whole "island time" concept there, which was hard for my very prompt side to accept), but when I arrived at the Caspian Business Center I was greeted by hugs and cheek kisses. We also discovered a caterpillar in my flower.

The group of Americans, and a couple Azerbaijani YLPers (the program), were boarded onto a bus and shipped off to a professional discussion by the Imagine Dialogue representatives on the Nagorno-Karabakh issue between Azerbaijan and Armenia. Quick overview: This is a section of Azerbaijan, but it is presently occupied by Armenia. In 1994, there was a war over this territory, and although there has been a cease-fire for about 20 years, no conclusions have been met and it still remains to be closed off to Azerbaijanis. In the Organization of Islamic Conference in 2008, Armenia was charged with the "destruction of cultural monuments in the occupied Azerbaijani territories," but no real offense or follow-up actions were taken. The ceasefire continues to this day to be broken, and overall, feelings towards the Armenians in Azerbaijan are extremely negative, since Azerbaijanis cannot go into 20% of their territory.

Photo from: <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nagorno-Karabakh#Contemporary_situation_.28since_1994.29>

We were never told the reason we learned about this, but I took away so many thoughts from these meetings. First, it makes me wonder what Armenia's side to it is. Why are they causing such a big deal over this piece of country land? Armenia, as a whole, must have bad feelings towards Azerbaijan too, but what exactly are their reasons? Also, this dispute has ruined so many lives, yet I had never even heard of the country Azerbaijan back home. How closed off from the worldly occurrences are we? What are solutions that can satisfy both countries? How do you break the barrier that present generations are being raised with, this hatred for another country.

To me, it seemed a bit silly that so much dislike for Armenia had been built up, even by people completely unaffected by the war. But then I thought of the Cold War and the Red Scare. The problems with illegal immigration, the Chinese Exclusion Act, Japanese internment, general racism, and all these other rather stupid things America has been involved in.

Why are humans so inclined to put up walls against others, just because of cultural background? As the Avenue Q song goes, "everyone's a little bit racist," which, undeniably, is true. We all have our moments where we think prejudice thoughts, and there really isn't anything we can do about these natural tendencies. But to act upon them, to not be able to reason through the ridiculousness of judging based on genetics, that's a serious problem that destroys the potential for any sort of worldly cooperation.

I think that the root of racism is ignorance. Ignorant parents teaching their children opinions on a race they don't know hardly anything about. But if we could educate these kids (I'd say their parents too, but kids generally have more open minds) on the struggles other parts of the world are having, have them correspond with foreign schools, educating students on what is actually happening in the world, eliminating these ideas that one way of thinking is better than another, that any religion outside of their own is stupid, that some people are above others- simple steps, really. It's so easy to open the eyes of kids who just haven't been given the chance to see the world for what it is. And who doesn't want increased understanding?

I