Bayankhongor and Back to UB

I’ve been back in UB for a week now after a four-day drive from Bayankhongor, where I lived for two weeks with Agvaantogtoch, Nurmaa, and there three-year old daughter Nomin-Erdene. On March 10, the SIT group flew to Bayankhongor aimag center (the capital of Bayankhongor ‘state’) and, before traveling to Galuut soum (county), spent the evening with the local Peace Corps volunteers and several students and faculty from the Hongor vocational and higher learning institute. We even went to the disco and danced to some really awful mainstream American pop, which was a great event in its own way. The next day, we loaded into Landcruisers and Russian vans for our rollercoaster ride to Galuut (galuut means ‘goose’).

Agvaan, Nurmaa, and Nomin were currently living (they move at minimum 8 times a year) in a mid-sized ger (lets say 15 feet in diameter), which sandwiched a corral between it and another mid-sized ger. Agvaan’s parents, Bum (pronounced ‘boom) and Enkhtuya, and his adopted brothers, Batbaatar and Jargal, and Jargal’s wife, Ochira, lived in this ger. A smaller ger next to theirs kept newborn lambs and kids warm at night, and a large ger about 50 m beyond that was rented to the SIT staff. I can safely say that living with these people has been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I could not speak in English except, ironically, during my Mongolian lessons or during visits to other host families, but my family, especially Agvaan and Nurmaa, and I connected easily.

Nurmaa (whom I mistakenly called ‘Burmaa’ previously) was seventeen days my senior (though in Mongolian years she is twenty-four), and yet as much a mother as a friend to me. Nurmaa gained my complete admiration; she is gentle, patient, very hardworking, organized, funny, and extremely beautiful. She was eternally cleaning; even when the Korean sitcom “Tejuyah” was showing and every other eye was fixed on the solar-powered black and white screen, she would dust off the icons and statues of Buddha, mend clothing, or prepare the next meal. She was always including me in every activity within the ger, whether it be attempting to communicate the meaning of a conversation or patiently correcting my flour-rolling techniques. Also, I think her calmness and patience helped me cope with the frustrating desire to do and learn everything, especially since she herself had given up a more comfortable and perhaps opportunity-driven life in the aimag center to marry Agvaan.

Agvaantogtoch was described to me as a commanding sort of man, which was partly true. But I found him very fun and, yes, outgoing, and an extremely capable man. He was always joking with everyone (and very happy to teach me Mongolian through lively mini-charades games), and was very loving toward his wife and three-year-old daughter. Agvaan was well respected in his community, especially at the young age of twenty-six. To the right of Buddha, his presidential awards for best young herder were proudly displayed. I think my favorite time with Agvaan was when we would sing the only song I knew in Mongolian while cantering on our way to language lessons. Agvaan would go off tune at a predictable point in the song, but he didn’t care. When we sang this song at home, Nurmaa’s sweet voice would remain rooted while he burst into the second line of the chorus, gently ‘showing him the way’.

One of the good things about living there was that it was not necessarily easy for me. Probably the biggest difficulty during this time was an ironic loss of freedom and independence, accompanied by the necessity to prove my competency and willingness to work. The first days turned out to be important indicators of my role in the family. I was looking forward to the challenge of sharing their lifestyle, but, while they were wrestling down goats and lassoing half-wild horses, yaks, and camels, I was told to sit in our comfortable ger or take pictures or, if I was lucky, hold a rebellious goat around the neck while her kid nursed. The first time I was allowed to milk a goat, I only got a few good squirts out before Nurmaa took over, and it took some convincing to get to try again. In one fatal mistake, I flinched when a surrounded goat lunged toward me. I was never again allowed to tackle the goats; I was thereby the goat-neck-holder girl.

I had not before thought of being disobedient toward these generous people, but in some instances, I learned to be quite obstinate. I would lightheartedly refuse to hand my host father the reins to my horse, and, by the last day, I successfully tightened the girth to my horse’s saddle before he could pull me to the side and act out the tragic event where the horse turns and bites the hand off my arm. I was also expected to sleep well into the morning. I woke up early the first day to several people bustling about the ger. Grandpa ‘Boom’ saw me stirring, and, as I started to get up, gently pushed me back down by pulling my sleeping bag over my raised head. Obediently (and a little surprised), I went down, trying not to laugh at his forceful hospitality. After I graduated to sleeping on the floor (Normin was moved to the bed after I clarified that I was comfortable on the floor), I got up with the rest and raced to get ready in time to help them with the herd. If I got up soon enough, maybe I would see a sheep or goat give birth, or maybe I would be able to milk the goats or help them separate the babies from the mothers. But without fail, I would be ready to go and Nurmaa would shoo me back onto a stool, pour me a bowl of salty milk tea (whether or not I’d already had my fill) sometimes with floating chunks of last night’s dinner, and set the bowl of boov, taas, aaryyl, and other flour or milk products at my feet. One morning, I hurried through this routine and jumped out of the little door to see two new twin kids steaming in the morning sun. I never managed to witness a live birth (only one very gruesome still birth), but my language partner Liz said they’re not that exciting anyway. J

One comforting thing was that almost every miscommunication would inevitably turn into a joke. One night, we were half-watching the Oscars (yep, the Oscars, which I rarely watch in the US). For some reason, the TV didn’t go off before we got into bed—I think because they thought I was interested in watching it (after Lars and the Real Girl lost, I was done). The funny thing is that every night we all slept without wearing pants. I tried to tell Agvaan that I would turn off the TV, since I was closest, but I wasn’t sure how, since they had spliced wires in many places and I didn’t want to unclench the claw attached to the solar panel or somehow get electrocuted in the process. He, of course, was ready to get up himself, but we all had this awkward moment of looking at each other to see who would bury their face in their blankets first. I did this and we all burst out laughing when Nurmaa said “Dyysan (‘finished’)!” Then we could proceed with our nightly routine of goodnight phrases—“Enjoy your sleep!”, “Have a good sleep!”, “Pretty Dreams!”, and “Dream nicely about Luke and Oregon!”—and Nurmaa would come and zip my sleeping bag to my chin, and I would say “Bayalalaa, Eej!” , and she would say, “Zygehr, Zygehr.” I dunno, maybe you’d have had to be there…

Another underwear-related story: I was helping Nurmaa hang damp laundry from the ger’s roof spokes. We were separating Nomin’s clothing from the rest, and I held up a very small pair of boxers. “Utanbaatar?” I was referring to the boy who had come that weekend to learn to herd. Before realizing what I had said, Nurmaa snatched the boxers from my hands and held them to her chest, slightly embarrassed. Then she laughed as she told me that they were indeed Agvaan’s. Shortly afterward, I started to hang a pair of Nomin’s undies, and Nurmaa shook her head and said, “Bi, Bi (I, I)”. I looked up, a little stunned, and that’s when they all got their kicks.

There’s a lot more to tell, but I may need to cut myself off. In short, my family blessed me with their hospitality and friendship and their way of life. I do not, however, feel that they have something magical that I need, nor vice versa (don’t think I mean there’s nothing to learn from each other). Though we obviously lead different lives, I feel in many ways similar to them; we’re all looking for happiness, we’re all lazy, we all want something we don’t have, and we all have inconsistent ideas about our worlds.

On the drive back to UB, we stopped in Kharkhorum for two days. Kharkhorum was the nation’s capital under Chinggis Khan’s third son before his grandson, Kublei Khan, moved the capital to Beijing. The capital was totally demolished by the Manchus, and a monastery was built on the ruins. The monastery, of course, was greatly damaged by the Russians during the political purges in the 1930’s-40’s and is currently being renovated. We attended a morning service and explored several of the old buildings, which are now being used to preserve historical artifacts and statues, as well as the remains of the founders of Buddhism in Mongolia. Several of us discussed later how it struck us that Tibetan lamas were teaching laypeople to pray to gods, which is against the teachings of the Buddha. The only probable solution anyone could really come up with was that perhaps they were attempting to raise the kharma of the laypeople, so that perhaps in their next life they would be in a better position to seek Enlightenment. Hmm…

Anyways, the Kharkhorum stop was a great highlight in my opinion. My language teacher, Boloroo, and one of our drivers, Baggi, had their birthday there. The ger camp where we stayed let us use the giant dining ger for a dance party. We hooked an ipod up to my itrip, connected by a camera cord to my battery charger, and to a cassette adapter, which played our music of choice through blown boombox speakers. We have some pretty funny pics. Let’s hope they get attached. Yep.

This last week in UB has been a busy one. We’ve met with some extremely interesting people, including the leader of the Mongolian Civil Will Party, the leader of the Mongolian People’s Revolutionary Party (the current ruling party and the party that ruled under the Communist regime), the president of the Mongolian Trade Union, two leading journalists and economists, the Economic guy at the US Embassy, and the grandson of Genden, a ruler of Mongolia in the 1930’s who disagreed with Soviet ideas and policy and thereby was exiled and later executed along with tens of thousands of lamas, educated people, and minorities. I met a new friend named Zaya, with whom I will meet on a regular basis, and today, I moved out of the student hostel and into the home of Bold, Maya and Haliuna, where I will stay for the next three weeks. So far, really good. Bold is a retired security guard and policeman, who at one point directly served a former President and who now loves to play soccer. Maya is a doctor two years younger than my mom (she proclaimed the similarity between my mom and her when she found out my mom’s profession). Both Maya and Bold like to lounge about the apartment in very light (or few) garments; it has been pretty warm so far. Haliuna knows enough English to go beyond surface conversations. It has been really fun hearing her thoughts on whatever, especially when we speak to each other in Monglish. Tomorrow, we will (depending on the weather) go to a ‘camp’ outside of UB with her sister’s family before we hit the ballet. Class starts again on Monday, but this week we are studying religion in Mongolia, and we’ll meet with reps from every group, possibly with the exception of the Kazakh Muslims, as it is a relatively closed community.

Welp, if you got through this, thanks for reading. Thanks for all the wonderful messages on my first post. I am in a constant state of, um, feeling encouraged by all your love and prayers and insights.