July 4, 2015
Well, this won't go up on
the Fourth, but I have a long-running, personal tradition of writing
a reflective essay on the state of the States every Fourth of July.
Obviously, I'm not as up on the goings-on, but I still have opinions
(dammit), and I'm happy to share them.
First, the things that
make me sad, in brief:
The issue of money in
politics continues to make elections a matter of voting against,
rather than voting for. It doesn't seem to be changing any time soon,
despite the best efforts of WolfPac and like-minded groups like
Represent.us. This is a bi-partisan issue (perhaps the only
true bi-partisan issue); nearly every one I've spoken to, even
my hardcore conservative family members, believes that there is too
much money in politics subverting the will of the people and
democracy itself. You'd think the government would respond to it, in
some way, but studies have demonstrated (sorry, no internet to link
to the article) that politicians and legislators in this country
respond to the interests of the wealthy far more often than those of
the middle class, and only very rarely respond to those issues
stressed by the poor. Is the problem awareness? Apathy? Lethargy? (On
whose part?) Will 2016 be the year this becomes a major electoral
issue?
Climate change continues
unabated, though this year was a milestone of sorts: the last data I
saw indicated that 2014 was the first year that the USA leveled off
its emissions. While this is a huge step forward, keeping emissions
at their current levels still poses unacceptable, society-altering
warming. Though this is my pet cause, as it were, I'm growing
discouraged. The dust storms in drought-ridden Mongolia have driven
home that point – ten years ago, dust storms were extremely
infrequent, an almost unknown occurrence. They were so infrequent, in
fact, that Mongolians don't have a word for it; my host family said
there's a phrase which identifies a dust storm as being “when the
Earth meets the sky.” Since I've been here, I've seen at least
10, including one today. Suffice it to say, I am not optimistic.
(Update: there was another dust storm today, July 6.. The high winds
exacerbated a fire that was started by lightning strike in a nearby
wheat field.)
That
last one is just as much about America as it is about... well,
everywhere else. I guess it'd be nice to focus on something good,
though, which is actually pretty easy: the Peace Corps. These are
intelligent, dedicated, creative people giving their time and talents
to represent their country and make some small stab at bettering the
state of humanity The way I see it, the Peace Corps is spreading
America's inherent advantages in education and expertise around the
world. I hope that doesn't sound pretentious, but these are largely
circumstantial advantages – the fact that we all grew up speaking
English, the language of international business, or that we grew up
in a totally uncontested military hegemon – one which, by the way,
has not and did not follow the path of previous military giants in
conquering the known world. If one factors geography and climate into
the equation, it becomes even more a product of circumstance, and
luck.
I find
a great deal to be proud of as an American, especially from the
outside looking in. I've learned quite a lot about life from my short
time in Mongolia already, and expect to be a... not a changed man,
exactly, but different man, if you know what I mean. If not? Well,
that makes at least two of us. By way of explanation, though, I'll
say this: it is endlessly fascinating to me that I am able to
maintain a more optimistic view of my country from the outside than I
was when I was still in it. Granted, optimism in my case doesn't mean
terribly much, but still.
July
10, 2015: Naadam
I am
by no means the first to notice this, but I don't think it's a
coincidence that “fried egg” and “Friday” sound similar, and
that most people tend to check out mentally on the ultimate weekday.
Today, Emily and I (and
the 70-some odd others who've joined up) were given an exam of sorts
called a “Mock LPI”. The LPI stands for, I think, Language
Proficiency Index, a means by which we are gauged at our level of
language acquisition. I have no idea how I did; there are verb
endings and similar-sounding words that bedevil me no matter how
often I memorize them, but I suppose it all comes with time. [Update:
I did okay, apparently. My pronunciation is good, but my listening
comprehension is very poor if I haven't studied the phrases used in
class.]
Yesterday, my site and
Emily's met together (at hers) to celebrate the Mongolian national
holiday Naadam. As the main event of the summer (so to speak) it's an
opportunity to eat hoshur (a kind of fried meat pocket that puts Hot
Pockets to shame) and to watch the three “manly” sports:
wrestling, archery, and horse racing. Emily and I took it as an
opportunity to cheat the system that separated us, and spent the
entire day together, looking quite spiffy in our deels (pronounced
dell, sort of), a traditional Mongolian outfit. As I mentioned in a
previous post, I have been unable to take any photos due to the loss
of my phone, but once Emily and I are reunited around mid-August,
we'll hopefully be able to upload some pictures from her camera.
Aside from a bit too much
sun on our faces and a layer of dust on our exposed skin (dust kicked
up by thousands of feet, hooves, and tires and carried by a
consistent, strong wind), Naadam was a lot of fun. When my group
arrived, we strode (all 14 of us) into the celebratory area around
the stadium (where the wrestling bouts take place) and were greeted
by enthusiastic and extremely amused Mongolians. I suppose it was
mocking, but of a gentle sort; the fact that we're taking the time to
integrate, and especially the fact that we speak a little bit of
Mongolian, left any Mongolians we interacted with quite pleased.
Shortly after our arrival, we were invited into the Mayor's ger for a
brief meet-and-greet. Throughout the day, we wandered around the
various vendors, and ate hushur, ice cream, and a pork kebab which
included enormous chunks of fat that were actually not bad. I should
stress: these were chunks of fat, not chunks of fat and meat. Most of
the rest of the time, we watched wrestling.
Mongolian wrestling is a
highly ritualized thing. After slapping their thighs, backsides, then
thighs again, the wrestlers trot out to a waiting officiant who
inspects their outfit to ensure everything is in order. The outfit
itself is essentially a Speedo-like bottom, a top that covers their
arms, shoulders and upper backs, which is tied with a rope knot
around their torsos, and a rounded, pointed hat with no bill. The
official removes the wrestler's hat for him, and he presents himself
to the crowd, then awaits his opponent. (A quick note: I'm using “he
him and his” as opposed to a gender-neutral term because wrestling
here is not gender neutral – all wrestlers are male.) The object is
to throw your opponent to the ground; if they land on hands or feet,
the match continues, but anything else ends it. Think of it like a
runner or receiver in American football – a knee or forearm hits
the ground, and the runner is ruled “down”. Whoever hits the
ground first loses. The winner and loser then walk past each other
and give a convivial slap on the ass. The loser receives his hat
back and must put it on himself. The winner has hit hat replaced by
the official, presents himself again to the audience, receives
something as a pittance to distribute to fellow wrestlers and those
watching, and the whole thing begins again with new wrestlers.
It was really fun to
watch. The wrestlers were divided into young and old (old being,
maybe, mid-40s), though size difference was clearly not taken into
consideration. All were in good physical condition and very strong,
but some were much bigger. I later asked my host father about this,
as when we were watching bouts at the national Naadam there were
pictures and videos from older matches in which all of the wrestlers
were much thinner. He explained it as a function of diet; there's
simply far more available to eat in Mongolia now with a higher
caloric value than there ever has been before.
I should also mention that
Naadam takes place over a few weeks, and some soums (towns) celebrate
at different times. My host city, for instance, celebrated on July
3rd and 4th, where Emily's celebrated on the
9th, and the national Naadam celebrations take place from
the 11th -14th.
In other news: I have
eaten giddis (innards), I have drunk airag (fermented mare's milk –
very sour and hardly intoxicating), and have meditated on top of a
mountain. We got a fair bit of rain two days ago, but the parched
ground sucked it all up. We had another dust storm today, though
blessedly short and relatively mild.
Oh, almost forgot: to
corroborate my earlier point (from a different post) about the Soviet
predilection for stone sculptures and central squares, I want to
point out that the main park in my city is dotted with odd-looking
sculptures of various animals; there's a camel, a snake, a panda, a
dinosaur (brontosaurus, I think), a few lions, some eagles, etc. Many
of these are are crumbling, and the paint, though it seems to have
been refreshed at some point, is fading. This gives them an oddly
sinister look in the right light, as if their decaying faces were
reproachfully glaring at the fleshy meat-sacks (humans) who weren't
supposed to outlive them.
Also: there are three
clusters of apartment buildings in my city, all built in a square
formation with a central “communal” area in the middle. The
school itself is structured similarly; though it is one solid
building and not nearly as big, it features a breezeway to the main
entrance which is set on a largely empty stone courtyard. Very near
to the school is a “main square” in front of a government
building, another open, concrete space. I'm trying to think of
something to compare it to in either Kentucky or Kansas, but
nothing's coming to mind. Maybe the campus at NKU? Maybe?
It's been a while since
I've seen a vegetable that wasn't a potato. The diet here consists of
a bare minimum of 85% meat. Granted, I made that statistic up on the
spot, but if someone took the time to conduct the study, I think my
prediction would be near the mark. Occasionally carrots work their
way into the mix, and I eat a fair amount of eggs and bread, but
every every every meal has meat in it. I'm considering a vegetarian
diet for the first few months at site – it seems likely that Emily
and I will be placed in a city, which typically has good access to
vegetables. I hope I hope I hope. If not, it's a definite
vegetarian lifestyle when we get back to the States. For, like, a
year. Just to allow my stomach some time off. Near-constant irritable
bowel syndrome, over here.
I'll
leave you with that thought. And the fact that I live without running
water.
July
17, 2015: Pros and Cons
Well,
we lost a few people to the rigors of the Peace Corps, and even a
higher up in the organization whose resignation was somewhat sudden.
I won't share names; for one thing, you wouldn't know who they were
anyway, and for another it's just bad policy. No need to call out
people who are obviously already dealing with a lot.
Peace
Corps is not an easy thing to do. We're away from home, from friends,
from the comforts we spent our entire lives enjoying, in a different
country where a massive language barrier denies you access to your
usual means of forming relationships. You're trying to learn the
language while maintaining a relationship with your host family, your
fellow Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs), your Language and Cultural
Facilitators (LCFs) and, in Emily's and my case, with your spouse who
lives in another city for ten weeks. There's constant threat of
illness, especially of the GI variety, and you're not allowed to keep
pets, no matter how cute they are. (If you're wondering, we are
discouraged from keeping pets while we're at site – the main
portion of our time here – and forbidden while we're in training.
Mongolians simply don't keep pets unless they serve a purpose; a cat
exists to kill mice, a dog to warn against criminals and intruders of
all sorts, a horse to ride, and most everything else is to eat or
milk.) I have yet to eat a meal that didn't include boiled meat, and
have eaten three eggs for breakfast almost every day since I've been
with my host family. This is all not to mention the lack of running
water, which means outhouses for “waste disposal” and no hot
showers. There is also no such thing as a garbage dump, here. Near as
I can tell, trash is either left to rot wherever it falls, or burned.
On
the other hand, the people here are tremendously hospitable.
My host family bought me a traditional Mongolian garment called a
deel (pronounced dell) shirt, and are planning on buying me another,
full-length deel before I leave. This is after having known me for 6
weeks. After our trip for Naadam, I can confidently say that all
other PCVs I've seen have been treated to the same. I am included in
the family; my brothers call me brother, my host father calls me his
“big son”, and my host mother constantly frets about whether I'm
eating enough. Last weekend, my host family agreed to allow me to
have a few friends over two nights in a row – the first night, they
showed up with extra beer and snacks for a crowd of about 10
Americans, and the second night, they let four friends stay the
night, and fed them in the morning. One particularly hung over friend
even got treated to an impromptu shower. Host community members who
have never even met us frequently come in to the classroom to help us
practice speaking and listening in Mongolian.
I'm
atrocious at both listening and speaking, by the way. I'm putting in
the effort, I really am – I make flashcards of the various words
I've learned and try to memorize the verb and noun cases and
concurrent endings. Frankly, though, there's just so much to do at
all times that the best I can usually manage is to pick up a few new
words which I can read and write but absolutely cannot understand
when spoken. The various forms of the vowel sound “O” are
absolutely maddening, and I constantly get them wrong.
To
summarize, it's not hard to believe that some people decided that the
Peace Corps wasn't for them, but it's equally plausible to believe
that every single one of us will make it through the full two years.
That's
all for today. Thanks for reading. We miss you terribly.
July
20, 2015: Ulaanbaatar trip
I
haven't written this one yet.
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