Purple Fanta and the first day of school

September 2, 2015

Purple Fanta is the best Fanta.

Yesterday marked the first day of school here in Mongoland and, consequently, Em's and my first day of work. We'll be walking to our respective schools (about 15 minutes for both of us), which I thought would be fairly common among most students. It is indeed common, to a certain degree, but there were a lot lot lot more people driving their kids to school than I expected; harried parents hunched over the wheel with a scared-looking child sitting in the front seat. It made me chuckle quietly to myself every time I saw it. 

There are probably six or seven schools in this city (maybe more, I only know of secondary schools and the college at which I work), and all of them exhibited a similar scene: kitschy children's music blaring out of loud speakers in front of the school to welcome the students in/back, parents of new students milling about looking both relieved (to have some peace and quiet) and a little angry (probably about the music), men in suits (usually directors and subdirectors; more on this in a moment) shaking people's hands, and well-dressed women of all ages who far outnumbered the men. Emily's and my respective schools held opening ceremonies featuring dancers, singers, and a couple of speeches. My school even has a theme song. Walking around the city and seeing all of the kids in their uniforms and hearing the music from virtually everywhere was a surreal experience.

After the opening ceremony Emily, who was prepared for a long day stretching into the evening hours, was told she could go home, and that she would be contacted the following day, which threw her off. I (Eric) actually experienced something similar, in that once the ceremony was over I sat in the teacher's room to make myself available for consultation, but everyone was so busy that I was little more than a bump on a log. The two CPs I had already met and gotten friendly with, and who I had followed around all morning during the ceremony as they introduced me to every hand-shaking member of the staff, were in meetings. I eventually set up a time to meet with my CPs in the afternoon following classes, and went home myself. Emily got a call from one of her CPs asking her to come back in at about 130, and I headed back to my school at about 2. Those follow-up meetings were far more productive.

A quick aside here which I hope doesn't land me in hot water: Mongolia is one of the countries in the Peace Corps which has been selected to be a flagship for the Let Girls Learn initiative spearheaded by First Lady Michelle Obama. This at first struck me as odd, considering the educational participation levels in this country demonstrate vastly more women and girls than men and boys. Indeed, it might be better named “Keep Boys in School” in Mongolia; the young men quickly get fed up with school and often drop out to tend a herd, work in a technical job -- being a drive is a particularly lucrative career here, and actually tends to pay more than being a teacher, which is... bad -- or working as some sort of agricultural laborer.

Nonetheless, the positions of power in this country are still overwhelmingly occupied by men. I suppose it's not that different from the United States in many respects, yet one would think that, with women being far more educated, there would be afforded more opportunities to be in positions of authority. This is not, however, the case. This complicates the message of Let Girls Learn a little bit; sexism is an international phenomenon, and creating a project which seeks to change that reality in this country would be overshooting, to say the least. Encouraging boys to stay in school is obviously a worthy goal, yet without some sort of consciousness-raising effort, its success might provide more of a justification to continue or even further exclude women from positions of authority. Or is it rather the case that education is anathema to the various isms, including sexism? Or is that too idealistic? I believe in the power of education, but this is an extremely difficult, precarious balancing act, rooted in so many maybes and possiblies that it's hard to even see the beam one walks on.

I dunno. Just the thoughts running through our heads, lately. If I could say nothing else for my time in the Peace Corps (which I can but, for the sake of brevity, won't), I can definitively say that it has opened my eyes to the simple fact that human beings are significantly more diverse in perspectives and cultures than I realized. Some norms that I took for granted as being universal having lived in a developed, Western, powerful, and diverse country simply aren't realities elsewhere, or even topics of conversation or debate.

Sigh. It feels kind of lame to end on that note, but it would feel lamer to go back to describing the rest of the week. I'll try anyway: we went to a birthday party for one of our fellow PCVs in her ger over the weekend, which was fun. She fed us pizza with basil leaves baked into the crust, and made crepes which we were able to slather with a French concoction called chestnut butter, which was tasty. We've established a weekly meeting with our CPs and other community members called “Monglish night”, the first instance of which happened at a nearby restaurant but will, this week, take place at our apartment (too expensive otherwise). We've been back to that sweet market I described, too. We met an emee (grandmother) working one of the vegetable stands who, when we first walked up, gave us an enthusiastic hello and offered us that traditional Mongolian vodka made from yogurt I described in an earlier post. She chatted amicably with us like you would expect any “I don't give a fuck” grandma to do (helped in her banter by what I assume was her daughter, a woman in her 40s), and gave us five or six free carrots after we bought two kilos of veggies. She was one of the first people in the whole market who did not immediately assume that we were Russian and attempt to speak to us in that same language, which I liked. We've made good friends with another of our colleagues who lives close enough that we could string a line between our two balconies in two apartment blocks, and made dinner with her a few times – burritos one night, pizza another, and cookies and cakes and whatnot. We get together every Saturday for board games and a few drinks, which is fun.

Only ten of you read my last post. Shame.