A chance bus ride.

Here's the scene:

I'm traveling back to my village on a crowded mid-size bus after a long day of visiting Hacikend with some of the people I work with in Ganja. Our mountain trip lasted a bit longer than I thought it would, so it's just beginning to get dark as I wait for a bus. I barely squeezed onto a crowded, mid-sized "sprinter" as it's one of the last ones heading out west before they stop for the evening. The passengers were kind enough to make room for me so I could sit on a make-shift wooden plank seat next to one of the two other women on the bus. I quickly realized the driver was being obnoxious. He was cracking loud jokes with the passengers, giving everyone a hard time for how much money they gave him as they got off and huffing and puffing at the other cars on the road. He turned what should have been normal stops for a passenger to get off into smoke breaks, time for manly fraternization. Hamming it up with some of the other people on the bus, I suppose it was his gregariousness that prevented a protest from the passengers anxiously anticipating getting home that evening.

Action:

After about forty five minutes on the bus, we were getting closer to my village, and the driver called me up to take the seat next to the door. Knowing I was losing my sense of female solidarity, I shuffled by the men to try and maneuver myself into the seat and attract as little attention as possible. As we're all rearranging ourselves, trying to maintain some level of dignity, the driver abruptly asks, "You're going to A.Ayibli? What business do you have there?" If that wasn't enough to make head turns towards the fumbling foreign girl, he adds with a smirk, "Are you going to visit a friend?" With a slight tilt of my chin and a furrowing of the eyebrows (an expression I've mastered in responding to rude questions), I asked him to repeat himself so I could confirm his impertinence and conjure an appropriate response. Before he had time to finish his sentence, a guy in the row behind me spoke up and said,

"No, it's not like that. She's an American. She works for a peace organization."

"Peace? What kind of peace organization?" the driver asked.

"People from her organization are volunteers. They stay for two years and work in the regions of Azerbaijan. They have assignments, but the most interesting thing is that they share information about America and they learn about Azerbaijan." (Peace Corps' overall goals 1 and 2; something you hear a million times at PC trainings and events, but when you hear it repeated by a host country national, particularly in such a textbook fashion, you have to pick your jaw up of the ground).

The driver turned back to me and much more politely asked me if I worked at a school. I responded, and we were able to speak like normal humans--impressive only because 60 seconds before, that would have been impossible. At the next stop, I turned around to see if I recognized the guy who had stood up to the driver. I didn't, so I asked him how he knew about Peace Corps. It turns out that this guy is a history teacher at a training school for new Peace Corps trainees before they swear in as volunteers. He said he had an American teacher who for three months (the exact length of pre-service training), taught him just a little bit of English before he moved to his official site. I got goosebumps listening to him talk because as much gratitude as I felt towards him for defending me in a time where it would have been really difficult for me to defend myself, I could see the same appreciation in his expression for the kind trainee who went out of his way to help this teacher (who's not an English teacher--any time spent with this guy would have been 100% voluntary on the part of the trainee) learn some basic English phrases.

In that moment, I felt something come full circle. As jaded as many volunteers feel in the later part of their services, I had some faith in PC work restored as a result of witnessing this unlikely cause and effect. Patience and that work you do when no one's watching are immeasurable.

Epilogue:

As I was getting off the bus, I reached to hand the driver my fare. A man standing in the place next to my seat told me not to pay. I looked at the driver, and he was looking at the guy who told me not to pay. The guy insisted I put my money away with a smile as if to say, this driver gave you an unreasonably hard time for no reason, especially as a guest in our country. It happens often on short public transportation rides, Azerbaijanis will exhibit their hospitality by picking up your fare. The ride from Ganja is 2 manat though, a little farther than what's considered normal for a stranger to cover. The driver's face wasn't too convincing, so I waited for him to nod at me to make sure I wasn't shorting him. After I was finally off the bus with my bags, I got the begrudging nod from the driver I was waiting for. I smiled, thanked him, and right before the door closed, I heard the driver say, "No really, are you going to pay her two manat!?" The whole bus was laughing as it pulled away.