Integration

Every four months, we need to submit a form to Peace Corps to report on progress in various areas.  One question that we need to answer is "How integrated do you feel in your community?" This is always a difficult question to answer because it depends on the place where you are assigned to live, the circumstances of your work assignment, and on you individually.

As I wrote previously, I don't think I will ever fully blend in here as anyone who looks at me can tell I am not Armenian. No matter how long I study the language, I can't imagine myself being so fluent that I would not still have to say "I don't understand"sometimes and no matter how long I live here, there are certain customs that will always seem odd to me because I have not grown up with them.

Regardless of that, on my latest report I finally notched up my answer from "Somewhat integrated" to "Integrated".  It is something that I think about a lot and it was the accumulation of various things that finally allowed me to claim that.  As I think back on my time here so far, I can identify specific things that have signaled my acceptance by the people here.

Taking pictures.  I learned early on that people here like to have their pictures taken.  I sometimes walk around with my camera and people will call me over asking me to photograph them. Later on, I usually brought prints to them which has led to anything from nodding acquaintances, to people stopping me on the street to chat, to getting discounts or free stuff from the people selling in the market.  

Working in the hay fields.  Living in Solak, everyone knew I am from New York.  I imagine they viewed me as a "city-slicker"or whatever the equivalent Armenian phrase would be. For most of the time I lived there, when I offered help to my host father with any physical work he would decline.  But when the beginning of August rolled around and the family headed to the hay fields, I was asked to come along.  Although it was a much longer day than I expected and I got pretty severely dehydrated, working alongside the two sons-in-law gave me some credibility.  I noted a breakthrough when, during one of the breaks we took, one of the sons-in-law (Gagik) sat right next to me, close enough for our shoulders to touch.  While in New York sitting this way in a wide open field would seem like an invasion of space, here I recognized it as a sign that I was accepted as a friend. Now, when I go back to Solak for visits, Gagik is the one hanging around with me (like young Gevorg does).

Dancing in the square.  A few months after I moved to Gyumri, there was the annual Gyumri Day celebration.  I went, intending to just stand on the sidelines and observe, take some pictures and soak up the atmosphere.  At one point, I was standing with some other volunteers and a group of teenagers waved us over.  After the usual questions, they resumed the dancing that Armenians are compelled to do any time there is a crowd and music and they suggested we join in.  I have never been big on dancing, particularly when it is of a national variety that has prescribed steps for different songs and I can't even differentiate those.  But, having learned a lesson from a Greek wedding I attended years ago, I jumped in and faked it.  And the response was enormous - like speaking, it doesn't matter if you do it badly as long as you try.  And some people told me that I looked like I knew what I was doing. Forget "dance like no one is watching" - this is more like "dance although you know you are on television". And I was.

Participating in Vardevar and snowball fights. Before I moved into my apartment, I had heard from another volunteer who had lived there that the kids in the neighborhood were unfriendly.  After living there for a while, even though I didn't find them unfriendly our relationship was mostly cordial.  When Vardevar rolled around last year (see my post about that here) I arrived home in the middle of the day to see a full-blown water fight in the middle of the street.  They stopped for me at first but, when I let it be known that I was willing to take part, all hell broke loose and we all had a lot of fun. Since then, the kids go out of their way to say hello to me, shake my hand and are completely friendly.  Early in the winter, when I took part in a snowball fight with them, that sort of cemented it.   

Accepting a coffee invitation.  One of the neighbor kids stopped me on the street one day and invited me into his house to meet his family. I used to feel really awkward about accepting invitations like that, but realized that if people are going out of their way to invite you, the least you can do is graciously accept. Over the course of a half hour, I was given a lot to eat, I was treated to the younger brother's singing (Italian arias!), and I formed a sort of bond with the people I could really now call neighbors. You get a lot of questions - why are you here? which is better - the US or Armenia? where have you visited in Armenia? do you like it here? - but find that people are not being nosy, they are generally interested.  And you come to realize that not only are people being polite, but they seem honored to have you as a guest.

Subsequent times I was invited over by someone I had met on the marshutni from Tbilisi, a man who I simply knew from seeing on the street all the time and a family from whom I asked directions. Some of these families clearly had little money but bombarded me with things to eat and drink. Another keeps calling me (from another part of the country) asking when I will come back so he can have a khorovats for me. Time permitting, I accept these invitations readily now because, early on in my time in Gyumri, I was invited into someone's house for coffee and reflexively (and truthfully) answered "I don't like coffee."  I have been kicking myself about that ever since.

Accepting an arm-wrestling challenge. When I first discovered the gym that I now go to, everyone there wondered what I wanted and why I was there.  Few of them speak English and my knowledge of Gyumri dialect was (and still is) very limited, so I would just go and do my workout and not really engage with anyone.  Periodically, the guys there start challenging each other to arm-wrestling matches and everyone else gathers to watch while I continue with what I am doing.  One day, one of the regulars sent someone over to me to ask if I wanted to arm-wrestle.  The challenger is about half my age and noticeably strong (my nickname for him is "Wolverine") so I knew I would get crushed.  My response was "why not?" and, as expected, it was over in about half a second (a full second if you count the second time he beat me).  From then on, though, when I see the others from the gym - either there or in other parts of the city - I get a nod, a hello, or even get called "akber jan" or "ap jan" - sort of an Armenian way of calling someone "buddy".

Being interviewed on TV.  This one is odd because it actually caused some trouble.  I attended a meeting about a program for people in Armenian civil society organizations that sends them to the US for six weeks to observe the US legal system.  I stepped out into the hallway at one point and a TV reporter asked if he could interview me.  I brought along someone to translate and answered his questions in English.  When the news story ran, though, my voice had been dubbed over and words put in my mouth different that what I actually said - they had me saying things that were very critical of the Armenian legal system. Various American officials who learned of the broadcast had to be assured of what I had (and had not) said and, to my knowledge, the matter got smoothed over.  Shortly after that, I was walking down the street and a woman I had never seen before approached me, shook my hand without saying a word and walked away.  A man in the market likewise called me over to say hello and has been very friendly to me ever since. I must point out that I don't recommend this one as an integration strategy.   


Going to a wake.  As I wrote a few posts ago, I attended a wake recently for one of my neighbors.  At first, I was hesitant to go for a few reasons - I didn't know the proper protocol, I wasn't sure who the person was, I didn't have anyone to bring me (all the other volunteers I know who have attended wakes went along with someone close to the deceased).  But I soon learned that it was the grandmother of my friendly-neighbor-kid and his Italian-aria-singing brother.  I had been in their house and met the woman and felt it was appropriate to pay my respects, even if I was solo. While I was there, I realized that it was the right thing to do despite the surprised looks on the faces of the other mourners - the mother of the family (the daughter of the deceased) seemed genuinely pleased that I had made the effort, and the friendly-neighbor-kid gave me a hello kiss - like the shoulder-touching sitting distance I mention above, a common occurrence between male friends here (this is the first time it had happened to me).  And since then, I have noticed that more of the older people in the neighborhood say hello to me on the street.


Each of these have marked instances when I could afterward notice a change in how people treat me.  Just as importantly, I can't overstate the value of just talking to people.  Many times I have hesitated to speak with people because I knew I would make mistakes.  I tend to practice in my head what I need to say but that does not prepare me for any follow up questions.  But even when a conversation goes badly and both parties involved walk away frustrated at not being able to communicate, I can tell that the effort made is appreciated.  The fact that I have bothered to learn the language at all is a sign to many people that I want to communicate.  Even if I knew Russian (which virtually everyone here speaks) that wouldn't have the same impact.   

Other volunteers have told me of great strides they have made in connecting with people by sitting down to a game of chess or nardi (a form of backgammon) - you don't even need to speak the language for that.  Having made progress with villagers, teenagers, kids, gym rats and old women, I regret that I long ago forgot how to play chess and have not yet learned nardi. But there is still time to do that and bond with the old men...and then maybe I can notch myself up to "Well Integrated" before I go home.

Get Me to the Church on Time

One of the big cultural events I was afraid I would miss out on here was going to a real wedding.  I specify a “real” wedding as I did attend a fake one last year.  [One of my fellow volunteers worked at an organization that started a “Culture Club” that has periodic events to showcase the customs of different nations.  The first event was about Armenia and they staged a wedding, with a Peace Corps volunteer as the bride and a European volunteer as the groom.  Since virtually all the people at the event were Armenian, one might ask why they needed an event to educate them about their own customs, but it was fun anyway (at least the parts I attended).]

This one didn't really count

You can always tell when there is a wedding going on in Armenia as cars speed through town honking their horns, so you hear it before you see it.  When the cars pass, you see someone with a video camera in the lead car, hanging out of a window or with his head through the sunroof, and you see an arm stuck out of a window holding a decorated sword (but more on that later). 

Weddings here happen every day of the week so the noise pollution rarely stops.  One (uncorroborated) story I heard to explain the horns relates to the Soviet period and the suppression of religion.  Since church bells could not be rung, the car horns became a substitute and the tradition stuck. 

Last year, I was told that weddings were generally not held during Lent as many people foreswear numerous things – no meat at all during the period, and you are supposed to abstain from various other things such as “carnal pleasures” - which would put a damper on the wedding business, I think.  While I did notice a reduction in wedding-related horn honking last year, there have been plenty in the main Gyumri church this year, so maybe things are loosening up.

Another difference from the US is that brides don’t buy their dresses – they rent them.  Early in my time here I started to notice a lot of shops that had both bridal dresses and flowers in the windows, which I now understand are one-stop bridal shops.

Luckily, a friend here overheard me say that I hadn’t been to a wedding and, coincidentally, his cousin was getting married two days later.  He invited me to go and I jumped at the chance.  When I accepted, he hastened to add “Bring your camera”, which made it even more interesting – I became the quasi-official wedding photographer. As a bonus, the wedding was in a village (really, in several, but I’ll get to that) where more of the traditions were held to than in the cities.

Things began at the groom’s house in Gharibjuryan, a village southwest of Gyumri.  We were told to be there by 10AM but, when we arrived, the groom was not there.  Unlike the way things are in the US, it is not unusual for the groom to help out the bride with last-minute arrangements on the morning of the wedding.  Also, he and others had been up late decorating the restaurant where the party would be later, so nobody seemed too surprised that he was late.  Plus, this is Armenia where everything is late. 

Waiting for the son

We hung around the wood burning stove with various relatives while other guys were outside decorating the cars.  There were also three musicians – one with an accordion, one with a drum and one with a clarinet.  Baskets had been prepared, filled with things for the wedding.  One held the bride’s shoes, veil and bouquet; another had chocolate and wine; another fruits and candies; yet another had wedding favors; and the last was filled with rose petals.  These would be carried from place to place throughout the day.  The table was set for a typical Armenian feast.

There are two men who perform the duties we would give to the “Best Man” – one who acts as godfather (and there is a corresponding godmother for the bride) and the “azapbashi”, who is sort of a bodyguard. The godparents are married (and I believe usually to each other and selected by the groom) while the azapbashi is unmarried.  Only the latter was present at first, as collecting the godfather is part of the process.

When the groom arrived, things started to roll.  His clothes had been laid out along with the baskets. The azapbashi helped him to get dressed and then the band started playing, and everyone started to dance.  The azapbashi carries a sword decorated with apples and ribbons, and this one had toothpicks jutting out of the apples – I suppose to prevent it being stolen.  As the bodyguard, the azapbashi must hold onto the sword and people try to steal it.  At some point, coins are added to the apples as a wish for good fortune.  

Everyone danced around the house for a while and then we all got in the cars waiting outside, the azapbashi carrying his sword and others carrying the baskets.  We were off to collect the godfather.

Now is the time in the wedding when we dance

The godfather lives in Azatan, another village southeast of Gyumri.  Because the road between the two villages was blocked from the winter’s mounds of snow, the procession drove into, through and out of Gyumri to get there.  When we got to the godfather’s house, everyone piled out of the cars, the band started again and everyone danced into the house.  The music stopped, toasts were offered (and some snacks were eaten since there was another table laid out) and then the crowd danced back outside with the godfather and back into the cars.  Then it was back to the groom’s house.

Leaving the godfather's house

When we arrived, everyone got out of the cars, the band was playing, and the crowd danced into the house again.  The music and dancing continues as the mother of the groom pinned a flower to the godfather’s jacket.  A bunch of people (mostly the men) sat at the table and started to eat the piles of food there and, of course, there shots of vodka, wine and brandy.   

Celebrating the pinning of the godfather (at center)....

...while others thought it wiser to eat.

Then, you guessed it – everyone danced back out to the cars.  This time, we were headed to the bride’s house. And by now, the crowd had gotten big enough that the procession included a rented marshutni.

An old tradition is to put a fox on the hood of the car that will get to the bride’s house first.  I haven’t gotten a good answer on what that is supposed to represent, although the old saying about “a fox in the henhouse” may be it.  Apparently, that tradition is not entirely lost as I saw one a few weeks ago.

The bride’s family lived in Keti, a village north of Gyumri and the procession headed there. When we arrived, the band started up again, the dancing resumed and everyone went into the house. By this point, we were running about two hours late and I was told that many a bride waits a long time, worrying if her groom is going to show. 

Into the bride's house

The basket with the bride’s shoes, veil and bouquet was brought to her bedroom, where she was surrounded by her female relatives and friends.  The bride’s brother put on her shoes, after carrying out the traditional “ransoming” of one of them.  He threatened not to put it on, thereby preventing the wedding, until the godfather gave him some money.  I have heard that in some places, all of the bride’s single female relatives and friends sign the bottom of the shoes (and the names get crossed off as they later get married).  I did not see that happen but it was kinda crowded….

Next, the veil was waved around the bride’s head three times while the godmother sang to her.  Similar to the signing of the shoes, sometimes the veil will also be waved above all the single ladies, but not that day. 

At some point, green and red ribbons were pinned to the groom’s shirt. Traditionally, the groom’s mother does this, with the red ribbon symbolizing health (pinned from the left shoulder down to the right) and the green ribbon symbolizes happiness (pinned from the right shoulder down to the left). Sometimes the bride’s mother is asked to assist with the ribbons “to add more motherly love as their children take one of the most important journeys of their life”.  Or something like that.

While all of this was going on, most of the men were in a separate room.  As with every other house visited in this process, there was a feast laid out with khorovats, meat, cheese, vegetables, juice, soda….and vodka, wine and brandy.  More toasts, more shots.   

The bridal party came into the room with the table o’ food and posed for pictures with the adorable kiddies who had been added to the bridal party.

Godmother, bride, groom, godfather, azapbashi and the kiddies

Once the pictures were done, the band started up again and the (even bigger) crowd danced its way out of the house to the vehicles, which by now included two marshutnis.  We got in the cars and headed into the center of Gyumri for the wedding itself.  After circling the main square (during which the marshutni I was in fishtailed during one of the turns, incidentally), we parked and everyone made their way into the church. 

The ceremony itself was shorter than I had witnessed in the US, but nonetheless interesting.  A priest read some prayers, blessed the rings and blessed the couple once the rings were exchanged.  They were brought up to the altar and crowns were placed on their heads, after which they stood with the crowns touching while the godfather held a cross at their heads.

A final blessing was accompanied by the bridal party eating the chocolate and drinking the wine that had been in one of the baskets.  After a receiving line and the taking of pictures on the altar, everyone moved outside where a pair of birds was given to the bride and groom. The birds – one representing love and the other happiness – were released and they flew off.  Or at least back to their owners down the block who rent them for these occasions. 

Then it was back into the cars and back to the groom’s house.  As we arrived the band and the dancing resumed.  Lavash (wrapped in plastic, like a sash) was placed over the shoulders of the bride and groom.  The mother of the groom had a pair of dishes prepared to welcome the newlyweds to the house (as the bride normally moves in with her in-laws).   

Get a load of these dishes

The plates were placed just inside the door and the couple stepped on them to smash them – warding off evil spirits.  And then it was more pictures and, of course, more toasts.  Then it was off to the reception.

Mazel tov!

The reception was at a restaurant in Bayandur, yet another village.  A dais was set up and tables throughout the room.  There did not seem to be seat assignments so people rushed to get the seats they wanted.  Naturally, there was food piled on all the tables – meats, cheese, greens, fruits, bread and lavash, vegetables and nuts.  And the usual assortment of mineral water, juice, soda, vodka, wine and brandy. 

When the newlyweds came in, they had their first dance and then took their place at the dais – from which they didn’t move much for a while.  At one point, the groom jumped up to dance and was dragged back to his bride by the godfather.  They did do a round of the tables at one point and did join in on one of the dances, but mostly they danced in their seats.

As more food was brought out during the party, I was surprised to see that, even though it was in a restaurant, some of the female guests were the ones bringing out the food (and maybe cooking it also).  

The presentation of the khorovats

oh shit

The same musicians from earlier in the day were also playing at the party, most of it traditional Armenian songs. During their breaks, pop music from Russia and elsewhere filled in.

From then on, it was a blur of dancing, toasts and eating.  I was cajoled into all three, but in moderation.  

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stay to the end as I needed to take a taxi home and I was told I wouldn’t get one past 10:00 (the party, I am told, ended about 2:00).  As I was leaving, they were just cutting the cake and I missed the throwing of the bouquet and garter (not Armenian traditions, but seeping in from the West). And, undoubtedly, there was a lot more dancing.

Another thing that I missed was the morning after.  As I have written before, a bride is expected to be a virgin on her wedding day. Traditionally, the family of the groom brings red apples to the family of the bride the day after the wedding as a way of reporting that, how shall we say…evidence was present in the bridal chamber.    

Anyone who has read my previous post would not be surprised that, as I am told, the couple met two weeks before the wedding.  But at least the song for the first dance wasn’t this.

Given my unofficial role at the wedding, I have way more pictures in this album.

Now if I can only get invited to an Army Party….. 

On Death and Dying

Gyumri is a place where you are always reminded of death in one way or another.  While not the epicenter of the 1988 earthquake (the village of Spitak was) it was hit the hardest in terms of casualties, being a much more heavily populated area.  The collapsed buildings that remain all over the city are constant reminders.  Everyone you speak to has a story about the earthquake and knows someone who died (or, in the case of younger people, there were family members they never got to meet).

Throughout Armenia, there are also constant reminders of the Genocide.  Unlike the earthquake, which is more present due to the fact that it was relatively recent, the memory of the Genocide is kept alive in part because Armenia is still struggling for it to be recognized as such.  No matter the reason, you always meet people whose families were from Istanbul or somewhere else in Turkey and whose families fled at that time.

Everywhere you go in Armenia, you see memorials to the departed.  Many are in the form of "khachkars" (cross-stones) which are a distinct part of Armenian culture.  You may notice a strong resemblance to the Celtic cross, which was pointed out to me by the bishop with whom I work as one of many indicators that the Irish and the Armenians are related somehow.

Other memorials are in the form of fountains - some of which are simple drinking fountains, others look more decorative, but are still used by people to drink from or wash their hands.

 

Throughout the cemeteries in and around Gyumri (and some of the memorials along the streets) you see markings for those killed in the earthquake. Beside the telltale "1988" marking, there is usually a clock that shows 11:41, the time it hit.

Most of the graves here have pictures of the deceased.  I assume that many of the pictures are based on a favorite photograph provided by  the family, which would explain why they include the logo clothing that many people here are fond of. 

On a side note, one thing I find amazing (and which is a testament to the artistry here) is that the portraits are done freehand - not using computer technology.


As with everything else here, the rituals that people follow are interesting to me.  Recently, one of my neighbors died and I went to pay my respects to the family.  Not wanting to offend (or make a fool of myself) I asked around for the appropriate protocol and what is normally said to the family (answer: "Ցավակցում եմ ձեզ" - tsavaktsum em dzez - I sympathize with you).  As you approach the home of someone in mourning, you see the coffin lid outside and, often, flower arrangements.  As I entered my neighbors' house, the open casket was laid out in the living room surrounded by flowers, candles and benches for people to sit.  The immediate family was alongside the casket and after I offered my condolences, I sat on one of the benches.  I had been told by others that normally only women sit inside, but the cold may have kept some of the male visitors inside also. I am told that in some villages, the men and women gather in separate rooms of the house for mourning.

The sign of a funeral within

Not knowing the family too well, I didn't stay too long.  As I was leaving, I passed the group of men outside the house smoking - one aspect I had been told about that held true.


As I was sitting in the house, I had noticed that a portrait of the deceased was on the wall, with a black ribbon across one of the lower corners.  While I did not go to the funeral/burial itself, I have seen processions where the portrait is placed on the front of the lead car going to the cemetery.  After, it takes its place back in the house.

This "death picture" is another of the reminders throughout the country as almost every home I have been in has had a portrait over the living room couch.  The portraits are of the family matriarch or patriarch or both.

In Solak, Razmik's father's portrait

This is something people prepare for.  One of my fellow volunteers who left last year, a very gifted photographer, was asked by a neighbor to take her portrait for this specific purpose.  I haven't been asked a similar favor but would be honored if I was. 

Traditionally, there is another commemoration 40 days after the death and another on the one year anniversary.  One of my fellow volunteers was asked by her landlady to vacate her apartment for a funeral (the landlady's husband) and again for the 40 day commemoration.  I am not clear if these are universally formal where room needs to be made for visitors, but I do know there are informal aspects also.  These normally involve men drinking shots of vodka at the graveside.

Twice last year, I was part of an informal remembrance - once when I was on the walk across Armenia.  Approaching a village where we were spending the night, we passed a cemetery just off the road and were greeted by a group of men.  After pleasantries were exchanged, they told us all the great qualities of their friend, shared the food they had with them and shared their vodka.  And we took pictures.

So the traditions often take on a celebratory aspect - talking about the fond memories of the departed.  Just like an Irish wake....

Workin' for a Livin’

One of the most common complaints I hear when speaking to Armenians is that there are no jobs here.  This leads to numerous problems, ranging from the basic worry about the ability to feed one’s family to the impact it has on discouraging hope for the future (why study when there are no jobs anyway?).  

Among other issues facing society here (corruption, economic inequality, gender inequality), the high rate of emigration is one of the largest and one that the government has expressed concern about since this is one of few countries with a shrinking population.  While there is permanent emigration for a variety of reasons other than job opportunities, there is also a lot of “temporary” emigration for people seeking work. In addition to the general lack of credibility in government statistics, one specific reason for the disparity in census figures (officially 3.4 million people live in Armenia; some estimates put the figure as low as 2.5 million) is that migrant workers are usually included in the population while they are out of the country working.  It doesn’t matter if the person is gone for a part of the year or has been gone for decades – he (and they are overwhelmingly male) may still be counted.

Pretty much every family I have met has a father, son or brother (or more than one) working in Russia.  They normally send part of their wages back to support the families and these “remittances” are included in the official statistics of Armenia’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP), a measure that normally would only include the value of what is produced inside a country.  For the first ten months of 2011, remittances accounted for 13% of Armenia’s GDP, illustrating to what extent breadwinner’s are living abroad (see article). The proportion of GDP represented by remittances, by the way, includes only those cleared through the central bank.  Some people mail the money directly to their families (leading to thriving currency exchange businesses all over the country) so that figure is likely substantially understated.

In illustration of the social impact of the "temporary" emigration, there is a village where 98% of the men are away in Russia, forcing women to take on traditionally male functions. As I wrote previously, I expect this phenomenon to fuel a societal change in gender roles, but that can't happen if there aren't jobs to fill with women or men.  But I digress.

As with census figures, unemployment figures are highly suspect.  The government recently announced that unemployment fell in 2011 compared to 2010 (6.4% compared to 7.0%).  While those are rates that the US would welcome these days, the rates have a couple of footnotes.  Unlike the International Labor Organization, Armenia only includes those registered at the State Unemployment Agency as opposed to polling households.  And anyone who has cultivatable land (most people in villages) is not considered unemployed (I guess one could make a case for subsistence farming being a profession…..).  Following the more standard international practices, the unemployment rate can be estimated between 19 and 27%.  In Gyumri, the official unemployment rate is about 25% but I have heard estimates as high as 70%.

Some people who do find work are significantly overqualified for the jobs they take but they have no choice (I have heard of doctors working as drivers for expatriates).  One young man I know has a university degree from a technical university.  He looked for a job for more than a year and eventually gave up on finding one in his field of specialty.  He started looking for anything where he could qualify but even then it was difficult. He applied to work in a store where the only advertised qualification was computer knowledge, which he has.  When he did not get the job he asked why and was told that they are really looking for a woman to hire – since they need someone to make coffee for everyone else.  He eventually got a job working at a dye vat in a tee shirt factory.  As with most everything else, the factory closed at the end of December for the New Year holiday, but due to lack of orders it did not reopen until late February.

Employment is the main reason I hear for nostalgia for Soviet times.  “Everyone had a job!” I am told repeatedly.  I picture people as happy as the ones in this video.  Somehow I doubt that is an accurate picture, but economic hardship can play tricks on one’s memory.

But these sentiments are sometimes inconsistent with what I see and hear.  There was a job fair in Gyumri a few months ago where about 40 companies had booths to showcase their companies and to talk about jobs that they have available.  I was curious to go, with images in my mind of job fairs in the US with thousands of people lined up to get in. While I was at this one, however, the attendees were far outnumbered by those presenting.  A fellow volunteer asked an unemployed man he knows about whether he had gone to the fair and was told “no”.  It seems that he didn’t believe there would be anything there that he would be good for so he didn't think it was worthwhile.

In contrast, at my last job in New York I had a position to fill in 2009 – deep into the economic crisis.  I received dozens of resumes (and phone calls even though my number was not advertised) from people who did not have the basic requirements advertised for the job but who were hoping for at least a chance for a job.  The fact that there was a decent;y-paying job (even at a very troubled company) set off a minor frenzy.

The Gyumri job fair made me realize that some people treat a job search like they would online dating – if it doesn’t meet all of my requirements, I won’t even look at it.  Similarly, as I walk around, I see signs posted in the windows of shops and cafes advertising jobs that are available.  But (and, to be fair, the same exists in the US) some people don’t want jobs that are “beneath” them. 

In discussing this phenomenon with others, a fellow volunteer pointed out that, in Armenia, there is no shame in unemployment because it is so prevalent.  And while many in the US are fearful of losing their homes if there is no salary coming in, most people here own their homes outright so the personal economics are completely different.  

As a result of this, the programs we try to run here related to job skills have mixed success.  The discouragement factor I mention above is one thing to contend with while I heard of a donor organization discouraging job skill training programs because they could contribute to permanent emigration and “brain drain”.

And the Soviet mindset remains as a challenge.  In my recent  Business English class that I teach, we spoke about the need for society to plan for the types of jobs that will be needed in the future by making sure that enough people are qualified for them when they are needed.  I asked the class to suggest areas that Armenia should focus on given current trends.  The only answer I got is that the government needs to make sure that people have places to work.  

But then I read coverage of the presidential campaigning in the US.  And the answers seem eerily similar..... 

A Life of Challenges

An organization with which I work is looking into a project that would make their building accessible to people with physical disabilities, making me reflect again on how difficult it is for the disabled in Armenia.

Walking in Gyumri is enough of a challenge without contending with a disability.  Many streets are unpaved. Sidewalks don’t exist for long stretches or may be blocked by rubble from damaged buildings.  Where there are clear sidewalks, they can be at different heights in front of different buildings necessitating steps up or down as you walk along.  Some curbs that do exist are more than a foot above the street.  During the winter, you have to be particularly careful since there is no standard for whether to clear the sidewalk in front of your home or business so it is often left until it melts (particularly since there are so many vacant buildings).  This winter, snow has been on the ground since November, has solidified to ice in many places and will remain on the ground until at least April.  A total of about a foot arrived this week after four solid days of snowfall.  

All over Armenia, cars seem to have right of way no matter what.  Whether or not this is codified by law I don’t know but since everyone yields the right of way it may as well be.  There are intersections with walk signals but where a street feeding into the intersection retains a green light for cars to pass.  Cars regularly pass one another on blind hills and you can be trapped in a crosswalk with a car speeding toward you.  I have seen cars drive on sidewalks or streets that are nominally for pedestrians only, with drivers expecting people to get out of their way. 

Transportation options are virtually non-existent for the disabled.  Getting on and off marshutnis and buses usually requires you to climb over or past other passengers and the average seat (if you can get one) is not wide enough for the average person.  Subway stations in Yerevan have steep steps into the stations and escalators down to the platforms.  The city of Yerevan recently purchased a large number of buses with the intent of phasing out marshutnis for intra-city transport – but none of them are handicap accessible. Oops.

I am not aware of any elevators in Gyumri.  During the earthquake, virtually all tall buildings collapsed and I have seen only one or two that are higher than five stories.  Elevators I have been in while in Yerevan are barely wider than I am.  There are ramps up to certain areas and buildings (into some subway stations, up to church entrances) but they are usually too steep to be safely used with a wheelchair and there is no access from the street to the beginning of the ramp anyway.  Once inside a building, doorways tend to be narrow, are inconsistent as to whether they open in or out, and most that I have seen have a lip that you need to step over to cross the threshold.

There was a protest recently (see article) that highlighted that access for the disabled throughout Yerevan was very poor.  As I have written previously, Yerevan is far more developed than the rest of the country so what little is there is far more than in the outer regions of the country.  Gyumri's recently opened city hall has no ramps for access to the building.

A lot of this is because Armenians seem to prefer not to think about the disabled in the population.  By the official count, about 6% of the population is disabled but I can count on one hand how many physically disabled people I have seen in Gyumri. One man I do see often is a double amputee.  He sits in a wheelchair in his garage and usually one of the neighboring men is playing Nardi (similar to backgammon) with him.  The rutted dirt road that runs past his house leads to a poorly paved cobblestone street.  The only vehicles I see near his house are small Lada sedans and his house is run down, making it unlikely that his family owns a vehicle he could ride in comfortably.  It makes me wonder when he last left his house. 

Although Armenia no longer has “orphanages”, there are homes for children with no parents or whom the parents cannot take care of.  Some of those children are placed there because of the stigma associated with disabilities while others are simply kept indoors and out of sight.  Shame can overwhelm the need for good parenting.  There are organizations that deal specifically with these children (such as Centaur, a hippotherapy center) but it is in danger of closing for lack of funding (see article here).

Similar to transportation issues, the problem of unemployment is compounded by a disability (see article – that happens to have the same photo as the one linked above…).  Some of the larger corporations here have programs aimed at non-discrimination, but with unemployment estimated as high at 70% in some areas, it seems unlikely to me that any such program with respect to small businesses would succeed.

This all makes the desire to make the services offered in my office even more admirable.  The problem is that when it was built out to be an office space about seven years ago, this was not taken into consideration.  The cost to renovate it again, however, would be more than a new building would likely be.   

And those who need it would have no way to get there in the first place…..

A Face in the Crowd

Juan in a million - Gyumri Day 2010

I come from New York City, a city with a population of ~8.5 million.  I now live in Armenia, a country with an official population of ~3.4 million (about the same as Brooklyn), in a city with a population of ~170,000 (less than half of Staten Island’s).  

In New York, I enjoyed a pretty high level of anonymity.  Never mind that it can feel like a small town sometimes, where everyone you meet seems to know someone else you know.  And there have been times when I have run into people on the street who don’t even live there and whose visits I hadn’t been aware of.  In most cases, I could go out, be lost in a crowd and not have to worry about anyone paying attention to me unless I did something noteworthy (falling in the middle of the street and breaking my leg being a good example).

One of the big adjustments for me here has been the absolute absence of anonymity.  We are prepped for this and are urged to be mindful about it since one of Peace Corps’ goals is “Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served”.  Since many stereotypes of Americans exist (many Armenians watch US movies and believe what they see in them to be true), we often have to counteract those – not everyone in the US is rich, not all American women are “easy”, we are not here to impose our views on others, etc.   

I can say from first-hand experience that people watch everything I do and are certain to have opinions about what they see.   During my time in Solak, I received a package from my family.  I don’t even know how people found out about it (it came through the Charentsavan post office, not the one in the village, and it was in my backpack when I entered my host family’s house) but I learned from another volunteer that I was a topic of dinner conversation at her host family’s house that night.  Not only were they speculating about the contents, but they concluded that it was sent by my wife (even though I don’t have one). 

Solak has a population of about 2,800 so I thought things would be different living in Armenia’s second largest city.  Not so much.  I stand out here also.

Armenia is a very homogenous society – about 97% of the population is Armenian with the other 3% comprising Russians, Yezdis, Iranians and various other ethnic groups.  Most Armenians have common physical characteristics – generally dark skin, thick black hair, brown or grey eyes, and caterpillar type eyebrows.   Still – I can see a lot of variation in how people look, and not just because many women here dye their hair.  I see redheads and blonds, some tend to have very fair skin, I have seen young guys that look like a group of WASP/Italian/Irish hybrid brothers I know in New York and some of the men actually do go bald.  While many are short (in Solak, I am pretty sure I was the tallest person in the village), Gyumri has a lot of people my height – including some women.  

There are many reasons people stare at me.  Baldness is not common, blue eyes are unusual, I am taller than many and facial hair is not very common (I could shave, but I prefer not to).  Armenia, especially outside Yerevan, is also a pretty conformist society and I dress differently than most of the men (although I am very glad that I brought a lot of black clothing with me).  I could conform more, but in a future post I will talk about the clothes here and why I have chosen not to follow that lead.   

So, I stand out enough that quite a few people remember me – even if we haven’t met. Over the course of the 18 months I have been in Gyumri, I have given presentations, taught classes, led clubs, been a camp counselor and been on TV a couple of times.  In most of these cases, people have learned my name while I may not have learned theirs.  Therefore, it is somewhat disconcerting when I walk down the street and hear “Hi, John!” since much of the time I can’t remember how I know the person or if we’ve even met at all.  Similarly, I get friend requests on Facebook from people I don’t recognize, and the fact that many have the same names doesn’t help.  

I don’t have it as bad as some others.  Quite a few of my fellow volunteers live in villages (some as small as a few hundred people) so everyone knows about everything they do.  The African-American and Asian-American volunteers have the added issue of being considered downright exotic, drawing extra attention.  I have heard numerous stories of kids wanting to have their pictures taken with these PCVs for no apparent reason or people taking pictures of them surreptitiously.  I recently met a PCV who had just completed his service in Ethiopia.  He lived in a remote town – four hours away from the nearest fellow volunteer.  His town was not one that tourists would normally go to, so when any white person happened to come into the town, someone would bring him to the volunteer’s door as if to say “Look what I have for you!”

While that is more extreme than my experience, here are some examples of what I have encountered:

• Being waved down on the street by the postman who had a delivery notice for me.  I had never laid eyes on him before.

• Entering a post office one time, and before I could even finish saying “I think you have a package for me”, I was asked “Are you John?

• Some of my mail is delivered to the "American Corner" in Gyumri since the people in the neighborhood know I have clubs there.

• Asking for a kilo of fruit in the market and the vendor asking me why I am not buying two kilos as I normally do.

• Entering my local shop where I always buy eggs, the owner asking me if I want my normal six.  Another customer asks her who I am and why she knew how many I wanted and the conversation was still going in when I left.

• The house I live behind does not have an address marker outside so people coming to visit me often have trouble finding the correct door.  If it is a fellow American, one of the neighbors is sure to point him or her to the correct one.

• A fellow volunteer was talking about me to an Armenian and began to describe me but was cut short – “He is the one with the blue eyes”, the other person said, knowing already who I was although I don’t believe we had met.

Also, seeing as this is the Caucasus, people take the label “Caucasian” seriously.  Having filled out a questionnaire one time and marking my ethnicity as “Caucasian”, a friend of mine told me he laughed and told me to change it to “European”.

As with many other matters here, I have found that I have gotten used to it.  While waiting on a marshutni one time with a fellow PCV, we heard a group of young guys outside the vehicle talking and then laughing.  I was asked “Doesn’t it get to you – being laughed at?” I was a bit surprised at the question since it hadn’t occurred to me that they might have been.  And even times when I know people are laughing at me (the YakTrax I wear on my shoes to traverse snow and ice get a lot of attention), I can usually shrug it off. If I find someone is staring at me, I may just stare back or just smile and move on.  Life is too short to get worried about it - and if I fall on my ass on the ice I will get laughed at anyway, so I'll spare myself the pain.

As my service approaches its end, I start thinking about the “reverse culture shock” we are warned about upon returning to the US, which can be worse for some than the culture shock we experience when we start our service.  One of the factors we are told to be aware of is depression – some have trouble adjusting to not being the center of attention any longer, having to settle back into relative anonymity.  

Frankly, that is one of the things I am looking forward to.

Home for the Holidays

My second round of holidays in Armenia was very different from the first.  Last year, I attended a gathering of volunteers for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and went to Tbilisi for New Years Eve.  Due to several factors (having the flu among other things), I missed out entirely on the Armenian holiday celebration despite having heard about it for months. 

A summary of the Armenian New Year (excerpted from one provided by our Peace Corps staff) is as follows:

New Year (Nor Tari in Armenian) celebrations became very popular only in Soviet times when celebrating religious holidays was not encouraged. Most Armenians consider it the biggest and most important holiday, maybe as important as their own birthdays and anniversaries. The preparations start in mid-December when people start purchasing all kinds of food items and loading their refrigerators with various types of meat, produce, dried fruits and nuts. Some people spend all their savings, some even may borrow money, "not to disgrace themselves in front of the neighbors".

During the last days of December, housewives keep extremely busy cleaning, washing, cooking and baking. Many families decorate trees and prepare gifts for each other and especially for children. Parents usually wrap up some gifts for little kids “brought by Dzmer Pap (similar to Santa Claus). Late in the evening, families gather around a beautifully laid table and help themselves to various dishes, salads and pastries. Usually the TV is on and everybody is in festive mood. Closer to midnight the president and the Catholicos [the head of the Armenian church] speak on all local channels and congratulate the population.

As the clock strikes 12, people clink glasses and congratulate each other toasting the New Year. They eat, drink and dance; younger people get together and may stay awake until early morning. Already, close neighbors and relatives start visiting each other. It is a must to visit and congratulate older people first - parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts - as well as families where someone has died in the past year. It is a custom not to go "empty handed" but to take a box of chocolate and a drink and maybe candies and small toys for the kids in the family. These visits continue until January 13, the so called "Old New Year". This was a common tradition observed in all Soviet Republics (Russians adopted the Gregorian Calendar only in 1918, and the difference between the two calendars was 13 days; they still follow Julian calendar to celebrate Christmas on January 7). Armenian Christmas is celebrated on January 6^th - the day the Western Church commemorates the epiphany.

This year, I was determined to experience Nor Tari while also spending “American” Christmas with friends.  I was away on vacation until December 24 (you can see pictures here if interested) and arrived back in Armenia at 4AM on Christmas morning.  [FYI – since Armenians don’t celebrate on December 25, I did not see Santa at the airport].  Christmas dinner was a quiet one with three other PCVs over steak and a nice bottle of wine and it was very nice.  

I arrived back in Gyumri in time for the Christmas party at my English club.  One of the purposes of the club is to share our traditions with the people here and learn about theirs.  We had a tree, one of the girls performed a nice rendition of “Jingle Bells” and we had Armenian cake and other pastries.

So as to not get caught short food-wise as I did last year, I did a fair amount of stocking up before the end of December since everything normally shuts down for Nor Tari.  As it turns out, that wasn’t entirely necessary as quite a few stores were open the entire time.  I don’t know if it is the creeping effect of capitalism or the need to make more money as the economy continues to drag but it was definitely noticeable.  Not only food stores either – I saw others selling housewares, toys and clothing.

New Year’s Eve was also a quiet dinner with fellow PCVs.  I had heard that people gathered in the main square for fireworks at midnight, but I misunderstood the magnitude.  When we arrived just before midnight, we saw about 20 people there and the only fireworks were those people had brought with them (some of which were being fired into the tree in the square).  As described above, people tend to spend it at home and we could see fireworks all over the surrounding area that people were lighting at their houses.  There were some enterprising folks, though, with props for taking pictures of the kiddies and a couple of Dzmer Paps walking around.

Times Square it ain't

I was honored to be invited to spend New Year’s Day with the family of someone I know.  I was made an honorary family member and stayed when guests visited and I also went along when they visited other families.  It was a long day that was very enjoyable and also very informative.

For the most part, the New Year Table in every house is the same – some sort of meat (turkey, beef, pork), dried meats (salami, basturma), dolma (the kind with grape leaves is standard but some have the cabbage leaf variety), blinchiks (crepes filled with meat), several types of salad, cheese, greens, fresh fruit, dried fruit, an assortment of nuts, a bowl of chocolates and plates stacked high with pastries.  Depending on the size of the spread, there will be one or more clusters of drinks – water, juice, soda, brandy, vodka and wine.  Tea and coffee are inevitably offered.  

As with any other time you visit an Armenian home, every visitor is expected to eat something (and preferably a lot), even if you have been house-hopping all day and eating at every stop.  Since this is an annual tradition, and people visit the same people each year, one learns who cooks things better (or – shamefully – buys things instead).  I am told that people may schedule their visiting based on when they want to eat something specific and who makes that best.  You often are told by the hostess that everything is homemade, just in case there is any doubt.

The newly arrived guests have their glasses filled and one of them will normally make a toast to the hosts.  As honorary family member, I was asked to take care of the glass filling duties.  Toasts I heard a lot had to do with health success and “the best things for you”.  As the token American, several times people offered toasts specifically to me. Luckily, I had memorized a couple of things to say so that I could return the toasts when that happened.

In every house I went to, the women were very busy the whole time.  When I progressed from food to dessert, my plate was replaced with a clean one.  Glasses at place settings were swapped if you wanted something different to drink.  A stack of clean dishes and glasses were needed in case a lot of guests came at once, so cleaning was going on non-stop at times as was the warming of food. 

As the tradition is one of an “open house” there are not invitations, per se.  Some visitors simply drop by (something that is not restricted to Nor Tari visits) while others call in advance.  This requires coordination within a family as there must always be someone at home while others are out in case someone comes unannounced.  I noticed that most arrived and departed at quarter hours and most would stay for multiples of 15 minutes.  The clockwork was remarkable.  

After more than nine hours of the above, I was stuffed and headed home.  For the first time I can recall here, the streets were well lit – not by the overhead street lights, but by lights over doorways, all lit to welcome visitors. Also, the iron gates outside of every home - normally kept closed day and night - were ajar.

Over the next few days, I did some house visits on my own.  While I could have done that last year and would have been welcome, I didn’t know where anyone lived and the people I did have addresses for – such as my host family – were away.  This year I got addresses in advance.  

One visit was to see my first host family in Solak.  All of Gohar’s children and grandchildren were there and it was nice to spend some time with them. Since villages are much different than cities, I was expecting it to be more low-key, but the full spread was there.

Gevorg had a little too much dolma

Although it may go on until January 13 as described above, for the most part the visiting ends on January 6, when Christmas is celebrated.  On January 13, many families do another "New Year Table" for Old New Year.  

More than once, I heard people expressing a wish that the holiday focused more on Christmas than on New Year. Given how the nation prides itself on being a Christian one, as more time passes it will be interesting to see if the focus does change over time.

While I found the traditions nice as an experience, I heard from several Armenians how much they dislike Nor Tari.  One explanation I heard was that it is too much of an obligation and not simply about spending time together – even if someone visits your home, you need to pay a visit to theirs also.  Another was that you see people only once a year so that some of the visiting is for show also and not from a sincere desire to see someone but then you are obligated to pay a return call. 

And while stores were mobbed in the last few days of December in preparation for all of this, so were the banks.  Since people don’t know how many guests they will have, a substantial sum is laid out to stock up on everything, just in case. Unlike the US, Armenians have a great aversion to debt so that tells you how important this holiday is viewed.

And then there is the time and effort involved.  I know several women who have full-time jobs who went home after work to cook late into the night.  The amount of food to prepare can be enormous (and with some of the pastries, extremely time consuming) and the women bear the brunt of cooking it all.  While most everyone has time off that entire first week, most of the women are still cooking, cleaning, serving and visiting that whole time.  Many that I know say they need a vacation more after it’s all over.

One of the families I visited has a recently-married daughter who now lives in Yerevan.  She was happy to be in Gyumri as she told me that the Yerevan people don’t adhere to the traditions as much as the rest of the country does.  She was glad to be in the familiar world, even for a short visit.  Much as people can complain about all the bother they may find they miss it if it goes away. And next year, when I am back in the US, I am sure I will miss it also.