What I’m Most Thankful For

Warmth, at the moment. Family, friends, and Mongolia, too.

Since I last posted, I’ve become a citizen of Mankhan soum, Khovd aimag. Literally, they conducted the 2010 Mongolian census last week, and since I’m a foreigner living in the country for more than six months, I have been deemed ‘Mongolian’ with a card to prove it. Personally, I’m honored.

I’ve lived in this mountainous, sandy, now snow-smothered semi-desert for three months now, and I feel at home.

To recap, I began teaching with my counterparts (Mongolian English Teachers) in September. I teach 5th-11th grades, and despite the trials that come with teaching in general, I dig it. I dig being a local pseudo-celeb with the ‘Angli khelnii bagshaa‘ alias. I dig standing in front of a classroom of uniformed students. I dig the fact that maybe I’ll teach just one child enough English to enhance their job opportunities and their perception of language and culture.

In Mongolia, the school year consists of four nine-week-long semesters. The second semester began this week, and unfortunately, with the exception of the first two days I taught, I won’t teach for another two weeks because I leave for a Peace Corps seminar in Ulaanbaatar tomorrow. I dislike UB–frigid, polluted, overpopulated UB–but I am ecstatic to see my friends, break my semi-ascetic dietary habits and eat a cheeseburger, and learn new information and resources I can apply to my school. Right now, I want to do so many things that it’s overwhelming.

As far as life in general goes, again, warmth is my top priority. I live in a cozy ger and make a fire or two daily. Since I live in the remote west, coal is my primary fuel source. I know, I know; coal isn’t the most environmentally friendly fuel. Before anyone judges, though, know that coal constitutes survival through the winter, the air in my soum is relatively clean compared to factory-laden provincial capitals, and even Al Gore himself would break down and burn it if he had to thaw out his toiletries in the mornings. Ah, the mornings.

I love the primative aspect of my life–living in a ger, getting my water from an underground well that freezes overnight, bathing and washing clothes out of a plastic basin, using a good old-fashion jorlon (outhouse), and viewing food as sustenance instead of luxury. I’m not doing anything that people here, and many other parts of the world, haven’t done for centuries. Some of y’all should try it sometime. If nothing else, your utility bills will be unprecedently low.

I live in a family’s khashaa (yard), right beside them. Let me tell you, I lucked out. This family–my family–treats me like a son. They feed me sometimes, pine for my company, and keep my morale up. Gongorbaatar (which, incidentally, is a badass name) and his wife, Baltsukh, are both teachers at our school like me, so we have that connection. Their 12-year-old daughter, Narangerel, is one of my brightest English students. Gongor and Balt had a son who was just a year or two younger than me, but he passed away four years ago. What we have is a delicate and special situation. There is a shrine for him in their living room with candleholders and a khadakh (ceremonial scarf), and I often look at his picture just to appreciate. Just to appreciate.

People sometimes ask me if my Mongolian experience is how I pictured it upon being invited to serve there. Yes, very much so. I pictured a life of simplicity, and although I miss the Internet on occasion, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

That’s all, folks. Have a Happy Thanksgiving, especially those of you in Arkansas.