MONGOLIAN BOOTS

an excerpt from Unpacking: An Exploration Into International Teacher Experience by Megan Bond (found on Amazon.com)

 

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It is a bright and cool September Sunday morning, during my second year in Mongolia. The large SUV is full of people when Nyamsuren and his father pick me up at my guarded apartment complex. A twinge of rattled nerves courses through my chest and I remind myself that I will not regret accepting their invitation, even though I will be surrounded by people I don’t know and will not be able to communicate very well with anyone who does not speak English. It was a decision resulting from a battle in my head in which the intrepid voice won, beckoning me to join her at the end of my comfort zone.

“Sain baina uu,”[1] I say to everyone as I climb in and squish myself into a spot, observing that I would have neither a proper seat nor a seatbelt on this journey to the countryside. We are so tightly compacted that I swear I can feel the heartbeat of the woman behind me. But I am not fazed. I grab hold of the seat in front of me and brace myself for the bumpy ride.

We make our way out of the city on run down streets, passing gangs of feral dogs, broken down Soviet blocks, and one ger[2] district[3] after another. Eventually we come to the end of the paved road and veer into the vast countryside.

…

I step over the threshold and into the circular home where steaming, salty milk tea is simmering on the wood stove. I am careful to accept whatever is passed to me in a proper manner: right hand outstretched with left hand under right elbow. I do not want to offend my student’s family for they are gracious to invite me to such a special event in their annual calendar: the ceremonial branding of the foals.

Nyamsuren guides me to where the foals will be branded and describes the process as we watch his father burn the family’s mark into the foals’ hind legs. I cringe.

…

“Watch this Miss Bond!”

The arag[4] tickles my nose as I swallow another sour sip and watch as Nyamsuren and his father showcase the Mongolian national sport of wrestling, bending over and tugging at each other’s belts. It is a solid attempt by the eight-year-old but it is his father who secures the victory just before all twenty or so of us gather together in one ger for our main meal: boiled goat.

I learn from Nyamsuren that all parts of the animal are treasured and made useful, if not for the body then they would be used for the home; bones kept as household tools and vertebrae adopted as player’s pieces for a traditional game.

Nyamsuren serves me a plate of meat along with some unidentifiable parts. He translates as his grandmother lists the contents on my plate: stomach, intestine, blood sausage, liver, kidneys … While not exactly watering at the mouth, I am reassured that there will be more meal to come.

As a well-mannered Canadian I feel obliged to finish what is on my plate, and the mental coaching begins …

 

I have to put that in my mouth?

Yes! You must be polite and eat what is given to

you.

What if I say I’m a vegetarian?

If you tell them that you don’t eat meat you will

offend them even more than if you excused yourself

to go and gallop away on a foal.

What if I gag? I could be sick.

It might not be so bad if you just keep chewing.

Imagine it’s something tasty or just direct your

thoughts elsewhere, and just keep chewing!

 

As soon as I clear my plate, it is filled again with more goat parts, and this time I don’t bother inquiring about the names. It is mind over matter once again as I attempt to politely chew on what I believe to be a part of the goat’s stomach. I gnaw and gnaw but it does not seem to break down in my mouth. I wonder how one maintains respectable table manners in the presence of one’s host when it is nearly impossible to bite through one’s food? My jaw begins to ache and I divert my attention to the others in the room.

There are exchanges of plates and slices of meat, and one man is reaching far across the ger to pour vodka into cups. Amongst the flying bones and sprinkles of grease are smiling faces and generous offerings.  They are together, sharing food, celebrating new life, and as I continue to chew I realize that I, too, am a part of their togetherness. Nobody around me seems to worry about the grease on his or her fingers or adhering to any mealtime protocol. They are just giving and receiving food to honour this day and to honour each other – people connected through blood, friendship, or spiritual attachment, all gathered in this one small felt-covered structure, sharing one goat (one whole goat), and they have invited me, an outsider to be a part of all of this activity that is treasured in their culture. I assume that I must look and seem so foreign to them all yet they continue to go out of their way to make me feel welcome. They honour me with every offering and thank me for coming to their country to teach Nyamsuren.

I lower my plate to my lap … with head down, I look at what is left in my hands … still chewing on that same piece of stomach, I do not entertain the idea of giving up and spitting it out but instead find myself smiling. I am disgustingly happy.

After all the food is eaten I am invited to dress in traditional Mongolian clothing. A burly and rosy-cheeked old man wraps a deel[5] around my shoulders. I slide my arms into the sleeves as another member of the family swiftly ties a sash around my waist. “Za[6],” she says as she stands back to look at me.

Nyamsuren slips through his elders and appears with a pair of decorative boots; large, colourful, and curled up at the toe.

“Wear these Miss Bond! Then you’ll really look Mongolian,” he proclaims.

Struggling to maintain my balance, I carefully step into the boots, stand up, and look once again at the faces of the others who have made me one of their own.

 

 

[1] “hello” in the English language

[2] nomadic home with a rounded lattice frame covered in felt, also known as yurts

[3] slums or shantytowns in the poorest area of the city

[4] fermented mare’s milk

[5] a long robe, pronounced “del”

[6] “okay” in Mongolian language

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