Sunday, February 19, 2006

declaration of independence, part II

Two days ago I gained my independence for the second time in my life. It was reminiscent of my 18-year-old foray into college life, and yet far more people seemed convinced that I would survive as a newly independent 18-year-old, than as a 24-year-old who is much more well-versed in life’s little intricacies. Of course, I was certainly greeted with a number of new challenges that dorm life doesn’t come close to matching, starting with trying to communicate with a landlord in a language that I have only studied for 8 months. This, only to be compounded by the fact that the landlord has never been a landlord before, is very nervous about all of her belongings spontaneously breaking, and has never really interacted with an American before. The day I moved in ended with her seeming very frazzled, and me wondering if I had made the right choice in apartments. That question arose over and over this weekend.

I was fortunate to have the assistance of four other volunteers, and James’ landlord, Varton, who allowed me to use his jeep—his son drove and he also helped moved stuff. I had no idea how much stuff I had actually accumulated in this country until I packed it all up. It was almost embarrassing but I am assured by my friends it is normal… Miraculously, everything fit in the back of the jeep (the back seat was out) and we only had to make one trip across town. Approximately 15 yards from my host family’s house, the jeep broke down. After lots of fiddling it was determined that it was out of gas. Someone found some gas and we were on our way again, the volunteers on foot and Varton and his son in the jeep.

My landlord, Manik, met us at the apartment and promptly began freaking out about her stuff and her list of things she had counted. Landlords are supposed to write down what they have provided in the house for later reference in case things break, etc., etc. Well, Manik wrote a book—literally—she bought a school copy book and wrote pages and pages of everything she owns. She even counted her Armenian books, which are safely in a cabinet, and I had already assured her that I wouldn’t touch them, let alone read them. She then asked if I would like to check it. Reading Armenian handwriting is near impossible for me, and I had no concern about being cheated by her, so I told her that I trusted her and I would sign the list and she could hang on to it for later. That’s where the trouble started. She got upset and I started to say “its okay, I know what I have and I know what is yours and if I break anything, I will replace it.” I managed to get to “I know what I have” when she interrupted me and starting freaking about this being about her things. Thankfully Cat was there with her super Armenian skills to translate because frustration does not aid my language abilities. We finally got things straightened out and Manik out the door after about an hour, at which point I started wondering if I dare touch anything in the apartment for fear of the aftermath.

It didn’t take me long to get over that and I was soon scrubbing every corner of the place with bleach. One word…disgusting. Manik said she would clean before I moved in, but if that happened I have no idea what it was that she cleaned. Not only were shelves and cabinets carpeted in dust and dirt, but all the dishes needed washed, floors cleaned, rugs shook, and the kitchen and bathroom needed complete top to bottom scrubbings. I spent an hour on my hands and knees in the bathroom with a sponge and a scrub brush, and after the fourth time through, gave up…at least the sponge had stopped coming up black. I managed to get it clean enough that I felt comfortable leaving my toothbrush in there and hanging up my towel. Of course, in addition to all the dirt, I was gifted with all of the belongings that the family decided they didn’t need when they left for Russia—old toothbrushes, used razor blades, clothing tags, empty candy boxes displayed on shelves, 5-year-old opened bottles of vodka, old slippers, nasty stuffed animals, you name it. I moved through the house throwing all of this randomness into boxes, mentally preparing myself to explain WHY I didn’t want these things as I had already done with a lot of other ridiculousness that was more prominently displayed on move-in day.

Manik had made a big deal on more than one occasion of walking through the apartment and asking do you need this? How about this? You only need this little pot right? Finally I just started to tell her to leave everything and made a mental note to go through it later. Did I ever get my wish. Of course, my favorite, is when she would pull something out of a cabinet and say “do you need this? Because if not, I am going to just leave it right here,” and then put it back where it came from. As it turned out I ended with almost everything except for closet space, which was a point of contention.

I have a three room apartment (two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and two balcomies, one enclosed) and only one closet. Actually, wardrobe is a better term for the free-standing piece of furniture with three doors. Two doors open into a typical closet space with a shelf at the top and a bar across the width, and of course very few hangers, the other door opened to a series of shelves. First, Manik wanted to lock the closet part and leave the shelves for me. When I protested, she said she would put her stuff in the shelf side, lock it and give the other side to me. This wasn’t much better but I could see that if I didn’t agree to this, she would lock an entire room so I compromised. The next time I visited, she showed me the closet, first the locked side and then the other. On the floor of the other side was stacked two suitcases and a large cardboard box, which were taking up more than half of the available space. She points to the items and says “I am just going to leave these here. Don’t disturb then, okay?” I became so frustrated I couldn’t speak and finally yelled to James to help translate. He did, and the suitcases were moved to a cupboard in the living room—one of the few she had emptied in there, and as it turned out, the only one tall enough to accommodate my books and manuals. I eventually moved them under a bed and Manik hasn’t said anything so I am going to assume I am safe.

Of course, the dirt and the landlord’s belongings were only the beginnings of my struggles. The Thursday before I moved I visited the apartment to find James’ landlord and Renee’s landlord installing my peephole, new locks and light outside my door. They also turned on the water to the toilet and we checked the phone, which wasn’t working. I was promised Friday. On Saturday, when I moved in it still wasn’t working, I was told Monday. On Monday morning, when my landlord arrived because my toilet was leaking, it still wasn’t working. Finally, Monday evening it was turned on, and the water to my toilet was turned off to take care of the large puddle that had formed on my bathroom floor. As it turned out, the toilet bowl was cracked, quite visibly, but because the light had stopped working in the bathroom we couldn’t see it. I later come to find out that the landlord knew this, and didn’t say anything when the water was turned on, thus creating a constant trickle of water over the back of the toilet bowl and eventually leaking onto the floor. Now that the water is off, I am flushing with a bucket until I get my new (used) toilet installed on Saturday. I think there is a market here. Additionally, I am personally paying for the workers to close off the top part of the wall between the water closet and the room with the sink and the tub. As it turns out, not being able to flush your toilet paper creates quite the aroma in any room it has access to. Not so pleasant when you are brushing your teeth.

I will also be receiving my peace corps gas stove on Saturday. I was told that the electric stove and oven worked (they don’t) and that there was also a gas stove that I could use if I had any problems. The day I moved in, I sent James and his landlord to fill up the gas canister for the gas stove, only to find out when they returned that the gas stove also didn’t work. So, we took a trip to the bus stop/shops and bought a small single burner stove on top of a propane type canister—sort of a camping stove on steroids. We also bought some food and proceeded to make some lunch. The next day, while making dinner, the new stove stopped working. Well, it actually turned into somewhat of a flame thrower. I took it back to the store and exchanged it for a new one (fortunately we bought it from my language tutor’s mother, so there were no questions asked) and so far that one is doing okay, although I am not holding my breath. In the mean time I borrowed a new regulator from James and we hooked up the landlord’s gas stove again, but one of the burners leaks gas. Sigh.

I also bought some new light bulbs to replace the one that promptly burned out the day after I moved in and to install in the fixture in the second bedroom where there was no bulb. By fixture, I mean bare socket hanging from a wire in the middle of the room. The light works now, but only if you stand in the doorway and hold the switch halfway between on and off. Convenient, no? In the same trip I purchased a kilo of sugar, using the word for sugar I had learned in PST. I am pretty sure that I will now never forget that the word we learned for sugar in PST actually means sugar CUBE. Not quite sure what I am going to do with a kilo of sugar cubes….guess I will be drinking a lot of tea. Of course, it would be helpful if my kitchen sink were working properly. Right now I have a trickle that I can’t turn off or on any higher. Maybe later.

On the bright side, Manik seems to be coming around quite nicely and has relaxed considerably from our first few meetings. Now that I have unpacked she is beginning to realize that I actually do need all of the space I asked for things like books and clothes and desk space. I think she is also realizing that many things in this apartment are being upgraded on my bill on account of me being here. I am additionally fortunate to have Varton as my go-to man if anything goes wrong. He has consistently been on top of making sure everything works as it should. Renee’s landlord is the one who does the electrical and plumbing related things and he seems happy to help as well.

As I write this, my phone has once again stopped working, but all in all I think I have made a good choice in my apartment search. I managed to get some posters and pictures up the other day and it is really starting to feel like home. And, I am pretty sure that no amount of inconveniences can trump the feeling of freedom I have now that I cooking my own meals, making my own decisions, and not feeling guilty whenever I decided to do something that didn’t involve staying at home with my family watching Russian television.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

chickens



Today I sat down to dinner in front of a cast iron skillet full of organs. An organ medley if you will—hearts, lungs, and livers, if I’m not mistaken. It has been a good way to learn the Armenian words for organs anyway… My host family got scared recently about bird flu and decided to slaughter their chickens, all 19 of them, yesterday. While still on the small side, they all seem in good health so I am not too worried. We had a big chicken feast last night and then tonight they ate all 19 of the chickens’ organs, sautéed with onions. There was also a plate full of chicken necks. I stuck to the relatively safe chicken with noodles. I kind of feel like Forest Gump….chicken, baked chicken, boiled chicken, chicken soup, chicken hearts, chicken lungs, chicken wings, chicken necks. Well, you get the picture. The remaining 17 or so chickens are being preserved with solidified fat and salt. I have eaten beef preserved in this manner and it looks pretty gross, but doesn’t taste too bad—somewhere between beef jerky and pot roast.

Just to put everyone at ease, as of now there have been no reported incidences of bird flu in Armenia. Of course, with Turkey being our neighbor people are getting a bit concerned. Now every time the news covers the bird flu my host family all stops what they are doing and turns up the volume. I have a sneaky suspicion however that it was the Jehovah’s Witness magazines that convinced them to slaughter all of their poultry in one day. No more eggs for me. Regardless, the Peace Corps has issued a travel advisory: we are no longer permitted to travel to Turkey. I am still not sure if was only my family that took this measure, but it is comforting to know that there is at least an awareness and a desire to comply with measures to prevent the spread.

All chicken business aside, the New Year is officially over—all 7 days, and the old New Year too, and it back to work for everyone except the teachers and administrators at the schools. Snow began falling steadily soon after the New Year. We have been getting several inches at a time on and off for the past few weeks, with quite a dumping over the last several days. I spent a few days in Stepenavan working on the eco-camp manual and then attempted to return to Yerevan this past weekend for some initiative meetings. The weather had other plans, and even nestled in our 4-wheel drive Niva taxi, the ride was, shall we say, harrowing. We made it safely, although we missed our meeting, thanked our lucky stars that we hadn’t tried to travel via marshurtnie and camped out in Yerevan that night. The roads were clear down south the next day, so I headed home, and I am now snowed-in down here.

Even the Vayk desert has turned into a winter wonderland. The snowcapped mountains are quite pretty, especially at twilight as they reflect the setting sun. Fortunately for me, that time of day is getting later and later. It is completely dark around 6:30 now. The icy sidewalks have had me quite thankful for my newly acquired yak-traks, which allow me to get around with relative ease. There is no salt, no snowplows, and very few shovels, which usually consist of a square board attached to a stick, or a dustpan. Sometimes people sweep snow with brooms as well, but usually only in front of their own house, rather than on the sidewalks.

Kids have been out by the dozens with their sleds and their friends. There are a number of runner sled that look like they would do fine job of impaling a small child in just the instant. Of course, if the sled doesn’t do it then the busy roads they sled into and on might just do the trick. Traffic is scarce right now, but cars don’t slow down when trying to get up icy hills or sometimes when trying to stop…. My new favorite winter pastime however has to be the pointy-shoe slide. School-age boys seem to have this down to an art form. They squat and slide down hills on their little pointy shoes—they can even turn and sometimes stop. I can hardly squat standing still on a sunny day!

I learned a new interesting fact yesterday: if you drink tea and then drink cold water, you will get sick. My host father (who is sick right now) asked for a glass of water after we finished tea last night, and he was denied. He and my host mother argued and finally deferred to me. I said that it is okay to drink water after tea. “What are you, a doctor?” says my host mother. I figured this was as good of a time as any to tell them I was an EMT in the US. Soon thereafter my host father has a glass of water. Hopefully he doesn’t get sick….at least they listen to my advice.

I don’t want to jinx myself, but I have some leads on a few possible projects for Vayk and I am feeling good about their prospects. It just suddenly all came together today. I have youth development background, I work for a primarily youth development related organization, and my counterpart wants me to work with these two youths that she brought to our meeting today. Hmmmm… Ironically, I was thinking about approaching these two youths on my own to see if they wanted to work with me. I am thinking that maybe we can start a youth group and focus on English, and easy thing to do that everybody wants to be involved with and then also do environmental and health related lessons.

Other than that, I have been keeping myself entertained while counting down the days until I get to move out into my own apartment (two weeks as of right now). I bought a guitar from another volunteer this weekend, which thus far has been the highlight of my week. Finally I have the time and I am developing the patience to actually teach myself how to play. My previous attempts in the states were often thwarted by impatience. In other words, if I can’t play well NOW, then I am just not going to do it. So there. I am hoping that by the time I leave here I will be able to play well, and for now it provides a wonderful creative outlet that only music seems to be able to fulfill.

School will be starting again soon, I will be moving out, we have some upcoming conferences, and eco-camp stuff is getting more pressing, so I am thinking I will be busy in short while. Until then I am enjoying the reminder of my time with my host family and working on my language skills while I still live with people who can help me out.