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The final destination of our trip to west Azerbaijan was to a Vocational Training Center, created by IEPF. This center was created with financial support provided by U.S. DOS. As we were given a tour of the building, were told that the school teaches classes on Agriculture, computer, sewing, and carpet weaving (we were shown some of the carpets they made). They also information about judicial services to help IDP women to send documents to the government. Lastly the school provides free internet to any IDPs in the region. The students are in the ages between 12-20 yrs old. As we were given the tour, I wondered why they seemed so eager to tell us about their work, history and struggle--over the past two days. Much stems from their tradition to be hospitable, yet that did not fully capture it. The conclusion that I came to is because they are proud--proud of their hard work and their family's before. Proud of their people--because they have struggled through Soviet occupation and territorial conflicts. Proud of their people because they love their people. And all this mounts to their pride to be an Azerbaijani. They love their country so they wish others to see why. -RJH

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One of the most impactful conversations of the day was with Mr. Umud about the media coverage, or lack there of, of the conflict. I had watched several BBC videos the night before that were produced about the front line, this Spring. I asked Mr. Umud if any of the major international news sources had covered the conflict. He replied that both CNN and BBC had done a few reports. He said he was grateful for the exposure yet regretted the biases of the casters. He feared that there are few journalists looking at this objectively. Because of the politicalism of Western countries trying to not anger Russia–who according to most Azerbajainis, assists the Armenian army.

Then he turned toward me saying (through a translator), “this is why it is very useful that you are here, a common civilian. To get to bottom of it, to find the objective truth.”

I am moved by this–the duty of a good civilian is to find the objective truth of the conflicts within the society. All too often we banter around the truth, with little regard for it.

-RJH

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Life on the Frontline

           Today is International Children’s Day, so Umud Malam, the director of the NGO, took Richie and I on a trip to west Azerbaijan to deliver presents to children living on frontline of the Karabagh conflict. We were within 0.4 miles of enemy territory. It didn’t feel real, but little things would remind me that it was real: the rain on my face, the kids smiling, and the moms small talking.

           Life happens even here. It’s a scary life where snipers can shoot and mines can explode at any moment. It’s hard when enemies control the main supply of water for farming and when sicknesses like tuberculosis spread through the small community.  But life happens here, and it’s worth protecting.

           Just 60 Azerbaijani families linger here in the village of Harangaya. The others have fled. We asked them why they’ve stayed this long, and they said, “We don’t want to give up our land or our homes.” It takes bravery to live in a place like this, but that bravery isn’t what struck me most.

           What struck me is when I saw the sullen faces of the kids crack with joy as they opened up there presents. I know it was real because I saw them open the presents away from the crowd and the cameras, when they forgot that anyone was watching. Similarly, it took me back when I saw the moms standing from a distance as they watched their kids play with their new toys. They weren’t doing anything for show. They were watching their kids play, smiling, and small talking. They were doing what moms do while their kids were doing what kids do.

These people are brave, but it seems like they don’t need to how brave they must be all the time. And it’s these times that I watched them forget that I will remember for a long time. In these moments, life seemed ordinary and effortless for them. They couldn’t help but live even in a place where living is tough.            I think life is resilient. It squeezes into places that belong to death, and it grows, kind of like a dandelion between sidewalk slabs. It’s scary and tough to occupy places belong to death. But even death cannot take away little moments of effortless, ordinary life. Even in Harangaya, kids can play, and moms can watch.

JAM

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The picture displayed many homes in Sikharkh that were destroyed in 1993 in the war. The government, partnering with humanitarian organizations, has built new homes for IDPs. Before this option, many IDPs lived in the basements of the ruined walls. The wreckage reminds the country that there is still much work to do

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The second village that we visited was in Hasangaya, within a half a kilometer from Armenian occupied territory. The setting was much smaller then the first. Mr. Umud gave a speech and we handed out the shoeboxes. We noticed that the living conditions were very poor. We asked Umud's son why they do not simply move away from the border to where the Government had built homes for the IDPs, he replied, "the do not want to give up their land". To give you a clearer image of the fear the people of Hasangaya were living in. James and I asked if we could go take pictures of the neutral area between the two armies from a overlook. They said we could so we walked over. As we started snapping away at the homes that are being lived in by Armenian people in the valley, the Armenian occupied mountains, and the dark clouds bringing rain, a man from the village told us that we should come back and duck because there are snipers. He told us it was "a one percent chance, but we do not want to take it".

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Yesterday, James and I were generously given the opportunity by Mr. Umud Mirzayev to see the war affected children in Azerbaijan, for International Children’s Day. The first village that we visited was Sikharkh. Mr. Umud and several others with us gave speeches to the children–charging them to study hard, hope, and strive for peace. After the speeches, we handed out one hundred Salvation Army shoeboxes, from their Operation Christmas Child. The kids were very grateful for the small gifts, the photo above shows a girl receiving her gift and kissing the gifter on the cheek (a common show of friendly affection in Azerbaijan).

The children and families are Internally Displaced People from the conflict. Being close to the occupied territories by Armenia, they face constant fear. The conflict is categorized as a “cold conflict”, although there are shootings and bombings nearly every day between the two. I noticed the eyes of the child. Eyes that showed the visible pressure of daily fear. The children were joyful, yet the knowledge that their life could be in danger any day is too heavy for anyone to bear.

I will leave you with a quote from Mr. Umud’s son about the children of Sikharkh: “they do not know what tomorrow will bring”.

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One of the companies that we learned about from our meeting with Umud, was Eurasia Credit. This organization is a non-banking credit company. It was established by International Eurasia Press Fund (IEPF) in 2007. The mission of the business is to provide credit to Azerbaijani small businesses in war affected regions. From the numbers we were given, the clients that they currently assist are 53% local, 43% IDPs, and 4% mine victims.

Like many other Microcredit institutions, they also provide training for their clients, to teach them how to budget and manage their business. I asked the director (pictured in the blue collard shirt–middle left) the types of businesses that are common for these people in the regions. He replied that they vary greatly, including agriculture, beauty salons, fruit stands, bakery shops, and artisans. Naturally, I was very excited about this business and I am thrilled to learn more about it in the coming days.

Pictured above to my left: Umud Mirzayev, two Belgium ambassadors, two of IEPF’s staff members (a third–pictured to my right), James, and Zachary

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Stumbling into a Story 

We visited the Alley of Martyrs today. I enjoyed the peace of it as I sat by the eternal flame (a monument in the Alley of Martyrs), and I wrote. The sun began to set, and it cast a pale purple light over the city. I have wanted to see the sun set at least once on this trip, and I decided I’d try to catch it. The problem is that the West side of Baku sits on a tall slope, which blocks the sun set. The eternal flame is on that slope, so I climbed the steps as high as I could to see the sun. After a while I got to a barbed wire fence with a path that ran along the outside. I had no idea where I was so I started down the path. I found some wildflowers, and it was a good time. I caught a tiny sliver of the sun set—the same purple light over the city concentrated in a pool around the sun. It was beautiful. Then I saw some security cameras, and I realized I shouldn’t be there. So I turned around.

As I turned around, I thought to myself, “I kind of wish I knew what was behind this fence. I sort of wish I got stopped by someone. I wish a story happened. I want an adventure, and I feel like there is potential here for one.” Then I thought how I shouldn’t force a story. All I could do was put myself in a place with potential for one. I think that it’s different than looking for trouble because I really didn’t want to get in trouble. I just wanted something to happen. 

I got back to the head of the path when a guard poked his head . I said, “Salam, men americaliam,” which means I am an American man. That’s about all I know in Azeri, and I was using it as a get-out-of-jail free card. I looked like an idiot as I said it too because I said it while trying to keep myself from laughing. I couldn’t believe the irony and thought “God, really?” I told the guard I was trying to get back to the Alley of Martyrs. He knew I wasn’t a threat when he saw the pink wildflowers in my hand. So he laughed and shook his head—which made me feel rightfully dumb and also childish. Then he pointed me in the opposite direction of the Alley of Martyrs. I knew it wasn’t the right way, but I decided to be consistent with the character I looked like (dumb American tourist), and I followed the path he pointed towards.

 I got to a more private and more rundown area of the cemetery. The sun had set below the hill now, and I was under tall trees. I passed a three old men drinking tea, snacking on Alcha (sour plums), and playing backgammon. (This is a common sight in Azerbaijan.) And I saw plaque in Azeri on the building with the barbed wire, so I took a picture to figure out what it said later. Then one of the old men said, “Salam.” It was obvious I was a tourist, so I decided to surprise them with some more Azeri. I said, “Salam, sen necessan?” (Hello, how are you?) I knew it wasn’t impressive, but it was all I had. And it actually impressed them. They asked me where I was from, and I said my go-to phrase, “Men Americaliam.” The old man was clapping at this point. He invited me to sit with them and drink çay. I have learned to never turn down a stranger’s invitation to çay.

So we talked a little bit, and he had very good English. His name was Umud, and he said that he was the director of this place. I asked what it was, and I didn’t understand what he said, and I didn’t think to ask again. Eventually, he invited me and any friends I had with me to his office. So Richie, me, and a new intern named Emma went inside.

It turns out that Umud is the director of a big NGO called the International Eurasia Press Fund. It’s a consultant group for the UN, and they focus on peace-making in unstable political climates, such as the Karabagh conflict.

We didn’t spend much time there that night, but Umud invited us back to have tea at 11 the next day (at 12 he was meeting the Belgian ambassador). At tea, Richie and I learned a lot and you’ll hear more about our favorite project by IEFP in the next couple days.

It was a crazy time, and we didn’t do anything to earn it. All I said was “men Americaliam,” and listened. The Lord did the rest. He has overflowed our cups again. He is good, and it’s crazy to see him work this month—in both big and small ways. 

-JAM

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A Life Giving Business Sometimes it’s difficult to see beauty in business. It’s much easier to see the greed. It’s easy to blame faceless corporations like McDonalds or Wal Mart in a blog, and say “That’s the problem with the world.” We’re not interested in easy though. And we’re not interested in caricatures. Anyone can write about the ugliness in business. I want to try to write about something else.  I think business can be beautiful. A business is meant to meet needs. Entrepreneurs see a need or a problem, and they say, “I think I could help.” Their product could be a cup of coffee or a car. The service could be collecting trash or giving a manicure. Entrepreneurs spend creativity and sweat on a product or a service to meet that need. Then they put it on the market. If the product or service works, people will buy it. And their life gets a little nicer because of that good cup of coffee or because that pile of trash in their front yard was disposed of.  Customers pay a business because the business provides a service for them. Businesses help customers because the customer provides money to the business owner and all of their employees. It’s a symbiotic relationship--like a clownfish and its anemone.

Business are meant to give life, not leech life out of a community. Greedy monopolies and exploitative business leech. But not all businesses have to. Richie and I have gotten the chance to work for a life-giving business here in Azerbaijan called Folk Art. It’s a retail business in the Old City that sells handmade Azerbaijani products on consignment from local artists. In short, it acts as a middle man between artists from all over Azerbaijan to tourists wandering the streets of the Old City looking for gifts to bring home.  It’s been refreshing to work for a business that strives to serve rather than take away. And Folk Art is designed to give to both its customers and its producers. As a tourist in a new country, I want to buy gifts for my friends and family. And I am not interested in factory-made plastic knick-knacks that say “I <3 Baku.” It’s fine if you are, but I am interested in genuine, local art. The problem is that tourists can’t tell what’s genuinely Azerbaijani and what’s “made in China.” Many retail stores sell tourists the factory-made stuff at a nicer profit than the real stuff. Folk Art sells the real stuff because that’s what customers are looking for, but primarily because it serves local artisans. It provides business to poor producers in the regions outside of Baku especially, which enables them to provide for their families.  Folk Art is the real deal, They’re doing their best to give life and not leech it out of a community for a profit. I am grateful to see a picture of a healthy business, and I am going to do my best to make it even healthier as I work for it this month.  JAM

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The last day of our brief trip to the regions, James, Mexman, and I walked along this river (Cay in Azeri) toward the Russian mountains. The walk was very pleasant, as we passed many beautiful wild flowers and the breathtaking Caucus mountains were before us. Everything surrounding the royal peaks seemed to assemble in place around them.

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James and I were able to go on a two day excursion to Kiçe and Sheki, touring various historic sites. This is a picture of an first century Albanian church, started by a disciple of the Apostle Thomas. The building was used for Astrianism, a pagan religion, prior to the bringing of the Gospel to the region. The building is now used simply as a historic holy site.

Around and in the building, there are several graves, with glass ceilings, where you can the see the bones of different Albanians. Our tour guide said that the people were blonde haired with blue eyes and very tall (from the bones I would guess around 7 feet).

The location was picturesque. There were various rose bushes scattered around the church. Looking beyond the ancient building, you can see the kingly snow capped mountains in Russia, making everything in sight all the more beautiful.

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This is Hegiget in his garden. His name means “truth,” and he shared his mint with us.  

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Chilov: How Could a Place Contain a Life? We left our apartment this morning for a village in central Azerbaijan called Chilov. Our mission was to interview local carpet weavers about the process of making flat-weave (Kilim) carpets. We didn’t know who they were or how to find them. So our team of five (including a translator) showed up at the perimeter of the town and started asking people on the street where we could find carpets. We were able to sit down and drink çay with one family in particular. The man of the house was an Imam. His name was Hegiget, meaning “truth” in arabic. He explained that he is both an Imam and a former teacher of Russian literature and language. He is 80 years old, and he spent fifty years teaching. Now he is retired. He has a bushy beard, crinkly smile, and a cane to help him walk. Hegiget has lived in Chilov his whole life. It took me back when he told me that. He has lived in this small village in the farm country of Azerbaijan for eighty years. We interviewed a couple more weavers and headed home. As I looked back on the village, shrinking in the rear window,  I asked Aygun (our guide and translator) if she thought these people visited Baku often or if they left Chilov at all for that matter. She said, “Probably not. Maybe their sons will go to Baku. Not them.” Baku is the capital of Azerbaijan, and it’s only an hour and a half away.  Hegiget and his family are happy. They have enjoyed fruit and vegetables from their healthy garden, he has taught at the local school, and his wife, Nezaret sells the carpets that she weaves, and Nana (Hegiget’s mother) lives with them and helps with the carpets. They’re living life, and they seem pretty happy with it. Of course sometimes they’re not. Of course sometimes Hegiget probably wanted to go to Baku, especially when he was young. And Nezaret said herself that it would be nice if she had more customers buying her carpets. In short, I am not writing another travel blog about how I wish I could be content with simplicity like these poor people are. Their happiness isn’t my point. I am writing about their happiness, frustration, laughter, sickness, and everything else. I am talking about one complete human life. I am talking about eighty years of a life filled with mountains, school, çay, love, worship, games, and gardens. I guess I wonder how I can look at a place less than five miles long and know that this place contains memories of an entire human life. And not just one but hundreds throughout generations.  This village is beautiful. It’s name is Chilov, and a man named Hegiget lives here. 

JAM 

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The final weaver that we met was Semae, pictured in front of her weaver’s machine. She was a very sweet energetic lady that talked us into buying some of her many carpets products (we purchased a few bags). Semae and her daughter are the carpet weavers of the family. She showed us a massive carpet that she had made, telling us that it would take about 6 months to make one the same size if she was working by herself (2 to 3 months with help).

When we asked if we could take her picture she laughed and said that no men want her picture any more. She then took off her glasses and put on a head scarf for the photo. -RJH

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The woman pictured is Nazarem. In meeting her and seeing her carpets I noticed that she was a very reserved yet confident lady. She told us that she works on her carpet projects whenever she has free time. Recalling her daily routine of weaving in the morning then taking a break for house work and cooking only to resume again, when she completed her work. We asked how long she thought it would take to finish this carpet and she said it would be done in about three months (she started in January). From her own money, she buys the wool and the dye. -RJH

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Meet Nezara. Of the households that we visited, her’s was the most full of skillfully woven carpets. Although Nezara and her mother in law were the only weavers in the family, they had been fairly successful selling to distributors in Baku. Her family was very friendly and hospitable as they brought in tea, candy, and strawberry jam for us after they showed us their carpets. I was at first skeptical, assuming that they were trying to manipulate us into buying from their stock. However, I quickly noticed that they had no expectations for us besides friendly conversation. -RJH

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Above is the first carpet weaver that we met. She is thirteen years old and has been helping her mother weave since she was eight years old. She is holding up a piece that she made herself. Remarkably, this was the one family we met who did not use a weavers machine, they weaved all by hand. Although not smiling in this picture, she was very joyfully engaged in listening to her father explain the production process to us. (Her father gave us permission to take a picture of her with her carpet) -RJH