Leaving home

After over 23 months in Zayam, I’ve officially left my second home for an indeterminate amount of time. Saying goodbye has been a drawn-out and strange process. Every time I left a friend’s house after consuming the obligatory tea and sweets, it would hit me that that might be the last time I’ll ever drink tea with that person again. I usually don’t have trouble saying goodbye; leaving Alabama for Azerbaijan wasn’t sad and tearful for me because I knew I’d be able to see my family again sometime and that they’d be fine without me for awhile. The depressing part about leaving Zayam is the fact that I can leave, but the people I’ve come to know and love will most likely live out the rest of their days in the same place, the same situation, the same life. I get to move on and see new things and experience life, but my friends will stay trapped in the same small world that some would rather escape. All I can hope for is that I gave them some reprieve from the monotony, hope that they can make the change they want, and knowledge that someone else out in the world loves and cares about them.

Every day for about a week before my departure, I’ve caught at least one member of my family crying (usually my host mom) and mumbling to themself about what they’ll do when I’m gone and how 2 years flew by too quickly. I’ve been to excited about moving onto the next phase in my life to be sad, so, dry-eyed, I’d sit with the one crying and promise that I’d keep in touch and that I’d come back to visit someday. I stayed calm and composed until Ulviyya’s wedding, when, just watching her dancing, I broke down in tears. I’m so happy that she’s married to a good man, a man she loves, a man who adores her, but I can’t express how much I’ll miss that woman. She’s been an essential and fundamental part of my past 2 years, not only as a counterpart, but as a friend and sister. As she sat in the car after the wedding waiting to head to Baku with her new husband and his family, my host brother, Yalchin, my host dad, Ali, and I stood side by side, me in the middle with my arms around both of them, their heads on my shoulders, crying. It was an intensely emotional and intimate moment that I’ll never, ever forget.

My host mom was so emotional about Ulviyya and I leaving on successive days that she worked herself into a fit at the wedding and fainted. She’s a bit of a drama queen, though, so I wasn’t too surprised. She just wanted me to come over and pay attention to her, which I did. Yesterday, she and Yalchin took me to the bus stop to see me off, and they both cried as I pulled away. Yalchin was crying too much to talk, so he sent me a text message last night saying that even though we’re not blood, he’s always thought of me as his real sister, that I have a beautiful heart and soul and the he wishes all the best for me in life. My friend Jessica recently told me that if I’ve done nothing significant in the past 2 years, I’ve at least made a second family of people I’d never know otherwise.

I know it’s cliche, but it’s not really goodbye; I plan on coming back to visit in at least 5 years. By then, my 2 nieces will be about 6, Yalchin’s kid will be 5, and Ulviyya will probably have kids of her own. Everyone in the village keeps telling me that 5 years is so far away, but I told them that 5 years will fly by and they’ll have forgotten me by then anyway. Of course they all protested and yelled at me and made me drink more tea. I’ll miss this place.

Below are some pictures of the wedding. Enjoy!