A Sex Life Becomes an Identity

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You can learn a lot about a culture by learning its language. Back in 2003, I was surprised during one of my first Peace Corps Training classes to find that there is no word for “date” in the Azerbaijani language. After class, I pulled my young modern language teacher aside to clarify. I figured she’d give it to me straight. “Was there really no such thing as dating in Azerbaijan?” Her response was a surprise to me.

She detailed the custom of dating as a furtive awkward attempt for two people to get to know each other through secretive phone calls and quick exchanges in parks or on the street. To be alone in a room with a person of the opposite sex without a marriage license was strictly forbidden. If word got out that such a thing was happening the girl would be labeled a whore and the boy scolded. Boys will be boys – it’s the girl who was to blame.

Frankly, I was shocked. This was my first month in Azerbaijan and I was still getting used to things. My two host sisters were both my age and as time passed, they continued to teach me more about the Azerbaijani “dating” customs – or lack thereof.. While there was no word for “dating” there were various words for “gossip.”  Sitting out on the balcony of our tiny two bedroom apartment zdanie we’d watch young girls walking by. “That’s Aysel. She’s a whore,” my host sister Layla would say. “She meets with Ferid in the park in the center of the city and everyone knows it. Everyone knows that Ferid loves Sevinj and he would never take Aysel as a bride. Aysel is just a whore.”

I couldn’t help but notice the double standard: Aysel is a whore but what about Ferid? Where does he fit into this story? Doesn’t he get a bad name for himself? He’s the one running around with two girls! Day in and day out on the balcony we sat as I learned intimate details about each girl in our suburb. The boys’ sex lives went mysteriously unmentioned. I guess they just were not important. It was assumed they were getting any action they could because it made them more attractive. One friend confided in me that she expected her groom to have been with whores before their wedding night. If he didn’t have the experience, he wouldn’t be ready to perform.

I knew joining the Peace Corps was going to be difficult and would require some sacrifices so I resigned to stay away from any “walks in the park” especially with any Azerbaijani boys. It wasn’t until one year into my Peace Corps service that I met Ali. He was different from any Azerbaijani boy I’d ever met. He was special. When I talked to him I got that nervous excited feeling. Yet, I knew I couldn’t possibly “date” him. No way.

As Ali and I got to know each other better, we grew close.  And so, I did the unthinkable. I did something for which there is no word. I started “dating” Ali. This of course had to be kept a secret. Looking back on it I feel like a frog being placed in a pot of lukewarm water – not knowing there was a flame beneath. At first, I thought it would not be a big deal but as time passed the intensity increased – both the social ridicule and my love for Ali. Eventually I was up to my neck in boiling water with no way out.

Right around the time I started dating Ali, I finished the mandatory nine months of living with a host family and decided to move out on my own. Moving out meant freedom but limited freedom. I could talk to Ali on the landline and hang out in the city with him in certain clandestine spots. But that was it. No chance for him to come visit me. The moment he set foot in my apartment, I would be done for. Reputations are not easily earned but easily destroyed in Azerbaijan. Once ruined, there is no going back.

Weeks after I had moved into my new apartment I was having a few Peace Corps Volunteer friends over for dinner. They were friends with Ali as well and we all decided that it was just plain dumb that he couldn’t come to hang out at my place. After all, it was just one big group. So he came. And once he was there, he spent the night too.

Weeks after I had moved into my new apartment I was having a few Peace Corps Volunteer friends over for dinner. They were friends with Ali as well and we all decided that it was just plain dumb that he couldn’t come to hang out at my place. After all, it was just one big group. So he came. And once he was there, he spent the night too.

I know what you’re thinking: “What a whore!” And I was. In Azerbaijani culture I was being a qehbe (whore). Still to this day I cringe thinking about it. However, I grew up in a culture where having sex with your boyfriend is perfectly acceptable. So, to deny myself that freedom was silly. It’s not like I was saving anything. He left my apartment that morning just before the sun rose in the hope that no one would see him sneak out. Of course, they did.

If you’ve ever spent any time in an Azerbaijani mehle (apartment courtyard) , you know that nothing goes unaccounted for.  Once the news spread, my life changed. It was never anything I could point to. No one ever said anything directly to my face but things started changing. People stopped smiling at me in the street. My host sisters would beg me to move back home with them. My phone would ring at all hours of the day and night with men breathing heavily on the other line. A few teachers in the school would literally make noises of disgust as they walked past me in the halls.

From an outsider’s perspective it may seem absurd that I chose to date in a dateless society. However, in retrospect, I think a part of me would have done it out of obstinacy. I was angry about the unfair expectations placed on women and I wanted to challenge them. Some in the neighborhood understood but most didn’t. Nevertheless, I did my best to keep it quiet and the community in general learned to accept it. I was a good teacher. My students loved me and I went above and beyond my teaching duty by producing English-language theatrical productions bi-annually.

Over the course of the next year, Ali and I continued to date and grew to love each other quite deeply. Sure, we had our cultural differences. We fought often, but we were good for each other. We were teaching each other so much and I was growing in ways I never knew I would.

Our relationship consisted of two or three secret meetings in a lover’s tea house down in the center of the city during the week, followed by long phone calls in the evening. On the weekends we would sleep on the couch of some Peace Corps friends – a married couple that took pity on us. On some Friday nights when I was feeling brave, I would dress up like a boy and walk over to his apartment. I had my Caucasian male stagger down and would sometimes stuff a sock into my pants just to make light of something that terrified me.

Fear gripped my insides every time I set out in the dark dressed as a man. I pulled my hat down low and kept my gaze to the ground What if someone recognized me? I was a teacher in the town! What if a neighbor opened their door and saw me coming up the stairs? Ali knew of one boy who had a girl over and he said they were dragged from the apartment and beaten by the neighbors. Every time I did it, I would tell myself it was the last time.

Ali and I stayed together for nearly two years. Still to this day he is one of my dearest friends. I would not change our relationship for the world. I am not ashamed or afraid to say that he was my boyfriend and yet even as I write this I am not using his real name. Even as I write this, women in Azerbaijan are forced to keep their romances a secret and feel ashamed of their desire to love.

What is so shameful about wanting to get to know someone intimately before you commit your life to them? As Azerbaijan continues to modernize, I worry what kind of effect this cultural expectation has on my close friends. The country is full of young women that have traveled the world, speak different languages and have never known what it’s like to be intimate with a man they care for.

The Caucasus Research Resource Center administered a survey in 2007 in Azerbaijan with the question, “At what age is it appropriate for a man/woman to have sexual relations before marriage?” I’ve created a graph below to show the results.  The answers may surprise you. Nearly 70% of the respondents agreed that such behavior is never appropriate. And even more striking is that female respondents were 10% more likely to say “never” than men.

What is the responsibility of the young modern women living in Azerbaijan? I think it is first of all important, for everyone, to recall a time when you reinforced this stereotype with your words.  In the History of Sexuality Michel Foucault explains that words yield power – especially in sexual discourse. The discourse of sexuality can trap us into cycles of obsessive self-deprecating behavior that defines an individual’s entire identity based simply on their sex life.

Once I was ‘outed’ in my community, to most of those who didn’t know me, my sex life became my identity. I was no longer a school teacher, a theater director, a young woman or the first Peace Corps volunteer in their community. I was a whore. I was a highly sought-after commodity for men. Men would come to my door in the middle of the night and quietly knock – hoping that I would let them in. Once a man pulled up in a car next to me and tried to pull me into it. Apparently he thought if I spread my legs for one man, I would do it for all.       

There is great power to reshape this discourse and that power rests in the hands of women. Rather than be victims of culture, let us instead see ourselves as the creators of it. I am not advocating that women physically challenge this cultural standard but rather notice their own choices when talking about this issue. Where do we, without even noticing, reinforce this standard?

I am not telling this story to give Azerbaijani culture a bad name. This sort of cultural conservatism happens all over the world – including some parts of my country. It is strange sometimes to think about my life in Azerbaijan and what I went through. There are some things about Azerbaijan that I miss – my friends, students, my host mother’s kelem dolmasi.

I do not miss the harassment and cold looks. I do not miss the fear and the feeling of disempowerment. Back home, I feel blessed to have the right to choose for myself who I want to sleep with and know that my identity will not be based on that one fact.

I write this in the hope that my friends in Azerbaijan will someday soon have these same rights.  I think it is important for Azerbaijani women and men who don’t agree with this cultural norm, to begin looking for ways to talk about sex and dating in their lives. Power is found in words. We create our reality through our language. New words are formed every day. I think it’s high time we construct one for dating.