Gold light spills through my window every night around 5:30 pm, and the fig tree turns all deep blue and green and orange around the edge. I’ll go for a run, or talk on the phone, or lesson plan, or write, like I am doing now. I’ll make a cup of tea with lemon in … More Peace Corps Armenia: Like it is
The heat breaks like a fever and fat fig leaves glitter in the rain. Had I really forgotten what a cool breeze felt like? This first storm comes like a celebration, with dancing trees and thunder song. Swallows dot the hazy purple sky and sing, and it comes from nowhere and everywhere, like something has … More Peace Corps Armenia: Andzrev Galis E
The smallest girl in my English club stands on her tiptoes to try and reach the board, giving English her very best shot despite being only six and sitting in on her older sister’s class. “Miss Maddy,” An older student whispers, and points at my stickers. Her eyes glitter. “Kareliey?” May I? I nod and … More Peace Corps Armenia: Special Everywhere
The thing that strikes me most is how alive everything feels here. Mornings are slow. I wake up around eight and have a cup of coffee, then a cup of tea, then go to the school and do English clubs for two hours. Twenty kids a class, turquoise walls and a chalkboard. I sweat through … More Peace Corps Armenia: Kami
We’re surrounded by mountains on all sides. To the North, the hills are stained red and orange. To the East, the mountains turn green. If you look hard you can still snow at the peaks. To the South, the mountains are neither red nor green, rather a gray and orange that tells of more desert … More Peace Corps Armenia: Restart
“Come for a walk with me,” my host sister said. I looked up from my homework. “Noritz?” I asked. Again? I didn’t catch the quick Armenian the first time. “Take a break,” she urged. “Ah, Hastgatsa,” I understood this time and shut my book. It had just poured outside, but the sky lit up a … More Peace Corps Armenia: Lingua Humanis
The sole of my hiking boot split clean off halfway home. I stopped walking and stared at the mangled boot in some sort of humbled disbelief, a thin song playing in old ear buds. I had bought the boots for four dollars at a thrift store in Northern Wisconsin. I had put at least 200 … More Peace Corps Armenia: With Dust in My Hair
