Nope, you are in a police state, Dorothy and they are out to get you and your little dog, too.
Today, Thursday Sept.1) we had our own locally produced version of the Vizier of Oz, starring me as Dorothy (minus the braids and ruby slippers) Neal as the tin man, Larry as the scarecrow, and Emil (Mr. Peace Corps safety and security) as the cowardly Lion. Actually, Emil should be Glinda the Good, because he rescued us, but I can’t quite picture him in a spangly tulle skirt and gossamer crown, since he looks like a friendly fireplug.
Business as usual, I get a call on Wednesday afternoon around 4:20. can I be at the police station in 20 minutes? Well, actually no, I am busy being sick, would tomorrow work? Sure, says Emil, I will let you know later. I get a text message that same evening, how about 9:15 a.m. tomorrow, you need to register with the Police. ( This is the third world, papers are a must here and I don’t mean the New York Times)
Okay, fine, we all meet at the main police station in Ganja, me Larry and Neal who are the other new Peace Corps Volunteers in the city. (Lucky Nancy, she was in the capital for the day.) We are allowed in past the gun-toting guard at the door to the grand, stone edifice, and are ushered in to the office of the deputy chief of police. We all politely shake hands and sit down in this strange office with rooms-to-go, velour-seat, faux-Queen Ann dining room chairs lined up against the walls. We volunteers sit next to each other in a row, in the chairs, flanking the deputy chief, who is behind his desk. In front of his desk, placed so it forms the base of a T, is a long formica table with six chairs. Emil stands at the end of this table.
The questions cascade out, why are we here? what are we doing? we give our information through Emil, all is stiff and formal. It is not the happy-face welcome we have been getting all down the line here in Azerbaijan. But okay, baffled and a little off-center, we finish, we get up, we leave. On the way out of the imposing main police station, we pass a drill-call formation of police officers, waiting for the chief of police. (I had passed this group practicing the call to attention in a parking lot on the way to the station.)
A few hours later, I get a call from Emil, the chief of police has seen us and in Emil’s words “wondered who those guys were” so we are called back to meet the chief. We all think this is to be some nice hi, how are you, great to have you, thingy.
At six o clock, we reassemble at the police station (I’m late, surprise, surprise) but no matter, because what happens is we are ushered to this waiting room, sofa, this time, and sit outside for more than a half hour staring at this door. The door protrudes from the wall about a foot and a half, and gives the appearance of a large wardrobe. It is as if the police chief is crammed into this wardrobe and hanging there like a suit of clothes.
No such luck. We don’t get to see the great man, no, we are ushered downstairs again, back to our row of seats, right where we started this morning, and the deputy chief begins to harangue our brave Emil in Azeri.
Let me tell you, fear will do marvelous things for your learning skills. I bet if someone held a gun to my head while I was taking language lessons, I would be fluent right now.
Because while that guy was talking, I was concentrating so hard I actually understood what he was saying, the gist of which was this: they didn’t know we were here, what are we doing here, why aren’t we teachers like the other volunteers, we shouldn’t be here without permission, and there was going to be some problems. Why were we working with these non-governmental agencies and why were we working without getting paid?
The police seem to think we are here to make trouble, they are very touchy with the parlaimentary elections coming up this fall. It was pretty rocky. Emil was on his cell phone, working the situation with Peace Corps officials, and we managed to walk out, but it didn’t feel good. We then trooped over to the deputy-mayors office, who was far, far friendlier, and again explain who we were and what we were doing in Ganja.
Emil was pretty upset, he felt we were being bullied and was set to get some things straightened out involving our country director, the ambassador, you name it.
Just to be clear, there isn’t any real danger involved, what I was afraid of was having to leave Ganja and all the confusion of being bundled off again, like a package.
I think what struck us so forcefully about the incident was that it hit home that we are living in a place very different and very far from home. And how very clueless we are about all the undercurrents of politics and government here. But what also strikes me is how nice it is to be under the wing of my own government and to know that we do have that safety and security and our Mr. Emil is here to guide us through these tricky moments.
Now it just happens to be that the boss of my organization is a well-connected here in town, and his son-in-law is running for Parlaiment under the government party, so I was in the clear at least with the deputy mayor.
I’ve only been here a few weeks, and already have nearly been involved in an international incident. Just wait, I haven’t even warmed up yet.
On the nicer side of the street, met with the local guy from Save the Children, Anar, and I am now in charge of my own art therapy program for pre-schoolers in two regional centers. Big help needed on this one. This is going to take some doing, but I’m sure I can pull it off. I plan to begin the pilot program at the end of this month. There is so much help needed here and because all these programs are in their infancy, it is so easy to offer to help and have it accepted.
Next chapter: We all get out of town, for a well-deserved get-away in the old mountain town of Sheki, very beautiful and calm.
