So much has happened in the past month or so since I have managed to produce an entry that I hardly know where to begin. Time is flying by now, and is marked by milestones such as the first camp of the summer, the arrival of the A14s (the new group of volunteers in Armenia) and the beginning of the departure of the A12s. It is hard for me to believe that I have already been here a full year. It seems like so long ago that we stepped off that plane and met a mass of cheering volunteers and staff members, and yet it seems like just yesterday, I remember it so clearly. Now suddenly I am a part of that mass, and have knowledge and wisdom to offer the next generation. In some ways it is difficult to let go of our status as "the new volunteers" and in other ways it is a refreshing reminder of just how far we have come in such a relatively short period of time.
I have spent much of the last week working with habitat for humanity and helping to translate for a global village group that came to work in Armenia from one of my sitemates’ family’s church. It was rewarding work, albeit tiring, and at the end of the week, not only did we have a finished house to corroborate our efforts, but also a number of new friendships and exchanges between Armenians and Americans. Suddenly I feel more Armenian than American in ways as I am looked to by the Armenians for help and assistance in communication.
The homeowner began talking my ear off as soon as he figured out that I spoke Armenian, and in many ways reminded me of my host father—a joy to be around. I arrived at the work site towards the end as I had been occupied with the first Green camp, and found myself painting trim for the better part of the day. The homeowner asked me if I had ever done that sort of work before and gave me a quick lesson. Then he told me that if I did a good job he would take me to Russia with him to work there. He ended up giving me a "5" (the equivalent of an "A") but I don’t think I have to go to Russia…. Later when the cement was poured for the sidewalk, he drew small figures of us working and we signed our names in the wet cement. He explained to me numerous times that in ancient cultures they drew pictures of animals and of their lives in the rocks….we are doing the same in front of his house. I am about to go down in Armenian pictograph history as Jill, the stick figure with the paintbrush.
The group’s stay ended with a joyfully tearful house blessing ceremony, in which an Armenian priest blessed the home, the family and the workers. Emotion was high as the family, who had lived in a metal temporary housing unit not much bigger than a bus for
the past ten years, finally had a home for themselves and their two children. Toast after toast was given to the foreigners who had left their own homes to come across the ocean to build someone else’s home, to people who are not workers, but are here working for people they don’t know, are not related to, were not previously friends with. I have never seen as much physical gratitude, as when the woman homeowner accepted a gift of a photo album commemorating the week of work on her new home.
This, in combination with the completion of the first week of Green Camps, has effectively made up for any lack of productivity I have felt during my time here. I had spent so much time and energy preparing for the camps that I had forgotten what I was preparing for. Going back through the photos and looking at the smiles on the kids’ faces is enough of a reminder, but actually being there to listen to the singing, to join in on the soccer games and to watch the activities taking place gave me the high I need to make it through 14 more months here. The week was hard, really hard, and by the end of it I was so deliriously tired that I hardly knew what end was up, but the sense of accomplishment was enough to override anything.
The first camp was held in a small village of Ijevan, comprised of ten or so apartment buildings. There was not a single separate house in the village—an oddity in a country where villages are usually defined as being exactly the opposite. This particular village was a factory village at one point—constructed exclusively for the purpose of housing the factory workers. The factory has long-since closed and the village has become one of poor pig-farmers.
The camp drew crowds every morning of villagers curious about all the singing, chanting and shouting. The school director and some of the teachers stood on the front step of the school in the heat of the afternoon, watching us for hours on end. The kids arrived for camp two hours early every day to play with each other and with their counselors. The shopkeepers and adults in the village thanked us for coming and for giving this opportunity to their children. The mayor brought ice cream for all of the campers one afternoon and expressed his gratitude to the counselors and staff.
Each camp day begins with the children lining up in their groups and chanting their group names. We do some announcements and then sing "boom chick a boom," an old-fashioned American camp song that is now sung in villages all around Armenia. To someone who is familiar with American summer camps, this all seems very routine, but in Armenia just getting the kids in a line goes against everything they have ever learned. By the end of the week however, they do it without being asked. Seeing big American men singing boom chick a boom at the top of their lungs while acting like a flaky girl might have something to do with it….
The children of the village have rarely had an opportunity to go anywhere else, and although the village boasts a nice school, educational opportunities have been limited. The scheduled field trip for the camp was to Lake Sevan and to several well-known monasteries in the northern region. Sevan is considered a national treasure and is much talked about, but these children had never actually seen it in person. Excitement was high as we boarded a large tour bus for the long day ahead. Long bus trips, being another first, mixed with children, tend to result in motion sickness. We stopped almost ten times in what should have been a 2 hour trip at the most for someone to get off the bus and throw up. Along the way, our route took us through a long tunnel that has recently (in the past few years) been constructed. Some of the kids had heard from their parents that there was a tunnel, and one child even brought a flashlight. Their eyes were open in awe through the darkness, and the whole bus erupted in applause when we entered into the daylight once more.
The rest of field trip was full of more firsts. Many of the kids had never been to monasteries or churches…only heard about them. We saw jet skies, and a ship on the lake, BMWs and jeeps and tour busses full of foreigners. But, perhaps the most excitement of the day was a soccer game with a 5-liter plastic bottle…sometimes it doesn’t take much. We returned the kids to their village after 12 hours of pure exhaustion and they practically sleep-walked off the bus (the counselors weren’t faring much better).
The camp ended in celebration and a ceremony for parents, figure heads from the village, and other people associated with the camp. The kids had prepared skits and then brought flowers for all of their counselors and the camp staff. On my way out I was asked if Peace Corps would be back next year to do this camp again. I deferred to the local organization we were working with, who happens to be doing their first camp on their own later this summer (this was the second camp they had done with Peace Corps). Our goal is training every organization we work with to be as self-sufficient as this one and to be able to do camps without our assistance in the future. The woman who was asking sort of shrugged and said "we want the Americans to come back." It is nice to be wanted.
Monday, June 12, 2006
moldy moldy moldy
My lovely new apartment, which has been a haven for me despite its obvious character flaws, has lately become haven for other things, namely mold. Just as I thought I was running out of things to go wrong with this particular apartment, I returned from Yerevan a few weeks ago to find a coffee table covered in murky water and a roof that was leaking in no less than 8 different places. Acting as any competent peace corps volunteer would, I quickly straightened things up so as not to bear witness to the wrath of my landlord and crossed the hall to see if my neighbors were having the same troubles as I was. They weren’t. They did however gasp in horror and parade one after the other into my apartment to gape at the damage as well as at my computer, guitar, exercise ball, dvd collection…well, enough said.
After I herded them all back out, the father of the family called my landlord for me. My phone wasn’t working (surprise, surprise), and even if it was, my landlord doesn’t have a phone, but he knew what to do. Pretty soon, my neighbors had called my landlord’s neighbor, who sent their son to tell my landlord that my roof was leaking and within a half hour she showed up at the door. Gotta love the village grapevine—at least it comes in handy sometimes. She arrived with a homemade ladder and work clothes under her going-out clothes, lest anyone know that she was about to do some work. After stripping off the first layer, and taking her own shoes off in exchange for my Birkenstocks without my noticing (still a little bitter) she climbed up on the roof. Just like that, I didn’t even know where she had gone as my neighbors were insisting that I eat, eat, eat.
After my meal I followed her up the ladder and found her scurrying around on the actual rooftop. There is an open space between my roof and the roofing of the building where one can walk around, and little exits to the actual roof, which is where I found her, rearranging the shingles. Apparently somebody moved them to install a satellite dish. Go figure. The first thought that entered my mind when I climbed into the open area above my apartment was "there’s an awful lot of daylight up here." I helped my landlord to fix some of that, but I can only wonder how long it will take to become a problem again.
We returned to my apartment where I got a brief lecture about how I should have called sooner (apparently 10 minutes off the marshrutnie wasn’t soon enough). Not that she listens to a word I have ever said. Then she left me her daughters cell phone number and took off, leaving me with a very damp apartment. I opened windows and ran fans and prepared to leave for Yerevan again in two days, very concerned about what I would find upon my next return.
My worries were justified.
What I found was an apartment just as damp as I left it, and a brand new colony of mold about 2 feet by one foot. It had grown into a white fluffy carpet on the ceiling and had begun to fall on the floor and furniture, creating a thick layer of dust around the room. So, being a self-sufficient volunteer, I decided to clean it. I tied a handkerchief around my face and put on my sunglasses and brushed it all down, scrubbed the ceiling with bleach, swept up the dust and mopped and bleached the entire room. I was feeling pretty good about my efforts and then two days later it grew back. Feeling slightly less self-sufficient, I went to my neighbors house and asked them to call my landlord (phone still not working). They, of course, wanted to know why, and I was able to fairly successfully explain it to them so that they understand. A few minutes later, after the grapevine had taken effect, my landlord called back, demanding to know what the problem was. I did my best to explain it again and eventually ended up handing the phone over to my neighbors who told my landlord what I had told them.
Upon arrival, she took one look at the mold, began laughing and told me that it was not mold. Then she became very condescending and told me "not to be afraid, mold is only green." I had no idea what to say to this logic, and while I stammered, she began knocking it down from the ceiling, creating a huge dust cloud and white layer all over the room once again. Not what I had in mind. While she swept she told me her husband was coming back from Russia soon (she didn’t know when soon was) and that he was going to remodel the apartment when he returned.
Having exhausted my options in Vayk, I went to Yerevan, researched mold on the internet, and talked to our doctors. I showed them some digital pictures I had taken, and they agreed with me that it was mold. We arranged for one of the PC staff members and a driver to come to my house this week and talk to my landlord. This was one of my more brilliant moves. I called my landlord to tell her they were coming. "You told them?!?!" She says in shock. "Ok, fine, I’ll be there."
I rode in the PC land cruiser to my landlord’s house to pick her up. After the obligatory offers of coffee and fruit, we managed to get her into the vehicle and buckled in. It can be struggle to get people who are not used to seatbelts and never use them in day to day to life to understand that they are required in PC vehicles. We arrived at my apartment where the spiel began
"whenever Jill calls I come and fix the problem, there aren’t any problems here, just this one little one, that’s it."
"This isn’t mold, you are Armenian, you will understand, she doesn’t. Mold is only Green."
"maybe she just doesn’t want to live here. She wants to move."
Fortunately, there was someone with a bit more fluency in the language than myself to combat all of this. She was eventually convinced (or simply gave in) that it was mold and that she needed to fix it or I was leaving. She was given two days to find a worker and until the end of the month to have it fixed. She is here right now methodically knocking chunks down off the ceiling, so I think we are off to a good start.
Before she left, she decided she had one more issue to attend to and dragged me into the back bedroom. I knew what was coming and asked the program manager to accompany me. Sure enough, she had decided once again to make a big deal out of the fact that the blankets were wrinkled on the beds. At this point I started yelling at her, which was probably quite amusing as it does nothing good for my language skills. Then I turned to our staff member and switched to English. I explained that she always asks this question whenever she comes and that I don’t understand what the problem is. She says to him "you are Armenian, you will understand (the theme for the day, I suppose) we are Armenian, we like things to be pretty." Apparently large colonies of mold growing in your living room is okay, but wrinkled blankets are just out of the question. My staff member savior told her that I live here now (novel concept) and that when she lives here again she can make the blankets pretty. Then he told her to leave.
After I herded them all back out, the father of the family called my landlord for me. My phone wasn’t working (surprise, surprise), and even if it was, my landlord doesn’t have a phone, but he knew what to do. Pretty soon, my neighbors had called my landlord’s neighbor, who sent their son to tell my landlord that my roof was leaking and within a half hour she showed up at the door. Gotta love the village grapevine—at least it comes in handy sometimes. She arrived with a homemade ladder and work clothes under her going-out clothes, lest anyone know that she was about to do some work. After stripping off the first layer, and taking her own shoes off in exchange for my Birkenstocks without my noticing (still a little bitter) she climbed up on the roof. Just like that, I didn’t even know where she had gone as my neighbors were insisting that I eat, eat, eat.
After my meal I followed her up the ladder and found her scurrying around on the actual rooftop. There is an open space between my roof and the roofing of the building where one can walk around, and little exits to the actual roof, which is where I found her, rearranging the shingles. Apparently somebody moved them to install a satellite dish. Go figure. The first thought that entered my mind when I climbed into the open area above my apartment was "there’s an awful lot of daylight up here." I helped my landlord to fix some of that, but I can only wonder how long it will take to become a problem again.
We returned to my apartment where I got a brief lecture about how I should have called sooner (apparently 10 minutes off the marshrutnie wasn’t soon enough). Not that she listens to a word I have ever said. Then she left me her daughters cell phone number and took off, leaving me with a very damp apartment. I opened windows and ran fans and prepared to leave for Yerevan again in two days, very concerned about what I would find upon my next return.
My worries were justified.
What I found was an apartment just as damp as I left it, and a brand new colony of mold about 2 feet by one foot. It had grown into a white fluffy carpet on the ceiling and had begun to fall on the floor and furniture, creating a thick layer of dust around the room. So, being a self-sufficient volunteer, I decided to clean it. I tied a handkerchief around my face and put on my sunglasses and brushed it all down, scrubbed the ceiling with bleach, swept up the dust and mopped and bleached the entire room. I was feeling pretty good about my efforts and then two days later it grew back. Feeling slightly less self-sufficient, I went to my neighbors house and asked them to call my landlord (phone still not working). They, of course, wanted to know why, and I was able to fairly successfully explain it to them so that they understand. A few minutes later, after the grapevine had taken effect, my landlord called back, demanding to know what the problem was. I did my best to explain it again and eventually ended up handing the phone over to my neighbors who told my landlord what I had told them.
Upon arrival, she took one look at the mold, began laughing and told me that it was not mold. Then she became very condescending and told me "not to be afraid, mold is only green." I had no idea what to say to this logic, and while I stammered, she began knocking it down from the ceiling, creating a huge dust cloud and white layer all over the room once again. Not what I had in mind. While she swept she told me her husband was coming back from Russia soon (she didn’t know when soon was) and that he was going to remodel the apartment when he returned.
Having exhausted my options in Vayk, I went to Yerevan, researched mold on the internet, and talked to our doctors. I showed them some digital pictures I had taken, and they agreed with me that it was mold. We arranged for one of the PC staff members and a driver to come to my house this week and talk to my landlord. This was one of my more brilliant moves. I called my landlord to tell her they were coming. "You told them?!?!" She says in shock. "Ok, fine, I’ll be there."
I rode in the PC land cruiser to my landlord’s house to pick her up. After the obligatory offers of coffee and fruit, we managed to get her into the vehicle and buckled in. It can be struggle to get people who are not used to seatbelts and never use them in day to day to life to understand that they are required in PC vehicles. We arrived at my apartment where the spiel began
"whenever Jill calls I come and fix the problem, there aren’t any problems here, just this one little one, that’s it."
"This isn’t mold, you are Armenian, you will understand, she doesn’t. Mold is only Green."
"maybe she just doesn’t want to live here. She wants to move."
Fortunately, there was someone with a bit more fluency in the language than myself to combat all of this. She was eventually convinced (or simply gave in) that it was mold and that she needed to fix it or I was leaving. She was given two days to find a worker and until the end of the month to have it fixed. She is here right now methodically knocking chunks down off the ceiling, so I think we are off to a good start.
Before she left, she decided she had one more issue to attend to and dragged me into the back bedroom. I knew what was coming and asked the program manager to accompany me. Sure enough, she had decided once again to make a big deal out of the fact that the blankets were wrinkled on the beds. At this point I started yelling at her, which was probably quite amusing as it does nothing good for my language skills. Then I turned to our staff member and switched to English. I explained that she always asks this question whenever she comes and that I don’t understand what the problem is. She says to him "you are Armenian, you will understand (the theme for the day, I suppose) we are Armenian, we like things to be pretty." Apparently large colonies of mold growing in your living room is okay, but wrinkled blankets are just out of the question. My staff member savior told her that I live here now (novel concept) and that when she lives here again she can make the blankets pretty. Then he told her to leave.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Miracles Happen
First of all, a huge thank you to everyone who helped out, or thought about helping out. An amazing thing happened this weekend...I met an Australian Armenian at the hostel where I was staying in Yerevan. He heard our story and agreed to fund the rest of the project. The website is not reflecting the donation yet, but we are fairly certain that it will go through. Sometimes things just work out....
I am very excited to know that this project will get off the ground this year. Repeatedly, volunteers have cited camps as some of their most meaningful work during their service, and thus far I completely agree. We completed a succesful training this past weekend and were able to send full sets of camp supplies to five communities in Armenia. Camps will begin in less than a month! I'll keep you updated on our progress over the course of the summer.
Once again I appreciate everyone's help and support both in the project and personally. I wish you all the best!
I am very excited to know that this project will get off the ground this year. Repeatedly, volunteers have cited camps as some of their most meaningful work during their service, and thus far I completely agree. We completed a succesful training this past weekend and were able to send full sets of camp supplies to five communities in Armenia. Camps will begin in less than a month! I'll keep you updated on our progress over the course of the summer.
Once again I appreciate everyone's help and support both in the project and personally. I wish you all the best!
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Please Help!
I am in the throes of preparing for 5 separate ecology-based day camps for Peace Corps Armenia. The camps will begin in June and we have already completed the trainings and started purchasing supplies etc. Half of our funding comes from a Peace Corps Partnership Grant, which I wrote and was posted to the web earlier this Spring. We have still have approximately 1500 dollars left to raise and we need to do so in the next two weeks. I am starting to get a little worried... Any amount of money that you would feel comfortable donating would really help to ensure that these summer camps make it off the ground this year. As part of each camp, 40 children are provided with education about the environment in a novel setting (camps aren't very common here) and they are provided activity materials, nutritious meals and t-shirts (also not always so common).
Donation, is quick and easy, web-based and tax deductible. You decide how much to contribute and do it yourself via credit card.
Go to www.peacecorps.gov
Click in the lower left corner
Select
Select "Green Camps, Armenia"
Thank you in advance for your generosity. Please let me know if you have any questions. There is an additional write-up about the camps on the website, and I am happy to send more information your way.
The following is a copy of the Concept Sheet:
Green Camps
Peace Corps Armenia
The Green Camp program is an annual summer camp for Armenian children focusing on the exploration and study of the natural world. Camps are conducted in the Armenian Language and are located in traditionally underserved regions of the country. Through structured environmental education activities, Peace Corps Volunteers and local organizations provide children with:
· a safe and positive outdoor experience
· exposure to the local natural environment
· an introduction to basic ecological concepts
· new methods to explore the environment
· an opportunity to practice environmentally-conscious critical-thinking and decision- making skills
· team-building and leadership skills development
The program also serves as a training in which Peace Corps Volunteers teach local organizations how to design and implement a summer camp. These local organizations in turn commit to providing continuing environmental education in their communities. This year Green Camps will reach over 200 Armenian children, and over 40 adults.
Mission
To raise awareness of the diverse relationships between human beings and their natural environments, with the intent of increasing appreciation for and understanding of the flora, fauna and natural systems of Armenia, thereby creating a heightened sense of personal and community responsibility towards the protection of the natural environment.
Goals
1. To raise awareness about local environmental problems and inspire communities to find appropriate solutions.
2. To educate children about local ecology and increase their appreciation for the environment.
3. To provide local organizations and community members with skills and knowledge to conduct effective environmental education.
4. To encourage and show the benefits of volunteerism within local communities.
5. To reach out to traditionally underserved communities in rural regions of Armenia.
6. To develop friendships between Peace Corps Volunteers, local volunteers, and children.
Camp Specifics
Size: 40 children, 17 staff
Age Group: Campers 11-13 years old, Counselors 18 and up
Duration: 5 days, 6-8 hours per day
Number of camps: 5 per summer (including 1 training camp)
Short History:
Green Camps have been in existence in Armenia as a Peace Corps project since 2001, when the program was started under the moniker of Eco-camps. The first year there were three camps held in a 3-day/2-night overnight format. In 2002 the number of camps was increased to four, one of which was carried out as a day camp. In 2003, there were four fully-funded sites and one partially-funded site. Beginning in 2004, Peace Corps began working with a Yerevan-based environmental NGO called Women for a Green Way for Generations, and the name was changed to Eco-Adventure Camps. This partnership lasted 2 years, with five camp sites each summer. With this organization well-versed in the management of a summer camp, we have shifted our focus this year to locally-based environmental NGO’s, with the intent of providing training and guidance this year so that next year these organizations can carry out youth-focused environmental activities in their own communities. Once again, the change in structure has brought a change names--hence, 2006 Green Camps.
In an effort to reach as many young Armenians as possible, Green Camps have been located in towns and villages throughout Armenia. These locations have included: Martuni, Dilijan, Yegheghnadzor, Sevan, Tatev, Vanadzor, Voratan, Berd, Stepanavan, Urtzadzor, Gharusali, Goris, Akunk, Ijevan, Artik and Navor. This year, camps will take place in Martuni, Harzdan, Dilijan, Gavar, and Ijevan.
How you can help:
We need to raise $3,265 by May 10, 2006. This sum is in addition to $2,000 already pledged in support from the Center on Agriculture and Rural Development in Armenia (CARD), formerly USDA. Approximately $3,000 worth of support is also coming from the local communities themselves. The camp budget goes toward nutritionally balanced meals for the campers, activity and sports supplies, training materials for local organizations, including a comprehensive camp manual in English and Armenian, and t-shirts for each camper.
Donations can be made through the Peace Corps Partnership Program, located at www.peacecorps.gov
Choose the link for the Peace Corps Partnership Program, from there you can search by country (Armenia) and project name (Green Camps). The link should be active by mid-April, 2006.
Donations are accepted via credit card, are tax deductible, and a transmitted via a secure forum. Once our goal is reached, a check will be sent to the Peace Corps Volunteers managing the program.
Your help is greatly appreciated as we strive together toward a brighter future in Armenia!
Contact:
Jill Overholt, PC Volunteer, 2006 Green Camp Director
jroverho@yahoo.com
“Eco Adventure was one of the most satisfying experiences I’ve had as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This was one of a few times during my service that I was sure we were making a difference; I know our campers learned so much about their environment and changed their attitudes about nature. I really hope the directors of Eco Adventure focus on capacity building at the local level so that these camps will become sustainable. With the experience they gained at Eco Adventure, my counterpart organization would love to conduct camps on its own. Peace Corps can participate in the creation of environmental camps all over Armenia. Let’s take advantage of this opportunity!”
Morgan Ruelle, A12 Peace Corps Volunteer
Peace Corps Armenia
The Green Camp program is an annual summer camp for Armenian children focusing on the exploration and study of the natural world. Camps are conducted in the Armenian Language and are located in traditionally underserved regions of the country. Through structured environmental education activities, Peace Corps Volunteers and local organizations provide children with:
· a safe and positive outdoor experience
· exposure to the local natural environment
· an introduction to basic ecological concepts
· new methods to explore the environment
· an opportunity to practice environmentally-conscious critical-thinking and decision- making skills
· team-building and leadership skills development
The program also serves as a training in which Peace Corps Volunteers teach local organizations how to design and implement a summer camp. These local organizations in turn commit to providing continuing environmental education in their communities. This year Green Camps will reach over 200 Armenian children, and over 40 adults.
Mission
To raise awareness of the diverse relationships between human beings and their natural environments, with the intent of increasing appreciation for and understanding of the flora, fauna and natural systems of Armenia, thereby creating a heightened sense of personal and community responsibility towards the protection of the natural environment.
Goals
1. To raise awareness about local environmental problems and inspire communities to find appropriate solutions.
2. To educate children about local ecology and increase their appreciation for the environment.
3. To provide local organizations and community members with skills and knowledge to conduct effective environmental education.
4. To encourage and show the benefits of volunteerism within local communities.
5. To reach out to traditionally underserved communities in rural regions of Armenia.
6. To develop friendships between Peace Corps Volunteers, local volunteers, and children.
Camp Specifics
Size: 40 children, 17 staff
Age Group: Campers 11-13 years old, Counselors 18 and up
Duration: 5 days, 6-8 hours per day
Number of camps: 5 per summer (including 1 training camp)
Short History:
Green Camps have been in existence in Armenia as a Peace Corps project since 2001, when the program was started under the moniker of Eco-camps. The first year there were three camps held in a 3-day/2-night overnight format. In 2002 the number of camps was increased to four, one of which was carried out as a day camp. In 2003, there were four fully-funded sites and one partially-funded site. Beginning in 2004, Peace Corps began working with a Yerevan-based environmental NGO called Women for a Green Way for Generations, and the name was changed to Eco-Adventure Camps. This partnership lasted 2 years, with five camp sites each summer. With this organization well-versed in the management of a summer camp, we have shifted our focus this year to locally-based environmental NGO’s, with the intent of providing training and guidance this year so that next year these organizations can carry out youth-focused environmental activities in their own communities. Once again, the change in structure has brought a change names--hence, 2006 Green Camps.
In an effort to reach as many young Armenians as possible, Green Camps have been located in towns and villages throughout Armenia. These locations have included: Martuni, Dilijan, Yegheghnadzor, Sevan, Tatev, Vanadzor, Voratan, Berd, Stepanavan, Urtzadzor, Gharusali, Goris, Akunk, Ijevan, Artik and Navor. This year, camps will take place in Martuni, Harzdan, Dilijan, Gavar, and Ijevan.
How you can help:
We need to raise $3,265 by May 10, 2006. This sum is in addition to $2,000 already pledged in support from the Center on Agriculture and Rural Development in Armenia (CARD), formerly USDA. Approximately $3,000 worth of support is also coming from the local communities themselves. The camp budget goes toward nutritionally balanced meals for the campers, activity and sports supplies, training materials for local organizations, including a comprehensive camp manual in English and Armenian, and t-shirts for each camper.
Donations can be made through the Peace Corps Partnership Program, located at www.peacecorps.gov
Choose the link for the Peace Corps Partnership Program, from there you can search by country (Armenia) and project name (Green Camps). The link should be active by mid-April, 2006.
Donations are accepted via credit card, are tax deductible, and a transmitted via a secure forum. Once our goal is reached, a check will be sent to the Peace Corps Volunteers managing the program.
Your help is greatly appreciated as we strive together toward a brighter future in Armenia!
Contact:
Jill Overholt, PC Volunteer, 2006 Green Camp Director
jroverho@yahoo.com
“Eco Adventure was one of the most satisfying experiences I’ve had as a Peace Corps Volunteer. This was one of a few times during my service that I was sure we were making a difference; I know our campers learned so much about their environment and changed their attitudes about nature. I really hope the directors of Eco Adventure focus on capacity building at the local level so that these camps will become sustainable. With the experience they gained at Eco Adventure, my counterpart organization would love to conduct camps on its own. Peace Corps can participate in the creation of environmental camps all over Armenia. Let’s take advantage of this opportunity!”
Morgan Ruelle, A12 Peace Corps Volunteer
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Georgia, The Country
Georgia is different enough to be considered a vacation and yet similar enough to be familiar. The joys of being in a larger, more developed, more colorful, more modern city, mixed with the realities of increased petty crime and a decreased sense of security. I wavered between jealousy of the Georgian peace corps volunteers and an actual sense of appreciative longing for my home away from home.
I left for Georgia from Gyumri, after spending the weekend in Ashotsk. I had discussed my impending vacation with Artur, who managed to sufficiently scare me about the security situation in Tbilisi. With an immediate look of concern, he began interrogating me.
“Are you going alone?”
“No,”
“Who are you going with?”
“Another volunteer.”
“A boy?”
“Ummm…..yes,”
“Oh, good.”
That seemed to settle matters, but he still warned me to carry my backpack on my front because people will cut it open with razor blades and steal the contents as they fall out. I didn’t actually witness any crimes of this or any other nature, but I did meet a few Georgian volunteers who had been the victims of petty crime in the capital. It turned out to be no different from any other large city I have been to, only with the small exception that I couldn’t speak the language or read any of the signs… Still, basic city sense and some guidance from the PC Georgia office got us safely through the trip.
We traveled via marshurtnie—it took us about 5 and a half hours to get there from Gyumri, the return trip proved much longer. The scenery was enjoyable, and the trip itself was relatively painless. When we arrived at the border, we (the Americans) were told to get out and walk to a small white house located in the border no-mans land. The road was mostly deserted, and feeling like we should have some Deliverance music to accompany us, we slipped into the little white shack. Once inside we began speaking Armenian and simply became a point of interest…what are we doing in Armenia? Where do we live? Why are we going to Georgia? We got our stamps and were quickly across the border in Georgia.
The marshurtnie drivers, although Georgian, spoke Armenian, and were kind enough to find us an Armenian speaking taxi driver once we arrived in the city. This is where our language luck ended. We had made reservations at a guesthouse in advance, fortunately, but had banked on the taxi driver knowing where it was, or at least knowing the street. Bad assumption. After driving around the city in a few different wrong directions, James was able to direct him using the small, poorly-drawn map from our guidebook. We found the place, but it had no sign or any indication that it was a guesthouse. We knocked anyway, and a nice woman who spoke nothing but Russian ushered us inside. James had studied Russian for a few months in Vayk and managed to have a very basic conversation with our host, which reminded me quite a bit of conversing with my host family during PST.
Our next task of the day was to find the Peace Corps office, which we had planned to visit first except that the taxi driver didn’t know that street either. We knew that it was very close to our guest house and decided to ask. The directions we received involved hand gestures, grunting, and the word mountain, from which we ascertained that we needed to turn left, left, and then right, and something about a mountain… We thought maybe we should call the Peace Corps and have them give us directions, so we asked for a phone. The woman thought we were asking for the phone number and kept saying she didn’t have it. Eventually she called her nephew, who spoke just enough English to tell us that we needed to turn left, left, go up some stairs (this must be our mountain), and then turn right. We decided to try it. We had to ask for directions twice (enter James and minimal Russian skills), and we discovered that the next door neighbors of the Peace Corps didn’t even know that the building existed, but we found it successfully without too much more adventure.
After jealously oogling their nice, big office, with showers for the volunteers, we headed out to dinner with a few Georgian PC volunteers. They took us to Korean barbecue (a Georgian specialty…right). We get enough Georgian food in Armenia that we didn’t mind too much to be missing out on Georgian food in Georgia. For the sake of principle, we did eat Georgian on our very last night at the Hingali House. The rest of the time was everything else that we can’t get in Armenia—McDonalds, good beer, Korean food, etc. After all, we were on vacation. I never thought I would be that excited about McDonalds, but we want what we can’t have, therefore, I wanted McDonalds. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that we actually ate there twice in three days. Just pretend you didn’t read that part—two visits to McDonalds in 10 months isn’t so bad…right? They just happened to be two days in a row.
Three days was just enough time to see the sights of the city, do a few walking tours, and see a lot of churches—Georgia and Armenian both have more churches than most normal people can stand to visit. I think we went inside 9 churches on the first day before we decided to just look at them from the outside and move onto other things. Ironically, one of my favorite churches to visit was the Armenian church (like I don’t get enough of that). As much of a sight as we were to begin with, simply being American tourists in Georgia, we were even more of a sight as Armenian-speaking American tourists in Georgia. Needless to say, the woman at the little candle booth was just thrilled with us when we began to speak to her. Possibly, we were just as thrilled to finally be able to speak to someone with relative ease. When speaking in Armenian becomes the thing I do with relative ease, I know I am outside of my league…. We also visited the Turkish sulfur baths, which are not Turkish, they are Georgian. Regardless of their nationality, it was an enjoyable, relaxing experience. We opted for the private room over public nudity, but maybe next time I will be braver.
On our last full day we decided to go to the train/marshurtnie station to try and find our marshurtnie. We were told the Yerevan marshrutnie leave every morning, from 8-1 when they fill up. We wanted to make sure we could find it so that in the morning we weren’t frantically running around the city trying to explain in broken Russian that we wanted to go to Armenia. It was a good thing we went early. The station was huge. We wondered around for almost an hour looking for a marshrutnie with a Yerevan sign (in Russian, of course) until we decided to ask someone for help. We picked out an older woman shopkeeper, because she looked friendly, and James began to prep his Russian. He explained that we wanted to go to Yerevan. Somehow, in the midst of their stilted Russian conversation I picked up that the woman spoke Armenian! I am still not sure exactly how I figured that out, but I began to speak in Armenian and she began to get very excited, and she told us exactly where our marshurtnie was located and to come find her if we had any more problems. Then the questions…why are you here? Why do you speak Armenian? What do you do there? I have never been so relieved or happy to be answering those questions.
The next morning we arrived bright and early at 9am ready to head back to Yerevan. We were promptly informed that that marshrutnie would not be leaving until 1pm. Great. Four more hours to sit in the marshrutnie without it even moving. We were also informed that the ride was more expensive than we had been told. Since we had wanted to leave without exchanging money, we spent everything except the exact marshutnie fare. At least a trip to the ATM would help pass the time. While withdrawing money we found ourselves surrounded by a group of women who had obviously never seen such a profound thing as a machine that gives you money (this makes me wonder if they have been walking around Tblisi with their eyes closed, but that is a different story). I have accepted the fact that ATM etiquette is not what it is in the US on this side of the world (i.e. if you give the person using the machine any space at all other people will assume you are not waiting and will cut in front of you) but I have never had an actual audience of people all craning their necks to see what will happen next. A funny thing happened...I entered my pin code, and money came out. Just like magic.
The remainder of the ride home (once we got started) was slow, but not too painful. That is, with the exception of a random hour long stop for the drivers to eat dinner, without informing anyone in the marshutnie that they were doing so. Border crossing was actually more difficult going back into Armenia than leaving, possibly because we were at a bigger border crossing than the small village station on a dirt road where we entered. While waiting in various lines to give people my passport repeatedly, I entertained myself by watching the bird flu “precautions.” By precautions, I mean a man in a white haz-mat suit with no gloves or head protection, spraying some sort of substance on the outsides of each tire. Thorough, I know. Its okay though, Armenia has people stationed at the borders shooting the birds as they fly in—there’s no bird flu here.
I left for Georgia from Gyumri, after spending the weekend in Ashotsk. I had discussed my impending vacation with Artur, who managed to sufficiently scare me about the security situation in Tbilisi. With an immediate look of concern, he began interrogating me.
“Are you going alone?”
“No,”
“Who are you going with?”
“Another volunteer.”
“A boy?”
“Ummm…..yes,”
“Oh, good.”
That seemed to settle matters, but he still warned me to carry my backpack on my front because people will cut it open with razor blades and steal the contents as they fall out. I didn’t actually witness any crimes of this or any other nature, but I did meet a few Georgian volunteers who had been the victims of petty crime in the capital. It turned out to be no different from any other large city I have been to, only with the small exception that I couldn’t speak the language or read any of the signs… Still, basic city sense and some guidance from the PC Georgia office got us safely through the trip.
We traveled via marshurtnie—it took us about 5 and a half hours to get there from Gyumri, the return trip proved much longer. The scenery was enjoyable, and the trip itself was relatively painless. When we arrived at the border, we (the Americans) were told to get out and walk to a small white house located in the border no-mans land. The road was mostly deserted, and feeling like we should have some Deliverance music to accompany us, we slipped into the little white shack. Once inside we began speaking Armenian and simply became a point of interest…what are we doing in Armenia? Where do we live? Why are we going to Georgia? We got our stamps and were quickly across the border in Georgia.
The marshurtnie drivers, although Georgian, spoke Armenian, and were kind enough to find us an Armenian speaking taxi driver once we arrived in the city. This is where our language luck ended. We had made reservations at a guesthouse in advance, fortunately, but had banked on the taxi driver knowing where it was, or at least knowing the street. Bad assumption. After driving around the city in a few different wrong directions, James was able to direct him using the small, poorly-drawn map from our guidebook. We found the place, but it had no sign or any indication that it was a guesthouse. We knocked anyway, and a nice woman who spoke nothing but Russian ushered us inside. James had studied Russian for a few months in Vayk and managed to have a very basic conversation with our host, which reminded me quite a bit of conversing with my host family during PST.
Our next task of the day was to find the Peace Corps office, which we had planned to visit first except that the taxi driver didn’t know that street either. We knew that it was very close to our guest house and decided to ask. The directions we received involved hand gestures, grunting, and the word mountain, from which we ascertained that we needed to turn left, left, and then right, and something about a mountain… We thought maybe we should call the Peace Corps and have them give us directions, so we asked for a phone. The woman thought we were asking for the phone number and kept saying she didn’t have it. Eventually she called her nephew, who spoke just enough English to tell us that we needed to turn left, left, go up some stairs (this must be our mountain), and then turn right. We decided to try it. We had to ask for directions twice (enter James and minimal Russian skills), and we discovered that the next door neighbors of the Peace Corps didn’t even know that the building existed, but we found it successfully without too much more adventure.
After jealously oogling their nice, big office, with showers for the volunteers, we headed out to dinner with a few Georgian PC volunteers. They took us to Korean barbecue (a Georgian specialty…right). We get enough Georgian food in Armenia that we didn’t mind too much to be missing out on Georgian food in Georgia. For the sake of principle, we did eat Georgian on our very last night at the Hingali House. The rest of the time was everything else that we can’t get in Armenia—McDonalds, good beer, Korean food, etc. After all, we were on vacation. I never thought I would be that excited about McDonalds, but we want what we can’t have, therefore, I wanted McDonalds. I am somewhat ashamed to admit that we actually ate there twice in three days. Just pretend you didn’t read that part—two visits to McDonalds in 10 months isn’t so bad…right? They just happened to be two days in a row.
Three days was just enough time to see the sights of the city, do a few walking tours, and see a lot of churches—Georgia and Armenian both have more churches than most normal people can stand to visit. I think we went inside 9 churches on the first day before we decided to just look at them from the outside and move onto other things. Ironically, one of my favorite churches to visit was the Armenian church (like I don’t get enough of that). As much of a sight as we were to begin with, simply being American tourists in Georgia, we were even more of a sight as Armenian-speaking American tourists in Georgia. Needless to say, the woman at the little candle booth was just thrilled with us when we began to speak to her. Possibly, we were just as thrilled to finally be able to speak to someone with relative ease. When speaking in Armenian becomes the thing I do with relative ease, I know I am outside of my league…. We also visited the Turkish sulfur baths, which are not Turkish, they are Georgian. Regardless of their nationality, it was an enjoyable, relaxing experience. We opted for the private room over public nudity, but maybe next time I will be braver.
On our last full day we decided to go to the train/marshurtnie station to try and find our marshurtnie. We were told the Yerevan marshrutnie leave every morning, from 8-1 when they fill up. We wanted to make sure we could find it so that in the morning we weren’t frantically running around the city trying to explain in broken Russian that we wanted to go to Armenia. It was a good thing we went early. The station was huge. We wondered around for almost an hour looking for a marshrutnie with a Yerevan sign (in Russian, of course) until we decided to ask someone for help. We picked out an older woman shopkeeper, because she looked friendly, and James began to prep his Russian. He explained that we wanted to go to Yerevan. Somehow, in the midst of their stilted Russian conversation I picked up that the woman spoke Armenian! I am still not sure exactly how I figured that out, but I began to speak in Armenian and she began to get very excited, and she told us exactly where our marshurtnie was located and to come find her if we had any more problems. Then the questions…why are you here? Why do you speak Armenian? What do you do there? I have never been so relieved or happy to be answering those questions.
The next morning we arrived bright and early at 9am ready to head back to Yerevan. We were promptly informed that that marshrutnie would not be leaving until 1pm. Great. Four more hours to sit in the marshrutnie without it even moving. We were also informed that the ride was more expensive than we had been told. Since we had wanted to leave without exchanging money, we spent everything except the exact marshutnie fare. At least a trip to the ATM would help pass the time. While withdrawing money we found ourselves surrounded by a group of women who had obviously never seen such a profound thing as a machine that gives you money (this makes me wonder if they have been walking around Tblisi with their eyes closed, but that is a different story). I have accepted the fact that ATM etiquette is not what it is in the US on this side of the world (i.e. if you give the person using the machine any space at all other people will assume you are not waiting and will cut in front of you) but I have never had an actual audience of people all craning their necks to see what will happen next. A funny thing happened...I entered my pin code, and money came out. Just like magic.
The remainder of the ride home (once we got started) was slow, but not too painful. That is, with the exception of a random hour long stop for the drivers to eat dinner, without informing anyone in the marshutnie that they were doing so. Border crossing was actually more difficult going back into Armenia than leaving, possibly because we were at a bigger border crossing than the small village station on a dirt road where we entered. While waiting in various lines to give people my passport repeatedly, I entertained myself by watching the bird flu “precautions.” By precautions, I mean a man in a white haz-mat suit with no gloves or head protection, spraying some sort of substance on the outsides of each tire. Thorough, I know. Its okay though, Armenia has people stationed at the borders shooting the birds as they fly in—there’s no bird flu here.
Monday, April 10, 2006
thirsty?
We were sitting in the living room, relaxing after a hard morning of skiing. The television was tuned, as usual, to some European sports channel, and we had just been served coffee and fruit. Artur brought out a number of wines and liqueurs he had made, the most recent sample including a bouquet of fruits, herbs, nettles and garlic. It was good, really. Suddenly, out of the discussion of these interesting blends of home brews, came the question:
"Would you like to drink some blood?"
I turned to Morgan with his superior language skills. "Did she just say what I think she said?" Morgan was asking the same question.
Yup, we were just asked if we would like to drink some blood. Before we could protest Alla had disappeared into the cellar and returned with a glass bottle of a very dark red liquid. I had been warned about this….
"It’s good, it’s sweet," she said, grabbing a few glasses.
"No, no, that’s okay," Morgan and I stammered in near unison, choking back nervous laughter and exchanging meaningful glances that only two Americans who have just been offered blood as a refreshment can appreciate. Our protests worked, and somewhat disappointedly I am afraid, Alla gave a small drink of the blood/fruit mixture to her five-year-old and returned the bottle to the cellar.
Alla is very knowledgeable about home remedies and has a lot of different teas and concoctions on hands for various ailments. Some probably work better than others. The remedy in question was one for women, especially, who have "thin blood" (low iron, I am assuming). I am sure it probably works, but a bit relieved not to know first hand.
In addition to home remedies, and cross-country skiing, which was probably the last of the skiing for the season due to warm, slushy snow, we were treated to a tour of Ashotsk by Artur. This was partly due to a lack of other options as skiing was only possible in the mornings, and partly due to Artur wanting to show us around and maybe show us off (just a little). We had spent the first morning repeatedly falling through the snow, so a walk was a welcome change. We visited Artur’s mother, and enjoyed the traditional Armenian spread, complete with Sea Buckthorn jam—a new one to add to the list of fruits I didn’t know the name of in English before I knew them in Armenian. We walked the streets and looked at some of the sights in the earthquake shattered town, with a current population of probably less than 1,000. Artur estimated it between 6 and 7,000 before the earthquake. The majority of residents are still living in the small "domeeks" that were provided by European nations over 15 years ago as temporary housing. Some have been added onto, reinforced, or remodeled—this is the case with Artur and Alla’s home—others are merely small dilapidated looking wooden shacks.
As it was April fools day, we entertained ourselves by telling the locals that we were from china (none of us were) and that our eyes had become round from eating too much dolma. As expected, this drew some confused looks, with lots of people pulling at the corners of their eyes to make them squinty. This was the manner in which they informed us that we did NOT look like "chinamen." Okay, so cultural sensitivity is perhaps a bit lacking… This was entertaining in its own rite, but the highlight of the day was visiting the nesting storks—there are five pairs in Ashotsk, with giant nests perched atop telephone poles. We were able to get very close to photograph them, and even saw one pair mating.
Ironically, not even including the magnificent storks, I think I saw more wildlife in the snow around Ashotsk than I have in most of the rest of the country combined. Animals and flowers alike were just beginning to poke out of the melting snow, and we were witness firsthand to a mouse, a dragon fly, a number of birds and some insects. We were also able to track a wolf kill—the footprints first led us to the fur outline of what we determined to be a small goat perhaps, and then on to the horns, and later the jaw. Artur is very knowledgeable about the local wildlife, and even more excited about sharing his knowledge. This, of course, was a stretch of my language skills, but a welcome relief from the simple ignorance and fear that prevails among most Armenian citizens, especially where wolves are concerned.
Once again, the trip to Ashotsk was wonderful and wonderfully relaxing. I certainly never thought that staying with another Armenian family for a weekend, and speaking nothing but Armenian would seem like a vacation, but I leave feeling refreshed, relaxed and healthy—three things that aren’t so common in Vayk. The new apartment helps, but I am still constantly tackling new challenges as I try to do new things. For example, today I flooded my bathroom. Turns out, the drain in the floor is decorative. On the bright side, the electronic agitator works, one of the few things in the apartment that has worked on the first try. After learning how to use it and doing some of my laundry, I decided that I could empty the water out of the machine into the floor drain. After waiting about thirty minutes, I started bailing with buckets. Lucky for me, my bathroom floor is half caved in and holds a good deal of water easily. My new six dollar mop finished the job. That investment pays more dividends every time I use it.
I was treated to another visit from my landlord yesterday. She brought me chocolate and retrieved some old clothes from a suitcase in my spare bedroom. Then came the meat of the visit. She told me, with great seriousness, that I am not to open the door for the water man, who comes every month to collect the water bill. Every apartment in Vayk is now required to have a water meter and she can’t afford to put one in, so the solution is to look through my peephole and if I see the waterman, not to let him in. It seems a little wrong, but she says that she will bring a water meter and install it. Of course, she didn’t say when….
"Would you like to drink some blood?"
I turned to Morgan with his superior language skills. "Did she just say what I think she said?" Morgan was asking the same question.
Yup, we were just asked if we would like to drink some blood. Before we could protest Alla had disappeared into the cellar and returned with a glass bottle of a very dark red liquid. I had been warned about this….
"It’s good, it’s sweet," she said, grabbing a few glasses.
"No, no, that’s okay," Morgan and I stammered in near unison, choking back nervous laughter and exchanging meaningful glances that only two Americans who have just been offered blood as a refreshment can appreciate. Our protests worked, and somewhat disappointedly I am afraid, Alla gave a small drink of the blood/fruit mixture to her five-year-old and returned the bottle to the cellar.
Alla is very knowledgeable about home remedies and has a lot of different teas and concoctions on hands for various ailments. Some probably work better than others. The remedy in question was one for women, especially, who have "thin blood" (low iron, I am assuming). I am sure it probably works, but a bit relieved not to know first hand.
In addition to home remedies, and cross-country skiing, which was probably the last of the skiing for the season due to warm, slushy snow, we were treated to a tour of Ashotsk by Artur. This was partly due to a lack of other options as skiing was only possible in the mornings, and partly due to Artur wanting to show us around and maybe show us off (just a little). We had spent the first morning repeatedly falling through the snow, so a walk was a welcome change. We visited Artur’s mother, and enjoyed the traditional Armenian spread, complete with Sea Buckthorn jam—a new one to add to the list of fruits I didn’t know the name of in English before I knew them in Armenian. We walked the streets and looked at some of the sights in the earthquake shattered town, with a current population of probably less than 1,000. Artur estimated it between 6 and 7,000 before the earthquake. The majority of residents are still living in the small "domeeks" that were provided by European nations over 15 years ago as temporary housing. Some have been added onto, reinforced, or remodeled—this is the case with Artur and Alla’s home—others are merely small dilapidated looking wooden shacks.
As it was April fools day, we entertained ourselves by telling the locals that we were from china (none of us were) and that our eyes had become round from eating too much dolma. As expected, this drew some confused looks, with lots of people pulling at the corners of their eyes to make them squinty. This was the manner in which they informed us that we did NOT look like "chinamen." Okay, so cultural sensitivity is perhaps a bit lacking… This was entertaining in its own rite, but the highlight of the day was visiting the nesting storks—there are five pairs in Ashotsk, with giant nests perched atop telephone poles. We were able to get very close to photograph them, and even saw one pair mating.
Ironically, not even including the magnificent storks, I think I saw more wildlife in the snow around Ashotsk than I have in most of the rest of the country combined. Animals and flowers alike were just beginning to poke out of the melting snow, and we were witness firsthand to a mouse, a dragon fly, a number of birds and some insects. We were also able to track a wolf kill—the footprints first led us to the fur outline of what we determined to be a small goat perhaps, and then on to the horns, and later the jaw. Artur is very knowledgeable about the local wildlife, and even more excited about sharing his knowledge. This, of course, was a stretch of my language skills, but a welcome relief from the simple ignorance and fear that prevails among most Armenian citizens, especially where wolves are concerned.
Once again, the trip to Ashotsk was wonderful and wonderfully relaxing. I certainly never thought that staying with another Armenian family for a weekend, and speaking nothing but Armenian would seem like a vacation, but I leave feeling refreshed, relaxed and healthy—three things that aren’t so common in Vayk. The new apartment helps, but I am still constantly tackling new challenges as I try to do new things. For example, today I flooded my bathroom. Turns out, the drain in the floor is decorative. On the bright side, the electronic agitator works, one of the few things in the apartment that has worked on the first try. After learning how to use it and doing some of my laundry, I decided that I could empty the water out of the machine into the floor drain. After waiting about thirty minutes, I started bailing with buckets. Lucky for me, my bathroom floor is half caved in and holds a good deal of water easily. My new six dollar mop finished the job. That investment pays more dividends every time I use it.
I was treated to another visit from my landlord yesterday. She brought me chocolate and retrieved some old clothes from a suitcase in my spare bedroom. Then came the meat of the visit. She told me, with great seriousness, that I am not to open the door for the water man, who comes every month to collect the water bill. Every apartment in Vayk is now required to have a water meter and she can’t afford to put one in, so the solution is to look through my peephole and if I see the waterman, not to let him in. It seems a little wrong, but she says that she will bring a water meter and install it. Of course, she didn’t say when….
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Spark column: unabridged
The following is a column I guest wrote for the 100th issue of the Spark, my high school newsmagazine. I owe much to the time I spent in the cramped lab of Lakota East High School, and I am pretty sure that I wouldn't be writing this blog right now if it weren't for that influence. As journalism goes, quite a bit was cut from the original piece for space. Here is the article in its entirety.
Here I am again. My bedroom is a balmy 34 degrees, I unpacked my suitcases while wearing my hat, scarf and new winter coat. There is a thin layer of ice on the bathroom floor and the water is so cold it hurts. Washing my face will have to wait—I am not that brave yet. I am jet-lagged as hell and have arrived smack in the middle of the most Armenian week of them all…the six-day New Year’s celebration. Yes, six days…actually, seven. The parties begin on New Year’s Eve and continue until the Armenian Christmas, January 6. Every day repeats itself right now. I arrive at some Armenian’s house and sit down to a table laden with types of food that never appear except for this one week. With the traditional diet in the regions consisting mostly of potatoes, rice, and bread, I think I have eaten an Armenian year’s worth of meat in the past 4 days. People yell at me to "eat, eat, eat…try this, have one of these…you don’t want it, why not?" It has been one never-ending dinner ever since I stumbled off the plane in Yerevan.
I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this as I sat in a Viennese café, three fourths of the way back to my temporary home in the developing country of Armenia. I have lived there for the past 7 months as a Peace Corps volunteer, and now, after a brief Christmas visit to the states, have 20 more months to go. As I savored one last cup of good coffee, with real milk, one last opportunity to sit in warmth and comfort and watch the snow fall gently outside, one last moment of "civilization" before the final plane departs, I took some time to reflect on my experience thus far.
It was good to be home, difficult to depart. And yet, amidst the thrill of hot showers, a house warm enough to be barefoot (sometimes), a car available to take me places, and all the Chinese take-out and Mexican food I could ever want, I remembered why I made the decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place.
It began as a romantic vision of living in a straw hut near some tropical rain forest, surrounded by giggling children and working toward the ever idealistic goal of peace on earth. As it turns out, that’s not exactly what I signed up for. Instead, I am living with a host family in a stone house with electricity and running water. I am in the middle of the desert, high in altitude, with cold winters and scorching summers. The only people giggling are those laughing at me and my clumsy speech, and the notion of peace on earth has been shunned for immediate monetary relief and movement towards Westernization. I am supposed to be an Environmental Education volunteer, but before I make any progress in that department I have to figure out how to convince these people to take some responsibility for the land outside of their front gate.
I am often simply seen as a rich American with a fancy car and more money than I know what to do with. This is a difficult position, given my volunteer status. At this point in my life I have no car, and a lot of college debt, but I am still rich compared to these people who are lucky to make 100 dollars a month. My work is different than that of traditional relief organizations that often fund projects and provide grants. Very little money is ever involved in my work, unless the people raise it themselves. We are helping them to help themselves; at least, that’s the theory. The people I work with are strong-willed and capable, but reticent to try new things and pessimistic about their future. I often ask myself "who can blame them?" In the last century they have endured genocide, Soviet rule, Soviet collapse, war, trade blockades, a disastrous earthquake, and finally a "democratic" government that doesn’t seem to have totally left the old system behind. Corruption abounds and the people feel helpless to do anything about it and seem content to leave it that way. It is a sort of learned complacency that is difficult to break through, especially as a young single female who has single-handedly defied all traditional gender norms.
During my vacation, people have repeatedly asked me "is it worth it?" The short answer is, yes, of course. The longer answer involves me reevaluating the way I take in new experiences, the way I view the world, and the way I see success and accomplishment. It has been a tremendous growing experience to find myself virtually dumped in a foreign land where I had to start from scratch: a new language, a new alphabet for that matter, a new social code, a new job, new friends, and a new family to live with…who speak no English. Even if I were to pack my bags right now, I think I would approach things differently than I would have a year ago. I have more confidence, more empathy for others, improved communication skills, and a less ego-centric view of the world.
Of course, I can’t always view my experience this rationally or philosophically. There are times when I simply need a release or a break from this world that I now call home, at least temporarily. I have found that one of the best ways to cope with my nearly unrecognizable lifestyle is to write. It is not only cathartic for me, but also allows others to share in my joys, frustrations and discoveries. Writing has always been important to me, but as with many things, it wasn’t until I began my tour in Armenia that I truly appreciated its value.
It was this very magazine that gave me that start nearly eight years ago. Writing for the Spark gave me a broader perspective of the world. It allowed me, at a relatively young age, to see beyond the finite opportunities of high school romances and teenage soap operas. And, while acknowledging that these too are an important part of growing up, I was able to enter the adult world with more grace and poise than that of the typical 17-year-old. I credit the Spark in many ways for opportunities that have opened up well past these formative years. Never before have I appreciated freedom of speech as much as I do now, and never before have I been as concerned about the level of apathy and disconnectedness currently present in the United States. It is comforting to me to know that entities such as the Spark exist to educate young people and to empower them to take an active role in the future. In the United States, as in Armenia, it is the action of the people and the education of the youth that determine our eventual destination.
Here I am again. My bedroom is a balmy 34 degrees, I unpacked my suitcases while wearing my hat, scarf and new winter coat. There is a thin layer of ice on the bathroom floor and the water is so cold it hurts. Washing my face will have to wait—I am not that brave yet. I am jet-lagged as hell and have arrived smack in the middle of the most Armenian week of them all…the six-day New Year’s celebration. Yes, six days…actually, seven. The parties begin on New Year’s Eve and continue until the Armenian Christmas, January 6. Every day repeats itself right now. I arrive at some Armenian’s house and sit down to a table laden with types of food that never appear except for this one week. With the traditional diet in the regions consisting mostly of potatoes, rice, and bread, I think I have eaten an Armenian year’s worth of meat in the past 4 days. People yell at me to "eat, eat, eat…try this, have one of these…you don’t want it, why not?" It has been one never-ending dinner ever since I stumbled off the plane in Yerevan.
I had tried to mentally prepare myself for this as I sat in a Viennese café, three fourths of the way back to my temporary home in the developing country of Armenia. I have lived there for the past 7 months as a Peace Corps volunteer, and now, after a brief Christmas visit to the states, have 20 more months to go. As I savored one last cup of good coffee, with real milk, one last opportunity to sit in warmth and comfort and watch the snow fall gently outside, one last moment of "civilization" before the final plane departs, I took some time to reflect on my experience thus far.
It was good to be home, difficult to depart. And yet, amidst the thrill of hot showers, a house warm enough to be barefoot (sometimes), a car available to take me places, and all the Chinese take-out and Mexican food I could ever want, I remembered why I made the decision to join the Peace Corps in the first place.
It began as a romantic vision of living in a straw hut near some tropical rain forest, surrounded by giggling children and working toward the ever idealistic goal of peace on earth. As it turns out, that’s not exactly what I signed up for. Instead, I am living with a host family in a stone house with electricity and running water. I am in the middle of the desert, high in altitude, with cold winters and scorching summers. The only people giggling are those laughing at me and my clumsy speech, and the notion of peace on earth has been shunned for immediate monetary relief and movement towards Westernization. I am supposed to be an Environmental Education volunteer, but before I make any progress in that department I have to figure out how to convince these people to take some responsibility for the land outside of their front gate.
I am often simply seen as a rich American with a fancy car and more money than I know what to do with. This is a difficult position, given my volunteer status. At this point in my life I have no car, and a lot of college debt, but I am still rich compared to these people who are lucky to make 100 dollars a month. My work is different than that of traditional relief organizations that often fund projects and provide grants. Very little money is ever involved in my work, unless the people raise it themselves. We are helping them to help themselves; at least, that’s the theory. The people I work with are strong-willed and capable, but reticent to try new things and pessimistic about their future. I often ask myself "who can blame them?" In the last century they have endured genocide, Soviet rule, Soviet collapse, war, trade blockades, a disastrous earthquake, and finally a "democratic" government that doesn’t seem to have totally left the old system behind. Corruption abounds and the people feel helpless to do anything about it and seem content to leave it that way. It is a sort of learned complacency that is difficult to break through, especially as a young single female who has single-handedly defied all traditional gender norms.
During my vacation, people have repeatedly asked me "is it worth it?" The short answer is, yes, of course. The longer answer involves me reevaluating the way I take in new experiences, the way I view the world, and the way I see success and accomplishment. It has been a tremendous growing experience to find myself virtually dumped in a foreign land where I had to start from scratch: a new language, a new alphabet for that matter, a new social code, a new job, new friends, and a new family to live with…who speak no English. Even if I were to pack my bags right now, I think I would approach things differently than I would have a year ago. I have more confidence, more empathy for others, improved communication skills, and a less ego-centric view of the world.
Of course, I can’t always view my experience this rationally or philosophically. There are times when I simply need a release or a break from this world that I now call home, at least temporarily. I have found that one of the best ways to cope with my nearly unrecognizable lifestyle is to write. It is not only cathartic for me, but also allows others to share in my joys, frustrations and discoveries. Writing has always been important to me, but as with many things, it wasn’t until I began my tour in Armenia that I truly appreciated its value.
It was this very magazine that gave me that start nearly eight years ago. Writing for the Spark gave me a broader perspective of the world. It allowed me, at a relatively young age, to see beyond the finite opportunities of high school romances and teenage soap operas. And, while acknowledging that these too are an important part of growing up, I was able to enter the adult world with more grace and poise than that of the typical 17-year-old. I credit the Spark in many ways for opportunities that have opened up well past these formative years. Never before have I appreciated freedom of speech as much as I do now, and never before have I been as concerned about the level of apathy and disconnectedness currently present in the United States. It is comforting to me to know that entities such as the Spark exist to educate young people and to empower them to take an active role in the future. In the United States, as in Armenia, it is the action of the people and the education of the youth that determine our eventual destination.
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