Mongolia's Missing Story

In graduate school, I took a class on narratives taught by the severe and unreadable Barbara Johnstone. She had dedicated her professional career to the stories people tell and how people tell them in the linguistically fascinating area in and around Pittsburgh. I learned from her ways of analyzing discourse and categorizing narrative parts and deriving conclusions. However, in the stoic analysis of narratives, I was unable to grasp the depth of their purpose.

Perhaps it's the dry air, the frigid cold, or just the backbreaking amount of work, but I’ve been frequently accosted by migraines since arriving at site. During those periods waiting for the meds to kick in and kick out the pain, I listen to podcasts. Sometimes on my ways to shops, the library, or my friends’ apartment, I listen to the pleasing voices of documentary reporters from NPR or the BBC. I’ve been listening to podcasts on stories and storytelling, and it’s causing me to reflect on my new transient home.

Since coming to Mongolia, I have learned about this country’s people and become more acquainted with its history and trajectory. I worry about the latter. Mongolia is a resource-rich country, but it seems to lack the one powerful weapon it might have against economic neo-colonialism: a story.

History was never my forte, I admit. But when I reflect upon the histories of those countries that were colonized, I recognize one unanimous strain: the colonized countries that threw off the chains of colonization quickest, who experienced greatest success afterwards, and who garnered the most nationalism among their citizens all had some powerful story to give them identity.

In the 1800, Matthew Perry came to Japan with his black ships and the small island nation was, after that, bound in chains of unfair treaties. Japan seemed to recognize immediately a problem, and took steps to address the conditions that had put it in an inferior position of power compared to the West. In addition to the Iwakura missions and changes in policy and government, Japan forged a story for itself: a pure, strong nation with a leader descended from a goddess and old, native (Shinto) traditions.

Was the story true? Well, not entirely. The myth of the traditional Shinto wedding, for example, is verily false: it was created in response to the Christian wedding that had existed for centuries in the western world. The Japanese made careful decisions about what about their cultural reality to encourage, enhance, ignore, or destroy (many Buddhist temples, seen as the manifestation of western—specially Chineses—influence, were destroyed). However, it was because of Japan’s story and the nationalism that story engendered that the nation became so powerful.

This also true in many other colonized places and people. India has formed a unified story that finds its seeds in the character of Ghandi. Mao helped to create a story for China in the mid twentieth century (perhaps in a way Chiang Kai-Shek could not). And let us not forget America, who has one of the most powerful stories, I think: the story of rags to riches and new opportunities and the possibility for something better if you have the courage to dream it.

I think Mongolia is still discovering her story. It has one character well-known but misconstrued and misunderstood, whose history and story have been forgotten, twisted, and vilified: the character of Chinggis Khan. Even his name has been warped away from the original, westernized into ‘Genghis Khan’.

And perhaps part of the reason Mongolia has not yet created a unified story for itself is because it is still a fledgling out from the nest of colonization: it was only in the 1980s that the Soviet Union retreated from this large land-locked nation. I think, too, that unlike many nations who formed their story while in servitude to distinguish themselves from their oppressors, Mongolia never had the same exigency: the USSR wasn’t perfect, but all things considered, it wasn’t that bad. The Russians built schools all over the country, and when Mongolia wanted independence, the USSR (more or less) humbly acquiesced. Today, Mongolians seem to feel great affection and admiration for their old colonial masters.

Now Mongolia is on the cusp of a new, subtler, more nefarious kind of colonization. I fear that, if not conscious and proactive, Mongolia will suffer the same fate as many resource-rich African nations—most of which never found or developed a story strong enough to nationalize their people and give them the power to distinguish themselves. I hope Mongolia does not suffer the same fate.

I don’t know what Mongolia’s story will be. And as much as I wish I could help, Mongolia’s story must be written by her people, for her people. It is of critical importance, I think, in a way few Mongolians I’ve met yet realize. After all, I only recently realized the importance of a story—and that’s after a graduate class studying narratives!

So what is one lowly outsider to do?

For the last few weeks I have been reading fables with my students: short and sweet stories that carry some thinly veiled moral. My students have written dialogues of them and performed them. Soon they will start writing their own stories. Maybe slowly they will go from writing stories about foxes, rabbits, turtles, and wolves, and go on to write stories about themselves, about Mongolia, and together create the story that will come to define this chill and beautiful country.

Until then, all I can do is try to teach. As I do, I wonder to myself how each face I meet, each challenge I face, and each experience I have will be spun into the ongoing narrative that will forever come to define me.

I apologize for including no photos: I will try to do so at a later date.

Cheers,

Karen

Petition to Provide Better Financial Assistance to RPCVs

https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/provide-better-financial-assistance-returned-peace-corps-volunteers-educational-debt/wzn3sjyt

There is a petition for providing better financial assistance to Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs). Many of us joined Peace Corps because we want to make the world a better place, but upon return, it can be exceedingly difficult to get back on our feet. The average student debt for students after college (when many volunteers join the Peace Corps) is about 26,000 according to a report by the Institute for College Access and Success--and that figure is only increasing. Peace Corps allows us to defer our student loans due to hardship--however, most of our loans are NOT forgiven, and we continue to accrue interest on the loans we have.

Financial debt can curtail many of our opportunities when we return to the states; as we seek to get a job, go back to school, find a place to live, etc., finances can be tight and limit what we can do, where we can go, and even the type of education we can receive. While some schools are part of the Paul D. Coverdell Fellows program (which involves RPCVs working in the community while attending classes), it's rare to find a good program that offers much financial aid. Peace Corps is generous enough to give RPCV $250 for each month volunteered abroad (PCVs therefore receive somewhere between $6,250-$6,750 depending on their program). However, this falls far short  of the debt most RPCVs have.

I believe Peace Corps is the US's best way of promoting world peace, acceptance, and understanding. I believe that the Peace Corps does more to ensure homeland security and the safety of America and Americans than any branch of the military. I believe that supporting Returned Peace Corps Volunteers is an investment that will return dividends in the form of greater knowledge, fuller perspectives, creative solutions, and increased philanthropy that benefits all Americans.

You can think of it as a way of promoting the Peace Corps as a tough but rewarding solutions to those considering how they might make the world a better place. You can see it as a way of telling Peace Corps Volunteers that you believe in their future, in what they will do to make America better upon their return from making other countries better. Or you can consider it a way of saying thanks for the two years of hardship helping those in need and promoting the US as a compassionate nation.

To sign the petition, go here: https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/provide-better-financial-assistance-returned-peace-corps-volunteers-educational-debt/wzn3sjyt

For more information about the student debt, go here: http://projectonstudentdebt.org/files/pub/classof2011.pdf

For more information about the Peace Corps, go here: http://www.peacecorps.gov/

A Mongolian Halloween

As a child, Halloween was probably my favorite holiday. I would throw a Halloween party with themed music and pumpkin-shaped cookies--though of course, the best part was the planning and decorating. I bought all sorts of creepy things to haunt-up my house and yard, and it was always a lot of fun.

However, since I've grown up, I find I haven't as much time for Halloween. Last year, I was teaching as a volunteer ESL teacher on Halloween. I didn't even dress up! My hobbies and profession didn't really make celebrating Halloween easy, and so the magic of the holiday faded for me.

But being in a new place with people who are extremely interested in American culture--and, I think, just being around kids and young adults--has inspired in me a new excitement for Halloween.

Last week, students created decorations for the holiday. I found some templates online, and my counterparts and students found some colored paper, so we made decorations based on them and on little sticky-decorations my dad sent me (they're uber cute--thanks, Touchan!). We have pumpkins, black cats, owls, and ghosts! We also have cheese-cloth ghosts, made with cheese-cloth, tissue, and string. Making the decorations was a lot of fun, and one of my CPs, Tsogoo, helped:

 

The night before Halloween, I cut out a bunch of paper to make little owls to give out as prizes to the best group at the Halloween party. My counterpart, Bilge, and the department assistant Tsepa helped to glue the little owls together.

Mongolia doesn't have many of the same affordances of America, but I make do. So there are no pumpkins in Mongolia. Before Europeans came to America, it wasn't pumpkins they carved, but turnips. To get in touch with my ancient European roots, I thought I would try my hand at carving a turnip. It's certainly not as easy as a pumpkin, but honestly, nothing is lost of the spirit of Halloween. But maybe that's true regardless of what you're carving--or where you are or who you're with. For me, I guess, the spirit of Halloween isn't fancy costumes or pumpkin-shaped cookies. It's not horror films or haunted houses. For me, this year, Halloween is a happy, toothy lantern shining in darkness.

Happy Halloween.

Mongolian Pet Culture

Mini Mew with her mousey

A couple weeks ago, I received a package containing catfood for my little kitten (Thank you, Mary and James!). My kitten, affectionately called "Mini Mew", has been living with me for over a month now, and her presence in my life has engendered all sorts of reactions from Mongolians and has increased my knowledge of pet culture in Mongolia. The arrival of catfood has brought into stark focus the difference between how Americans and Mongolians generally view animals.

If you ever travel to Mongolia, particularly outside the capital, you're pretty unlikely to find anyone who likes cats. The general response when people meet, hear about, or see pictures of Mini Mew is "I don't like cats." Pretty much unanimously.

My hashaa dog, Simba

Cats are viewed with perhaps a grain of suspicion and superstition. In Mongolia, there is the widely held belief that a cat is merely watching their owner, waiting for him or her to die. Unlike dogs, which protect the hashaa ('yard'), or livestock, which provide meat and milk, cats are seen to be fairly useless, bringing no value to humans.

In Egypt, cats were viewed as sacred and wise; but in a culture that has traditionally not been a grain-growing culture, this perception seems to have never caught on. Mongolians are traditionally nomadic herders, primarily eating meat and root vegetables like potatoes and onions. (In fact, some say one reason for Chinggis Khan's successful campaigns in China was because the bones and teeth of his warriors were strong from a lifetime of eating meat and milk-products, while the Chinese's high consumption of carbohydrates like rice, which rotted their teeth and lacked sufficient protein, made them weak. I can't say with certainty if this is true or not, though.)

Of course, Mongolia is not the same country it was 800 years ago. Wheat is now a major crop, particularly in Selenge Aimag. And there ARE mice here. But people still don't like cats. Perhaps mice aren't populous enough to pose a real problem, but regardless of the reason, it seems that for many, cats haven't redeemed any value.

In a society where life is hard and value is gained through practical or monetary benefit, cats aren't held in high regard. While dogs are seen as more valuable, even they receive a much different kind of treatment than in America. Winters here are freezing cold, but dogs are never allowed indoors; like cows, sheep, and other lifestock, they must hold their own against the cold, without the warmth of a house as a reprieve.

Stray dog looking for food around a food store.

Dogs are fed whatever scraps are left over from meals, or given the unappetizing bits from a butchered animal. They are almost never neutered, and certainly never spade, and so stray puppies abound from spring through autumn. The canine population is kept in check by various purges, where stray dogs and puppies are shot. Those who have permits from the government to shoot dogs stand to gain a little extra cash per dog they shoot. The bodies of dogs are burned outside of down. These dog-shootings happen about twice per year, I'm told: once in the spring and once in the fall. I've heard of Peace Corps Volunteers and Mongolians alike losing their dog when he or she got caught up in the purge.

Mini Mew with her mousey

As far as Mini Mew goes, I get the feeling a lot of people are surprised I have a cat (and not in a good way). But despite her incessant meowing and occasionally frustrating behavior, her adorable antics and unabashed affection delight me. Every evening she greets me when I get home, and every night she curls up in my sleeping bag with me. She brings a lot of joy, not just to me, but to the other Peace Corps Volunteers here (she occasionally attempts to play Settlers of Catan with us, but she seems to be a bit hazy on the rules). So, despite what people think of my decision, I'm glad to keep her.

Many Mongolians might be bewildered over my having a cat--but I am just as bewildered that anyone couldn't love a face like hers:

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