Goodbye Sumgayit, Goodbye Azerbaijan

Goodbye Sumgayit, Goodbye Azerbaijan
Sizi heç zaman unutmarım (I will never forget you)
November 8, 2011

Entering to the Park, I notice the season is changing. Around me, fallen leaves swirl about with each breeze from the Sea. Inside the park, some yellow leaves have blackened, and some trees stand bare and silent. Soon the winter will be here, but I won’t.

These past two years whenever I felt glum and impotent, I would go for a walk/run in the park. The park never failed to lift my spirit. It was also inside the park that I met many friendly Azeri elders. I enjoyed watching them dozing off on a bench, drinking tea under a tree, chattering with acquaintances, playing with their grandkids or casually walking towards the sunset. For them, life in Sumgayit is neither dull nor harsh for it is the only life they know. They have little knowledge of the outside world other than their own.

Sumgayit, the town I called home for the past two years, is a small dusty little suburban area with population less than 300,000. During the Soviet time, it was a notorious, highly polluted industrial place. Even today, you can still see factory ruins and abandoned Russian compounds everywhere. Sumgayit is definitely not a popular tourist destination like Baku, Ganja, Sheki or Mingachevir. At times, when the living conditions were so harsh, especially during the winter months, I hated it here. Yet, slowly I developed a tolerance for this place, even affection. Maybe because here, something of the old ways still survive.

Every weekend, I was eager to go to the Bazaar, not only to buy foods but to smell and feel the excitement of the Azeri life. It was the hustle and bustle aura of the Bazaar that magnetized me. Street vendors and farmers came from far places selling their fresh fruits and vegetables, howling and yelling to market their products. With my broken Azerbaijani and a foreign face, I frequently attracted their attention, sometimes even unwanted type. Passing through my favorite bakery, with the aroma of freshly baked brick oven bread, I never could resist buying a piece. I don’t think I will ever forget that earthly taste, smoky flavor and burnt smell.

From a far distance, a familiar evening call to prayer brings me back to the present. This hauntingly beautiful cry echoes mellifluously around me. I again, look to the elders in the park. In spite of having so little in their retirement, they seem contented. After all, they believe their lives should be defined by not having lots of material things but by having many healthy grandchildren. When the sun begins to set, I take a last glance at the Caspian Sea. I can not help but wondering how many people in their lives time have the opportunity to see this inland Ocean. How privileged I am to stroll by its shore everyday for the past two years. I watch the glory sunset on the horizon and the peaceful image of the Azeri elders. The mystical ancient chanting resonates; the harmonies of this place are coalescing in my mind. I walk home with heavy emotion knowing that the end of my life in Azerbaijan is near.

Although I always feel the lure of far places, but today I am longing to go home. Tomorrow, I will be leaving Sumgayit and begin my long journey home and, at the stroke of midnight November 9, 2011, I will forever been called as RPCV ((Returned Peace Corps Volunteer). The title, I am proud and deeply honored to earn.

Chi S. Chan,
United States Peace Corps Volunteer
Azerbaijan 2009-2011

My Life in Azerbaijan - Autumn Rain

October 1, 2011

I was awakened by the distant sound a rolling thunder. It is nearly dawn but the sky outside my bedroom window is still gloomy and depressing. Lightning repeatedly flashes and thunder mutters ominously. I don’t want to get up, just lying in bed contentedly and listening to the sousing downpours of the rain.

Rain in this part of the world usually goes as quickly as it comes, but not today. By 11:00am, rain still comes and not wanting to go. I always have a rain fixation. It may seem inconvenient to go outside in the rain, but I do not mind remaining indoor; observing how the rain transforms the world.

First, it is the air. Rain washes the air heavy, fragrant. I find its smell irresistible. Then, it is the sound of the rain, the rhythm that it creates; the gentle tapping resonances on a rooftop, on tree branches, on leaves, on earth. It is prodigiously soothing, hypnotic, soporific and comforting. Wind turns out to be, if anything, even more magnificent. Here in Baku, the notorious gale often intensifies a rain storm. I watch the 70 feet tall giant cottonwood in my courtyard swinging back and forth ferociously as the gale grows fiercer. Leaves are drenched with rainfalls which help to wash away months of cumulated summer dust. I often wonder where the birds are, where they are hiding, how they keep themselves dry and warm.

Then it is the after rain. When the pale sky begins to brighten, slowly the chirping sounds of birds become audible. Patches of blue sky appear, sun peeks through dark clouds, and millions of diamond raindrops scintillating in its rays. Everything is brought back to life again.