17…“Teacher, I brought you my son, who is possessed by a spirit that has robbed him of speech. 18Whenever it seizes him, it throws him to the ground. He foams at the mouth, gnashes his teeth and becomes rigid I asked your disciples to drive out the spirit, but they could not.”
19“O unbelieving generation,” Jesus replied, “how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me.”
20So they brought him. When the spirit saw Jesus, it immediately threw the boy into a convulsion. He fell to the ground and rolled around, foaming at the mouth.
21Jesus asked the boy’s father, “How long has he been like this?”
“From childhood,” he answered. 22“It has often thrown him into fire or water to kill him. But if you can do anything, take pity on us and help us.”
23“ ‘If you can’?” said Jesus. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”
24Immediately the boy’s father exclaimed, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
Mark 9:17-24
When I read this I thought that the way the man asked Jesus, “If you can do anything…” was legitimate and in a way trying to be respectful towards him. After all, his disciples were not able to drive the demon out whereas Jesus had given them the authority to do so (ch. 6).
When you read v.19, Jesus almost seems annoyed that despite his presence, teaching, and miraculous works that people still don’t quite get it. I read that as, “What else do I have to do to make you believe?” Yet, Jesus is always compassionate, pitying the poor and the broken that can turn no where else. When you continue reading with the tone of v.19 in mind and read v.23 I couldn’t help but see the situation in my mind, picturing Jesus’ face and tone of voice. “If you can?!” he asked incredulously. “Are you serious? What kind of question is that? Don’t you know that everything is possible for him who believes? If you really want something, then really ask for it. Ask boldly. Don’t say ‘if you can,’ of course I can. Let me direct the question back to you, can you—can you believe?”
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”
If you read on Jesus drove out the spirit—a deaf and mute spirit—with such power that it shrieked. There is real power here, especially when you consider that at the sight of Jesus the spirit started freaking out (v.20). Jesus in the flesh, with all this power, and still belief comes into question.
Do we pray like the father of the demon-possessed child? How many times through the gospels does Jesus say that if you believe anything is possible? He says that if we ask, then the Lord will give. Do we really ask? Or do we just timidly say, “um, if its alright with you…I mean, I know you can do anything but…only if you have time” Do we pray and ask boldly or are we saying “if you can?”
Read through the gospels, Jesus healed the people that had the temerity approach Jesus no matter the inconvenience. People bore a hole in his roof to get to him—that’s risking ticking somebody off real bad. Blind men were calling out his name to the point that people were telling them to shut up and go away. Their determination got Jesus’ attention, rising above the din of the crowd. They were desperate.
If he were here where we could see him in his physical body, do you think we would talk to him the same way that we pray? I doubt it. Would our pleas get lost in the crowd, or would we find a way to be heard?
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Warmer
It is warmer today. Either that or I am getting used to the cold. I went with a few less layers and without a hat and was okay walking to the store.
Strange, but something that made me really happy came in the form of a small can of peas. They caught my eye as I walked down the aisle, somehow they seemed out of place. Finally I figured out what it was, they were imported from Thailand! The familiar circles and curves took me home for a second.
As I perused the items I picked up a package of tea. Apparently it was made with green tea leaves from the country of Georgia. There was a bit of English writing on it that made me want to laugh out loud. The part that I remember read “this tea will slake your fhirst [sic].” Slake. That’s a pretty intense guarantee right there.
I’ve been in there a bunch but the check-out clerk was amused by me. After I paid I said “bayarlla” which means “thank you.” She said it back and then in English with a laugh and an emphasis that pointed out my foreignness and demonstrated her knowledge of my language.
Side note: today someone mentioned that it’s only -5. I didn’t realize it had warmed up that much! That’s a 35 degree difference than when I first came. I don’t know how accurate it is but…
Strange, but something that made me really happy came in the form of a small can of peas. They caught my eye as I walked down the aisle, somehow they seemed out of place. Finally I figured out what it was, they were imported from Thailand! The familiar circles and curves took me home for a second.
As I perused the items I picked up a package of tea. Apparently it was made with green tea leaves from the country of Georgia. There was a bit of English writing on it that made me want to laugh out loud. The part that I remember read “this tea will slake your fhirst [sic].” Slake. That’s a pretty intense guarantee right there.
I’ve been in there a bunch but the check-out clerk was amused by me. After I paid I said “bayarlla” which means “thank you.” She said it back and then in English with a laugh and an emphasis that pointed out my foreignness and demonstrated her knowledge of my language.
Side note: today someone mentioned that it’s only -5. I didn’t realize it had warmed up that much! That’s a 35 degree difference than when I first came. I don’t know how accurate it is but…
Monday, February 18, 2008
The rest of Tsaagan Sar – Saturday, Sunday, Monday – briefly, sort of
Saturday was by far my busiest day. It began with confusion. I had gotten up to go to Shurenbolor’s home at 9am. That time came and went as I tried to find small things to do that I could easily quickly stop and be ready to leave. By 11 o’clock I decided she wasn’t coming and went to the office to send some emails. Around 1pm I came back and as I was preparing to shave all of a sudden Batgerel appeared in my room, decked out in his shiny blue del. I was so confused. He wasn’t supposed to show up until 3pm. I guess it worked out though right? The first person was a no-show so he, without knowing it, made up for it by showing up early.
Through the course of the day I ended up going to 5 different homes, all relatives of Batgerel, or “Batush.” By the end of the day I was not sure when I was supposed to do the official greeting followed by giving a gift as in some homes it was done and others it was skipped over. The constants were the tea, meat, salads, buuz, vodka and all the visitors/guests receiving a gift from the host. I came home with 2 notebooks, two different fancy chocolates from Poland, a pen, a picture of Chinggis Khan, and a miniature ger.
It was an interesting day because Batush knows very little English. It was hard watching him search through his limited catalogue of words to try and find a way of explaining things to me. We usually found a way, somehow, to communicate the gist of things to each other. A highlight of the day was when he took me to the river at runs a little outside the city. He brought me there between the 4th and 5th homes when I was beginning to feel tired from being around so many people, especially in unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable settings. It was great timing, serving as a refresher for me. The river was solid ice. We ran and slid on it as the sun set in the background, illuminating the white hills in its pink glow. It was ridiculously cold as the wind wafted over the ice, freezing my ears and my hands whenever I took them out trying to capture the serenity. On the way back I saw some kids playing “Red Rover”, I had no idea it was an international game.
Sunday I went to Ganaa, the Team Leader’s/ADP Manager’s apartment after church. I really enjoyed playing with her two children, ages 1 and 3. Her uncle came over and seemed really interested in what I thought about my experiences thus far and also in the US. I learned that his family is nomadic, they move with each season through the year, a total of 4 times. He invited me to visit him in the countryside during summer but when it came out that I would likely be gone before then he decided to have me over to his ger on Monday. We went to 2 other homes that evening.
Monday evening I went to Ganaa’s uncle’s ger with one of the staff, Solongo or “Soko”, as my interpreter since Ganaa’s plans changed last minute. I met Ganaa’s uncle’s mother (I guess that would make her Ganaa’s great aunt?) who was 94 years old. That is quite uncommon for Mongolia as the average lifespan is about 65 years. They were telling me that her memory was still good and she was strong in health. They proudly showed me letters that she had received from government leaders—the president, the province governor, and the city mayor—thanking her for her long year of living in peace and contributing the country. Later I felt dumb because I didn’t grab the opportunity to ask how Mongolia has changed in the last century.
All in all I visited 10 homes in 3 days. I’m guessing I ate probably close to 100 buuz.
I think that this holiday is really a special time because it emphasizes togetherness and giving. This is the one time of year where families spend time with each other when they are normally living in all parts of the country. The hospitality is amazing, each family has so many people over, including strange foreigners like me that they can’t figure out. In addition to providing everyone food, they give everyone gifts. That’s a lot of giving. There is plenty of receiving too. All the kids in the apartment buildings knock on all the other doors in the complex, collecting their booty, kind of like Halloween.
Through the course of the day I ended up going to 5 different homes, all relatives of Batgerel, or “Batush.” By the end of the day I was not sure when I was supposed to do the official greeting followed by giving a gift as in some homes it was done and others it was skipped over. The constants were the tea, meat, salads, buuz, vodka and all the visitors/guests receiving a gift from the host. I came home with 2 notebooks, two different fancy chocolates from Poland, a pen, a picture of Chinggis Khan, and a miniature ger.
It was an interesting day because Batush knows very little English. It was hard watching him search through his limited catalogue of words to try and find a way of explaining things to me. We usually found a way, somehow, to communicate the gist of things to each other. A highlight of the day was when he took me to the river at runs a little outside the city. He brought me there between the 4th and 5th homes when I was beginning to feel tired from being around so many people, especially in unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable settings. It was great timing, serving as a refresher for me. The river was solid ice. We ran and slid on it as the sun set in the background, illuminating the white hills in its pink glow. It was ridiculously cold as the wind wafted over the ice, freezing my ears and my hands whenever I took them out trying to capture the serenity. On the way back I saw some kids playing “Red Rover”, I had no idea it was an international game.
Sunday I went to Ganaa, the Team Leader’s/ADP Manager’s apartment after church. I really enjoyed playing with her two children, ages 1 and 3. Her uncle came over and seemed really interested in what I thought about my experiences thus far and also in the US. I learned that his family is nomadic, they move with each season through the year, a total of 4 times. He invited me to visit him in the countryside during summer but when it came out that I would likely be gone before then he decided to have me over to his ger on Monday. We went to 2 other homes that evening.
Monday evening I went to Ganaa’s uncle’s ger with one of the staff, Solongo or “Soko”, as my interpreter since Ganaa’s plans changed last minute. I met Ganaa’s uncle’s mother (I guess that would make her Ganaa’s great aunt?) who was 94 years old. That is quite uncommon for Mongolia as the average lifespan is about 65 years. They were telling me that her memory was still good and she was strong in health. They proudly showed me letters that she had received from government leaders—the president, the province governor, and the city mayor—thanking her for her long year of living in peace and contributing the country. Later I felt dumb because I didn’t grab the opportunity to ask how Mongolia has changed in the last century.
All in all I visited 10 homes in 3 days. I’m guessing I ate probably close to 100 buuz.
I think that this holiday is really a special time because it emphasizes togetherness and giving. This is the one time of year where families spend time with each other when they are normally living in all parts of the country. The hospitality is amazing, each family has so many people over, including strange foreigners like me that they can’t figure out. In addition to providing everyone food, they give everyone gifts. That’s a lot of giving. There is plenty of receiving too. All the kids in the apartment buildings knock on all the other doors in the complex, collecting their booty, kind of like Halloween.
Friday. Feb 8. 2008. Tsaagan Sar begins.
We drove about 20 kilometers to the “countryside;” unlike the drive to Berkh there wasn’t a smooth, pure blanket of snow but it was instead soiled by splotches of brown earth. I saw a tiny shape in the distance and the driver, my host Batdelgerekh, pointed to it and told me through Munkhzul, who came along as my translator, that it was our destination. We came upon two small gers, fronted by a satellite dish on the left and a solar panel on the right, facing the opposite direction like two friends refusing to talk to each other.
Everyone files out to meet their visitors but it is not until we go inside that the formal, holiday greetings begin. Munkhzul tells me to take off my coat but leave on my hat and hands me a long, blue silky scarf. She folds it into thirds, laying it across my palms which are facing up, the opening fold is facing away from me and towards the recipient. I greet the oldest of the home by saying “amorainuu,” placing my palms under her elbows, and sniff-kissing each cheek. We went down the line until I was older than some of the kids and so I put my arms on top of theirs. Thankfully Munkhzul was there to coach me through the whole thing and the host family was gracious to me as a foreigner.
After the formalities I am led to a seat by the table and am offered tea and commanded to eat. The introductions begin and really I can only remember one name—the grandmother, Natasha which they inform me is a Russian name. She tells me later that a Russian nurse picked out the name for her. I had been curious because her eyes had a greenish-gray hue to them, exotic as they peered from her Asian frame.
A slice of meat is handed to me that is very tough to chew. Munkhzul instructs me to put it in my milk tea so that it will soften. After nibbling here and there on the variety of ‘slaw salads the buuz are brought to the table, steam rises off them and fills my nostrils with their tasty aroma. Do you ever light a candle and dip your fingers into the melted wax and let it harden? In a way, that’s what eating buuz is like. A few times I took a bite and the juice—fat—spilled out on my fingers. With nowhere to wipe them off I noticed later that it had hardened and turned white on my cold hands.
Somewhere in the meal Natasha holds a small bottle and tries to hand it to me. I can tell its snuff but I don’t exactly know how to use it. She shows me by taking the lid off and sniffing with each nostril from it. I try to do the same but I heard the kids giggling as I awkwardly sniff.
When I am handed tea or anything I must put my left hand under my left elbow to respectfully receive it. I had read about this but didn’t remember until I noticed that Natasha would do that when proffering me tea.
Again vodka was busted out, fortunately this time they were content with me pretending to take a sip and setting it down on the table. Not long after that a group of relatives stopped by for a few hours and I had to formally greet them as well.
Later they took me outside to see their livestock consisting of goats and wooly calves. They joke that I shouldn’t get worried if the goats fall over when they see me. They scattered the ground in thin brush and they joked that it was buuz for the animals as they frantically ate. I look all around me on the horizon, not a single tree or bush is visible. I ask where they get that from, they say by the river there are all sorts of small plants. One of the walls of the pen is a container, stacked high with dried-out dung. Munkhzul points to it and says they use that for fire fuel because, well, there aren’t any trees around.
Later in the afternoon we played games using the small vertebrae from some kind of animal, probably cow or goat. There are four sides to the vertebrae to which are given animal names—the smooth side is the horse; the opposite side which looks like a tooth is the camel; perpendicular to that the shape is like that of half of an 8 which is the cow; opposite of that there is J shape which is the goat. Over 20 are put in a U shape, horse-side up and we pick out our piece. 4 vertebrae are used as dice as the object is to get to the end of the U first. If the dice land horse-side up then you get to move your horse that many spaces forward.
The second game took longer for me to get the hang of it. They would take a big handful of the pieces and throw them on the floor. You then had to flick matching pieces at each other without hitting any other pieces. You then removed one piece, depending on what was more strategic for your next move. Your turn was over when you either failed to make contact or hit more than one. The remainder was handed on to the next person until they were all gone. You of course got to keep what you removed. When the person won everyone had to contribute 3 to the pile and again it started until some of us ran out. Sometimes I flicked the pieces at ones that weren’t the same and they laughed so they would all coach me on what to do.
I should also mention the gift giving. Everyone gives gifts to the host and the host gives everyone a gift as well. I received an orange stuffed animal with two long ears—one pink and the other blue—along with a handful of candy and a Mitsubishi keychain. Some of it was candy from the US because one of their relatives lives there and sent it over to them. I was receiving candy from my own country as the honored guest because it was special. I felt bad that they had to waste it on me. I gave a small bag of chocolates and felt stingy.
I enjoyed observing how they celebrate New Year here with all of its customs and formalities. What better way to learn about the culture? I am so thankful that Munkhzul came along to make sure I didn’t commit any major faux pas (that I am aware of…) and was able to help me along. The hospitality and warmth is amazing.
Happy Tsaagan Sar!
P.S. I forgot a few things. I tried airag which is the fermented mare’s milk that I had heard so much about. Well, actually this one was made with yoghurt instead of mare’s milk—I’m not sure the difference. I was nervous because the sound of it just isn’t that appealing and I had been told what to do if I don’t like it. Anyway, it tasted like Calpico, which is that yoghurt soda which they sell in Thailand, with a strong aftertaste. Somewhere between that and milky, tangy beer. It actually wasn’t too bad so I had seconds.
Also had gelatin made from the hooves of livestock. Interesting, didn’t have much flavor but is kind of considered a dessert even though it’s not sweet.
I was wrong about the bones I was playing games with. I thought they were vertebrae but actually they were the ankle bones of sheep and goats. There are only two per animal, on the rear legs.
Another thing that should be noted about this holiday is that everyone is supposed to wear the traditional del which is a thick, silky robe that can come in almost any color. They then also tie a shiny, silky sash around their waist as a belt. Most people are supposed to wear a new one for the occasion so everyone looks really nice in their festive getup.
Husband and wife are not supposed to greet each other in the traditional way that I mentioned before. This is because when man and woman marry they become one, therefore it is “impossible” to greet each other.
Everyone files out to meet their visitors but it is not until we go inside that the formal, holiday greetings begin. Munkhzul tells me to take off my coat but leave on my hat and hands me a long, blue silky scarf. She folds it into thirds, laying it across my palms which are facing up, the opening fold is facing away from me and towards the recipient. I greet the oldest of the home by saying “amorainuu,” placing my palms under her elbows, and sniff-kissing each cheek. We went down the line until I was older than some of the kids and so I put my arms on top of theirs. Thankfully Munkhzul was there to coach me through the whole thing and the host family was gracious to me as a foreigner.
After the formalities I am led to a seat by the table and am offered tea and commanded to eat. The introductions begin and really I can only remember one name—the grandmother, Natasha which they inform me is a Russian name. She tells me later that a Russian nurse picked out the name for her. I had been curious because her eyes had a greenish-gray hue to them, exotic as they peered from her Asian frame.
A slice of meat is handed to me that is very tough to chew. Munkhzul instructs me to put it in my milk tea so that it will soften. After nibbling here and there on the variety of ‘slaw salads the buuz are brought to the table, steam rises off them and fills my nostrils with their tasty aroma. Do you ever light a candle and dip your fingers into the melted wax and let it harden? In a way, that’s what eating buuz is like. A few times I took a bite and the juice—fat—spilled out on my fingers. With nowhere to wipe them off I noticed later that it had hardened and turned white on my cold hands.
Somewhere in the meal Natasha holds a small bottle and tries to hand it to me. I can tell its snuff but I don’t exactly know how to use it. She shows me by taking the lid off and sniffing with each nostril from it. I try to do the same but I heard the kids giggling as I awkwardly sniff.
When I am handed tea or anything I must put my left hand under my left elbow to respectfully receive it. I had read about this but didn’t remember until I noticed that Natasha would do that when proffering me tea.
Again vodka was busted out, fortunately this time they were content with me pretending to take a sip and setting it down on the table. Not long after that a group of relatives stopped by for a few hours and I had to formally greet them as well.
Later they took me outside to see their livestock consisting of goats and wooly calves. They joke that I shouldn’t get worried if the goats fall over when they see me. They scattered the ground in thin brush and they joked that it was buuz for the animals as they frantically ate. I look all around me on the horizon, not a single tree or bush is visible. I ask where they get that from, they say by the river there are all sorts of small plants. One of the walls of the pen is a container, stacked high with dried-out dung. Munkhzul points to it and says they use that for fire fuel because, well, there aren’t any trees around.
Later in the afternoon we played games using the small vertebrae from some kind of animal, probably cow or goat. There are four sides to the vertebrae to which are given animal names—the smooth side is the horse; the opposite side which looks like a tooth is the camel; perpendicular to that the shape is like that of half of an 8 which is the cow; opposite of that there is J shape which is the goat. Over 20 are put in a U shape, horse-side up and we pick out our piece. 4 vertebrae are used as dice as the object is to get to the end of the U first. If the dice land horse-side up then you get to move your horse that many spaces forward.
The second game took longer for me to get the hang of it. They would take a big handful of the pieces and throw them on the floor. You then had to flick matching pieces at each other without hitting any other pieces. You then removed one piece, depending on what was more strategic for your next move. Your turn was over when you either failed to make contact or hit more than one. The remainder was handed on to the next person until they were all gone. You of course got to keep what you removed. When the person won everyone had to contribute 3 to the pile and again it started until some of us ran out. Sometimes I flicked the pieces at ones that weren’t the same and they laughed so they would all coach me on what to do.
I should also mention the gift giving. Everyone gives gifts to the host and the host gives everyone a gift as well. I received an orange stuffed animal with two long ears—one pink and the other blue—along with a handful of candy and a Mitsubishi keychain. Some of it was candy from the US because one of their relatives lives there and sent it over to them. I was receiving candy from my own country as the honored guest because it was special. I felt bad that they had to waste it on me. I gave a small bag of chocolates and felt stingy.
I enjoyed observing how they celebrate New Year here with all of its customs and formalities. What better way to learn about the culture? I am so thankful that Munkhzul came along to make sure I didn’t commit any major faux pas (that I am aware of…) and was able to help me along. The hospitality and warmth is amazing.
Happy Tsaagan Sar!
P.S. I forgot a few things. I tried airag which is the fermented mare’s milk that I had heard so much about. Well, actually this one was made with yoghurt instead of mare’s milk—I’m not sure the difference. I was nervous because the sound of it just isn’t that appealing and I had been told what to do if I don’t like it. Anyway, it tasted like Calpico, which is that yoghurt soda which they sell in Thailand, with a strong aftertaste. Somewhere between that and milky, tangy beer. It actually wasn’t too bad so I had seconds.
Also had gelatin made from the hooves of livestock. Interesting, didn’t have much flavor but is kind of considered a dessert even though it’s not sweet.
I was wrong about the bones I was playing games with. I thought they were vertebrae but actually they were the ankle bones of sheep and goats. There are only two per animal, on the rear legs.
Another thing that should be noted about this holiday is that everyone is supposed to wear the traditional del which is a thick, silky robe that can come in almost any color. They then also tie a shiny, silky sash around their waist as a belt. Most people are supposed to wear a new one for the occasion so everyone looks really nice in their festive getup.
Husband and wife are not supposed to greet each other in the traditional way that I mentioned before. This is because when man and woman marry they become one, therefore it is “impossible” to greet each other.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Bitsuum
Thursday. Feb 7. 2008. Bitsuum.
Everything began promptly at 5pm today. Originally the plan was to go to Buuma’s place at 4pm, but she called me at 3:30 and again at 4:25 (to remind me) to move the time back. They pull up in a new looking SUV, Buuma gets out of the passenger side to shake my hand and say “sain bainuu.” Her daughter, the one driving, is confident speaking English and translates back and forth for her mother and me. I learn that she is living in Ulaanbaatar (“UB”) and is visiting just for the holiday.
The front door leads right into the kitchen. I trade my boots for slippers and am lead into the living room to a couch adjacent to the tv. Just as in the day before, plates are placed on the table, I am offered tea, and am commanded to eat. Much of the evening until 8 I am left alone with the Mongolian wrestlers on the tv, feeling awkward being the only one eating.
I learn that Buuma’s daughter is dating an Italian guy she met in Singapore that speaks 7 languages. While we are talking about him he calls her on her iPhone. Later she tells me that she much rather be in UB because its colder in Ondorkhaan and she doesn’t like how the bathroom isn’t connected to the house.
I am told today is called Bitsuum which means the first day. It is the first day but its not. It is more like welcoming in the New Year. They tell me that the most important thing for the day is that you must be full of food, symbolic of the year to come. I am told I cannot leave until I am full.
Around 8 they all congregated in the room and began to build a decorative tower of ellipse shaped baked goods, topped with firm white dairy product and sugar cubes in the shape of hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. A smaller one is put on a mantle as some sort of offering.
A huge platter of meat lays on the table. The husband cuts it with a pocket knife and hands me a few slices. The daughter asks me if I can eat fat, my hesitation to answering that question is good enough. She then says she knows that Europeans and Americans have trouble eating it. Instead of buuz, we are fed horsher which are bigger and deep fried—very tasty.
Around 9 they bust out the Vodka. I knew that this was tradition for this time of year so I thought I was prepared. I had been told that I could pretend to take a sip and then give it back. After pouring us each a shot they wish blessings on the new year and we clank our tiny glasses. I take a microsip and I feel like someone poured a combination of gasoline and fingernail polish remover down my throat then lit it on fire. The daughter hands the shot glass back and I attempt to do the same. He shakes his head and they tell me I must drink the whole thing. Uncertain and unprepared for this I look at him in disbelief for an awkward moment. Normally they take 3 shots but I am told 1 is ok. Confused and unprepared for this I try to get rid of it with a few sips only to find there is still half a shot left. I am advised to space it out more, eating between sips, to make it more tolerable.
They keep telling me to eat more, reminding me that I can’t go home until I am absolutely full—that is their duty for the day. Horsher after horsher, bites of salad here and there and I am stuffed. Still they insist that I eat more. I try to motion to my stomach and say “bitsuum” thinking it means “full” but they laugh and tell me that it means “first day.” Oops.
By 9:45 I am home, having watched nearly 3 hours of Mongolian wrestling and eating intermittently for almost 5. I have been in good company, warmed by their hospitality.
Everything began promptly at 5pm today. Originally the plan was to go to Buuma’s place at 4pm, but she called me at 3:30 and again at 4:25 (to remind me) to move the time back. They pull up in a new looking SUV, Buuma gets out of the passenger side to shake my hand and say “sain bainuu.” Her daughter, the one driving, is confident speaking English and translates back and forth for her mother and me. I learn that she is living in Ulaanbaatar (“UB”) and is visiting just for the holiday.
The front door leads right into the kitchen. I trade my boots for slippers and am lead into the living room to a couch adjacent to the tv. Just as in the day before, plates are placed on the table, I am offered tea, and am commanded to eat. Much of the evening until 8 I am left alone with the Mongolian wrestlers on the tv, feeling awkward being the only one eating.
I learn that Buuma’s daughter is dating an Italian guy she met in Singapore that speaks 7 languages. While we are talking about him he calls her on her iPhone. Later she tells me that she much rather be in UB because its colder in Ondorkhaan and she doesn’t like how the bathroom isn’t connected to the house.
I am told today is called Bitsuum which means the first day. It is the first day but its not. It is more like welcoming in the New Year. They tell me that the most important thing for the day is that you must be full of food, symbolic of the year to come. I am told I cannot leave until I am full.
Around 8 they all congregated in the room and began to build a decorative tower of ellipse shaped baked goods, topped with firm white dairy product and sugar cubes in the shape of hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. A smaller one is put on a mantle as some sort of offering.
A huge platter of meat lays on the table. The husband cuts it with a pocket knife and hands me a few slices. The daughter asks me if I can eat fat, my hesitation to answering that question is good enough. She then says she knows that Europeans and Americans have trouble eating it. Instead of buuz, we are fed horsher which are bigger and deep fried—very tasty.
Around 9 they bust out the Vodka. I knew that this was tradition for this time of year so I thought I was prepared. I had been told that I could pretend to take a sip and then give it back. After pouring us each a shot they wish blessings on the new year and we clank our tiny glasses. I take a microsip and I feel like someone poured a combination of gasoline and fingernail polish remover down my throat then lit it on fire. The daughter hands the shot glass back and I attempt to do the same. He shakes his head and they tell me I must drink the whole thing. Uncertain and unprepared for this I look at him in disbelief for an awkward moment. Normally they take 3 shots but I am told 1 is ok. Confused and unprepared for this I try to get rid of it with a few sips only to find there is still half a shot left. I am advised to space it out more, eating between sips, to make it more tolerable.
They keep telling me to eat more, reminding me that I can’t go home until I am absolutely full—that is their duty for the day. Horsher after horsher, bites of salad here and there and I am stuffed. Still they insist that I eat more. I try to motion to my stomach and say “bitsuum” thinking it means “full” but they laugh and tell me that it means “first day.” Oops.
By 9:45 I am home, having watched nearly 3 hours of Mongolian wrestling and eating intermittently for almost 5. I have been in good company, warmed by their hospitality.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Pre-Tsaagan Sar
This week is the lunar new year which is celebrated here as “Tsaagan Sar”, literally “white moon” or “white month” depending on who you talk to. Tuesday through Friday no one was at the office because of the festivities. On Monday during our “business meeting” the ADP (area development program) manager expressed her concern that I was going to be bored out of my mind. They then decided to make sure that each day of the holiday celebration I would have something to do, divvying me out to different people’s homes.
I wish there was a better way to capture the events and atmosphere of the last few days but this all I can do for now to give you a glimpse of what I’ve seen and done. Foolishly I neglected to bring my camera, so you are stuck with the images you create in your mind based off of my words. To avoid making it so overwhelmingly long lets break it down into 3 segments, one for each day.
Wednesday. February 6, 2008.
Yesterday I was supposed to go to Batsuren’s house to learn how to make buuz but she had to go to the hospital as she is pretty far along in her pregnancy. I had been hoping to redeem myself after my failed attempts from the day before but her getting checked up is of much higher importance.
I was told that I would go to Munkhzul’s house at 2pm today so I thought they must want me to each lunch beforehand. So I walked to town and bought some instant noodles and eggs and made lunch at home. She arrived around 2:30 and we went to the pharmacy so she could pick up some medicine for her baby that had come down with a fever. On the way to her home she asked me if I had eaten lunch and without thinking I replied that I had. The stifled look of disappointment paired with the response of “oh really?” made me want to slap myself. As quickly as I could muster something up I said something about it being a very small lunch—I didn’t want to ruin her gesture of hospitality. She then said something about her husband being at home steaming up some buuz.
Up the stairs to the second floor and through the door on the right we went. I began to take off my shoes and she said, “you needn’t” twice but I still did. She took her shoes off. The wood colored plastic floor covering led me through the corridor into the living room where it ended and turned into carpet. She jacket and laid it on the arm of the couch and introduced me to her husband, a driver who, unlike Munkhzul, cannot speak English. I also met her two beautiful children, a 1 year old boy and a 3 year old girl.
They then motioned to sit on the couch next to my coat behind a small table covered with plates. As soon as I sat down I was asked if I want tea and then commanded to eat. Oh, the hospitality. I felt strange eating as they were back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, leaving me by myself some of the time. On the table there was a plate of sliced sausage topped with pickles that matched their size and thickness, a plate of macaroni salad and a plate of dairy stick thingies that looked like little noodles.
Later the wondrous, steaming buuz come out in all their glory. The chunk of meat on the inside is much hotter than the outside, shocking me as I take a bite into my first dumpling. There is also a lot of juice from the meat and fat that you have to slurp as you bite. Many buuz later I take a sip from my now cold milk tea and she tells me that you shouldn’t drink cold tea, but hot tea after eating meat. Makes sense to me, if all the oil gets cold it hardens.
Her husband gets a call and excuses himself because he has to do some work. We talk about Tsaagan Sar and she gives me new little details that I hadn’t heard before. Her daughter is not shy at all and jabbers to me and her mother in the middle of our conversation. She wants to dance. So she pulls out her laptop and plays the music video for the song “Beep” by the Pussycat Dolls. To my relief and amusement the cute little ham doesn’t replicate the dance moves from the video but busts out her own little moves that I can’t help but laugh at. (Reminds me of a time when I went to a recital for Naomi and Bethany’s music school. One of the performances was a group of 5 year olds dancing to Tata Young’s “Sexy, Naughty, B*tchy Me.” At the time I had thought “only in Thailand.” Hmm.) She provides entertainment for most of the afternoon in between her mother showing me a 45 minute Mongolian comedy where I have no idea what’s going on. At one point she wanted to decorate the place with shiny red balls that you might hang on a Christmas tree, putting them on doorhandles and everything else within her reach. We finally stacked them all on one handle, making a big shiny pyramid.
Today I was very privileged to get to eat buuz because according to my host although today is a holiday it is a day of preparation. The real festivities begin tomorrow. I appreciated them being so hospitable on a day where they could have been doing other things. I went home with a full stomach and a smile on my face.
I wish there was a better way to capture the events and atmosphere of the last few days but this all I can do for now to give you a glimpse of what I’ve seen and done. Foolishly I neglected to bring my camera, so you are stuck with the images you create in your mind based off of my words. To avoid making it so overwhelmingly long lets break it down into 3 segments, one for each day.
Wednesday. February 6, 2008.
Yesterday I was supposed to go to Batsuren’s house to learn how to make buuz but she had to go to the hospital as she is pretty far along in her pregnancy. I had been hoping to redeem myself after my failed attempts from the day before but her getting checked up is of much higher importance.
I was told that I would go to Munkhzul’s house at 2pm today so I thought they must want me to each lunch beforehand. So I walked to town and bought some instant noodles and eggs and made lunch at home. She arrived around 2:30 and we went to the pharmacy so she could pick up some medicine for her baby that had come down with a fever. On the way to her home she asked me if I had eaten lunch and without thinking I replied that I had. The stifled look of disappointment paired with the response of “oh really?” made me want to slap myself. As quickly as I could muster something up I said something about it being a very small lunch—I didn’t want to ruin her gesture of hospitality. She then said something about her husband being at home steaming up some buuz.
Up the stairs to the second floor and through the door on the right we went. I began to take off my shoes and she said, “you needn’t” twice but I still did. She took her shoes off. The wood colored plastic floor covering led me through the corridor into the living room where it ended and turned into carpet. She jacket and laid it on the arm of the couch and introduced me to her husband, a driver who, unlike Munkhzul, cannot speak English. I also met her two beautiful children, a 1 year old boy and a 3 year old girl.
They then motioned to sit on the couch next to my coat behind a small table covered with plates. As soon as I sat down I was asked if I want tea and then commanded to eat. Oh, the hospitality. I felt strange eating as they were back and forth between the kitchen and the living room, leaving me by myself some of the time. On the table there was a plate of sliced sausage topped with pickles that matched their size and thickness, a plate of macaroni salad and a plate of dairy stick thingies that looked like little noodles.
Later the wondrous, steaming buuz come out in all their glory. The chunk of meat on the inside is much hotter than the outside, shocking me as I take a bite into my first dumpling. There is also a lot of juice from the meat and fat that you have to slurp as you bite. Many buuz later I take a sip from my now cold milk tea and she tells me that you shouldn’t drink cold tea, but hot tea after eating meat. Makes sense to me, if all the oil gets cold it hardens.
Her husband gets a call and excuses himself because he has to do some work. We talk about Tsaagan Sar and she gives me new little details that I hadn’t heard before. Her daughter is not shy at all and jabbers to me and her mother in the middle of our conversation. She wants to dance. So she pulls out her laptop and plays the music video for the song “Beep” by the Pussycat Dolls. To my relief and amusement the cute little ham doesn’t replicate the dance moves from the video but busts out her own little moves that I can’t help but laugh at. (Reminds me of a time when I went to a recital for Naomi and Bethany’s music school. One of the performances was a group of 5 year olds dancing to Tata Young’s “Sexy, Naughty, B*tchy Me.” At the time I had thought “only in Thailand.” Hmm.) She provides entertainment for most of the afternoon in between her mother showing me a 45 minute Mongolian comedy where I have no idea what’s going on. At one point she wanted to decorate the place with shiny red balls that you might hang on a Christmas tree, putting them on doorhandles and everything else within her reach. We finally stacked them all on one handle, making a big shiny pyramid.
Today I was very privileged to get to eat buuz because according to my host although today is a holiday it is a day of preparation. The real festivities begin tomorrow. I appreciated them being so hospitable on a day where they could have been doing other things. I went home with a full stomach and a smile on my face.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
The brightness of the day surprises me everytime I go outside. When I am inside it is warm but I know a shock of cold awaits outside. Perhaps it is that I remember in Redding how in the winter it is always cloudy and dreary outside, making me feel the same on the inside. Here, I am overwhelmed by the sun everytime I leave my room. My mind is unsure what to do with this experience...cloudless blue and the sun are associated with warmth; the cold with gray skies.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Khuslen II - The Work
We drive past various communities off the main street where there is no distinct road in the open areas. Simply avoiding large rocks and potholes defines where we drive. We arrive at two small gers where I see a 3 year old girl wearing a soiled red jumpsuit waddling around, followed by her brother. Later the camera guy tells me that her little white shoes are “summer shoes.” After we hop out of the vehicle about 10 kids from the Khuslen House exit out of the tiny door of the ger to greet us. The leader assembles everyone and gets together a gameplan. We go inside and meet the old lady who is watching 3 young ones, the Khuslen house kids bring in our gifts. They interview the woman after a few tears we begin to work. The girls stay inside and the guys go out and chop the wood with 2 small axes. They let me have a try but never more than a few minutes at a time as they were much more proficient with their technique. Some kids are grabbing chunks of ice to melt. One of the residents carries a bucket over to a tire and lowers it through the tire with a rope. The tire marks the outline of the local well.
Bathuyag and I go inside. I realize how cold my toes are when they begin to hurt after they warm up. Dishes are being washed, the floor is being swept, clothes are being cleaned, meat is being cut up, onions chopped, dough kneaded.
Later, when everyone is inside one of the girls gets a rag and proceeds to mop the floor on her hands and knees. Dedication.
“Hey Ryan. Piss,” a guy chuckles and points to the toddler going to the bathroom in a bottle held by the grandmother. Interesting that he could tell me that but it was difficult trying to talk to him earlier. I think he wanted to see how I would react as an American.
The girls try to teach me how to make buuz, which is the traditional Mongolian dumpling that is ubiquitous this time of year. Small clumps of dough are flattened into perfect little circles very rapidly. “Ok? You try.” I do it in slow awkward motions. They show me again. I try and 5 minutes later I have one done and they laugh, “it looks like a car!” In that time the girl opposite of me had completed several dozen.
I was really impressed with these kids. They have today, the whole week, off from school to celebrate and prepare for Tsaagan Sar celebrations. The oldest one I met was 16, and here they are organizing themselves to help others on their day off. I bet most of the other kids in the city were at home watching tv, playing computer games and just relaxing. Yet these few decided that they wanted someone else to be able to enjoy this week’s festivities that they otherwise couldn’t afford to celebrate. It wasn’t halfhearted either, they were having fun doing it and were going all out—that one girl was wiping the floor with a rag.
Bathuyag and I go inside. I realize how cold my toes are when they begin to hurt after they warm up. Dishes are being washed, the floor is being swept, clothes are being cleaned, meat is being cut up, onions chopped, dough kneaded.
Later, when everyone is inside one of the girls gets a rag and proceeds to mop the floor on her hands and knees. Dedication.
“Hey Ryan. Piss,” a guy chuckles and points to the toddler going to the bathroom in a bottle held by the grandmother. Interesting that he could tell me that but it was difficult trying to talk to him earlier. I think he wanted to see how I would react as an American.
The girls try to teach me how to make buuz, which is the traditional Mongolian dumpling that is ubiquitous this time of year. Small clumps of dough are flattened into perfect little circles very rapidly. “Ok? You try.” I do it in slow awkward motions. They show me again. I try and 5 minutes later I have one done and they laugh, “it looks like a car!” In that time the girl opposite of me had completed several dozen.
I was really impressed with these kids. They have today, the whole week, off from school to celebrate and prepare for Tsaagan Sar celebrations. The oldest one I met was 16, and here they are organizing themselves to help others on their day off. I bet most of the other kids in the city were at home watching tv, playing computer games and just relaxing. Yet these few decided that they wanted someone else to be able to enjoy this week’s festivities that they otherwise couldn’t afford to celebrate. It wasn’t halfhearted either, they were having fun doing it and were going all out—that one girl was wiping the floor with a rag.
Khuslen I - The Wait
Saturday I had met up with some student leaders from the WV sponsored Children’s Participatory Council (CPC), more commonly referred to as “Khuslen House.” They had given me an orientation to their student-led organization that highlighted acts of community service. I was impressed with this group as they seemed eager to be involved and take initiative in their community. They surprised me by hooking me up with some of their garb—a Khuslen t-shirt, a scout-like scarf, and a pin. Khuslen also invited me to take part in one of their events which I went to today.
I had been told two days ago that we would go to help out an old lady as Tsaagan Sar (Mongolian New Year), literally “White Moon,” begins this week. It is a big to-do as people make hundreds, even thousands of dumplings for their guests and family that drop-in. Khuslen wanted to help her be able to celebrate and clean up her place. They told me we would go at noon. At 11:45 just when I was wondering if the WV meeting was going to end in time for me to go the Khuslen House kids poked their heads in the room. A minute later I was told we were going to go at 2pm. At 12:30 I was told we were going to go at 1pm. After a quick lunch I was ready to go. We didn’t leave until 1:45. Ahh, yes, the Asian polychronic sense of time that I had grown up with.
They told me to get in the front seat of our Isuzu SUV and soon after I was in 7 people crammed and piled on top of each other in the backseat meant for 3. Next thing I know we are stopped and they tell me not to get out. Meanwhile, everyone else files out and proceeds to fill the vehicle with firewood. By the time I get out I am only able to bring one armload of wood; I feel doubly bad for having the front seat and not really helping.
Next we go to a hotel to ask for a promised donation from the manager. The camera guy, Bathuyag, and I go to the coffee shop and wait. A cup of coffee and a cup of salty milk tea later we go and visit the FM studio attached to the building that he used to work at. It’s a tiny room with a computer, a few speakers and posters that line the wall. He lets me pick a song to add to the radio playlist. I pick “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley and he jokes that the song rings true of his mother. We then go to the front desk and watch Mongolian wrestling on TV for awhile. After waiting around for awhile a whole, frozen, shaved and mostly skinned lamb along with a massive bag of flour are brought into the lobby. Apparently this is what we had been waiting for. We carry both out, the bag of flour carried by a WV staff and myself and the lamb by two girls. The camera guy asks us to bring them back inside so he can film us carrying them out. After our little walk of fame we put the lamb and the flour to rest on top of the metal fence. Our driver is nowhere to be found. We try calling his cell phone, he doesn’t answer. We guard the goods in shifts because we rather be cold than carry the loads back inside. While we wait we talk about hobbies, sports, music. We see our driver go past us once, working our hopes up only to find that he was giving someone else a ride.
Finally he comes and we pile in. It is 4:15pm.
I had been told two days ago that we would go to help out an old lady as Tsaagan Sar (Mongolian New Year), literally “White Moon,” begins this week. It is a big to-do as people make hundreds, even thousands of dumplings for their guests and family that drop-in. Khuslen wanted to help her be able to celebrate and clean up her place. They told me we would go at noon. At 11:45 just when I was wondering if the WV meeting was going to end in time for me to go the Khuslen House kids poked their heads in the room. A minute later I was told we were going to go at 2pm. At 12:30 I was told we were going to go at 1pm. After a quick lunch I was ready to go. We didn’t leave until 1:45. Ahh, yes, the Asian polychronic sense of time that I had grown up with.
They told me to get in the front seat of our Isuzu SUV and soon after I was in 7 people crammed and piled on top of each other in the backseat meant for 3. Next thing I know we are stopped and they tell me not to get out. Meanwhile, everyone else files out and proceeds to fill the vehicle with firewood. By the time I get out I am only able to bring one armload of wood; I feel doubly bad for having the front seat and not really helping.
Next we go to a hotel to ask for a promised donation from the manager. The camera guy, Bathuyag, and I go to the coffee shop and wait. A cup of coffee and a cup of salty milk tea later we go and visit the FM studio attached to the building that he used to work at. It’s a tiny room with a computer, a few speakers and posters that line the wall. He lets me pick a song to add to the radio playlist. I pick “Crazy” by Gnarls Barkley and he jokes that the song rings true of his mother. We then go to the front desk and watch Mongolian wrestling on TV for awhile. After waiting around for awhile a whole, frozen, shaved and mostly skinned lamb along with a massive bag of flour are brought into the lobby. Apparently this is what we had been waiting for. We carry both out, the bag of flour carried by a WV staff and myself and the lamb by two girls. The camera guy asks us to bring them back inside so he can film us carrying them out. After our little walk of fame we put the lamb and the flour to rest on top of the metal fence. Our driver is nowhere to be found. We try calling his cell phone, he doesn’t answer. We guard the goods in shifts because we rather be cold than carry the loads back inside. While we wait we talk about hobbies, sports, music. We see our driver go past us once, working our hopes up only to find that he was giving someone else a ride.
Finally he comes and we pile in. It is 4:15pm.
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