Thus far I have not mentioned any work that I am doing, nor the reason why I came to Baku, Azerbaijan. So this following piece will try to deal with that. Simply said, it is not all pleasure here, and life does not consist of just traveling.
I am here with the European Voluntary Service (EVS). EVS is most likely set up as the counterpart to the American Peace Corps (PC), though structured and funded in a different manner. As it is, the EU has approved me coming here to work on ‘my’ project with Internally Displaced Persons’ (IDP) children. On paper, this looked well set up and very structured. Reality, however, is ‘slightly’ different.
Elmlar is the community where I am to work 5 days a week, 4 -5 hours each day (depending if we have language lessons that day), plus the additional hours to prepare lessons.
Elmlar is quite a small IDP community. It consists of one 5-story flat, with I guess about 10-15 families living on each floor. Formally a student residency, most families have one room, often with an electrical pit & low table/cupboard outside in the corridor. Each floor shares a smelly shower and toilet block. The best words to describe the place are: run down, un-kept, small, definitely claustrophobic, dark and drafty. My favorite is the ever present laundry hanging outside, rain or no rain!
There are two entrances that are connected by a dark, narrow corridor. We work in a room opposite one entrance. On the right hand one end there is room and on the left a damaged door to the hallway that lines the rooms on this floor. It looks like there once was a staircase up to the other floors opposite ‘our room’, but this is ceiled off and used to store water bottles and some laundry. So to go upstairs the families have to go to the other entrance, and then up. Most doors are either covered or substituted with curtains, the doors – naturally- stored in our workplace.
I believe that there is very little privacy between families, and definitely none between family members. The closeness with which these people live definitely affects them. Many children interact with each other as if they are brothers and sisters. There is always a lot of hitting going on. Kids are constantly slapping each other, and quite frequently we see some parent (often not the actual father or mother of the child) have a go. There is also a lot of interaction at quite load volume, but I don’t know if this is just screaming or also a cultural difference.
During the first month I went to the community with a translator, then with Kzysiek and a translator or two, then frequently without translators. It was extremely strange to find out that after having had at least 3 years of volunteers at that place, no list of children existed, no information on what had already been done there, nothing on problems, different approaches used, what works and what does not. In any case, I was introduced to the community leader before Krzysiek came. This woman was very adamant that we should involve her in all projects, ask for her help, that she knows the children, and that nothing should take place without her consent. Not all was translated to me, but there were some grievances from her side. A little later I was told that the previous volunteers had been expelled from this community, apparently because they only wanted to take the well behaving children that they knew with them on excursions, and not the ones the community leader selected. But whether this is the full story, I do not know.
During this time we made activities and lessons, but soon decided that some structure was needed. It was impossible to work with 5 and 16 years old at the same time, some times with only a hand full of children, some times over twenty.
Our first aim then became to get to know the children and be accepted, the second to set up a working structure, the third to meet the parents, introduce ourselves and tell them what we plan and perhaps amend it.
With and without translators started gathering required information. We went through the flat, hanging up lists and a letter to the children and parents with the request to please write the names of the children, their age, the days they are free and what they would like to learn / do. Many ladies saw us put up the lists, read, nodded and went back to their rooms. Quite happy that they had understood, we returned the next day. The list on the door of our room was untouched, first disappointment. The second was that on each floor, the lists had been taken down. We were told us it was the children… but we know they are not the only ones taking things down…
Time for another approach: we made a new list, and went to the community leader for help. She smiled, looked at what we wanted and told us to go ask the children, they know… so much for real involvement.
The third attempt: we went to each floor, knocking on ‘doors’, asking if children lived there. If so, we gave them a letter in Azerbaijani to read. We wrote down the names of the children that were allowed to join, what they and their parents wanted them to do, whether the child went to school in the morning or the afternoon, when it had extra-curricular activities and its age. Some parents were really helpful, some could not read, others just told us no. Many children came up to us with their friends to sign on as well, at times with impossible requests (driving!), but very helpful.
The following step: creating workable age groups, with different activities on different days. A nice time table was set up, which we printed out and hung up though out the community. And we crossed our fingers that it would work, that the next day we would actually be able to do something constructive… alas. When we got to Elmlar, our time-tables had been taken down again. Requesting it to be left hanging was futile, putting up the daily program and program for the next day did not work either (time tables are not the only things taken down…). Talking to the children individually about the activities planned for the next day does not work either, but this seems a wider problem in this country. So now the situation remains the same: some days there are just two children, some days more than twenty pass by, and naturally the age differences remain. However, the children know us, some parents do as well, and as such things are getting a bit easier. We continue to try different activities and approaches. In addition, we have accepted that working there 5 days a week is not good for us, neither for the community as they come to see you as furniture. And so we decided yet another change, which we are developing right now.
As of last week, we work twice a week in another community, Darnagul, in a school this time. Darnagul is huge, with mainly IDPs but also some non refugee families. Housing of the IDPs here differs: some live like in Elmlar, old university housing, some in small constructed houses. A little bazaar has been build; there are some small gardens with chicken and geese, and many schools. We work at Fizuli School, Fizuli being a town in the occupied area. It is on the fifth floor of a regular – non IDP– school, and has about 200 children. I believe this school is free for them, and that they have to pay some fee for the other schools, but I am not sure. I do know that IDP children are allowed to go to non IPD schools, but still have to find the exact deal why they don’t.
There is a separate entrance to the Fizuli School. It is probably an old entrance to the other school as well, as the stairway is blocked off at each floor other than the fifth. When you enter the actual school, you step into a big hallway. You clearly see it is an IDP school, as there is a shrine for those who died, together with (on another wall) some gruesome pictures of mutilated bodies. The dates of territorial loss hang next to drawings and other art work. Classrooms are relatively small, some bigger rooms divided into two by triplex. The place looks well kept, is clean, and I think it has a reasonable standard.
The school teaches children from the third to the tenth class (9 to 16), and it only runs in the morning, closing at 1 p.m. After that, we can come in. Twice a week, we ‘teach’ 3 hours in a row. On Monday we give an hour of English for third and sixth graders, then an hour for seven and eight graders, followed by an hour of sports for the latter group. On Thursday the first hour is for the nine and tenth graders, then an hour of dance/art lessons for all ages followed by sport/games for the younger kids. The director, a stern but friendly lady, made children sign up for these lessons, and we keep attendance. In addition, there are teachers in the school giving extra-curricular lessons, so help is around if needed! Quite a different scenario, but only having taught there twice, we have to see what will happen. For the moment the classes are good sizes (between 8 and 15), the children eager and enthusiastic. Hopefully this will stay, so that we can reward them with certificates of attendance and actual progress in their English. Insha’Allah they would say.
Actually, the first problems already came up last Thursday. The son of one of the teachers opened the door for us, but no teachers were around. So the hallway was swamped by over excited children, running around, knocking on the door of the room in which we were teaching the 14-16 years old. This was not too bad, just slightly annoying.
After the lesson, the boy with the key had to leave, and so the school was locked. We were stuck outside, surrounded by about 30 kids. We decided to divide into two groups: dance and sport. Krzysiek took the sport kids over to the Agdam School (also a town in the occupied area), while I would do some dance lesson in front of Fizuli School. Having no translator and frantic kids, they did not understand the ‘your name + a dance move’ game, so then I tried the name/ball game. At that moment we kindly got requested to move, as the school still had lessons.
We walked to a parking lot/open space, and were just about to begin, when some 24 year old punk threw his cigarette on me. One of the kids removed it. ‘Olmaz’ (= not allowed/forbidden), the punk said, and: what are you doing there, do you I speak Russian. Unfortunately I do not, so I asked if he spoke English, which he of course didn’. Meanwhile one girl is shouting in my ear, ‘just go home, go home’, and others stand in silence. I tried to ask what the problem was, but got no further than ‘olmaz’ and a real cowboy stance.
[*] Better to move on, and tell the kids that I am really sorry, that we will give it one more try and if not, then hopefully things are sorted for the following week. (Not sure if they understood all…)
We joined the others at the grounds of the Agdam School, and while they played football, I made up some dance moves with about 10 girls. This time we did not get send anywhere, and though they said it was not very good for them (considering the macho culture), they enjoyed and see you next week.
Fortunately, the second time we went to the school was absolutely perfect, as written above.
So, two days entertainers at Elmlar, 2 days teachers at Darnagul, the 5th day is spent using our brain, trying to work out some projects that are a bit more sustainable. But as it is, this entry is long enough, so perhaps more on projects in another blog entrance.
[*] Cowboy is a whole other topic that will get an entrance, one day…
Our eating table, next to the kitchen, with the stove that has quite irratic gas supply. Not that it sometimes doesn't work... it just likes to come out in substantial quantity!
When you exit our garden (gate, ), you see the following to the left, and the picture below to the right. 
Left: our famous legs- we all borrow them from time to time, just cause they are sooooo beautiful! The stairs lead up (naturally), entering room number 1. When you go through this room, you come to the door of room number 2... Room number one was not always messier than the other one, despite what you see!
# 1: Michal's area is left, right = mine
A picture says more than 1000 words, so many pictures here. There are of the route to and from Xinaliq, a village above 2000 metres, where they speak their own language (and Azerbaijani after they go to school). Winter conditions are such that although there is a road, the route is not always open to go. Many families also still choose to go down to Quba for the winter, rather than stay in the winter cold.
