Shamanism in Mongolia

She says that when she closes her eyes, she sees trees and mountains and woods--and her grandmother. "Grandmother angry," she tells me. When I ask why, she says with jocund frustration, "I don't know!"

Her name is Batdelger on paper and outside the home, but to me she is Ulaana--a name meaning "red." She was my host sister during my Pre-Service Training in the small village of Javkhlant in Selenge Aimag. She is five years my junior, but with my broken Mongolian and naivitee of the customs and cultures here, I've often felt that I was the younger sister.

Though she tells me it is her grandmother she meets in these visions, she really means great grandmother. I think. When I asked, she describes her as her "Eejiin eejiin eej," or "mother's mother's mother." Like Ulaana, this grandmother practiced shamanism, and as Ulaana seeks to become a buuh, or shaman, her grandmother is her blood link to a culture and tradition that is flourishing in this Land of Blue Sky.


The Growing Popularity of Mongolian Shamanism
My fascination with Mongoliam shamanism leads me to bring up shamanism with many people I meet, including my Mongolian language teacher, Nina. A hilariously animated and energetic woman with a round face and plump figure, Nina knows very little English, but explains that only five years ago, there weren't many shamans in Javkhlant. "Now," she tells me in Mongolian, "There are maybe 10 in Javkhlant... three in one family!"

While native beliefs and traditions around the globe seem to be declining, shamanism in Mongolian is on the rise. More and more Mongolians, including young people like my host sister, seek knowledge in ancient customs in order to become shamans and shamanesses. Though I left Javkhlant for my assignment in Uliastai in Zavhan Aimag, I still seek answers and information regarding the beliefs and practices of Mongolian shamanism.


The Reason for the Growing Popularity
From the small 1800-population village of Javklant, I moved to Uliastai (population ~16,000), into a wooden house directly next to (technically in the same building) as a Mongolian couple. The husband, a 48-year old man named Tsogbayr (Tsogoo), is an English teacher with over 26 years experience and former Dean of the Foreign Languages Department for my university--not to mention one of my counterparts and friends. For the last three years, he's also been a practicing shaman. When I discovered his association with Mongolian shamanism, the reason for its rise was one of my first questions.

"Right now, the doors of heaven are open," he told me. "For nine years, open. Next year, they close, I think." He explained that when we are born on the earth, God hides all the memories of where we came from, all knowledge of our past lives. But when the doors are open, some people can access those memories and that hidden past, connecting them to heaven and to those that call heaven home, including their ancestors. All shamans have an ancestor with whom they can connect and who can briefly occupy their bodies to provide wisdom and advice to others.

For Ulaana, this is her great, great grandmother; for Tsogoo, it is an ancestor he refers to as the "old man"--an ancestor he says was a high-ranking general in Chinggis Khan's army. [As a note, Chinggis Khan regularly sought the advice of shamans in planning his campaigns.] During the shaman ceremony, the old man comes into Tsogoo's body to answer questions and offer advice.

A Mongolian shaman's demeanor and voice change when he or she is possessed by their ancestor, and one shaman may be inhabited by many ancestors, both male and female. Sometimes the same shaman summons multiple ancestors during the same ceremony. Other shamans may require different ceremonies to summon different ancestors and may wear different clothes based on what part of heaven the ancestor lives in. Regardless, all ancestors are all Mongolian.


Mongolian Shamanism and Nationalism
While there may be cosmological explanations for the rise in shamanism, I think the fact that all shamans must have a Mongolian ancestor is significant. With the mining boom in Mongolia, companies from around the world (including the UK, China, Japan, Canada, etc.) have come to pull the wealth from Mongolia's land. Historically, nationalism tends to bubble up in countries faced by threats from the outside, particularly economic threats (for example, Japan in the late 1900s and Germany after WWI). Foreigners can come to Mongolia and take out the country's ore, but no foreigner can come to Mongolia and take up Mongolian shamanism. When asked by one of my Peace Corps friends if he could be a shaman, Ulaana responded, "No, because you not Mongolian person."

Tsogoo tells me shamanism is on the rise world-wide... but only among those than can claim Mongolian heritage, who have a Mongolian ancestor with whom they can communicate. He says there are many people with Mongolian blood living outside the country--which, from what we know about Chinggis Khan's campaigns across Asia and Europe, is likely true. In fact, Tsogoo's teacher, a high-ranking shaman who reads palms and sees the past and future, lives in Russia but claims Mongolian blood; Tsogoo confirms that his features are Mongolian.


Shamanism in Mongolia ties Mongolians and Mongolian communities to ancient traditions: shamans here often determine when a child's first hair cutting will be (the first time a child's hair is cut is considered very important for their future health and happiness, and the time for hair cutting ceremony is determined by a shaman or a Buddhist lama). Occasionally, shamans also give a child his or her name--sometimes very old names belonging to ancient ancestors. They offer explanations for illness and give advice on how to proceed. For example, Tsogoo was advised not to hunt animals and Ulanaa was told to only eat white-colored foods like bread and rice.


Shamanism's Rise Among Younger Mongolians

But I think the new interest in shamanism can also be linked to the ways in which the practice has transformed itself--or been transformed--by the younger generations. While in Javkhlant, I attended the village's Naadam festival, which celebrates the 'Three Manly Sports' of wrestling, archery, and horseback riding. During the opening ceremonies, two young men, one in a purple-blue robe and the other with a wolf pelt over his shoulders, sang a rather modern-sounding song, which included throat-singing. I later learned that these two men, Baatar and Bombo, were both shamans.

Unlike in many other religions where there is a lot of pomp and formality, there is something very organic and fluid about Mongolian shamanism. It lacks rigidity, strictness, stringency. And most shamans, like Tsogoo, practice in their free time while working other jobs (like Dean of the Foreign Languages Department or University English Teacher). While Tsogoo spoke in mind-boggling and specific terms about the practice (i.e., the different heavens and types of shamans), I think a lot of the beliefs and practices are malleable. Like many shamanistic belief systems, much of the teaching has come down through the ages orally, and as you practice, you listen to the melody sung by the ancestors and find your own harmony.

The result? Younger generations have stepped in to adapt, personalize, and make Mongolian shamanism not just relevant but... well... really freakin' cool.


For every question I manage to get answered about shamanism, I seem to have a dozen more (and not enough language skill to properly express my questions or receive their answers). However, the more I discover, the more I realize that this system of belief is meant to be a journey of reflection, meditation, remembrance, and self-discovery. So perhaps it's all right if I haven't got all the answers quite yet.

Until next time!

Cheers,
Karen

PS: In the middle of writing this, Ulaana hopped on my computer and wrote a short message in English. I just thought I'd share: "hey my sister.my name is btdlgr my hobby is singing and play volleyball.I like the color blue I dont like pink .because tsagaana like!!!!!! I love my family . I am a shamaness .my grand mother is angry.because I have not met with her for a long time .now my grand mother sometimes angry,many angry my body bad,hey karen do you understand me!!!!!!!"

First Snow

Written on September 24, 2012.

Snow has fallen in Uliastai—the first of the season. It made its introduction first as a light rain that came over the quiet mountains and hills, leaving mist in its wake to half-obscure peaks and rocky slopes. The precipitation was gentle enough for me to venture outdoors, making the trek to my site-mates’ (Bianca and Bill’s) apartment with my mini mew tucked safely and warmly into my down coat.

My site-mates here in Uliastai (Bianca, Bill, and Bryan) and I had planned an exploration of one of Uliastai’s farther districts, Dinj, but the late September shower curtailed our plans, and we contented ourselves to stay in to cook and work on a project recording English textbook audio tracks.

As the drizzly day draped into the afternoon, the rain turned to sleet and finally to snow, and we watched from the third-story apartment window as flakes of white settled over the city.

The power has become bewilderingly intermittent. Bianca tracks the outages on the calendar taped to her apartment wall, but none of us can yet find a pattern. On our first snow day, it flickered off at 8 and came back on around 10:15, only to go down about an hour later. Often the power companies at least give homes the evening so families can make dinner, but power at the apartment flicked out at 7:26pm—just in time to leave a home-made pizza half-baked in the oven.

This morning, I awoke to cold. I will be glad when the heat comes on in my home and the radiators can keep the temperature a bit warmer—hopefully in early to mid-October. There is snow over the grass. At first, it looks like frost, but then you see a flake or two drift down from the cloudy-gray sky and remember that the air is too dry here to leave morning frost. It is snow that patches the grounds and whitens the nearby mountains.

Snow transforms landscapes. I wonder how Mongolian snow will transform mine. I wonder how I have changed and will change as winter deepens. It is not just Mongolia’s physical environment that forces me to grow and adapt, but also the cultural and social environment that makes this such a strange and challenging country to navigate.

I wonder if the tall mountains around me will rumble new barriers into me. I wonder if the shifting streams will reflect new fluidity into my character. When electrical fluctuations and the slow tilting of the earth bring unaccustomed darkness into my inner landscape, I wonder if I will find a way to generate light and warmth to fight back the shadows.

As I look out at the mountains, peaceful and sleepy under a thin blanket of slow, and see the black birds spiraling in the chill air, and see the small finches chirping gleefully on the school fences, I remember that life is a journey, and all landscapes change with the seasons--and are made for travel.

New Mini Mew

So… funny story:

It was lazy, overcast Sunday and I had spent most of my morning reading and experimenting with a little meal known as breakfast. Meals are occasionally rough to manage: my refrigerator freezes everything placed in it (limiting what I can safely buy and save) and recently my oven was inconveniently broken for me (against my wishes). I had informed my supervisor of both of these unfortunate conditions.

I headed over to Bill and Bianca’s place to hang out and make food. Bianca and I planned to go out and get a little sunshine, enjoying the outdoors before the onset of colder temperatures. As we were preparing to leave, I got a text from my supervisor: “Hi. I have mini mew. You need mew. Bat now go to your house?”

I stared at this message a moment. What? I told him I was not at my house, but would head there, and inquired what a ‘mew’ was. His reply came as Bianca and I were headed to my house: “mini white moggie.”

Refrigerators were often white. Perhaps a fridge? Bianca reminded me that Mongolians often call things by the brand name rather than the appliance name (copiers here are called Canons, as they are made by Canon most of the time). I had never heard of a moggie or a mew, and neither had she. I texted my supervisor back, saying I didn’t know what that was.

A few minutes later, a text came from him again: “you looke moggie? I am go your home?” … Sure, I told him. I still had no idea what he was talking about.

Bianca and I hung out at my house until my supervisor arrived with the mew. Oh! I exclaimed in sudden enlightenment, A mini mew! Of course! And he handed me the mini mew and told me not to let it outside.

What is a mini mew, you might ask. Why, this of course:

My mini mew happens to be female, and while I cogitate upon a more appropriate appellation, she is referenced simply as my mini mew. I am also ruminating on possible solutions to digestive needs of my new mini mew. Mongolians, in general, aren’t really fond of mews, and their stores are frequently bereft of mew food and mew bathroom sand. Unable to procure such items as I would in my native land, I have sought alternatives.

I have dirt in a pan as a mini mew loo, and have mixed fish and cooked buckwheat as her standard dish, though both these are subject to change. Currently, her toy of preference is an object of ingenious design, which I call “two buttons on a thread of dental floss.”

I will note that she is surprisingly good-natured and affectionate. She is occasionally shy, but given the treatment she has likely received in a country that, on the whole, dislikes mews, perhaps that is no surprise. I am very fond of her, and so is Bianca, so perhaps we will slowly cure her of that.

So… if anyone wants to send me some cans of mew food from the States, that would be great! If you can’t find any, cat food will work, too.

Cheers,

Karen

Eleven Weeks in Javkhlant: An Aural Reflection

I arrived in Javklant on the 6th of June, and it was my home until the 13th of August, when I left for my site. In those weeks, I discovered a culture that was as different from my own as it was the same; for every element that seemed dramatically different, there was another that seemed remarkably similar. I could expound dryly upon these various contrasts and similarities, but Mongolian culture--(perhaps all cultures)--is too rich, intricate, and beautiful for that.

I want to instead share one aspect that accurately demonstrates the interplay of these elements of contrast and similarity: song

Mongolians love to sing--which is no doubt one reason for the ubiquitous karaoke bars throughout the country (even Javkhlant, with a population of about 1800 and more animals than humans, has a local karaoke bar). They sing at almost every event, from birthdays and parties to ceremonies like the one held on the first day of school. It is very common, from what I hear, for someone to start singing on a long bus or van ride--amidst strangers or near-strangers--and the whole vehicle to erupt into song. (Note: The prominence of alcohol on such trips should perhaps not be discounted.). A large cache of widely known Mongolian songs propitiates the communal and perhaps community-building role singing has here.

My host sister, Ulaana, loves to sing, and would occasionally go out to sing in other villages--she even sang one night for Javkhlant's Naadam celebration, one of the larger festivals in Mongolia. She has a beautiful voice, and as she was trying to teach me a song, I asked if I could record her singing it. The song is called Nud, which translated to "Eyes" (images are from in and around Javkhlant).

For me, my host family's propensity towards song was a familiar melody. I recall many Christmases with my mother's family in North Carolina: my cousins would whip out their guitars, one of my aunts would hop on the piano, and suddenly the house seemed to harmonize with music and singing.

Mongolia may be a different country and a different culture, but I think some aspects span across distances and peoples: singing is one. During the summer, I recall sitting around the table in my host family's little house as my youngest host sister, Tsagaana, prepared dinner. My older host sister, Ulaana, and my little 'nephew', Bombule, and I were sitting around the table. I listened as they chatted, and then began to break into song. (images are of my host family and my community in Javkhlant)

Many of the songs my family sang sounded like they could be American songs: the same bouncing rhythm and easy words. Not all Mongolian songs are like this, though--many traditional songs take a lot of practice and skill, and one type--throat-singing--is sung (as far as I know) exclusively by men. Throat-singing is produced in the back of the throat, and from what I gather, has been sung in Mongolia for centuries, at least since the time of Chinggis Khan (AKA Gengis Khan). Of course, a lot has changed since the time of the great warlord--but throat-singing hasn't gone anywhere. Rather than being stuck in the past, it has transformed into something relatively modern without sacrificing its traditional feel:

The included clip is the work of Baatar and Bombo, two natives of Javkhlant captured in the pictures. These two young men actually sang this song during the opening ceremony for the village's Naadam. While it may sound pretty modern--and is--the singers are tied to a pretty old tradition. Both are buuh, Mongolian shamans. When they performed this at Naadam, one (Baatar) was wearing purple-blue robes and the other (Bombo) had the pelt of a wolf across his shoulders. (I'm still doing some fieldwork concerning Mongolia's native religion; more details to come!)

Mongolia's landscape doesn't sound the same as others. Perhaps it is the quietness of the hills, bare of soughing trees, that has given rise to a culture in which sound is special, even sacred, and where there has been something of aural explorations giving rise to unique vibrations. However, in all the sounds arising from the throats of the Mongolian people, the implications of singing are clear--it is a link that ties Mongolians to their family, community, heritage, and belief. And the more I reflect on these things, the more similar our cultures seem.

I go forward with the tunes of Javkhlant in the back of my mind, but will keep my ears open: in Mongolia, there is always another song to be heard.

Until next time,

Karen

Greetings from Uliastai!

Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM still around.

And doing well! I made it to my site. We received our site announcements our first day in Darkhan; they brought all of us out to the Children's Park in Darkhan where there is a giant map of Mongolia. They called out the aimag, city or village name, and the HCA (Host Country Agency), and then the volunteer's name. I knew I would end up in a city, but didn't know where. Some people thought Ulaanbaatar, others thought maybe Erdenet or Choilbalsan--but you can never really guess; there are so many places you can go!

Zavhan Aimag, Uliastai, Economic University Branch in Zavhan!

Zavhan is located to the west (I am in the north-western region of Mongolia), and Uliastai is its provincial capital. It's not a very dense province, and in fact population growth for the province stopped in 1994--and in the Aimag Center of Uliastai, population growth has actually been negative as people move away. In a 2000 consensus, Uliastai was the 10th most populated city in the country with about 24,000 people. Now it is the 16th with an estimated population of about 16,000--however, my sitemates tell me that it's probably closer to 12 or 13,000. After talking to a few Mongolians, I've comfirmed that Zavhan is the coldest of Mongolia's 21 aimags, though really due to one city in the province with strangely abberant weather patterns that seem to always be comically cold.

This area is beautiful: Uliastai is surrounded my mountains that, apart from their granduer and majesty, are more valuable from the perspective of an easily-chilled Californian by their tendency to block the winds from the north. There are two rivers that wind through the city and actually provide fish!--Uliastai is one of the few places in Mongolia where you can actually get good fish.

I am living in a wooden house that has central heating (or will have central heating at some point in the frigid future), but unreliable electricity, particularly in the winter (though I hear it gets better every year). I have a wooden stove with which I can keep myself warm when the electricity is cut off; during winter, I hear electricity is sometimes turned off to homes during the day and turned off to businesses at night. I do have running water! But no drain or shower, though I find that my solar shower works great, and there is a shower room at my school.

All those who live in houses or gers live in the hashaa (yard) of a family. The head of my hashaa family is the dean of foreign languages at my university, and one of my counterparts! He knows English pretty well, and is very nice. My house is also about 1 minute from school (though this little door in the wall separating my yard and the university field; a feel a bit like Alice through the rabbit hole every time I go through it).

I will likely elucidate more upon my site as I get more settled in. I am still learning the layout of Uliastai and getting acclimated to life here (and still taking pictures!).

For those who want to send me letters or packages, thank you! Unfortunately, Peace Corps policy prevents me from publicly displaying my address. If you would like to send me something, feel free to e-mail me for my address! The P.O. Box address will also work; those who come in to visit me from UB can deliver any mail that comes to that address.

I've got a few blog posts in the works, so check back here often!

Cheers,
Karen

From One In Javkhlant

It's been over a month now in Mongolia, and things are going well!

I'm located in the small village of Javkhlant in Selenge Province, located in the north of Mongolia. The population here is about 1,800 people (pretty small) and about 120,000 animals (Let's hope the animals don't revolt!). The animal population primarily includes sheep, goat, horse, cow, and pig--though as some may know, I have seen camels while traveling to and from the large city of Darkhan, located to the south.

For a country of so little rainfall, we've received a lot of rain! And every rain washes out our dirt roads, transforming them into a gooey obstacle course of veining streams, slick bumps, and treacherous quagmires. I have been fortunate to have no face-plants yet! The rain can be a pain, but the sky the day after a rain is spectacular. The Mongolian sky is like nothing I have ever seen before, and is absolutely gorgeous.

Besides those small streams that come with the rain, there is no running water here, and I am growing increasingly adept at bathing in my tumpun (a shallow bucket). You'd be surprised how quickly you learn to live without things like that. We do have electricity--unless a storm or heavy wind blows it out--but, as you know, no internet. Again, though, you quickly adapt--and I've been keeping so busy that I don't know if I would have time for it!

I am in the process of learning the Mongolian language (San bain no? Nameg Karen gidik! Be horin zorgaa nastai). Mongolian is a pretty interesting language, very different from English (though related to Japanese). My language teachers are awesome, and so much fun. They've been really patient with the millions of questions I seem to always have, which I think has really helped me.

I'm currently living with a host family, who I love to pieces. My host father's name, Jargal, means "joy"--and he is aptly named. I often call him Aav-bagsh (Father-Teacher), because he's always helping me with my Mongolian. I also have two sisters, Ulaana and Tsagaana (whose names mean 'Red' and 'White' respectively). They've been so kind and sweet to me--and sometimes very affectionate. Their English is pretty good, and help me a lot with my Mongolian language practice--and just learning about the culture. Tsagaana, who is 17, will be going to a university in UB this fall, while Ulaana is working to become a spiritual Buddhist/Tengri healer.

A couple younger family relatives live next door, and I play with them quite a bit--particularly the older boy, Bombule, who is 9. We've had some pretty awesome football (soccer) games, and he's helped me go to fetch water a couple times. Really smart kid--and his little sister, Okna, is absolutely adorable.

I'm here at site with six other Peace Corps Trainees, and we all get along pretty well. We've been working closely on a lot of language, cultural, teaching, and community development projects, which have been a lot of work, but also a lot of fun. It's a pretty good group, I think!

I have about a month of Pre-Service Training left before I move to site, where I will be for the next couple years. I'm sad to leave PST, particularly my host family, but I'm really eager to go to site and get to work. I can't wait to start making a positive difference in this amazing country. I'm excited to meet the Mongolians I'll be working with (the people here are so friendly and generous!).

I probably won't have much internet until I get to site, so expect another month or so before you hear from me (I hope to relate some of the more interesting experiences I've had during PST). Before I sign off, though, I want to send a special shout-out to all those who I've received letters from: Kaachan, Touchan, Dustin (Big Brother!), Memaw, Paula-Koala, Brent, Ms. Gray, and Thomas.

It's been wonderful to hear from you, and your thoughtfulness means a lot. I will write everyone back--provided I can finally find the post office. If you sent something, I may not have received it yet!--mail takes anywhere from a few weeks to a month to reach me.

Thanks again! And much love to everyone!

Karen

First Days in Mongolia

 June 4, 2012

Most of us were running on very little sleep as we woke early to catch the bus to the airport on the final leg of our journey into Mongolia. We were greeted with a horde of currently-serving Peace Corps Volunteers, cheering and shouting and welcoming us to Mongolia. Overwhelmed by exhaustion, but glad to have arrived at last, all I could do was smile as I walked between the lines of exuberant volunteers.

We took a bus to the immigration office, where I got one of the worst pictures I think I've ever taken, and then headed to the ger camp. The van unfortunately broke down, and as we laughed and joked, giddy with sleep deprivation, we had the opportunity to view the equine mating rituals of some horses in the distance. We were eventually picked up by another van and taken to the camp.

We picked up our luggage and got into our gers. Though not 'real' gers, they had the same circular construction, and they were furnished with three beds (two double and one single, as there were 5 of us bunking there all together), chairs, and sofas. We had a lovely dinner in a rather large ger in the center of camp, where we were introduced to the staff and given a little orientation. We headed back to our gers, took a shower, and headed to sleep.

So, there's this thing called jetlag, and all of us, accosted as we were by it, awoke naturally around 5:30 or 6am. We rose and got dressed. One of the girls in our ger, Kitano, headed out, and me and another, Brittany, soon followed. When I saw Kitano had begun climbing the nearby hill, I was eager to do the same, and Brittany and I began our way up. As we climbed, we met other groups of Peace Corps trainees, and our number had swelled to about eight by the time we reached the top of the foggy, wind-swept hill.

We ate breakfast, then took buses north to Darkhan, where we would be training for the next few days. The ride revealed miles and miles of open spaces where the gently-slopping hills and he wide expanse of sky revealed the vast and remote beauty Mongolia is known for.

When we arrived at Darkhan, we dropped off our luggage. Or, I should say, hauled our rather heavy luggage up three flights of stairs to the fourth floor. Who needs strength training when you're a Peace Corps Trainee? We were separated into small groups and were sent to get shots, then went out to dinner with a currently-serving Peace Corps Volunteer. Ours, Heather, I barraged with questions. There is so much to learn!

Later that night, I ran into a game being played by a larger collection of my fellow trainees, and we played for a few hours. I'm not sure what the game is called, but it involved one or more people being pegged as a murderer or mafia-member, one as a doctor, and one as a detective. It was fun, and we played and laughed into the night.

The beds here in Darkhan Hotel, where we're staying, are pretty uncomfortable. They're extremely hard--a couple inches of padding across what is essentially a plank of wood. This morning I'm pretty exhausted, and hope a combination of caffeine and excitement can help me power through this day of training.

When I have more time (probably in a couple months) I'll add pictures to this post--right now I have to run!