Notes from Georgia Part I: Zipper Drama, Tampon Security, and My First "Xanim" Moment

Oruj and I have traveled to Georgia twice in less than a month. The first time, we went so that I could confront the GRE once again. The second time around, our trip was concerned with the purpose of completing the legal equivalent of the Boston Marathon also known as the final immigrant visa interview. Overall, this eight-month process has been killer to say the least and has frankly felt more like a lifestyle than an application. For those who are unfamiliar with the process of "petitioning for an alien relative," it goes something like this: pay a substantial pile of money in fees on multiple occassions,  wait for countless hours in local administrative offices for documents that the staff have probably never heard of, and arm yourselves with as much evidence confirming the veracity of your relationship as possible. Needless to say, the better part of the last two weeks  has been spent sifting through and selecting a manageable number of photos, printing and highlighting thirty pages / 2 years of phone bills, and grilling each other over what kinds of toothpaste the other really does enjoy best. When we reached Tbilisi, we did what experience had taught us: scope out the location of where you want to be a day in advance because nothing is what it seems in the "Qafqaz" (Caucasus)  neck of the woods. A case in point is our search for the American Councils two weeks earlier when we realized that the address "45a ___ Street" assumes the seeker knows which part of the street to be on as both sides progress in ascending numerical order, including both odd and even numbers on both sides as well as which side street to which "a" refers. In any case, we made it to the Embassy which is literally on the opposite end of the city from anywhere one would expect to find herself were she not going to the Embassy. All seemed to be well.

The next day, we got up and proceeded to get dressed and go on our merry, pre-set way. Of course prior to coming, Oruj and I had paid extra care to outfits, attempting to maintain a balance between the boiling hot weather and the circumstantial need for professional dress/image. Here, I must clarify that one of the defining characteristics of Peace Corps life is the repetition of one's wardrobe. We used to joke on Global Semester that we knew it was bad when we started to memorize each other's clothing. In Peace Corps, it has gone to a new level: I have honestly just assumed that my wardrobe is not only the same in appearance but immutable in quality--that is, I will always be able to wear the pieces of clothing that I brought nearly two years ago. Imagine my surprise to find that while the size of my dress pants had remained miraculously unchanged, the zipper had not. With twenty minutes to our departure time, I beheld the reality: where there should have been a barely noticeable line created by a solidly sealed zipper, there was a clear indication of a successful zipper secession from the fabric / zipper union that was my interview dress pants. I found myself with three possible options: 1). Try to hide the tear and hope no one would notice; 2). use the scotch tape Oruj offered me while stifling his laughter at my misfortune; 3). choose between the alternate options of denim (definitely in violation of professionalism standard) and cotton casual skirt (less so). I ended going with #3, though not without careful strategic and theoretical consideration of all possible outcomes.

After we got to the Embassy, we went through security and in the process of inspecting my bag, the security officer pulled out a tampon and asked with slight suspicion: "what is this?" At this moment, the year old inside of my mind engaged in an epic struggle with my more mature, urbane, and professional self. "It's a tampon" I told him in my "Hillary Clinton addresses the United Nations" voice. I am not sure what I expected from this statement as I have found such devices to be uncommon in Azerbaijan to say the least. Oruj attempted to help by qualifying my statement with: "it's for ladies." When the concept still failed to register, I took a different approach: "I can leave it hear with my computer charger. It's really no problem." Success! Perhaps in a different situation, I would have taken the time to elaborate on the background, benefits, and issues surrounding the tampon. However, at that time,
cross cultural exchange < interview.

One thing about my personality is that I have a tendency to be incredibly paranoid and pessimistic about application situations of which I am a part whether it be related to education, employment, or visas. Asa  result, Oruj and I had gone through the document checklist on several occasions with a variety of methodologies (e.g. counting the cash from the largest bill to the 1 USD notes and vise-versa). Still, I was waiting with trepidation for the phrase: "wait a minute...X document is not here. You need to go back to Azerbaijan, get the document and several copies, and return at a later date." Fortunately this did not happen and we found ourselves over-prepared of all things. When it came time for the interview, the Embassy worker asked us a few basic questions and went through our papers while making little jokes that though Oruj didn't look the part of a criminal, he had to check anyway. After less than five minutes of questions regarding our honeymoon destination (Florida) he told us to come back the next day for the packet, seemingly intending to send us on our way. Having spent the better part of the previous week going through my phone bills spanning the better part of two years and assembling a rather colorful set of photos to prove our relationship, I was actually looking forward to this part of the interview. When I asked if he wanted to see the pictures, I sounded not unlike an Azeri mother-in-law demanding that a visitor adhere to the traditional practice of sitting down, drinking tea, and gazing at pictures for hours on end. The Embassy worker's response: "No, I believe you guys." Fin.

Lesson learned: Photo and bill-coloring exhibition < simple and easy immigration interview.