Mongolian Camp

Mongolia

A country little known to those beyond its borders.

Country Map

The Volunteers for the Camp

60km outside the capital of Ulan Bator is Terelj. The national park is smooth sloping valleys that climb up to become rocky peaks. This past July the rains were abundant and grass carpeted the landscape. The blades grew in little clumps with wiry roots that ran deep in to the dry earth.  This rough vegetation provided food for the horses, cows, sheep and camels which seemed to have free roam of the park. In sharp contrast to the green underfoot, a deep blue sky spread overhead with clouds so high they hardly seemed to move.

Terelj National Park

Lanscape

Spiritual Mounds

A narrow strip of pothole riddled asphalt carved through the park and about 10km from the entrance the road passed alongside our ger camp. We volunteers arrived first. Twelve Singaporeans, a Mongol cook, a social worker, two translators, and myself. We had a day's head start to prepare for the kids. When they came the twenty-five little Mongolians shuffled out of their bus and made for the gers. It took several minutes to sit them down and explain the particulars. Then some fifteen minutes later they were running amok exploring the camp. One boy hit another. Some tried to run off. The smaller children were crying. Our attempts to restore order amounted to little and the situation became more and more chaotic.

The Gers

Bird's Eye View of the Camp

The children in the camp were not ordinary. They had been abandoned by their families, struck by misfortune, left to the vices of the street. The police had rounded the kids up and held them a shelter. That was where we picked them up for the camp. In their world authority and rules were lacking. Still we tried to keep them under control. We had to. How else could we manage the camp? Our leader Stephanie had it in mind to teach them English, have music and art class, go horseback riding. We had a week with them, ample time to do all this and more.

Our First Meal Together

Kids Playing Dodgeball

That first day drew to an end. We volunteers returned to our gers exhausted. To say the least we were shocked by the way the children had behaved. Come day two, the situation did not become any better. The morning started off with five of the boys running off from camp. We thought they might return for lunch. Instead, the group took the road toward the park entrance and from there returned to Ulan Bator. It was several days until we heard that they had made it back to the city, and in the time between, we were of course worried over their whereabouts. There was also the concern that others might try to abandon the camp. We decided it best to keep an eye on the older children to make sure they did not stray far from the ger tents.

Stephanie Explaining the Rules

Bilguun Scolding the Kids

For the classes held during the day, we broke the kids in to two groups. I was in charge of teaching English. The twelve or so kids sat at a table while I scrawled letters and numbers on a white board. They repeated words and made use of their workbooks. To reward them I gave out the stickers Stephanie had bought in Singapore. The ones they liked most were those of Winnie the Pooh and his friends, but the prospect of getting a sticker was not enough to keep them focused. Some refused to do anything, others wandered off, and those that did try were easily distracted. I mixed in a few games to maintain their attention. 

Explaining the rules and giving a demonstration on itself should not have been much work but with these kids it took a great deal of effort. That was how it went with everything. The simplest of tasks demanded our utmost energy. For example, when we took a group photo all we needed was for the children to sit down and remain still for ten seconds. However, as soon as one boy took his place another would jump up, scratch his head and pick his nose. Even with fourteen volunteers we had to shout, point and pull to get them to do what we wanted.

Showing Off Her Stickers

English Time

Tengis Racks His Brain

Artwork

The only thing the children were apt to do, was join the table for mealtime. The camp had three meals a day with three snack periods in between. That was a lot of food. Some of us volunteers had visited a meat market in advance to buy beef and mutton. I still remember carrying the heavy, dripping sacks that smelled of waxy fat and raw blood. We also bought kilos and kilos of vegetables, flour and rice, not to mention several hundred bottles of drinking water and sweet plum tea. The camp cook made good use of the ingredients and served the local fare the children were accustomed to. That meant salty rice porridge in the morning and for the rest of the meals, mostly meat, bread and noodles. Potato, carrot and onion were mixed in, but that was about it. Not much food will grow in Mongolia and most types of livestock cannot survive the winter so Mongolians make due on a limited diet. Interestingly, in the short summer they want to fatten up for the cold months that will last three fourths of the year. This is the opposite from what I have known in America, where people gain weight in the winter and try to lose it in summer.

Porridge

Meatstuff

Veggies

Lunch in the Big Ger

Speaking of which, Mongolia is damn cold. The temperatures can drop to as low as -40 degrees Celsius in January and February. The moment a person steps out into that kind of weather the inside of their nose freezes. And to get from one place to another, regardless of how short the distance, you must bundle up until you look more snowman than human. The camp was in July and we did not experience the dreaded Mongolian winter, but even in summer the nighttime weather grew uncomfortably chilly. Stephanie had warned us to bring warm clothing. I packed a jumper thinking it would be enough. It was not. In the tent while in bed I had on several layers of clothing, wrapped myself in a blanket and still I shivered through the night. The other volunteers who came from warm, semi-tropical Singapore fared worse and within a few days many had caught a cold.

Cold Shower

When morning would arrive, the weather was quite pleasant. The skies cleared and the sun burned bright. To take advantage of these nice summer days we did several outdoor activities. For starters, we went hiking. The first hike was a straight shot up in to the hills behind our camp. It started off easy enough but eventually we came across some rocks. As the hike leader I did my best to avoid the big ones. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of stopping at an outcropping of round stones. Up the kids went, climbing to the top. I had thought they would be okay because the rocks were not too large. The problem was a girl by the name of Narin-tsk-tsk fell on her way down. The poor girl's legs were short and slightly deformed so she was not surefooted to begin with. And to worsen matters Narin-tsk-tsk was epileptic and prone to seizures. We had to carry her back to the camp and call a taxi to take her to the nearest hospital. She was fine in the end, but I felt bad, thinking her fall was my fault. So for the other two hikes I scouted out two separate courses and made sure ahead of time that there were no rocks or other possible dangers. As a result those hikes went much smoother.

The Second Hike

The Third Hike

Photo Op

Back to Camp

Another activity, itself the highlight of the camp, was the horseback riding. One of our translators, the young and affable Bilguun, had the local nomads bring their horses to our camp. We rented fifteen of the animals for two hours. They were the small stocky variety known more for their stamina than their speed. I went with first group. I stepped in to the one stirrup before throwing my leg over to the other side. The horse was to my surprise well trained and easy to control. Pulling on the right rein turned the animal in that direction while a pull on the left turned it the opposite way. To stop the horse, I had to pull back on both reins at once. And lastly, to speed up, I needed only to say 'choo choo.'

Horseback Riding

Sahnder Rides With Conviction

Narin-tsk-tsk on a Horse

It was not the first time I had ridden horse, but it was the first time I was let loose to guide one as I pleased. I started slow and after gaining my confidence I soon had the animal galloping alongside a dry riverbed. A group of Mongolian boys came up from behind and raced forward. It amazed me how well they handled the animals. Having grown up in the city, few had any experience on a horse, but it mattered not. Riding was in their blood. Bilguun in particular rode with grace and ease. I tried to match his speed. 'Choo choo,' I shouted. To keep my crotch from smashing down against the saddle I straightened my legs. The wind swept across my face and swooshed through my ears. Beneath me, the horse's hooves kicked up dirt and grass. The sweet smell of moist earth filled the air. I felt numb in the body save for my heart which beat like a jackhammer. I was alive. I was one with my horse.

And still, Bilguun raced circles around me.

Horseback riding is a large part of the culture of Mongolia. During the time of Genghis Khan the Mongols spent most their waking hours on a horse. A soldier would take as many as seven of them on a war campaign, alternating between them as they rode to the next conquest. An entire army could cover 100km a day. Then when the battle commenced the horses did as their riders commanded, rarely vacillating in the face of the enemy's ranks, whether it be from the loud screams that signaled a death, the smell of smoke, or the many other horrors of war. Meanwhile, the mounted Mongols struck down with curved blades, but more often than not they kept their distance, preferring to unleash arrow after arrow upon their enemy. To deliver the steadiest shot, the soldiers released the shaft only when the horse beneath them had all four hooves in the air. Such was the bond with their steed. Such is the blood of the Mongols.

The Great Genghis Khan has now been dead for over eight hundred years but his legacy lives on in the country he once unified. Many of the boys in our camp bore his name. Chinggis--as they say in Mongolian. There was also a Temujin, the name Genghis had before he became ruler. These boys may have even shared his blood for the Great Khan was a sexually prolific man and fathered many children. The same can be said about his successors. Kublai Khan, one of his grandsons, had a personal harem of over 7,000 women. Burdened with so many concubines he needed to build a walled city to house them and their servants. Thus, it is not hard to imagine why many genealogists estimate that 10% of the modern Mongolian people are direct descendants of Genghis.

The Great Khan

The other children in our camp had names which were more difficult to pronounce and harder to remember. There was Yataashk, Nemun, Babilguun, Sahnder, and so on. Since we failed to learn them right away we resorted to using nicknames. In the case of Sahnder, we called him Carry Me because the boy went up to all of the volunteers and said those exact words while reaching up with his arms. And then there was Horny Boy who had an affinity for the female volunteers and their womanly parts. Looking back, I might think it humorous that we called him that had I not known he had spent time on the streets hanging around prostitutes and pimps.

Sadly, the other children's pasts were no better. The boy Temujin lost had his father in a car accident. As a result Temujin's family fell apart and his mother unable to care for him, abandoned the boy. The siblings Pagma and Khan-tseg-rik, only four year olds, had been sent out everyday by their aunt to beg for money. When the police caught them the aunt apparently refused to take them back. The authorities always did what they could to place street children with relatives or in foster homes but the kids were not always wanted. Feeling abandoned and lost in the world, the children had grown resilient and strong with time. I'd seen it a hundred times over. As much as they fought with each other, scraped up their legs and cried, they always bounced back with a smile.

The Police Shelter

The Kids

Mr. Poopy Pants

Ah-in-but and Nemun Outside the Big Ger

Cleanliness was an Issue

In time some of their good qualities surfaced. Again, I recall the 14 yr old boy Temujin. He was special in that he had a strong sense of propriety. And though he was a bit fat and a little geeky the others did as he said. It was a respect that came from the care he openly gave. It could be something as simple as helping the others going to bed. The little ones needed that. They had no mother to tuck them in. No brother to lean on. You would think the older kids would look out for them but in the shelter the strong bullied the weak. That was the world they were coming from. Temujin was the exception, and not surprisingly, the volunteers all had a liking for him.

The real darling of the camp however, was Tengis. He was a small boy with sandy brown hair, cherub cheeks and curious eyes. Looks-wise he certainly had cuteness in his favor, but it was his carefree, happy attitude that won us over. He was mostly smiles and giggles, and half the time we could not understand why. Incidentally, his birthday coincided with the camp. We celebrated in the large ger. Instead of a cake Tengis got a choco pie with a single candle sticking out from the center. Sitting at the head of the table, he looked down and his brown eyes sparkled bright as the moment took hold in his heart. The tears came and we realized then it had likely been the first birthday party anyone had thrown for him.

Tengis Celebrates

A Joyous Occasion for Everyone

In retrospect I can now say that the children were all unique and special in their own way. I could write on and on about each of them. Like how we at first mistook the boy Chingu for a girl, and did not realize our folly until one of us noticed he was peeing standing up. A volunteer later joked that on an emotional level she felt somewhat betrayed. It was our own fault. We simply assumed he was a girl because he had long hair, but all young boys in Mongolia are like that. They don't get their first haircut until they are four. But Chingu got his a little early because we discovered he had head lice. As we cut off his locks with a pair of dull scissors, he beamed proudly, having then entered the next symbolic stage of his young life. The other children who had gotten lice reacted differently during their haircuts. They cried and pouted and no amount of candy could appease them.

Chingu on a Hike

His First Haircut

Lastly, I'll make mention of Ah-in-buht. There were only five girls at the camp and in general they behaved better than the boys. Rather than horse around and cause trouble, they picked flowers, played house, and helped in the kitchen. But Ah-in-buh had a nasty streak in her. She at times provoked the others and fought with them, and at one point took off her shoe and struck another girl in the face with it. We of course reprimanded her for her actions. Some of the guy volunteers had been servicemen and decided to punish her military style. They made her kneel on one knee and raise both arms in the air. As she held the position, they shouted at her. This became the punishment of choice when the children misbehaved. But in spite of this tactic, Ah-in-buht’s bad behavior persisted. Now normally I would have been highly annoyed by such a child. She was a mischievous brat with a volatile temper. Yet she reminded me of how I was when I had been her age. For that reason alone I took a liking to her. Sometimes I went as far as to encourage her rotten playfulness with my own silly, half-brained actions. I guess that still makes me a kid at heart.

Ah-in-buht Smiles Devilishly

For one week we spent roughly twelve hours a day with these children. Towards the end it had taken its toll. The volunteers were sun burnt and sick from the weather, and our patience and energy were all but exhausted. I admit I too was getting worn out. I wanted to get back to the capital, have a hot shower, wash my clothes and drink myself in to a stupor. It would have to wait.

Bilguun Plays the Guitar

Our last full day at the camp was particularly rough. We had exhausted most of our ideas for activities and there was far too much free time for the children to run around. Most the volunteers had resigned themselves to the quiet comforts of their gers and lengthy breaks within. Somehow, we made it through to dinnertime. The meal was a poor one considering we were eating the very last of our food. And that's not meant as a slight to the cook. She did an excellent job from day one, but in the end there was only so much she could do with scraps. After dinner we had a final meeting with the kids. Our leader Stephanie had originally lied to the children saying that the camp would continue for several more days. She did it so that none of them would try running away because the consensus was that none of them wanted to return to the shelter where they were often bullied by others and occasionally mistreated by the police. When Stephanie admitted the truth the children seemed a little disappointed. She quickly shifted topic and handed out postcards to write on. These were meant as thank you letters to the many people who had given donations to make the camp possible. Next the children wrote comments on a different slip of paper thanking the volunteers. And that was when things became emotional.

The first child to cry was Sahnder. He dropped his head, his shoulders shook, and he drew in short breaths. A volunteer walked up and held him from behind. Others soon shed their tears, and the whole tent became drowned in sniffles and sobs. Through their choked up voices the children said things to us. We had to get one of our two interpreters to repeat their words in English. The boy Temujin told me he did not want me to leave him. He said he thought of me as a father. I looked at him and shook my head. I had my own life to get back to and told him as much. The words rang true for each volunteer. We could only give the children so much.

A Juggler in the Making

Posing for a Photo

The following morning the bus came to take us back to the capital. We shuffled in, took our seats and the engine started up. The drive back took a little over an hour. Green, treeless swaths of land gave way to muddy earth studded with gers and shanty houses. Concrete soon filled in the edges of the road and we came to a stop next to the welfare office near the city center. The children went in to another shuttle bus bound for their shelter while we were free to find our hostel. It was a short goodbye.

The Road Back

The Landscape

Back to Civilization

I think we all felt a great deal of relief as we again walked the streets of Ulan Bator. Most the volunteers had flights the next day and would be headed home their work in Mongolia at an end. And for those who would remain there was still that well-earned sense of accomplishment. Stephanie had given each of us a certificate to show for it. The paper is actually on the table beside me, its corners jittering in the draft of my electric fan. I clearly see the bold typeface words written at the bottom: In recognition of your tireless effort and constant support for Mongolia Summer Camp 2011 to make it successful.

Eleven others in far off Singapore have the same sheet. I recall the conversation we had after Stephanie handed out the certificates. She sat us down and asked our impressions of the camp. One by one we gave our response. I listened as some questioned whether the camp had done much good. How would the children's lives be any better once they ended back up on the street they wondered. Another volunteer found the camp a disappointment, crying as she gave her reasons why. And a third volunteer couldn't get past how disrespectful the children had been.

Fortunately, there were many who saw it in a more positive light.

We had given a group of street kids the opportunity to enjoy things they would have otherwise never been able to do. Like anything else in life it was an experience, and how they choose to learn and identify with it, I believe, will influence them in their young and impressionable lives. Perhaps that is only wishful thinking on my part but looking back I feel a strong fondness for the children and the time we shared. I expect they have similar feelings. For both volunteers and street kids it was a crazy, wild and unique series of events that unfolded in the hills of Mongolia. And beneath it all there was the laughter, the smiles and the desire to do something good and meaningful.

For that much I am grateful.

Mongolia Summer Camp 2011