Dental Health Project and Lessons Learned

Poster from Javkhlant school,
Uliastai soum

So, October is Dental Awareness Month. Well, not officially, but here in Uliastai, it might as well be.

This month, the Dental Awareness Project has launched at four of the five Uliastai secondary schools, as well as in Yaroo soum, Aldarhan soum and Tsagaanhairhan soum. The project involves all the 8^th graders from these schools, and occurs in two to three stages, depending on who you ask and what you define as a ‘stage’:

It begins with a poster contest, with each 8^th grade class working in pairs to design a poster about dental health. The posters are judged, and the winning pair gives a pre-made presentation about dental health and receives a certificate.

The dental posters from Aldarkhaan soum

Students at Devshil school, Uliastai soum
giving the presentation

Winning students from Javkhlant school,
Uliastai soum

Students from Chandmani-Erdene
School, Uliastai soum, playing a
game as part of their presentations

That, at least, is the basic structure. All the schools, even individual classes, do the competitions a little different. Sometimes all the students present on dental health together. Sometimes they make another presentation in addition to the pre-made PowerPoint. Sometimes the posters are less like posters and more like brochures. But in all cases, students are learning about dental health, so the variations don’t bother me in the least.

In addition, I’ve been doing dental assessments in preparation for the KIDS dental Dream Team coming in May. This has involved visiting all five schools in Uliastai and those at two of the outer soums, looking at the teeth of over 850 children. And it’s not done yet. I’m scheduled to go out to a number of soums to look at teeth and facilitate the soum school’s participation in the Dental Awareness Project.

Dental assessments,
Chandmani-Erdene school

I guess I kind of got lucky with this project. I think about the projects I tried to do last year, many of which ended in disastrous failures. Sometimes I thought the failure may have been a result of the projects being too widespread, but the dental project is now aimag-wide. Sometimes I thought it might be because it involved too many parties, but the Dental Project has involved teachers, directors, social workers, training managers, doctors, and volunteers from all the school.

So what makes this project such a success? I think it’s a combination of a few things, and with those things in mind, I’m writing a list of tips for future projects—as much for myself as anyone:

Hit on a need: When working on my Teaching Methodology Seminar, I had grand plans. The problem, though, is that no teacher is really that interested in improving his or her methodology; you’re not going to be fired for using an older methodology. But walking through town, you can look at our children’s teeth and know there’s a problem. In some cases, the teeth are literally rotting out of their mouths. But people who have seen it sometimes don’t really SEE it until you bring it up. Then, suddenly, you get those “Ah…!”s of recognition, and people are immediately onboard.

Make it easy: I wanted to do Lifeskills for the longest time (and still do). I went to the librarian at Bookbridge, the workers at WorldVision, and other people in the community asking for help. But no one wants to spend 2-3 hours a week teaching Lifeskills for free--teaching is a lot of work! When I went to schools, though, and met with the director about the Dental Awareness project, I came with a flyer of the project (in Mongolian) that could easily be edited, the dental presentation (in Mongolian) with pictures to show them, and a copy of the certificate, sometimes even an example printed on the nice certificate paper and sign and stamped (and looking nice!). It involved no work on the part of the director or, really, the teacher. It was an out-of-the-box deal. Easy.

Cuteness on wheels

All for the children: Children are so treasured here. I wish I had a picture of all the ways I’ve seen this demonstrated: old grandfathers carrying little children on their back, or rocking them as they slept on their shoulders; fathers scooping up their toddlers and ‘sniffing’ them affectionately; mothers cleaning them, playing with them, smiling at them as they called “minii khuu!” (my child!). The Dental Project is directly related to the health of children, and no one can, with good conscious, reject a project that focuses on such an important topic.

I guess an unofficial fourth tip would be to incorporate flexibility into everything. Every school does the project different, and why shouldn't they? Every child is different, every need is different, every situation is different. And I've rescheduled the project a dozen different times, but at least it's moving forward. I guess that's the way community development goes: it takes times, but as long as you're moving forward, that's what counts.

I hope things continue to move forward on this and other projects. I'm bolstered by my success this month, and hope November proves just as productive.

A quick shout-out to Purobi, who looked over the dental presentation for me, Bob, who taught me how to do dental assessments, and Bryan, Virginia, and Zack, who helped me do the dental assessments both at their schools--and others, as well. As in all successful projects, it's been a group effort.

Cheers,

Karen

A Garden in the Desert, Part II

I’ve gotten increasingly unreliable about updating my blog. It’s not that I forget about it, oh no. But with the surge of autumnal activity (the desperate bustle that heralds the end of summer and dread for the hiemal chill engendering, in funeral-soft voice, the uttered “Winter is coming.”), I’ve been swept up in the tide of projects, classes, and meetings.

Still, I take this bit of time to write about whatever became of my garden.

I planted my garden in May and fostered the seeds into seedlings, then left for six weeks to Darkhan. This is where the story left off, I believe (a gripping cliff-hanger, to be sure).

I returned to Uliastai to a jungle! The sweet peas came up in a tangled thicket of vining tendrils, the zucchini with dark leaves as large as my hand, and cilantro plants that sprouted here and there, without regard from the carefully furrowed rows Tsogoo had made for me. Lettuce sprouted in clumps of bright-green leaves.

The chill came swiftly, but I was able to harvest some things before the frost.I harvest one giant zucchini from my garden that was baked into a delicious loaf of zucchini and walnut bread (enjoyed by the PCVs and two of our JICA volunteer friends during a group pizza lunch).

The sweet peas were harvested and have been tossed into pasta sauces and soups (and gormandized with relish by yours truly). Some of the tendrils of the sweet pea plant were used in a dish made lovingly by my wonderful godmother Purobi.  The lettuce went into the Uliastai Peace Corps Volunteer’s taco night, for which some of the cilantro made a delicious salsa. I was able to salvage many of the cilantro plants from my garden by potting them and bringing them indoors.

The growing season in Mongolia is short, but the success of my summer gardening experiment will, I hope, have long-term benefits. Ulzii, manager World Vision and interested observer to my acitivites, is interested in introducing a greater variety of crops to Uliastai farmers, and we will attempt a project next spring to conduct trainings and supply seeds to potential growers. The additional variety will, we hope, not only create another revenue stream for these growers, but also increase the variety of produce available here, and help improve nutrition.

Closer to my heart is the hope that many families will begin keeping their own gardens, providing healthy vegetables for family members and giving families a chance to work together. But I suppose there is time enough for gardening to catch on, and if this project has taught me nothing else, it’s taught me that (especially in Mongolia), there is lots of space to grow.

Cheers,

Karen

A Garden in the Desert

Mongolia is often perceived, I think, as being mostly desert, and while it’s true that a great deal of Mongolia is, in fact, desert, it is not bereft of life. In winter, I could not dream of anything but dirt beneath the snow—lifeless soil that would never give up nutrients to feed any wandering seed. But I was wrong.

Rows filled with seeds

As spring approached, I spoke to Tsogoo, hashaa father extraordinaire, about planting some seeds outside. I figured any dirt needed could be collected by the river, and recalling the sometimes-torrential rains of my summer as a trainee, felt that our yard could be transformed into a moderate garden.

Our garden; the plants in
front are potatoes

I admit that this garden project isn’t solely for the benefit of a nice yard and some delectable vegetables and herbs; for me, at least, the success of the garden carries more weight. I spoke to Ulzii, one of the directors of World Vision, and introduced the idea of a garden project, by which World Vision workers could have trainings and distribute seeds so that families throughout Uliastai and Zavkhan might be able to have gardens of their own.

Green beans.

The benefits of such a project would be numerous: apart from encouraging families to eat healthier and allowing them to be more sustainable, a garden can help decrease food costs, encourage people to be outdoors more, and give families a chance to work together.

However, before World Vision puts in the funding, they want to make sure it’ll work!

By the time I arrived back from Training of Trainers (TOT) in early June, Tsogoo had made me a garden. In part of the garden, he’d planted potatoes, but designated a number of rows for me to plant whatever my heart desired. Therefore, soon after I returned, I planted some of the seeds I received from home (shout out to my parents and good friend Christian for sending them!).

One of many squash plants

Although my flowers and cilantro have failed to sprout, I’ve had success with many other plants, particularly squash, peas, and beans—all of which I’ve been able to space out. The lettuce has been coming up in little clusters, but is still so small I haven’t been able to space it out; the strongest of the cluster, I suspect, will win out. I have some hot peppers which I started indoors and will soon transplant outside.

Tsogoo and his granddaughter,
watering transplanted squash.

I leave in a few days to train in Darkhan, but trust Tsogoo will ensure the plants are well watered. I return from Darkhan in August, and I’m eager to see what our garden will look like when I do. I know winter will come quickly (I expect snow by the end of September or beginning of October) but hope my plants will be ready for harvest by then.

It’s encouraging to see the sprouts break through the soil, their leaves fanning out in the sunlight, their tendrils spiraling about twigs as they prepare to climb. They remind me that I, too, should be breaking through the obstacles I face, that I should open to what gives me strength, and that I should keep reaching higher. There is always room to grow.

Cheers,

Karen

PS: Although I didn't get a chance to properly document it, June was an eventful month here in the Land of the Blue Sky. Last month, I ran a marathon, walked along the river, crawled into caves, climbed a mountain, and rode Mongolian horses. Not too bad for my first (and really only) month of summer vacation!

Humanitarianism in Uliastai

Sure, there are no paved roads out of town, livestock regularly wander through town, and most of the toilets are holes in the ground. Mountains surround this place, and two vagrant rivers run through it. Walk a few miles out of town, and you could very well be a few miles from another living soul. But don’t be fooled; this is not the end of the earth. Or at least, if it is, it is a place populated not by dragons, but Samaritans.

Yesterday, after classes, I walked to the local Bolorjin Supermarket to buy eggs, applesauce, etc. and ran into Ulzii, the director of one of the local NGOs in town. Seeing her reminded me how many people there are here working for the betterment of this little town tucked into the Mongolian mountains.

Last February, two Japanese volunteers arrived in Uliastai, and after a few weeks of searching in earnest, I finally made their acquaintance. After a meeting with a potential sponsor for an upcoming seminar, Tsogoo (my amazing hashaa father) and I stopped in the post office to pick up a box I’d received. A girl was there getting packages, too, and I noticed the word リンゴ written on the side of her box. I turned to the girl and asked, “Nihonjin deshou ka?” She smiled in surprise and responded in the affirmative. And so began my friendship with Miho.

I had heard from Tuya, a woman I work with occasionally from the local museum on a few of the amazing projects she’s trying to start in the community, that one of the Japanese volunteers was teaching an origami class. Tuya signed me up, but I later found that the time conflicted with one of my clubs. The teacher of the origami class called me to let me know the other times she taught. She began speaking in Mongolian; I responded in Japanese. So began my friendship with Yumi.

Miho is a mid-wife working at the local hospital, while Yumi works at the Child and Youth Center helping organize programs for children in the community. Their presence here reminds me that, as I work to try to help the Mongolian people, I’m not alone. People from all over the world, from Japan and Australia to Korea and the Philippines, are here to help. And while, being American, I may have come a little farther than most, I’m reminded that the world isn’t nearly as big as it sometimes seems.

In the end, though, it isn’t the Japanese or Americans here that impress me: it is the Mongolians. Ulzii and Mongolians like her aren’t in this for the short-term; she’s here for the long haul, working tirelessly to help her fellow Mongolians—and unlike many of us who, despite our meager stipends, have had and continue to have a wealth of opportunities and resources to pull from, she is working with what little she has to achieve truly phenomenal, sustainable good in the community.

So when I look around this town and see the wandering livestock, the dirt roads, the outhouse toilets, I don’t despair. When I see the lonely mountains cradling the town, and the two rivers babbling through it, I don’t feel alone. There is an incredible amount of hope growing here, born partly out of international philanthropy, but mostly out of the hearts of the people who call Uliastai home. It’s a small town, but living here, I feel I’m part of something far larger, something bigger than the world: the aspirations of the Mongolian people for their beautiful, rugged, flourishing Mongolia.

Cheers,
Karen

Arrival of Spring

The snows are melting. In early March, spring revealed itself in an ebullience across the languid mountains that rise into view through my office window. The matted snow was melting; in the day it dissolved to water and, when the temperature dove like penguins back to icy depths, froze again: It looked like the mountains were slowly slipping out of white satin.

So if I don’t write often, it is merely because Mongolia has enraptured me.

But like all fondnesses that don’t spring out of children’s fairytales or romance novels, my fondness for Mongolia is touched with a kind of tellurian (and necessary) ambivalence, an accepted reluctance (and, at times, disappointment and I admit occasionally even revulsion) that makes me deeply appreciate my time here, my service, and incites me to great (if relatively brief) dedication to and love of a country that isn’t wholly my own (then again, are countries every really our own?).

I was unaware how much I longed for this vernal arrival, how much I needed the snows to be gone, the macabre winter to slink away and let the carcasses of creatures claimed by cold  (and accosted by crows and other scavengers) sink into the earth. It is only by contrast, seeing the cows eat newly-found shrubs rather than tossed cardboard, seeing the surviving puppies no longer curling up for warmth against their dead sibling, that I look on spring with relief.

Autumn makes me feel wistful, diaphanous, and delicate, but spring is a roborant; it clears my purpose while tempering my deleterious self-perceptions; it fills me while emptying me. It is a wind blowing through me (at times more corybantically than others). There’s an easy, tempered hope efflorescing before the trees. When I feel a trembling, it doesn’t feel quite as violent as when dying fall leaves trembled with me.

No lush grasses lie in wait beneath the snow; only the sandy dirt. No flower will grow from this soil, whipped by winds and treaded by hungry cows. But something about the grim terrain, the desolate winters, the infertile soil breed people of remarkable good-humor, dedication, and hospitality. They are persevering; regardless of what is or is not accomplished, it’s difficult not to become endeared to them, to root for them, to delight in their joys and despair in their sorrows. Just like in love.

But I know that, like most loves I’ve had in my life, Mongolia won’t be able to contain my restlessness. In 14 months, I will fly away with no plans of returning. But the brevity of my time, and knowing it is brief, makes me value it. Ephemeral things tend to be beautiful--in a heartbreaking sort of way.

I suppose that’s how I feel about Mongolia as she steps into the bluster of spring on the steppe. And like the weather in this tempestuous season, my feelings may change. But for now, I am content to be here, in this moment, feeling like I’m echoing the light across the mountains and the warmth in the winds. The snows in me have melted at last.

Cheers,
Karen

Mongolian Winter Holidays

It’s nearing the end of winter in the States. For those who don’t know, winter is a period in the calendar that spans the months of December, January, and February in the US, and the months of October, November, December, January, February, March, April, and May in Mongolia. In the US, winter is marked by cold temperatures. In Mongolia, winter is marked by extremely freezing, animal-killing temperatures.

When it is cold, dark, and gloomy, what better way to shuffle off those ‘Winter-Is-Trying-To-Kill-Me’ blues than holidays! Mongolia has two rather exciting holidays: New Years and Tsagaan Sar.

Mongolian New Years

Mongolia doesn’t really have Christmas. I’m not sure it ever did. New Years, as it is celebrated in Mongolia, combines elements of both traditional New Years and Christmas. While modern-day Christmas has deviated a bit from its original religious overtones, the rumor is that merging Christmas into New Years was an attempt to hasten this process, not by the Mongolians, but by the USSR, which occupied the country until the 1980s.

Being a decidedly communist nation, the USSR supposedly felt integrating Christmas into New Years would be a compromise: a way of letting people have their celebration while helping people move away from the evil influences of religion.

At least, that’s the rumor.

Mongolian New Years is now a combination of the two holidays. People decorate trees (which look a lot like Christmas trees) and put up motifs of reindeer and Father Winter, a tubby man with a white beard who gives out presents (sound familiar?).

However, New Years parties here have a distinctly prom-like feel. In fact, I would posit that New Years is the annual Mongolian prom: young women get their hair done, put on lots of make-up, find very bright prom-like dresses, and then cover themselves with glitter. Lots of glitter. It’s an excuse to get really dressed up; some women go farther than others. And of course, every man is nicely dressed.

Every New Years party is a little different. Every organization, business, school, etc. has a party for the staff, and there is always a lot of drinking (which you can often avoid if you are foreign, female, and sitting next to the pregnant lady [Thanks, Bilgee!]).

At my school’s New Year’s party, there were lots of songs, games, and contests—there was even a vote for Prince and Princess (of what, I’m not sure), the latter of which was won by yours truly. My prize was a Tigger Snow Globe. I would have preferred a tiara, scepter, and small kingdom. But the Snow Globe does light up.

Tsagaan Sar

Tsagaan Sar, or ‘white month,’ is arguably one of the most important holidays in Mongolia and is somewhat a combination of traditional New Years, Christmas, and Thanksgiving. Despite the name, the holiday lasts one to two weeks, and involves visiting family and friends, wearing traditional clothes, and eating lots of traditional foods (more on this below!).

Some of the male teachers at my school. From left to right:
Choijo, Byamba, Nymorchir, Altantsooj, boy-whose-name
-I-can't-remember, and Amaraa.

Teachers from my school doing the
traditional Tsagaan Sar greeting.

Tsagaan Sar usually falls in early February. I had to ask around a bit to find why Tsagaan Sar is celebrated at this particular time. It falls soon after the Chinese New Year. My counterpart told me that after Tsagaan Sar is generally when herders (of sheep, goats, cows, etc.) begin preparing for spring by breeding new offspring for the new year. Others have told me that it marks the end of the coldest part of winter and the beginning of spring. My favorite explanation, though, came from one of the students in our Speaking Club for secondary school students: “It’s like… yay, we’re not dead.” I suppose Tsagaan Sar can be seen as a celebration of life, of surviving the winter.

Because Tsagaan Sar is a traditional holiday, it is steeped in all sorts of ritual, both traditional and not. People greet each other in a certain way, share snuff bottles in a certain way, and receive food and gifts in certain ways. They create round structures made of havsee (a type of sweet bread), topped with arral (a kind of hard yogurt-like cheese), white candy, and sugar cubes (usually all things that are white or light in color). You can see a picture of these structures below!

The breads that make up the stack is havsee.

When you visit another person’s home for Tsagaan Sar, there is generally a lot of dumplings--buuz and/or bansh. The two are almost identical—both being types of dumplings—but bansh are smaller and less common (unless you live in Zavkhan). It is also traditional to down three shots of vodka, but if you’re an American, you can get around that requirement. Unless you don’t want to. But keep in mind you may be visiting 3 or 4 homes in one day!

The photogenic son of one of my school's teachers, dressed
in his deel. You can see various traditional offerings on the
table, including candy, bansh, meat, vodka, and milk tea.

Winter here has been cold, but bearable. It seems that every chilly day can be warmed by the generosity, humor, and optimism of the people around me. The Mongolians have spent their whole lives with winters like these, and their defense against it comes not only in what they wear and eat, but also in their positive attitude and unbreakable spirit.

I will post pictures soon; until then, you can find many on my Facebook page!

Cheers,

Karen