June
1, 2016
I'm
considering today our official one-year anniversary of arriving in
Mongolia. June 1 2015 was the day we ended up in Darkhan (I think),
which is really the first day of actually being part of Mongolia.
Prior to that, I was an enthusiastic tourist with long-term plans. We
arrived and were immediately shuttered to a hotel on the outskirts of
UB which was nestled in the embrace of gentle hills covered in trees;
currently, I live within view of an honest-to-god mountain that still
has snow on it (from about two weeks ago), and there isn't a single
tree visible from my apartment windows. (We recently learned that
some enlightened individual went around the city and cut down all of
the trees within the city proper in 1991.) As I've joked with some
people I've talked to on Skype, there are about three or four trees
in this city, and I know where all of them are. I should say: it's a
joke because it's funny, but also because it's not a joke at all.
Anyway,
it being our one-year anniversary, I thought it appropriate to
reflect in a larger sense. This blog has been filled with
reflections, I admit, but usually they are short-term, based on
something that happened to me or to Emily or to both of us. I've
found this a useful way to both fill you in on what we're doing, and
how we're doing. It'd be dishonest and a disservice to only report on
the things that we're doing and leave out the emotional responses;
that's not what it's like being here, and it's not what it's like
being a human being. Besides, those of you who know me best know that
I react to everything and
consequently have something to say about the aforementioned
everything.
First,
the things I've learned about myself (don't worry, Emily will do her
own bit). I should set you up: these next paragraphs are all new
points, so the transition will be a little jarring. This is a blog,
not a novella.
I
am every bit as cynical as I used to be. I won't go on at length
about my worldview, but maybe it will suffice to say this: the
insulation that PST (our initial training period) provided from the
real world was, in a lot of ways, unhelpfully unrealistic, and set us
up to fail for our first year of service. Expectations were set that
we'd be working with the same kind of people and in the same sort of
system in PST when we got to site. That was not the case. You'd think
I'd be able to remember what the real world is like, but somehow the
shine on the Peace Corps and the work that they/we do blinded me
enough that I somehow forgot. That and my time in graduate school
immediately prior probably set me up for a bigger shock than I was
prepared for.
I
also learned/remembered (unironically) that I am extremely forgetful
at times, and prone to misplacing things. My poor mother and my
long-suffering wife are all-too familiar with this (especially when I
was growing up), but to the uninitiated, consider this: since we've
been here, I've lost three phones (including two smart phones), one
pair of sunglasses, several socks, at least one book, a few decks of
cards, and, unless I've gone insane and am remembering having brought
something I totally didn't, most of my summer clothes. I also somehow
forgot to bring half of the cards we needed to play Catan with me
from the States (the makers kindly mailed us replacements for free!).
It's a daily struggle to find either my keys, my wallet, my phone,
and/or my ring. I often forget one or the other and only realize when
I'm halfway to wherever I'm going. I've also tried to leave the
apartment in slippers on several occasions.
I
rely heavily on the
spoken and written word to communicate and connect with people.
Actions speak louder than words? That may be so, but words speak
pretty loudly in their own right, and often are the catalyst for the
oh-so-loud action. No matter how good I get with grammar and
vocabulary in Mongolian, I still have a lot of trouble understanding
people when they speak. That's infuriating and limiting.
I
like to teach. Frustrations with the systems in place aside (systems,
like standardized testing, which are not at all unique to Mongolia),
engaging with students and getting them interested (often against
their will) is a genuinely rewarding experience. I hope I can do more
of it in the future.
There
were also assumptions I had made about the way the world works that I
continually learn were incredibly short-sighted. Instead of going in
to detail, I'll just say this: the vast majority of everyone on the
planet is just trying to survive without screwing up too badly. That
said, the exceptions, who believe that they are exceptional because
of their boldness, are really just the people most willing to screw
over other people. So, yes. Cynicism level 9, over here. That's not
likely to change.
As
difficult as the winter was for its many physical challenges, the
summer has been, in its own way, more difficult. A recent discussion
with a friend from another aimag (that's a state or province, if you
forgot) got me thinking about it from a different perspective. In the
winter, I had very little choice but to remain inside with the
windows shut, shivering next to the radiator. Now that it's
legitimately summer, I desperately want to go outside and do stuff.
The summers we spent in Lawrence
were legitimately the most fun I've had since I was about 12 – even
on slow days I'd still probably get together with a friend and go
frisbee golfing, or I could grab my bike and ride a trail, or go grab
a drink or a bite to eat and sit outside in the shade of a tree (I
miss trees), or go on a hike and listen to the sound of the wind in
the trees (I MISS TREES), or drive out to the lake and spend a night
or two with friends, or invite people over to play DnD or Catan or
even just Super Monkeyball... I can do, quite literally, none of
those things here, even though I have the same amount of free time. I
could probably go for a hike, if I could find somewhere to do it and
someone to get me there; it's not as if there are trails all over the
place, or even large parks (a la Clinton Lake or Big Bone) we could
go to. A friend of mine from back in Kansas just went on a bike trip
called Peddler's Jamboree – though it poured rain for a good part
of our trip when Emily and I went, I'd have given a lot to go with
him this time.
Granted,
we have a lot of things planned for the summer, including meeting up
with that aforementioned friend for a camp in his soum (village), a
trip to a lake with some Mongolian friends, and meeting with Emily's
family a little later on, not to mention a surprise visit from a
friend from back home. I'm excited for all of those things;
irrationally excited, maybe. But right now? Stir craziness is even
worse than it was in February.
I've
also learned that the phrase “When in Rome, do as the Romans do”
means more than just “act like they do”. In some ways, it means
“think like they do”. My point above about short-sighted
assumptions plays into this; just because America does it a certain
way doesn't mean Mongolians do it that way, and expecting everyone to
change to meet my way of doing things is only going to make me
frustrated and alienated. And it's not enough just to “tolerate”
the way Mongolians do things, at least not for a two-year stretch.
There
are perils in that, of course, and that leads to another realization
I've had: we Americans are every bit as hardworking as we think we
are. Maybe even too
hardworking, to the point of putting work ahead of our happiness,
both collectively and individually. I think this is a very
interesting discussion to be had, but as it's also a very long one, I
don't want to get into it here (WSP, Matt?).
That's
probably enough, yeah? I'll leave off here. Long story short: I
learned a lot of things about myself.
Emily says:
One
whole year in Mongolia down. I'm very glad we didn't give up, but, as
Eric has mentioned before, at times it has been very rough. I don't
want to talk about how tough.
So,
instead I'll talk about my main bright spot: our cat Tomato. Tomato
is hands-down the best living cat. He is smart, adventurous, and
cuddly. He likes to go hunt outside at night and every morning he is
waiting outside our 3rd floor door for breakfast and a
safe place to sleep the day away. When he does stay inside at night
he likes to sleep between our heads and purr incessantly. Recently, I
started putting him around my shoulders. He likes it because he can
see more things from up higher, no matter what Eric tells you. He
loves to be loved, and is a source of comfort not only to us but also
to our various site mates. But the most amazing thing about Tomato is
that he answers to a whistle, even from the third floor balcony. I'm
not great at whistling, but, luckily, Tomato also answers to his
name. He makes me happy every day and I'll always be glad that we
came here because of him.
I've
been feeling a bit down lately, mostly for the reasons Eric details
above. I'm looking forward to relaxing this summer and, hopefully,
revamping for next school year. I know I haven't written a lot, but
that's all I've got for you right now. I really miss all of our
family and friends, trees, and the amount of comfort I took for
granted in my surroundings at home. See you all in about a year.
Thanks
for reading.
