Wait, wasn't I supposed to be home by now...?

Peace Corps sends out in every newsletter a list of 'milestones' and 'cultural adjustments' that happen during the timeline of a volunteers service. Specifically, things that we should expect along the way, and certain emotions or roadblocks that we will have to deal with. Generally they are correct, but I'd like to make a list of my own (and also, this list is coming from the first volunteer in a site, and a volunteer who is staying):

Training, Months t-minus 2 to 0: Everything is bright and shiny and new and quaint. "Why does my host mom keep trying to fix my bra? She's so silly." "They don't drink cold water here, isn't that WEIRD?!" I call this the honeymoon stage with Azerbaijan. It's all crazy and funny. And every encounter is interesting. Also, you are optimistic and bright eyed. And a little arrogant and naive. "I'm going to change the world!" you say. You have no idea...

Arrival at site: Months 1 to 3. This is particularly sadistic of Peace Corps, dropping you off at site in the middle of the holiday season and some of the coldest months of the year. You go from seeing Americans 9 hours a day every day to seeing them basically never (depending on whether or not you have sitemates). You find yourself in a culture that you aren't familiar with and a language you don't understand. You make cultural faux pas. You forget to stand when the director comes in the room. You put your feet up on the chair. Some days you don't want to leave your sleeping bag, but host mom comes in at 8am and makes you get up. You get sick of her trying to fix your bra, and you get really mad when they won't just give you a friggen' glass of cold water. But things are still exciting, because now, site is new. The first time you taste pumpkin qutab (a quesadilla type thing) or xengel (dumplings) you think you've died and gone to heaven. And everything you do is your own.

Months 3 - 6: You've spent the first three months being fed and poked and prodded. Asked why you aren't married. When you'll get married. If you want to marry the neighbor's son. And guess what? You're still getting asked these questions. But you are starting to come up with creative answers. "I'll marry an Azeri when you find me an Azeri man who will do half the cooking and his own laundry." And you get excited when you understand the retort, "is there any man who will do his own laundry?" Maybe you move out of your house...and that takes a lot more work than just calling up a real estate agent. You feel guilty you spent the first three months at site guesting and stress eating, so in a frenzy to lose those extra five pounds, you start going out more and you try desparately to begin projects. Likely, your first few projects will fail. You don't know the right people. You scheduled it when all the children are out picking chestnuts (duh. Why didnt you know that?) You'll realize that there was an important meeting at school - yesterday - and no one told you. You'll be frustrated, and you are starting to take ownership of the town. You are not broken...yet.

Months 6-9: Jaded sets in. You've nearly killed yourself trying to implement all of the things Peace Corps told you you had to do during training. And you realize that no matter how hard you try, your counterpart is never going to get permission from her husband to help you run a club. Your girls will never play soccer on the field because it is too public. You've gone to an early service training and seen volunteers you hadn't seen since PST...and some of them won't stop bragging about how awesome their site is and how amazing they have it. And you worry that some people won't last another week. You take your first trip out of country, it's summer after all...and you see your family or friends. Or just remember what normal feels like. You come back - and it takes you another three weeks to really come back. You realize exactly what you gave up to be here. And it hurts.

Months 9 - 12: Projects finally start to take shape. You've learned to end everything before dark so the kids can get home on time. You've learned to tell them to ask their parents, because they won't do it on their own. You've found a handful of people - adults, kids, teenagers - who think like you. You don't know how they happened in this culture, but something clicked, and they get you. New volunteers arrive, and you see how they flounder with the language and find everything quaint. Compared to them, you've got this whole country figured out. Or so you think.

Months 12-15: Damn, it's cold. It's winter. Again. And all those projects that were doing so well come to a screeching halt because it is too cold to hold club in the run-down building you were using before (because there is no heat there) and no one wants to leave their house anyway. Seasonal Affective Disorder, anyone?

Months 15-18: It's Novruz again...and this time you're ready. You know what to expect, and it was the only thing that got you through those awfully cold nights. The paxlava is delicious. But somehow, over a year in this country has affected your immune system and you are sick - or should I say ill - really ill...and you're living alone. You just want someone to make you some soup. And you are craving ginger ale. It's rough.

Months 18-21: Your parents come, and through their visit, you realize how integrated you are, and how many people here love you and your company and just how much you have touched their lives. You realize that you arent here to change the world, you aren't capable of doing that. But you can change minds. And from there, lives. And you realize that you have already done that. Also, it's summer! Yes! Travel! Your own summer camp, because hey, by now, planning and executing a project is a breeze. COS is around the corner. But wait, I havent DONE anything! Well, ok, I've hosted clubs and camps and painted a mural and met a lot of people and made a lot of friends. Ok, I have done a lot. But I'm not READY to leave. I just got here! I have friends and students and basically a family here...not to mention a comfy house and a job and a paycheck. (A small paycheck, but it is independence). And that means I need to figure out what to do when I get back to America...wait, do I even go back to America? Graduate school? Travel like a bum? Get a job in a terrible economy? Um, stay in Azerbaijan a little longer? Yes.

Months 21-24: COS conference - but I'm not leaving. That's weird. All my friends are leaving. That sucks. Depression. Crap, I need to find some new friends...So you turn back to the friends you've had all along...your Azeri friends. And you realize that as much as you've changed their lives, they've changed yours in ways you'll never be able to express to them. You realize that what you thought you had figured out about the country and the culture...you really don't. You're just trying to get by like everyone else. You're just trying to be happy, and to spread a little bit of happiness along the way.

And now I'm at Month 24...and I'm trying to figure out what's happening. I've reached a strange moment of humility. I've accomplished all of the personal (read: selfish) goals I had set for myself, and now, I really am staying for others (read: my kids). But I've also found myself questioning: what more do I have to give them? I've seen the minds of some of these kids open up, and they are just taking off...they are capable of more than I could ever give them. I like to think that I helped them access that, but who knows? They've had it in them all along. That's what I think Peace Corps really is all about. We aren't changing the world. I have not changed the world. But I have changed minds...and I swear if anyone is going to change the world, it's the group of kids who I was just at club with. It's all in them.

On another note, I received acceptance letters from two of my graduate programs! Now I just need to figure out how to pay for them. Also, Boardwalk Empire is the best show currently on television.