Countryside Trip

Today is the 2-year anniversary of my coming to Mongolia! I’m still alive and well, but I haven’t updated my blog because my life is very boring. I did want to add some pictures though, so here we go!

In April I went with my director’s family to visit her sister-in-law the herder. Last summer I kept avoiding going to the countryside with them because it would be for 2 or 3 weeks (sadly, even after 2 years of Peace Corps service, which should have made me more patient and introspective, I still almost die of boredom in the countryside). They told me about a one-day trip they were taking at midnight the day before they left and I thought it would be a good way to politely take them up on their offer while keeping my actual countryside time to a minimum.

As we were getting in the car, my director’s daughter Deegii told me the reason we were going: April is when the sheep and goats give birth, and the first milk that they produce is really healthy for humans. I said, “Oh that’s interesting” while calculating ways I could get out of going this late in the game. As it turned out the stuff they made out of the “first milk” wasn’t awful. I don’t know how to describe it—it looked like feta cheese but tasted like nothing. So I was able to eat a good amount of it.

Even though the family had warned me to bring my own vegetarian food for the trip, they thoughtfully bought me ramen to eat for breakfast. I was really touched. As soon as we got to the ger, everyone started cooking and my director explained that I didn’t eat meat. Her sister-in-law’s response was a concerned, “Buuz muuz iddeggui yu?” I think I’ve explained this before, but this is my favorite part of Mongolian. If you say a noun and repeat it but beginning with “m” it means, “and stuff.” For example: “Who came to the meeting?” “Bagsh nar magsh nar” (Teachers and people like that); “What did you eat for lunch?” “Huushuur muushuur.” (Huushur and stuff); “Who will participate in the training?” “Babila Mabila.” (Babila and similar people). So she was asking, “She doesn’t eat buuz and stuff?” Or, in other words, “What the heck can I feed her?” Over the course of 24 hours the family cooked and ate or served to guests about 5 meals…all of which were buuz. Some of them were big and steamed, others were small and boiled in milk tea. But they were all the same ingredients. So you can understand her concern.

Mostly we didn’t do much beyond wandering around the ger with our cell phones held high looking for signal, but I got to chase down the baby goats and put them in their ger (They had their own ger! So cute!) a few times. And take a million pictures of them, naturally.

I also got the--uh, privilege?--of watching a cow being born (only 1 or 2 are born each year, so I was lucky). The spring is unbelievably windy, and watching this newborn calf trying to stand up against the wind (when even I couldn’t) was one of the most pathetic things I’ve seen. We quickly whisked him away from his mom in the Hummer, though, and he was moved into a stable next to the ger with another calf. (I mention the Hummer because it’s a really nice car and if it were mine I would not have wanted to get cow goo all over it.)

This family surprised me by having a pet cat which hung out on the furniture and ate out of a dish just like an American cat. Deegii told her aunt about my cat: “Joyce’s cat is fancy. It eats hiam.” (Hiam is a baloney-type meat that’s sold here). Her dad’s response was, “That cat eats better than Joyce.” (Watching me eat bread or ramen while they’re enjoying some delicious mutton makes them feel very sorry for me, like I’m an orphan from a Dickens novel.)

One thing that’s interesting about visiting herders is what THEY think is interesting. Something like an iPod or camera is not considered noteworthy. But when they saw my travel pillow, which is filled with little beads like a beanbag chair, they all passed it around and ooh-ed and aah-ed. They were similarly impressed with my “whisps” (those disposable toothbrush things that you don’t need water for) and everyone used one, but even I’ll admit that those are pretty cool.

Most of the things I do are interesting to them, too. While I was outside with the goats I saw the cat sitting on top of the ger. I thought it was cute, so I snapped a picture. When I got back inside, the aunt was recounting to the group at large: “Joyce took a picture of the cat.” This sort of thing makes me too shy to take pictures of other things I find interesting that they don’t think anything of (for example, their storing their Blackberry phones under the ger’s roof poles). I also thought it was funny that Deegii, who was raised in the aimag center, was just as interested in photo ops with “countryside” things (baby goats, getting water from the well) as I was.

Visiting this particular place was a little sad, though. There were only 2 families in the vicinity, but apparently it used to be a small town. Since everyone had lived in gers, the only evidence of that is an abandoned building that used to be the school. As people started losing their cattle to harsh winters, they moved away to the aimag center. Deegii told me her uncle, who was visiting at the same time, used to live there and was very rich because he had hundreds of sheep, goats, and cows, but he lost them all in the zud 3 years ago. Now he lives in the aimag center, but he doesn’t have a job.

In the evening, we sat around while the family tried to get me to speak Mongolian (I actually really like the chance to practice in one-on-one situations, but with 9 native speakers staring at you in anticipation or yelling "Talk! Talk!", it’s just nerve-wracking). While I was in the U.S., their family had invited the other Arvaiheer volunteers, who are more outgoing, to their home for Tsagaan Sar. My director’s husband lamented, “The other volunteers are CRAZY. Why are you so shy?”

A few people (other herders who lived somewhere in the general area) stopped by to eat some buuz, however, and I did appreciate that they took no notice of me at all. No second glances and no “Who’s that huge person sitting next to the stove?” When you’re a foreigner, it’s a really good feeling when people act like you’re not remotely interesting.

I also got to spend a lot of time during this trip with Deegii’s 6-month-old son, whom her her herder relatives called “Sharaa”—“yellow”—because he’s pale with light blonde hair and green eyes. He’s cute as hell, but I have Youngest Child Syndrome and just do not know what to do with a baby. From watching others, I’ve gathered that lifting it up and making faces at it is standard procedure, but this kid is HEAVY. The result is that every time they hand him to me, he starts crying within 2 minutes. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I’m pretty sure they think there’s something wrong with me. In Mongolia, it’s not only women, but EVERYONE who loves babies. They argue with each other over who gets to hold the baby. When they want to treat me to some baby-holding time, I just hang onto him tightly enough that he doesn’t get away and hurt himself and go back to reading my book. I am not what you would call "nurturing."

In the evening, while Deegii sitting by the fire and holding her son, she told me that Mongolians say babies can see the god of fire in the stove. They can also see the light that surrounds people (like an aura, from what I could understand). Then she added, “He told me you don’t have a light.” I must have looked alarmed, because she rushed to say, “Joking! Joking! He can’t talk!” Actually that is a pretty good joke for someone with intermediate-level English.

Cousins :)