Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Monday, September 12, 2011
Back home, in the same confused state as always.
It took almost four years and a handful of people on two sides of the globe, to see the kids get well and and become inspired!
You have to be willing to get bruised, bitten and scratched, metaphorical speaking, not literally. If you allow them to do that, without turning away, only then will they trust you. Eventually.
I am glad I stuck it out.
You have to be willing to get bruised, bitten and scratched, metaphorical speaking, not literally. If you allow them to do that, without turning away, only then will they trust you. Eventually.
I am glad I stuck it out.
Friday, September 9, 2011
A Cow's Attachement
After my adventures in Gobi, I headed out to visit Nasa and to transport her cow and yurt. – The things I say and do that I could have never imagined myself getting close to!! ☺
As for now, she will stay with Byambaa until we find another solution. Or until it turns out that living with Byambaa is the right solution all along.
When I finally got to visit Nasa’s new (and my constant) home in the country side I was surprised to see her happy and in a light mood, laughing and chatting up a storm. I have never seen her that talkative, or self-sufficient. She would participate in conversations, in group- and household activities without having to be reminded or encouraged.
Nasa had repeatedly asked for her cow and yurt, so we organized the move of her belongings from her former foster family to Byambaa. Ayuraa had brought a mini truck and a couple friends for support. Byambaa had sent his new helper, the replacement for Vannie, on horse, to walk the cows to their new home.
The yurt was dismantled and on the truck in no time. The men had just taken the yurt apart, while everything inside the yurt sat on the grass, untouched, still in the round arrangement, with the stove in the middle.
Catching the cows was another story. Nasa’s original cow was behaving so difficult that the family, with Nasa’s agreement, decided to slaughtered her last summer. Nevertheless, Nasa still had her two-year old calf. As a surprise gift, Ayuraa choose another cow, so Nasa could contribute two cows to her new family. (What Ayuraa says goes! Nasa’s former foster family just nodded in accord when Ayurra suggested a second cow for Nasa. Cows are expensive!) I discovered that Ayurra is quite impressive as a cowboy, the way he threw the rope! After a good workout for everyone involved, the cows were tied up and ready to go. Or so we thought.
We drove back to Byambaa, Ayuraa and his truck left, we had dinner, watched TV – yes, they have a new 13” flat screen TV, with 12 channels of programming! – and went to bed. The man on horse, bringing the cows, never returned.
The next morning he came for his usual tea and reported about his struggle. He had managed to move the cows two miles within four hours and had finally given up when it turned dark. Like horses, cows always return. These two had no intention to move to a new home!
Nasa took it pretty lightly, but announced she’d go and fetch them. We had a hard time holding her back, as she was not concerned about walking the 8 miles, one way, with two unwilling cows. But on the other hand, no one wanted to call Ayuraa, to tell him to come back with his truck and helpers. Those are the moments I am relieved to life in a city and spared the hard ships of country life!
I am still waiting to hear how the story continues.
Photos by Temuulen Khos-Erdene
As for now, she will stay with Byambaa until we find another solution. Or until it turns out that living with Byambaa is the right solution all along.
When I finally got to visit Nasa’s new (and my constant) home in the country side I was surprised to see her happy and in a light mood, laughing and chatting up a storm. I have never seen her that talkative, or self-sufficient. She would participate in conversations, in group- and household activities without having to be reminded or encouraged.
Nasa had repeatedly asked for her cow and yurt, so we organized the move of her belongings from her former foster family to Byambaa. Ayuraa had brought a mini truck and a couple friends for support. Byambaa had sent his new helper, the replacement for Vannie, on horse, to walk the cows to their new home.
The yurt was dismantled and on the truck in no time. The men had just taken the yurt apart, while everything inside the yurt sat on the grass, untouched, still in the round arrangement, with the stove in the middle.
Catching the cows was another story. Nasa’s original cow was behaving so difficult that the family, with Nasa’s agreement, decided to slaughtered her last summer. Nevertheless, Nasa still had her two-year old calf. As a surprise gift, Ayuraa choose another cow, so Nasa could contribute two cows to her new family. (What Ayuraa says goes! Nasa’s former foster family just nodded in accord when Ayurra suggested a second cow for Nasa. Cows are expensive!) I discovered that Ayurra is quite impressive as a cowboy, the way he threw the rope! After a good workout for everyone involved, the cows were tied up and ready to go. Or so we thought.
We drove back to Byambaa, Ayuraa and his truck left, we had dinner, watched TV – yes, they have a new 13” flat screen TV, with 12 channels of programming! – and went to bed. The man on horse, bringing the cows, never returned.
The next morning he came for his usual tea and reported about his struggle. He had managed to move the cows two miles within four hours and had finally given up when it turned dark. Like horses, cows always return. These two had no intention to move to a new home!
Nasa took it pretty lightly, but announced she’d go and fetch them. We had a hard time holding her back, as she was not concerned about walking the 8 miles, one way, with two unwilling cows. But on the other hand, no one wanted to call Ayuraa, to tell him to come back with his truck and helpers. Those are the moments I am relieved to life in a city and spared the hard ships of country life!
I am still waiting to hear how the story continues.
Photos by Temuulen Khos-Erdene
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
And Now, the Emergency.
At the end of my last trip in the spring, Nasa moved in with a new foster family in the city, so she could continue to go to school. Sadly, she didn’t manage to stay in school or integrate into her new family. The happenings and changes Nasa went through within a month were intense, would have been for everyone, and Nasa is not well equipped when it comes to mastering life’s challenges.
Apparently, it all started with her saving her bus money. She rode to school in the morning all right, but in order to safe some money she changed buses on her way home, every time the conductor asked her for a ticket. She wanted to keep her bus money to buy chewing gum. The regular bus ride takes an hour, but with her method, it took her four to five hours. While hanging out at various bus stops, she ran into an old friend and started to hang out with her. That was the beginning of the end of Nasa’s school career.
The situation escalated and Nasa stayed out overnight repeatedly. One morning she returned bloody and severely beaten, which finally prompted her foster family to call Ayurra. He brought her to the care center for medical treatment and desperate to find a new home for Nasa, with less temptation, he called Byambaa, who agreed to take her in.
This development saddens me, but honestly, living with Byambaa is the best solution I can think off. Byambaa and Byaraa, the saviors of all our children!
Apparently Nasa was raging for the first week, but they hang in and sat it out. Now she is doing fine. She is getting close to Bymabaa’s wife Byaraa, who’s an extremely patient teacher. It makes me happy that Nasa finally has a woman in her life who treats her well and warmly and is willing to take the time to teach her some life skills.
Apparently, it all started with her saving her bus money. She rode to school in the morning all right, but in order to safe some money she changed buses on her way home, every time the conductor asked her for a ticket. She wanted to keep her bus money to buy chewing gum. The regular bus ride takes an hour, but with her method, it took her four to five hours. While hanging out at various bus stops, she ran into an old friend and started to hang out with her. That was the beginning of the end of Nasa’s school career.
The situation escalated and Nasa stayed out overnight repeatedly. One morning she returned bloody and severely beaten, which finally prompted her foster family to call Ayurra. He brought her to the care center for medical treatment and desperate to find a new home for Nasa, with less temptation, he called Byambaa, who agreed to take her in.
This development saddens me, but honestly, living with Byambaa is the best solution I can think off. Byambaa and Byaraa, the saviors of all our children!
Apparently Nasa was raging for the first week, but they hang in and sat it out. Now she is doing fine. She is getting close to Bymabaa’s wife Byaraa, who’s an extremely patient teacher. It makes me happy that Nasa finally has a woman in her life who treats her well and warmly and is willing to take the time to teach her some life skills.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Precious Moments
How do you preserve these brief, precious moments of true connection, which make everything else appear to be an approximation?
Shortly before boarding my plane Selenge informed me that no one could get a hold of Baaskaa. From their last phone conversation, he knew that and when I’d come, but now she couldn’t find him. I have to admit this information inspired mostly negative thoughts. Once in Mongolia, I heard stories, which seem to confirm my suspicions, and almost broke my heart. Nevertheless, when I actually listened to my instinct and intuition, I felt that he was fine and doing well.
After a bit of detective work, Baaskaa reappeared, knocking at the door of my guesthouse, with a huge smile, while leaning on his new mountain bike.
He went through some ups and down since we parted in May. Some jobs were better then others, some were paid, some were not. Over time, he connected with good people and found a job he liked. On a construction site in UB, he met a nice couple, with whom he stays now. His boss, taking a liking to him, recommended him for a job in a gold mine in West Mongolia, where he can operate the excavator. (Mainly, because the actual driver is nursing his vodka bottle a little too much while on duty).
When he told me his story, or stories, I felt such a pride; I could not help it but to tear up. That moment at the kitchen table will never come back. Baaskaa, being a man now, telling me about his accomplishments, looking for my reaction and my approval, and his pride, when he sees me so moved.
Naturally, I love that he became independent, but I also have to accept the changes and their impact on our interaction . Gone are the days of us being in the countryside, with a slightly awkward feeling as we try to figure each other out, I always with a mission, he always wondering what will be next. Gone are the days when he offered me what ever he had, like inviting me to sit on a horse (you really couldn’t call it riding) and leading me up the mountain, asking me to trust him, when I gasped in fear. Gone are the days when he waited for my return to help him change his circumstances. The Baaskaa of the last four years faded, and a new, mature person surfaced.
Shortly before boarding my plane Selenge informed me that no one could get a hold of Baaskaa. From their last phone conversation, he knew that and when I’d come, but now she couldn’t find him. I have to admit this information inspired mostly negative thoughts. Once in Mongolia, I heard stories, which seem to confirm my suspicions, and almost broke my heart. Nevertheless, when I actually listened to my instinct and intuition, I felt that he was fine and doing well.
After a bit of detective work, Baaskaa reappeared, knocking at the door of my guesthouse, with a huge smile, while leaning on his new mountain bike.
He went through some ups and down since we parted in May. Some jobs were better then others, some were paid, some were not. Over time, he connected with good people and found a job he liked. On a construction site in UB, he met a nice couple, with whom he stays now. His boss, taking a liking to him, recommended him for a job in a gold mine in West Mongolia, where he can operate the excavator. (Mainly, because the actual driver is nursing his vodka bottle a little too much while on duty).
When he told me his story, or stories, I felt such a pride; I could not help it but to tear up. That moment at the kitchen table will never come back. Baaskaa, being a man now, telling me about his accomplishments, looking for my reaction and my approval, and his pride, when he sees me so moved.
Naturally, I love that he became independent, but I also have to accept the changes and their impact on our interaction . Gone are the days of us being in the countryside, with a slightly awkward feeling as we try to figure each other out, I always with a mission, he always wondering what will be next. Gone are the days when he offered me what ever he had, like inviting me to sit on a horse (you really couldn’t call it riding) and leading me up the mountain, asking me to trust him, when I gasped in fear. Gone are the days when he waited for my return to help him change his circumstances. The Baaskaa of the last four years faded, and a new, mature person surfaced.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
The Sand Dunes of South Gobi
I have seen quite a bit throughout my travels but the beauty of our planet and these unexpected moments of enlightenment never seize to amaze me.
After our successful journey to Dalanzadad in the South Gobi, we met with the principle who had agreed to give Vannie a chance, even so he lacks the educational requirements which were recently implemented in Mongolia.
The school combines a vocational program with regular high school. In short, in two and a half years, Vannie will have a high school diploma and a profession of his choice.
Vannie is not a boy of many words, but I could see that he was excited. And not a bit scared. After a three-year absence, he’ll have to become re-accustomed to the tight schedule and requirements of schooling, while learning to operate heavy machinery, while catching up on the grades seventh through ninth, which he lacks so far. He says he can do it and I believe him. I have the feeling he understands that this is pretty much his one – if not only - chance to get out of the funk of his dependency and be defined by what by what he has to offer, rather then what he lacks.
The principle asked us to return the next day to settle all forms, signatures and payments, so we found ourselves with half a day of free time in the South Gobi. I so rarely have half a day of free time that I decided I wanted to be a tourist for once!
We hired a driver with a Russian jeep to drive to the Sand Dunes, which were supposed to be three hours away. On the way, we would visit the Valley of the Vultures, a narrow mountain formation, which Mongolians describe as their mini Grand Canyon.
We walked along the stream that had carved its way through the valley. The mountains above us became so narrow that the sun wouldn’t reach, unless it was straight above us. Somehow, the valley reminded me on Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock. I could easily see us disappear into another world, never to be heard from again.
Unfortunately, we had to rush through the valley in order to make it before sundown to the Sand Dunes. It turned out all the rushing didn’t help, mainly because the drive was six hours instead of the promised three. I should have known better.
By the time we arrived, I had permanent nerve damage in my butt (after all we just survived a 16 hour bus ride!) and was mad as hell. The sun was just about to disappear, so the three of us hopped out of the car and rushed towards the dunes. As soon as we arrived on the top of the first dune, my mood changed. It is a magical place; Sahara like dunes in the middle of an oasis, surrounded by mountains.
The mountains are said to be three women. They once met three herders, who promised to return for them. The woman waited, first patiently then desperately, but no one came. Because of their deep sadness and longing, they turned into stone and became the mountains that now runs alongside the ever-moving sand dunes. When the wind quiets down, you can still hear them calling for their men.
It’s a Mongolian tradition to write your name into the sand while in the dunes. Surprisingly – or maybe not – Vannie kept moving from spot to spot, writing his name just to cover it up with sand again. Those are the moments I would like to preserve, hoping that eventually they will forgive us, and themselves.
We suddenly heard a thundering noise. With the last sliver of daylight a team of horses appeared at the ridge of the dunes, galloping towards us. It was so surreal. Apparently they went home, as horses always do, which I didn’t know. There is a story of a horse that was given as a gift to the Vietnamese Prime Minister, when he visited Mongolia. They flew the horse to Vietnam, where it escaped and eventually, many months later, it reappeared in Mongolia, at his true owner’s yurt. I love that story.
For having been in the Sand Dunes of South Gobi for exactly 25 minutes, I have seen and felt quite a bit!
After our successful journey to Dalanzadad in the South Gobi, we met with the principle who had agreed to give Vannie a chance, even so he lacks the educational requirements which were recently implemented in Mongolia.
The school combines a vocational program with regular high school. In short, in two and a half years, Vannie will have a high school diploma and a profession of his choice.
Vannie is not a boy of many words, but I could see that he was excited. And not a bit scared. After a three-year absence, he’ll have to become re-accustomed to the tight schedule and requirements of schooling, while learning to operate heavy machinery, while catching up on the grades seventh through ninth, which he lacks so far. He says he can do it and I believe him. I have the feeling he understands that this is pretty much his one – if not only - chance to get out of the funk of his dependency and be defined by what by what he has to offer, rather then what he lacks.
The principle asked us to return the next day to settle all forms, signatures and payments, so we found ourselves with half a day of free time in the South Gobi. I so rarely have half a day of free time that I decided I wanted to be a tourist for once!
We hired a driver with a Russian jeep to drive to the Sand Dunes, which were supposed to be three hours away. On the way, we would visit the Valley of the Vultures, a narrow mountain formation, which Mongolians describe as their mini Grand Canyon.
We walked along the stream that had carved its way through the valley. The mountains above us became so narrow that the sun wouldn’t reach, unless it was straight above us. Somehow, the valley reminded me on Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock. I could easily see us disappear into another world, never to be heard from again.
Unfortunately, we had to rush through the valley in order to make it before sundown to the Sand Dunes. It turned out all the rushing didn’t help, mainly because the drive was six hours instead of the promised three. I should have known better.
By the time we arrived, I had permanent nerve damage in my butt (after all we just survived a 16 hour bus ride!) and was mad as hell. The sun was just about to disappear, so the three of us hopped out of the car and rushed towards the dunes. As soon as we arrived on the top of the first dune, my mood changed. It is a magical place; Sahara like dunes in the middle of an oasis, surrounded by mountains.
The mountains are said to be three women. They once met three herders, who promised to return for them. The woman waited, first patiently then desperately, but no one came. Because of their deep sadness and longing, they turned into stone and became the mountains that now runs alongside the ever-moving sand dunes. When the wind quiets down, you can still hear them calling for their men.
It’s a Mongolian tradition to write your name into the sand while in the dunes. Surprisingly – or maybe not – Vannie kept moving from spot to spot, writing his name just to cover it up with sand again. Those are the moments I would like to preserve, hoping that eventually they will forgive us, and themselves.
We suddenly heard a thundering noise. With the last sliver of daylight a team of horses appeared at the ridge of the dunes, galloping towards us. It was so surreal. Apparently they went home, as horses always do, which I didn’t know. There is a story of a horse that was given as a gift to the Vietnamese Prime Minister, when he visited Mongolia. They flew the horse to Vietnam, where it escaped and eventually, many months later, it reappeared in Mongolia, at his true owner’s yurt. I love that story.
For having been in the Sand Dunes of South Gobi for exactly 25 minutes, I have seen and felt quite a bit!
Friday, September 2, 2011
On The Way to Gobi
The emergency that brought me back here was caused by Nasa, but by the time I managed to free my schedule, it was almost 1st of September, the official start day for all schools in Mongolia.
Nasa will have to wait until Vannie’s new life is settled.
Upon my arrival on Friday night and still at the airport, Khosoo surprised me with good news and a plan. He had found a vocational school that would accept Vannie, even so he lacks the requirements. The school is located in Gobi, the new center of economical development in the deep south of Mongolia.
I always wanted to go to Gobi, that magical place so far away and untouched. I didn’t expected to go there by bus though, more like a flying carpet, or a modern airplane?! But money is always tight, and if the Mongolians can do it, I can do it too!
Besides, half the time I am not making these decisions, but they are made for me. I was granted one day of rest – which wasn’t really a rest, since I went to the countryside to pick up Vannie. Vannie listened carefully when we mapped out the next two-and-a-half years of his life and agreed without a moment of hesistation. His excitement, even so he didn't show much of it, was motivating.
The next day in the early am, Khosoo’s son Temuulen, Vannie and I climbed into that rattling Russian mini bus for a 16 hour drive to Gobi. I accepted the baby that someone deposited into my lab, in addition to the oversized bag of who knows who’s, and off we went.
You think it’s not possible, but it is. And then there are these moments, that made it all worth it, if not magical.
Nasa will have to wait until Vannie’s new life is settled.
Upon my arrival on Friday night and still at the airport, Khosoo surprised me with good news and a plan. He had found a vocational school that would accept Vannie, even so he lacks the requirements. The school is located in Gobi, the new center of economical development in the deep south of Mongolia.
I always wanted to go to Gobi, that magical place so far away and untouched. I didn’t expected to go there by bus though, more like a flying carpet, or a modern airplane?! But money is always tight, and if the Mongolians can do it, I can do it too!
Besides, half the time I am not making these decisions, but they are made for me. I was granted one day of rest – which wasn’t really a rest, since I went to the countryside to pick up Vannie. Vannie listened carefully when we mapped out the next two-and-a-half years of his life and agreed without a moment of hesistation. His excitement, even so he didn't show much of it, was motivating.
The next day in the early am, Khosoo’s son Temuulen, Vannie and I climbed into that rattling Russian mini bus for a 16 hour drive to Gobi. I accepted the baby that someone deposited into my lab, in addition to the oversized bag of who knows who’s, and off we went.
You think it’s not possible, but it is. And then there are these moments, that made it all worth it, if not magical.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Emmergency Trip
I am back on my way to Mongolia. We seem to have a couple emergencies which need to be solved. Now. Who would have thought I get to go back so quickly!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Making It Happen
So far, I could only guess how difficult it is to raise a child properly (what ever that means!), but this trip was a true revelation.
I bet I still can only guess. As the philosopher Thomas Nagel puts it, if you want to know what it is like to be a bat you have to be a bat, otherwise you simply imagining yourself as a bat.
Quite a few people got involved to organize schooling for Nasa and securing a job interview for Baaskaa. Orphaned kids, who don’t belong to anyone in particular, but to an abstract entity like a government, need a huge amount of support to get things done.
There is me, who initiate things; then there is Selenge, who gets things rolling; her friend or acquaintance who knows someone who in turn can put us in touch with someone else; and then the actual target figures, the teacher or the manager. To complicate things even further, they then have to be willing to be lenient, because our kids rarely meet basic requirements. They often don’t have a proper ID card, an address or a social security number. Teaching our kids, or employing them, is always more work for the respective authority. Our kids don’t have an education that holds up with others, they have not learned linear thinking or planning. While today is crucial, they don’t perceive tomorrow as significant. These disadvantages need to be recognized by the teacher or manager and dealt with individually.
Nevertheless, we got it done. I am very proud of our results, but without Selenge, nothing would have happened. She was the one who got the right information, made the right connections and persuaded people in the right position to listen to the kids.
I am not the only one who recognized that. When asked about our relationship, Baaskaa announced us as his Mongolian and American mothers.
I bet I still can only guess. As the philosopher Thomas Nagel puts it, if you want to know what it is like to be a bat you have to be a bat, otherwise you simply imagining yourself as a bat.
Quite a few people got involved to organize schooling for Nasa and securing a job interview for Baaskaa. Orphaned kids, who don’t belong to anyone in particular, but to an abstract entity like a government, need a huge amount of support to get things done.
There is me, who initiate things; then there is Selenge, who gets things rolling; her friend or acquaintance who knows someone who in turn can put us in touch with someone else; and then the actual target figures, the teacher or the manager. To complicate things even further, they then have to be willing to be lenient, because our kids rarely meet basic requirements. They often don’t have a proper ID card, an address or a social security number. Teaching our kids, or employing them, is always more work for the respective authority. Our kids don’t have an education that holds up with others, they have not learned linear thinking or planning. While today is crucial, they don’t perceive tomorrow as significant. These disadvantages need to be recognized by the teacher or manager and dealt with individually.
Nevertheless, we got it done. I am very proud of our results, but without Selenge, nothing would have happened. She was the one who got the right information, made the right connections and persuaded people in the right position to listen to the kids.
I am not the only one who recognized that. When asked about our relationship, Baaskaa announced us as his Mongolian and American mothers.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
We made it back home
I miss the kids. I miss watching them try to understand the world, or at least the task at hand. I even miss helping Nasa with her math homework. Somewhat. I long for their laughter and their tender touches.
There is nothing else to say.
There is nothing else to say.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Leaving Baaskaa behind
That’s it, we have reached the end of our journey. We spent our last night packing and cleaning up. As usual, my luggage shrank and contains now mostly folded duffle bags and felt slippers, thank-you gifts for donors. What was our home got retransformed into an anonymous, public space.
Our plane leaves in the early morning hours. I had envisioned one last breakfast, just Baaskaa and me, but Ayuraa and Khosoo come to pick us up unexpectedly early, when Baaskaa is still asleep. All I can do is to wake him up and tell him to come down for the final good-bye.
The night is moonless and cold and only one sad bulb illuminates the courtyard, casting a green light. This is where we’ll have to part.
While the last suitcases are being pushed into the car, I pull Baaskaa aside, and immediately all action stops. Everyone stares at us, waiting for what will happen next. (Baaskaa is proud that he never cries when I leave but I know this time he’ll struggle. I always cry, I don’t even try to hide it anymore!)
Under the stare of everyone I don’t know what to say, other then the usual “Be careful, stay strong, write me, call Selenge when you need something, don’t go with strangers, etc”, and I hug him tight. Every time I have to leave him behind, I need to hug him a bit longer.
Then everything becomes a movie. I am in the car, the car drives off, out of the back window, I see Baaskaa become smaller and smaller in the distance, roving in circles, a tense lion measuring his cage. Then we make a right turn and I loose sight of him.
I would give a lot, A LOT, for never having to say good-bye to him again.
Our plane leaves in the early morning hours. I had envisioned one last breakfast, just Baaskaa and me, but Ayuraa and Khosoo come to pick us up unexpectedly early, when Baaskaa is still asleep. All I can do is to wake him up and tell him to come down for the final good-bye.
The night is moonless and cold and only one sad bulb illuminates the courtyard, casting a green light. This is where we’ll have to part.
While the last suitcases are being pushed into the car, I pull Baaskaa aside, and immediately all action stops. Everyone stares at us, waiting for what will happen next. (Baaskaa is proud that he never cries when I leave but I know this time he’ll struggle. I always cry, I don’t even try to hide it anymore!)
Under the stare of everyone I don’t know what to say, other then the usual “Be careful, stay strong, write me, call Selenge when you need something, don’t go with strangers, etc”, and I hug him tight. Every time I have to leave him behind, I need to hug him a bit longer.
Then everything becomes a movie. I am in the car, the car drives off, out of the back window, I see Baaskaa become smaller and smaller in the distance, roving in circles, a tense lion measuring his cage. Then we make a right turn and I loose sight of him.
I would give a lot, A LOT, for never having to say good-bye to him again.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Leaving Nasa behind
Today we dropped Nasa with her new family. They are wonderful people, strong, quiet and determined. Nasa will be surrounded by three generations; the grandfather, who watches the baby, while the mother is at work, and two girls, ages six and nine. These are perfect siblings for Nasa, who loves having younger friends and taking care of babies. The girls can help Nasa with her homework, since they are in similar grade levels.
The family takes care of Ayuraa’s summerhouse. It's an old tradition in Mongolia, stemming from their past as herder’s. In order to give the pasture time to recover for the next season, herders graze their animals in different places during the summer and winter. City people followed this tradition – if they can afford it – and built summerhouses out in the country, where they would spend their vacation.
The only drawback for Nasa is the one-hour bus ride, each way, to get to school. On her first morning, Selenge and I joined Nasa for her first bus ride. To my surprise, her foster mom Narangarel accompanied us, because she wanted to introduce herself to Nasa's teacher.
I love to take the bus in UB, but no one ever lets me. My friends are concerned that it would be too dangerous, which is almost cute - after all I am living in NYC! Riding the bus in UB is like any other public event. There are no physical boundaries. When the bus gets full, you find yourself squeezed with three people on a two-seat bench and an unknown baby or over sized bag on your lab. Nasa doesn’t like tight crowds; she was constantly trying to create space around her, in vain.
After school, I walked her to the stop, to make sure she takes the right bus home. I wrote down the number on a slip of paper for her to keep, so every time a bus came, she compared the numbers, happy to find them match after a while.
This was also our good bye.
Earlier in the morning Nasa and I were waiting in front of the classroom for the teacher’s arrival. Nasa was talkative, holding and squeezing my hand, not letting go of me for a second. In the afternoon, when we had the camera rolling, she was a cool cat, not flinching once when we had to part. She gave me a slight nod and climbed into the bus. I had to call her back to give her a hug, but then she quickly disappeared into the crowd.
The family takes care of Ayuraa’s summerhouse. It's an old tradition in Mongolia, stemming from their past as herder’s. In order to give the pasture time to recover for the next season, herders graze their animals in different places during the summer and winter. City people followed this tradition – if they can afford it – and built summerhouses out in the country, where they would spend their vacation.
The only drawback for Nasa is the one-hour bus ride, each way, to get to school. On her first morning, Selenge and I joined Nasa for her first bus ride. To my surprise, her foster mom Narangarel accompanied us, because she wanted to introduce herself to Nasa's teacher.
I love to take the bus in UB, but no one ever lets me. My friends are concerned that it would be too dangerous, which is almost cute - after all I am living in NYC! Riding the bus in UB is like any other public event. There are no physical boundaries. When the bus gets full, you find yourself squeezed with three people on a two-seat bench and an unknown baby or over sized bag on your lab. Nasa doesn’t like tight crowds; she was constantly trying to create space around her, in vain.
After school, I walked her to the stop, to make sure she takes the right bus home. I wrote down the number on a slip of paper for her to keep, so every time a bus came, she compared the numbers, happy to find them match after a while.
This was also our good bye.
Earlier in the morning Nasa and I were waiting in front of the classroom for the teacher’s arrival. Nasa was talkative, holding and squeezing my hand, not letting go of me for a second. In the afternoon, when we had the camera rolling, she was a cool cat, not flinching once when we had to part. She gave me a slight nod and climbed into the bus. I had to call her back to give her a hug, but then she quickly disappeared into the crowd.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum extend his solo tour summer 2011.
RollingStone.com 6/11/2011
Jeff Mangum Adds More Solo Dates
Neutral Milk Hotel's songwriter Jeff Mangum has added five dates to his upcoming solo tour. In addition to a string of sold out shows announced earlier this year, the reclusive singer will also play at the First Unitarian Church in Burlington, Vermont on August 8th, Cabaret du Mile-End in Montreal on August 10th, the Academy of Music Theater in Northhampton, Massachusetts on September 7th and 2640 Space at St. John's Church in Baltimore, Maryland on September 26th and 27th. $1 per each ticket for these shows will go to the Children of the Blue Sky charity. [Press release]
I am truly touched by Jeff’s generosity.
This isn't the first time. When I started my project in Mongolia in 2008, I approached friends and colleagues for support and donations, something I could never imagine myself doing! Me asking for help and money – impossible!
To my surprise I got immediate and generous responses even while we were in the middle of a recession.
Astra Taylor and Jeff Mangum had the great idea to organize an art auction. They contacted their musician and filmmaker friends and asked them to donate their work for the charity auction. We got signed CDs, posters, t-shirts with beautiful and funky drawings (many of them by Jeff), books, a Dwight Schrute Bobblehead from the man himself and many more items. The revenues of the auction enabled me to go to Mongolia and set up two kids in 2009.
And now he's at it again. One dollar of every ticket is very generous. I assume musicians like him, who stay true to their music, won’t make millions at the box office, so Jeff’s support is really special to me.
I am pretty sure his ticket sales will allow me to put my three kids through school this summer, so two of them can get their middle school diplomas. This is HUGE for kids who have had little, if any, schooling at all.
Thank you Jeff!
Jeff Mangum Adds More Solo Dates
Neutral Milk Hotel's songwriter Jeff Mangum has added five dates to his upcoming solo tour. In addition to a string of sold out shows announced earlier this year, the reclusive singer will also play at the First Unitarian Church in Burlington, Vermont on August 8th, Cabaret du Mile-End in Montreal on August 10th, the Academy of Music Theater in Northhampton, Massachusetts on September 7th and 2640 Space at St. John's Church in Baltimore, Maryland on September 26th and 27th. $1 per each ticket for these shows will go to the Children of the Blue Sky charity. [Press release]
I am truly touched by Jeff’s generosity.
This isn't the first time. When I started my project in Mongolia in 2008, I approached friends and colleagues for support and donations, something I could never imagine myself doing! Me asking for help and money – impossible!
To my surprise I got immediate and generous responses even while we were in the middle of a recession.
Astra Taylor and Jeff Mangum had the great idea to organize an art auction. They contacted their musician and filmmaker friends and asked them to donate their work for the charity auction. We got signed CDs, posters, t-shirts with beautiful and funky drawings (many of them by Jeff), books, a Dwight Schrute Bobblehead from the man himself and many more items. The revenues of the auction enabled me to go to Mongolia and set up two kids in 2009.
And now he's at it again. One dollar of every ticket is very generous. I assume musicians like him, who stay true to their music, won’t make millions at the box office, so Jeff’s support is really special to me.
I am pretty sure his ticket sales will allow me to put my three kids through school this summer, so two of them can get their middle school diplomas. This is HUGE for kids who have had little, if any, schooling at all.
Thank you Jeff!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The Roar Of A Lion Cub
One of the first things that Baaskaa did upon arriving in the city was calling his friends. While in Naleikh he had developed strong bonds with a couple of friends and they had stayed in touch. But since Baaskaa lacked his own phone and the ability to visit the city, their communication was spotty at best. As soon as they had a chance to reconnect, Baaskaa and his two friends Enkhee and Huvlee became inseparable. Enkhee would go home late at night, just to reappear early in the morning, while Huvlee only left us every so often for a couple hours, to visit his sister.
Baaskaa was a proud host. He enjoyed having a home and welcome visitors. They cooked together, discuss live and work, did laundry, ran errands and went grocery shopping. For my birthday I got a present from Baaskaa and Enkhee, with a card, “I love Mom, Baaskaa and Enkhee”.
Baaskaa had also called Davaa, who subsequently stayed with us for a couple days. He seemed to be more withdrawn, less open, than usual. As always, Davaa had his own plans and was a bit unwilling to share them. It became obvious that Baaskaa's and Davaa's friendship had changed.
Two days later Davaa disappeared again. When I asked where he is, Baaskaa just shrugged his shoulders; he had gone home again. Just like that.
Photos by Enkhee.
I loved having Baaska's friends around because it gave me the chance to observe him and get to know a new side of him. Out in the country he is either the son or apprentice to Byambaa or the big brother to Bennie. Here he was amongst equals; they are same age and have the same profession, interest and dreams.
After a couple days I realized that both Enkhee and Huvlee called Baaskaa “Bambar”. It’s such a beautiful name, it just rolls off the tongue. Turns out bambar means lion cub in Mongolian.
While living on the street Baaskaa had loved a specific ice cream called Bambar, with an image of a lion’s head on the wrapper. Whenever he had money, Baaskaa would buy himself the ice cream. The other kids started calling him Bambar and that name stuck with him, even in Naleikh. He never understood how the name made it to the vocational school, 80 miles away from UB, but he explained that if I’d ask around for Baaskaa, no one would know who I am looking for, because everyone only knows him as Bambar.
Again, three and a half years before I find out that he has a different name that is dear to him and that he is known by amongst his friends!!!
These were two stories about lions within a couple days, so I decided to change the title of the film. Baaskaa, the lion cub, who is getting ready to concur the world, and who has a dangerous, sleeping lion hidden in his heart, who he’s afraid to wake up. Yet, I can’t wait to hear him roar.
Baaskaa was a proud host. He enjoyed having a home and welcome visitors. They cooked together, discuss live and work, did laundry, ran errands and went grocery shopping. For my birthday I got a present from Baaskaa and Enkhee, with a card, “I love Mom, Baaskaa and Enkhee”.
Baaskaa had also called Davaa, who subsequently stayed with us for a couple days. He seemed to be more withdrawn, less open, than usual. As always, Davaa had his own plans and was a bit unwilling to share them. It became obvious that Baaskaa's and Davaa's friendship had changed.
Two days later Davaa disappeared again. When I asked where he is, Baaskaa just shrugged his shoulders; he had gone home again. Just like that.
Photos by Enkhee.
I loved having Baaska's friends around because it gave me the chance to observe him and get to know a new side of him. Out in the country he is either the son or apprentice to Byambaa or the big brother to Bennie. Here he was amongst equals; they are same age and have the same profession, interest and dreams.
While living on the street Baaskaa had loved a specific ice cream called Bambar, with an image of a lion’s head on the wrapper. Whenever he had money, Baaskaa would buy himself the ice cream. The other kids started calling him Bambar and that name stuck with him, even in Naleikh. He never understood how the name made it to the vocational school, 80 miles away from UB, but he explained that if I’d ask around for Baaskaa, no one would know who I am looking for, because everyone only knows him as Bambar.
Again, three and a half years before I find out that he has a different name that is dear to him and that he is known by amongst his friends!!!
These were two stories about lions within a couple days, so I decided to change the title of the film. Baaskaa, the lion cub, who is getting ready to concur the world, and who has a dangerous, sleeping lion hidden in his heart, who he’s afraid to wake up. Yet, I can’t wait to hear him roar.
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Visit to the Shaman
Baaskaa had always showed interest in spirituality. There is no doubt in his mind that a higher power exists, he’s just not sure how to describe it.
During my last visit in October 2010, Baaskaa and I discussed Buddhism and Shamanism. We had visited a monastery, which housed a school for young monks, whom we had the opportunity to observe during prayer & meditation. Upon his return to the countryside, Baaskaa imitated what he had seen and cut his hair in the monks’ fashion.
Now, at an important crossroad in his life, Baaskaa expressed a strong wish to visit a Shaman. He had a specific question he needed answered: is he on the right path and will he be successful in life.
We tried to find a Shaman that would allow us to go together, the Mongolian and the American, but all Shamans refused to see me. They pointed out that it would be difficult and confusing to call the spirits of my ancestors, as they are too far away.
I was heart broken; I had envisioned this moment since month and wanted to be there with Baaskaa. But to grant him his wish, I had to back out.
Selenge accompanied Baaskaa, since it was her Shaman, whom she regularly consults. Apparently it was a quick session. Selenge tried to give the Shaman a bit of Baaskaa’s back-story, but he just waved her off. He looked at Baaskaa for a long time until Baaskaa could feel a strange heat flowing through his body.
©Julia Calfee, Enktoya, Female Shaman in Northern Mongolia
The Shaman confirmed that Baaskaa was on the right path. He said that he’d be fine, that he’d have a wonderful life if he keeps focusing on his goals, but he’d have to be careful not to be eaten up by his anger. His anger and wish for revenge would take over if he’d not control and tame it.
I was very surprised, but Baaskaa understood what the Shaman meant, and admitted that he was very angry.
At occasions I had seen his anger flare up, particular at the beginning of our relationship, towards me and now towards Byambaa, but that anger was either a tool of self-protection, or a result of disappointment.
When I came for the second time to Mongolia, I picked two more children I'd be responsible for, which disappointed Baaskaa. It made him feel he was just part of a program, rather then an individual that got chosen. As for Byambaa, Baaskaa felt disappointed lately because he became insecure about his status within Byambaa’s family. Was he a family member, which is what he had believed for the last three years or was he just a mere farm hand?
To me it’s obvious that anger can be a powerful tool of protection and a strong reaction to emotional pain and disappointment and Baaskaa had plenty of reasons to be disappointed. Unfortunately he thinks anger is simply bad and undesirable.
He described his anger as a sleeping lion, who lies in a hidden cave of his heart. After the Shaman visit he promised himself to make sure that the lion will stay in the cave, undisturbed.
I on the other hand, can’t wait for the lion to announce his presence with a loud roar!
For more information on Shamanism and Buddhism:
http://www.mongoliatourism.org/mongolia-introduction/religions-mongolia.html
During my last visit in October 2010, Baaskaa and I discussed Buddhism and Shamanism. We had visited a monastery, which housed a school for young monks, whom we had the opportunity to observe during prayer & meditation. Upon his return to the countryside, Baaskaa imitated what he had seen and cut his hair in the monks’ fashion.
Now, at an important crossroad in his life, Baaskaa expressed a strong wish to visit a Shaman. He had a specific question he needed answered: is he on the right path and will he be successful in life.
We tried to find a Shaman that would allow us to go together, the Mongolian and the American, but all Shamans refused to see me. They pointed out that it would be difficult and confusing to call the spirits of my ancestors, as they are too far away.
I was heart broken; I had envisioned this moment since month and wanted to be there with Baaskaa. But to grant him his wish, I had to back out.
Selenge accompanied Baaskaa, since it was her Shaman, whom she regularly consults. Apparently it was a quick session. Selenge tried to give the Shaman a bit of Baaskaa’s back-story, but he just waved her off. He looked at Baaskaa for a long time until Baaskaa could feel a strange heat flowing through his body.
The Shaman confirmed that Baaskaa was on the right path. He said that he’d be fine, that he’d have a wonderful life if he keeps focusing on his goals, but he’d have to be careful not to be eaten up by his anger. His anger and wish for revenge would take over if he’d not control and tame it.
I was very surprised, but Baaskaa understood what the Shaman meant, and admitted that he was very angry.
At occasions I had seen his anger flare up, particular at the beginning of our relationship, towards me and now towards Byambaa, but that anger was either a tool of self-protection, or a result of disappointment.
When I came for the second time to Mongolia, I picked two more children I'd be responsible for, which disappointed Baaskaa. It made him feel he was just part of a program, rather then an individual that got chosen. As for Byambaa, Baaskaa felt disappointed lately because he became insecure about his status within Byambaa’s family. Was he a family member, which is what he had believed for the last three years or was he just a mere farm hand?
To me it’s obvious that anger can be a powerful tool of protection and a strong reaction to emotional pain and disappointment and Baaskaa had plenty of reasons to be disappointed. Unfortunately he thinks anger is simply bad and undesirable.
He described his anger as a sleeping lion, who lies in a hidden cave of his heart. After the Shaman visit he promised himself to make sure that the lion will stay in the cave, undisturbed.
I on the other hand, can’t wait for the lion to announce his presence with a loud roar!
For more information on Shamanism and Buddhism:
http://www.mongoliatourism.org/mongolia-introduction/religions-mongolia.html
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Evaluation
After attending three and a half days in a private school Baaskaa’s level of education was evaluated.
Based on performance in class and homework, his knowledge and use of the Mongolian language is assessed as fourth grade level, while his math skills are assessed as seventh grade level.
Baaskaa is very embarrassed about these results. As he puts it, he’s 19 years old and has an education level of a 10 to 12 year old. It had been difficult to convince him that being evaluated will be helpful in the future. I tried to make him understand that the knowledge will give him the power to act and change things – not necessarily something a 19 year old fully appreciates or understands. But I think somehow he is glad he did it. He acted more embarrassed then he really was.
He didn’t have the luxury to go to school, not for a single day in 16 years, yet he learned how to read, write and solve math problems entirely by himself, without anyone motivating him! For that and what it stands for I am incredibly proud of him.
His tutor is creating a long-term program, which he can complete online, while at work. The goal is to bring him up to eighth grade level in both subjects and prepare him for his middle school diploma. I am not sure how long it will take Baaskaa if he works full time, but at least we have a plan.
This kid could do what ever he wants, if only we could take care of the basics. I keep telling him and encourage him to look at opportunities and possibilities he never had the luxury to consider. He listens intently, but stays skeptical. One day I will get through to him.
Based on performance in class and homework, his knowledge and use of the Mongolian language is assessed as fourth grade level, while his math skills are assessed as seventh grade level.
Baaskaa is very embarrassed about these results. As he puts it, he’s 19 years old and has an education level of a 10 to 12 year old. It had been difficult to convince him that being evaluated will be helpful in the future. I tried to make him understand that the knowledge will give him the power to act and change things – not necessarily something a 19 year old fully appreciates or understands. But I think somehow he is glad he did it. He acted more embarrassed then he really was.
He didn’t have the luxury to go to school, not for a single day in 16 years, yet he learned how to read, write and solve math problems entirely by himself, without anyone motivating him! For that and what it stands for I am incredibly proud of him.
His tutor is creating a long-term program, which he can complete online, while at work. The goal is to bring him up to eighth grade level in both subjects and prepare him for his middle school diploma. I am not sure how long it will take Baaskaa if he works full time, but at least we have a plan.
This kid could do what ever he wants, if only we could take care of the basics. I keep telling him and encourage him to look at opportunities and possibilities he never had the luxury to consider. He listens intently, but stays skeptical. One day I will get through to him.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Solving math problems with Nasa
Every day I am doing homework with Nasa. I try to enlist Baaskaa every so often, but without much luck.
I can’t blame him. He spent one long evening trying to explain and solve her math problems. Nasa was all over the place and tried to wiggle her way out of homework by being funny and entertaining, but Baaskaa never gave up or lost his patience. Steadily and firmly he brought her attention back to her notebook and no matter how many times she came to a wrong conclusion, he went back to the beginning, until she got it right.
They started her homework after we ate dinner. By 11:30pm they successfully had all math problems solved.
I learned from watching; now we start before dinner.☺
Reading and writing went smoothly and math became easier with time. I developed a system of demonstrating addition by using sugar cubes and I bought a colorful counting book for preschoolers, which visualized numbers through images of fruit. When I ripped the book apart to hang the single pages on the wall, Nasa got incredible excited. I think this was the most excited I have ever seen her; something was added to the house that was just for her.
Things were groovy and moved along. And then the teacher introduced her to subtraction.
Nasa couldn’t comprehend why you would take something away, in theory, when it was obviously physically still there. We had x amount of sugar cubes and I pretended I would take them away, when they clearly were in my hand. It just didn’t make sense to her.
And I found no way of explaining it. These are the moments when it really becomes frustrating that we don’t have a common language. But it wasn’t just a language issue, Baaskaa tried too (half heartedly, I admit), and couldn’t explain it to her either. Pointing a camera at her wasn’t really helping the cause. At some point I had to put the film maker in me on the back burner and asked Blake to stop shooting, in the hope that it would make her feel less pressured. But it was too late, by now I had lost my patience and Nasa was muttering complains while shooting the sugar cubes from one end of the table to the other.
I felt awful and helpless. There was something about subtraction, that she couldn’t comprehend and I couldn’t figure out how to break that barrier. What do you do in a situation like that?
The next morning I apologized to the teacher for not having completed the homework (yes, I gave up!) and asked her to explain subtraction again.
That evening Nasa and I started all over again, without camera. Sadly it turned into a repetition of the previous evening. Except that this time no one dared to enter the kitchen anymore.
What do you do, if you can’t explain something as simple as 5 – 3 = 2?
I can’t blame him. He spent one long evening trying to explain and solve her math problems. Nasa was all over the place and tried to wiggle her way out of homework by being funny and entertaining, but Baaskaa never gave up or lost his patience. Steadily and firmly he brought her attention back to her notebook and no matter how many times she came to a wrong conclusion, he went back to the beginning, until she got it right.
They started her homework after we ate dinner. By 11:30pm they successfully had all math problems solved.
I learned from watching; now we start before dinner.☺
Reading and writing went smoothly and math became easier with time. I developed a system of demonstrating addition by using sugar cubes and I bought a colorful counting book for preschoolers, which visualized numbers through images of fruit. When I ripped the book apart to hang the single pages on the wall, Nasa got incredible excited. I think this was the most excited I have ever seen her; something was added to the house that was just for her.
Things were groovy and moved along. And then the teacher introduced her to subtraction.
Nasa couldn’t comprehend why you would take something away, in theory, when it was obviously physically still there. We had x amount of sugar cubes and I pretended I would take them away, when they clearly were in my hand. It just didn’t make sense to her.
And I found no way of explaining it. These are the moments when it really becomes frustrating that we don’t have a common language. But it wasn’t just a language issue, Baaskaa tried too (half heartedly, I admit), and couldn’t explain it to her either. Pointing a camera at her wasn’t really helping the cause. At some point I had to put the film maker in me on the back burner and asked Blake to stop shooting, in the hope that it would make her feel less pressured. But it was too late, by now I had lost my patience and Nasa was muttering complains while shooting the sugar cubes from one end of the table to the other.
I felt awful and helpless. There was something about subtraction, that she couldn’t comprehend and I couldn’t figure out how to break that barrier. What do you do in a situation like that?
The next morning I apologized to the teacher for not having completed the homework (yes, I gave up!) and asked her to explain subtraction again.
That evening Nasa and I started all over again, without camera. Sadly it turned into a repetition of the previous evening. Except that this time no one dared to enter the kitchen anymore.
What do you do, if you can’t explain something as simple as 5 – 3 = 2?
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Nasa discovers the power of images
Nasa is getting quite adventurous during this trip.
While staying with Baaskaa, Bennie and me, Nasa developed a natural curiosity. At first she stuck to the script, telling us what she thought we expected to hear. But when she got to listen to Baaska and Bennie mapping out their future and complaining about their situation, she went silent. It was a curious silence. When I asked her what her dream was she looked quite startled, “No one ever asked me what I wanted!”
Because she started to learn how to read and write, she began looking at her environment differently.
Tired of Baaskaa’s and my cooking, she wanted to cook for herself. It took me a moment to realize that she didn’t understand the meaning of the numbers on the knobs of our electrical cooking plate. She just switched it on and off randomly, because she had seen us doing it. The concept that the temperature would increase with the corresponding number, 0-off and 4-the hottest, was foreign to her. It sounds silly, but when you think about it, someone must have explained to me how to use numerology in my daily life. Just because she could count from 1 to 10 didn’t mean she understands the larger concept of numbers.
From the very beginning Nasa experienced me with a camera permanently attached to my hand. This shiny expensive looking black object was so out of her realm that she just ignored it throughout the years. Out of the blue, she picked up my ‘point & shoot’ Lumix and fired away. At first she went crazy with it, but then she actually started to look at the pictures and adjusted her angles and compositions. (She ignored the exposure time, which makes her pictures more beautiful to me).
I loved it and tried to pose for her, but she wouldn’t have it. She had learnt from me, as I always asked the kids to be themselves and ignore the camera. Tough concept in Mongolia, people only take pictures when dressed up and on special occasions. The idea of candid photography is still a foreign one.
I was so proud of her running around the apartment and snapping pictures of everything that she deemed important. At first she was shy, taking pictures of objects only, but then she became brave and photographed us – well, mainly Baaskaa and his friends.
I adore Nasa's self portrait, of all her images it's my favorite.
While staying with Baaskaa, Bennie and me, Nasa developed a natural curiosity. At first she stuck to the script, telling us what she thought we expected to hear. But when she got to listen to Baaska and Bennie mapping out their future and complaining about their situation, she went silent. It was a curious silence. When I asked her what her dream was she looked quite startled, “No one ever asked me what I wanted!”
Because she started to learn how to read and write, she began looking at her environment differently.
Tired of Baaskaa’s and my cooking, she wanted to cook for herself. It took me a moment to realize that she didn’t understand the meaning of the numbers on the knobs of our electrical cooking plate. She just switched it on and off randomly, because she had seen us doing it. The concept that the temperature would increase with the corresponding number, 0-off and 4-the hottest, was foreign to her. It sounds silly, but when you think about it, someone must have explained to me how to use numerology in my daily life. Just because she could count from 1 to 10 didn’t mean she understands the larger concept of numbers.
From the very beginning Nasa experienced me with a camera permanently attached to my hand. This shiny expensive looking black object was so out of her realm that she just ignored it throughout the years. Out of the blue, she picked up my ‘point & shoot’ Lumix and fired away. At first she went crazy with it, but then she actually started to look at the pictures and adjusted her angles and compositions. (She ignored the exposure time, which makes her pictures more beautiful to me).
I loved it and tried to pose for her, but she wouldn’t have it. She had learnt from me, as I always asked the kids to be themselves and ignore the camera. Tough concept in Mongolia, people only take pictures when dressed up and on special occasions. The idea of candid photography is still a foreign one.
I was so proud of her running around the apartment and snapping pictures of everything that she deemed important. At first she was shy, taking pictures of objects only, but then she became brave and photographed us – well, mainly Baaskaa and his friends.
I adore Nasa's self portrait, of all her images it's my favorite.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Leaving Bennie behind
The day has come; Bennie has to return to the country, while Baaskaa stays the city.
Most of the time Bennie was a quiet by-stander while in UB. He participated somewhat, but mostly from the sidelines. In his defense, we were so busy with schooling Nasa and finding a job for Baaskaa that there wasn’t much room left. Often we had to leave him waiting in the apartment, while we were out and about, getting things done.
At the moment he isn’t all that happy in the countryside even so he loves the live and handling animals. Like Baaskaa, he feels that while in the country he has no choices. To avoid feeling trapped and expand his skills he decided to start vocational training in the fall of 2011. But due to new regulations he needs an eight-grade diploma in order to enroll in Naleikh.
I will have to figure out a whole new set of issues. We need to properly evaluate Bennie’s level of education and hire a private tutor to bring him up to speed to eight’ grade. While in school in UB he needs to live somewhere with supervision. I am not sure how to organize and finance all that, but thank goodness I have a bit of practice facing these difficulties.
While returning Bennie to the farm, we informed Byambaa about Baaskaa’s job opportunities. Byambaa was happy for Baaskaa, but sad to see him go. Live in the country can become quite lonely and they had spent the last three years together. Over time Baaskaa had become more like a partner then a son.
When it was time to say good-bye to Bennie, everyone tried to keep it light and short. Bennie waved and without much ado he went back to work.
I imagine it has been hard for the boys to separate, they had spent two years together, the last one 24/7. They shared a bed and embraced each other during the night. They leaned on each other, encouraged each other and exchanged their secrets, fears and hopes.
Yet, both of them have encountered so many people come and go throughout their short lives. Some they’ll meet again, others they won’t. They don’t have the luxury to cry about their losses if they want survive them. First I followed Baaskaa’s lead and made a joke while saying good-bye, but then I couldn’t help it, I hugged Bennie and promised I’d be back. Then I turned around and got into the car, without looking back.
Most of the time Bennie was a quiet by-stander while in UB. He participated somewhat, but mostly from the sidelines. In his defense, we were so busy with schooling Nasa and finding a job for Baaskaa that there wasn’t much room left. Often we had to leave him waiting in the apartment, while we were out and about, getting things done.
At the moment he isn’t all that happy in the countryside even so he loves the live and handling animals. Like Baaskaa, he feels that while in the country he has no choices. To avoid feeling trapped and expand his skills he decided to start vocational training in the fall of 2011. But due to new regulations he needs an eight-grade diploma in order to enroll in Naleikh.
I will have to figure out a whole new set of issues. We need to properly evaluate Bennie’s level of education and hire a private tutor to bring him up to speed to eight’ grade. While in school in UB he needs to live somewhere with supervision. I am not sure how to organize and finance all that, but thank goodness I have a bit of practice facing these difficulties.
While returning Bennie to the farm, we informed Byambaa about Baaskaa’s job opportunities. Byambaa was happy for Baaskaa, but sad to see him go. Live in the country can become quite lonely and they had spent the last three years together. Over time Baaskaa had become more like a partner then a son.
When it was time to say good-bye to Bennie, everyone tried to keep it light and short. Bennie waved and without much ado he went back to work.
I imagine it has been hard for the boys to separate, they had spent two years together, the last one 24/7. They shared a bed and embraced each other during the night. They leaned on each other, encouraged each other and exchanged their secrets, fears and hopes.
Yet, both of them have encountered so many people come and go throughout their short lives. Some they’ll meet again, others they won’t. They don’t have the luxury to cry about their losses if they want survive them. First I followed Baaskaa’s lead and made a joke while saying good-bye, but then I couldn’t help it, I hugged Bennie and promised I’d be back. Then I turned around and got into the car, without looking back.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Second round of handing out donations.
We went to the care center to distribute the remaining donations Dwight and Leigh, Five Foot Five Prod. organized for us. We still had several North Face jackets and sweaters, more then plenty of sweat pants, underwear and shoes. The shoes were a donation organized by my friend Volker from Worldly Soles, an organization in Australia. He had told his sister in Germany about my work in Mongolia. She spontaneously organized a shoe drive and sent a large box of shoes to NY. I then brought them to Ulaanbaatar. Some of these shoes became Nasa’s favorites, which she wore every day.
I guess we are a good example for a global community!
By now the kids in the care center know me, yet they were suspicious at first, because we were filming them. I think they have been filmed so many times, they are tired to be the show pony. Understandable so. Luckily Baaskaa and Bennie came to help, which put them at ease.
Receiving the clothes finally changed their mood. They were excited and joyful, particular because the clothes we brought were cool, not the usual hand me downs they normally get, practical and useful, yes, but not cool.
It happened to be my birthday, so they sang “Happy Birthday”, to my surprise in English.
The care center is so familiar by now; here's where I met Baaskaa, (after the manhole), where I hang out and "choose" my kids. Every time I return, I recognized and catch up with kids from previous visits. Whenever I enter the door, I hear “…Baaskaa, Baaskaa….”, which makes me aware of how far our story has traveled. But because I know that the expectations are high and I can’t possible meet them, it also makes me slightly uncomfortable to visit the center.
It makes me sad, kids should not have to be overly thankful to get a couple boxers & briefs, they shouldn’t be put into a situation where they want something so badly that they forget their manners and just rip the boxers out of your hands. It should be a given that their basic needs are met. But I guess we all know that.
But when it’s all done they start to enjoy their gifts. They try them on and parade them for each other. You get that big smile from them that makes it all worth it.
I guess we are a good example for a global community!
By now the kids in the care center know me, yet they were suspicious at first, because we were filming them. I think they have been filmed so many times, they are tired to be the show pony. Understandable so. Luckily Baaskaa and Bennie came to help, which put them at ease.
Receiving the clothes finally changed their mood. They were excited and joyful, particular because the clothes we brought were cool, not the usual hand me downs they normally get, practical and useful, yes, but not cool.
It happened to be my birthday, so they sang “Happy Birthday”, to my surprise in English.
The care center is so familiar by now; here's where I met Baaskaa, (after the manhole), where I hang out and "choose" my kids. Every time I return, I recognized and catch up with kids from previous visits. Whenever I enter the door, I hear “…Baaskaa, Baaskaa….”, which makes me aware of how far our story has traveled. But because I know that the expectations are high and I can’t possible meet them, it also makes me slightly uncomfortable to visit the center.
It makes me sad, kids should not have to be overly thankful to get a couple boxers & briefs, they shouldn’t be put into a situation where they want something so badly that they forget their manners and just rip the boxers out of your hands. It should be a given that their basic needs are met. But I guess we all know that.
But when it’s all done they start to enjoy their gifts. They try them on and parade them for each other. You get that big smile from them that makes it all worth it.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Sun Magazine, Readers Write “Shoes”
http://www.thesunmagazine.org/
Shoes
After twenty-three hours of travel, I peeled off my heavy hiking boots the second I entered my apartment. They were still dusty, with traces of cow dung. Mongolian memories.
I opened my duffle bag and a waft of sour whiff welcomed me. The smell of dirty kids, kids who haven’t washed, nor changed their clothes for a while. I spent my last night in Mongolia’s capital Ulaanbaatar, participating in a “collection” of street children. I’ve worked closely with one of the local childcare centers and its staff for the last two years, but this was the first time I participated in a raid.
In 2008 I was hired to shoot a documentary about street children in Ulaanbaatar. One boy volunteered to tell his story. That boy is now “my” boy and calls me his “long distance mom”.
While the kids are close, I never really mind the smell. But half way around the globe, in the safety of my Manhattan apartment, I realized that the smell also entailed some traces of fear, fear of the unpredictable lives these kids are leading. I took the entire duffle bag and went to the Laundromat to dump it in the washer. When I returned home, I was relived that my apartment smelled like me again.
But after puttering around for a while I realized that I wasn’t ready to be back. I wasn’t feeling New York yet; my heart was still in Mongolia, with my kids, the five I had “collected” over the last two years and agreed to be responsible for. Just as I had before I wondered how I, a true New Yorker who can’t get enough of this pulsating city, ended up in Mongolia, in the middle of nowhere, living in a yurt, shoveling manure and cooking three meals a day. I asked myself how I ended up leading a life, at least part time, that couldn’t be more opposite from what I had envisioned for myself, or knew off! Yet, out there I feel an ease and contentment that New York has been denying me.
I wanted both worlds, so I put my dirty boots back on. I called a friend and we met for drinks in my favorite bar. He shook his head, smiling, when he saw my country footwear. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I went home. I laid down, dangling my feet over the edge of the bed. As long as I wore my boots, part of me was still in Mongolia. I could not be fully converted back into my New Yorker self in these unfashionable, practical, dirt-welcoming shoes.
The printed version in the magazine is shorter, edited by the magazine.
After twenty-three hours of travel, I peeled off my heavy hiking boots the second I entered my apartment. They were still dusty, with traces of cow dung. Mongolian memories.
I opened my duffle bag and a waft of sour whiff welcomed me. The smell of dirty kids, kids who haven’t washed, nor changed their clothes for a while. I spent my last night in Mongolia’s capital Ulaanbaatar, participating in a “collection” of street children. I’ve worked closely with one of the local childcare centers and its staff for the last two years, but this was the first time I participated in a raid.
In 2008 I was hired to shoot a documentary about street children in Ulaanbaatar. One boy volunteered to tell his story. That boy is now “my” boy and calls me his “long distance mom”.
While the kids are close, I never really mind the smell. But half way around the globe, in the safety of my Manhattan apartment, I realized that the smell also entailed some traces of fear, fear of the unpredictable lives these kids are leading. I took the entire duffle bag and went to the Laundromat to dump it in the washer. When I returned home, I was relived that my apartment smelled like me again.
But after puttering around for a while I realized that I wasn’t ready to be back. I wasn’t feeling New York yet; my heart was still in Mongolia, with my kids, the five I had “collected” over the last two years and agreed to be responsible for. Just as I had before I wondered how I, a true New Yorker who can’t get enough of this pulsating city, ended up in Mongolia, in the middle of nowhere, living in a yurt, shoveling manure and cooking three meals a day. I asked myself how I ended up leading a life, at least part time, that couldn’t be more opposite from what I had envisioned for myself, or knew off! Yet, out there I feel an ease and contentment that New York has been denying me.
I wanted both worlds, so I put my dirty boots back on. I called a friend and we met for drinks in my favorite bar. He shook his head, smiling, when he saw my country footwear. When I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, I went home. I laid down, dangling my feet over the edge of the bed. As long as I wore my boots, part of me was still in Mongolia. I could not be fully converted back into my New Yorker self in these unfashionable, practical, dirt-welcoming shoes.
The printed version in the magazine is shorter, edited by the magazine.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Finding a job for Baaskaa - part three: Gobi is calling.
Still Day 9, Baaskaa’s gets a call for yet another job.
As soon as we left the office, Baaskaa’s friend Enkhee called. The two were classmates in Naleikh and became close friends.
Upon Baaskaa’s arrival in UB I gave him a phone, so I could be in contact with him. But he saw it differently ☺. He had been in the countryside with no means of communication and being able to call his friends was sweet medicine for him. His pre-paid phone card had to be refilled numerous times!
Enkhee had heard about a mining company recruiting for their Gobi operations, so he investigated and learned there were several openings. I was stunned; we went from panicking about the lack of opportunities to having choices.
The boys called a third friend, Huvlee, who lived in Banuur, a small mining town six hours away from UB, where Baaskaa had completed his practical training in the spring of 2010. Huvlee was pressured by his family to find a job, but so far, he was unsuccessful.
Twelve hours later we heard a knock on our door. The three boys hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. It was a happy reunion, which we celebrated with a feast (well, almost) and cake for dessert.
The next morning the three boys signed up for the three-day practical training from which the company would choose six new employees.
The boys enjoyed working together. But the second evening they returned home quite moody. When I asked what they had done they described a grueling day of physical labor. I think reality checked in and they realized what was ahead of them. On the third day all three boys got the thumbs up; they qualified for the job and were accepted. (Which resulted in another feast and more cake as crowning dessert).
Jobs in the mining industry are paid very well; in addition, the companies provide housing, food and work clothes. The employees have access to a library, computer lab, gym and laundry on the premises. But the job is hard. Baaskaa told me he’d have to work 12 hours shifts, seven days a week. I am sure they'll have some days off, but not many. Apparently the aren’t many opportunities to spend money, but I am convinced that the mining corporations came up with some “entertainment” ideas, which allows the hard earned money to flow back into the company.
The minute Baaksaa learned he was accepted, he made a schedule and budget. To achieve his dream of a profitable dairy farm he needs 40 cows to produce enough milk, cheese and yogurt. According to his calculations he’d have to work two years to save enough money to be able to afford 20 French milk cows out of the 40 he wants. Two years. That is two straight years of hard, physical labor, 12 hours a day. A painful scenario for every mother, long distance or not.
After completing the training, the new employees learned that they were waiting for a safety instructor to arrive from Gobi. The mandatory safety instructions are the one obstacle delaying the boy’s departure. The waiting began.
My heart is heavy; I don’t want him to work in a mine, far away in the Gobi desert, with no means to reach him. When he is in the countryside, I have a visual and I can send a friend to visit him (what I really mean is "check on him"). In Gobi, I have none of it. But mining is what he wants to do and I have to let him.
Every morning I embrace myself that this might be the last shared day. I play the scene in my head, him leaving on a bus to Gobi while I stay behind. He had never left me; I come and go while he stays behind. This is the last time Baaskaa will be the boy I knew. Once he is off to Gobi, I will get him back as a young, matured man, in charge for himself. I guess that’s what they call “let him go”, which turns out to be much harder then I anticipated.
As soon as we left the office, Baaskaa’s friend Enkhee called. The two were classmates in Naleikh and became close friends.
Upon Baaskaa’s arrival in UB I gave him a phone, so I could be in contact with him. But he saw it differently ☺. He had been in the countryside with no means of communication and being able to call his friends was sweet medicine for him. His pre-paid phone card had to be refilled numerous times!
Enkhee had heard about a mining company recruiting for their Gobi operations, so he investigated and learned there were several openings. I was stunned; we went from panicking about the lack of opportunities to having choices.
The boys called a third friend, Huvlee, who lived in Banuur, a small mining town six hours away from UB, where Baaskaa had completed his practical training in the spring of 2010. Huvlee was pressured by his family to find a job, but so far, he was unsuccessful.
Twelve hours later we heard a knock on our door. The three boys hadn’t seen each other in almost a year. It was a happy reunion, which we celebrated with a feast (well, almost) and cake for dessert.
The next morning the three boys signed up for the three-day practical training from which the company would choose six new employees.
The boys enjoyed working together. But the second evening they returned home quite moody. When I asked what they had done they described a grueling day of physical labor. I think reality checked in and they realized what was ahead of them. On the third day all three boys got the thumbs up; they qualified for the job and were accepted. (Which resulted in another feast and more cake as crowning dessert).
Jobs in the mining industry are paid very well; in addition, the companies provide housing, food and work clothes. The employees have access to a library, computer lab, gym and laundry on the premises. But the job is hard. Baaskaa told me he’d have to work 12 hours shifts, seven days a week. I am sure they'll have some days off, but not many. Apparently the aren’t many opportunities to spend money, but I am convinced that the mining corporations came up with some “entertainment” ideas, which allows the hard earned money to flow back into the company.
The minute Baaksaa learned he was accepted, he made a schedule and budget. To achieve his dream of a profitable dairy farm he needs 40 cows to produce enough milk, cheese and yogurt. According to his calculations he’d have to work two years to save enough money to be able to afford 20 French milk cows out of the 40 he wants. Two years. That is two straight years of hard, physical labor, 12 hours a day. A painful scenario for every mother, long distance or not.
After completing the training, the new employees learned that they were waiting for a safety instructor to arrive from Gobi. The mandatory safety instructions are the one obstacle delaying the boy’s departure. The waiting began.
My heart is heavy; I don’t want him to work in a mine, far away in the Gobi desert, with no means to reach him. When he is in the countryside, I have a visual and I can send a friend to visit him (what I really mean is "check on him"). In Gobi, I have none of it. But mining is what he wants to do and I have to let him.
Every morning I embrace myself that this might be the last shared day. I play the scene in my head, him leaving on a bus to Gobi while I stay behind. He had never left me; I come and go while he stays behind. This is the last time Baaskaa will be the boy I knew. Once he is off to Gobi, I will get him back as a young, matured man, in charge for himself. I guess that’s what they call “let him go”, which turns out to be much harder then I anticipated.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Finding a job for Baaskaa – part two: construction.
Day nine. Baaskaa’s second job interview.
We all liked Mr. Tugsbayar, but we were also curious what other options there were.
I always joke with Baaskaa about my speediness. At the beginning he was a bit intimidated, but now he just laughs about me. Not wasting time, we were on our way to the second job interview the following day.
Mr. Tugsbayar's secretary had handed us a list of needed documents, which is common procedure for every applicant in Mongolia. To be prepared, we gathered the documents the night before the second interview. Apart from the usual proof of address and such, he also had to write a personal statement, why he desired the job and a family history. Every time he's asked to do that, I feel for him. I always pretend it's not important, but it’s painful to see the blank piece of paper stating: family history unknown.
I had to go through the same in my childhood. My mother pretended not to know my father’s whereabouts. Every time I had to answer questions about my father or fill out a document (Germany offers plenty of opportunities, believe me!) I had to state “unknown”, until I was 26 and found out where he lived. So I am feeling with Baaskaa when he has to go through this process. Talking about your family history can be a very personal, private affair and should be respected as such.
The second job was for a construction company. Mongolia is going through a housing boom, due to their wast natural resources, which are harvested by the global community. His job within the company could have been anything from setting windows to plastering or painting walls, what ever the task of the day was. I wasn’t too thrilled about the lack of definition. His education as excavator driver would have been useless and therefore he could have gotten easily stuck in having an undefined position with no opportunity to move up.
But the director, Mrs. Tserenpurev, offered a good start-up salary and I could tell she liked Baaskaa. She was once again one of these wonderful Mongolians who try to help when ever they see an opportunity. By the time we said good-bye, Baaskaa had landed his second job. The only problem now was to decide which job he wanted to take.
But then the phone rang……
We all liked Mr. Tugsbayar, but we were also curious what other options there were.
I always joke with Baaskaa about my speediness. At the beginning he was a bit intimidated, but now he just laughs about me. Not wasting time, we were on our way to the second job interview the following day.
Mr. Tugsbayar's secretary had handed us a list of needed documents, which is common procedure for every applicant in Mongolia. To be prepared, we gathered the documents the night before the second interview. Apart from the usual proof of address and such, he also had to write a personal statement, why he desired the job and a family history. Every time he's asked to do that, I feel for him. I always pretend it's not important, but it’s painful to see the blank piece of paper stating: family history unknown.
I had to go through the same in my childhood. My mother pretended not to know my father’s whereabouts. Every time I had to answer questions about my father or fill out a document (Germany offers plenty of opportunities, believe me!) I had to state “unknown”, until I was 26 and found out where he lived. So I am feeling with Baaskaa when he has to go through this process. Talking about your family history can be a very personal, private affair and should be respected as such.
The second job was for a construction company. Mongolia is going through a housing boom, due to their wast natural resources, which are harvested by the global community. His job within the company could have been anything from setting windows to plastering or painting walls, what ever the task of the day was. I wasn’t too thrilled about the lack of definition. His education as excavator driver would have been useless and therefore he could have gotten easily stuck in having an undefined position with no opportunity to move up.
But the director, Mrs. Tserenpurev, offered a good start-up salary and I could tell she liked Baaskaa. She was once again one of these wonderful Mongolians who try to help when ever they see an opportunity. By the time we said good-bye, Baaskaa had landed his second job. The only problem now was to decide which job he wanted to take.
But then the phone rang……
Monday, April 25, 2011
Finding a job for Baaskaa – part one: road construction.
Day eight. Baaskaa’s first official job interview in road construction.
Baaskaa had stayed in the country for a long time, particularly long, when you are 19 years old. He graduated in May 2010 and went back to Byambaa to help out for the summer. But then fall came and they had to winterize the farm. And then the winter came and there was no point to go anywhere, since the job he wants is seasonal. By spring he was antsy to leave and become truly independent. He never complained, but I could sense his desire and restlessness in his letters.
While still in New York I had asked Selenge, my trusted friend and Baaskaa’s other surrogate mother, if she would know of any job opening. By the time I arrived in Mongolia she had lined up two interviews. I don’t know how she did it, she must have the magic touch or talent, because everyone else is complaining that they can’t find work!
Baaskaa interviewed with the director, Mr. Tugsbayar, a young entrepreneur, who built this private road construction company. Mongolia has lived under the Russian mandate for so long, that private companies were very rare until five minutes ago, when the mining industry exploded. Mr. Tugsbayar is a compassionate man, who loves to help. His first concern was safety, which sounded like sweet music to me, the worried (long distance) mother.
But I had to pinch Baaskaa so he’d tell Mr. Tugsbayar about his experience in road construction at the tender age of 12.
When he was 11, he found a family who gave him shelter and food and in exchange he had to tend their animals. Very quickly it became clear that he was doing all the work, while the couple sat around, drank vodka and ate the food they denied Baaskaa. After a year Baaskaa gave up and run away. He found a job as kitchen aid in a road construction company. The boss liked him and showed him how to operate heavy machines. Within a short period of time Baaskaa worked his way up to become an excavator driver. When the winter came, he and the boss parted and Baaskaa went back to UB.
I believe this experience motivated him to choose excavator as his main subject when he enrolled into vocational school.
Mr. Tugsbayar was impressed and mapped out a timeline for Baaskaa to move up from general ‘helper’ to machine operator. Listening to the director’s plan, Selenge eyes started to water and she was unable to talk. She told me later that she kept thinking of our first encounter with Baaskaa, in the manhole, and now we were sitting in an office, discussing his future. Of course by the time she had translated all that, everyone had moved on and I had no time to share my emotions.
We agreed that Baaskaa would start the following Monday, which gave him four more days to complete his educational evaluation.
Little that I knew ………….
Baaskaa had stayed in the country for a long time, particularly long, when you are 19 years old. He graduated in May 2010 and went back to Byambaa to help out for the summer. But then fall came and they had to winterize the farm. And then the winter came and there was no point to go anywhere, since the job he wants is seasonal. By spring he was antsy to leave and become truly independent. He never complained, but I could sense his desire and restlessness in his letters.
While still in New York I had asked Selenge, my trusted friend and Baaskaa’s other surrogate mother, if she would know of any job opening. By the time I arrived in Mongolia she had lined up two interviews. I don’t know how she did it, she must have the magic touch or talent, because everyone else is complaining that they can’t find work!
Baaskaa interviewed with the director, Mr. Tugsbayar, a young entrepreneur, who built this private road construction company. Mongolia has lived under the Russian mandate for so long, that private companies were very rare until five minutes ago, when the mining industry exploded. Mr. Tugsbayar is a compassionate man, who loves to help. His first concern was safety, which sounded like sweet music to me, the worried (long distance) mother.
But I had to pinch Baaskaa so he’d tell Mr. Tugsbayar about his experience in road construction at the tender age of 12.
When he was 11, he found a family who gave him shelter and food and in exchange he had to tend their animals. Very quickly it became clear that he was doing all the work, while the couple sat around, drank vodka and ate the food they denied Baaskaa. After a year Baaskaa gave up and run away. He found a job as kitchen aid in a road construction company. The boss liked him and showed him how to operate heavy machines. Within a short period of time Baaskaa worked his way up to become an excavator driver. When the winter came, he and the boss parted and Baaskaa went back to UB.
I believe this experience motivated him to choose excavator as his main subject when he enrolled into vocational school.
Mr. Tugsbayar was impressed and mapped out a timeline for Baaskaa to move up from general ‘helper’ to machine operator. Listening to the director’s plan, Selenge eyes started to water and she was unable to talk. She told me later that she kept thinking of our first encounter with Baaskaa, in the manhole, and now we were sitting in an office, discussing his future. Of course by the time she had translated all that, everyone had moved on and I had no time to share my emotions.
We agreed that Baaskaa would start the following Monday, which gave him four more days to complete his educational evaluation.
Little that I knew ………….
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Accusations and Repercussions
I have to chime in on the discussion about CBS’s 60 Minutes accusations towards Greg Mortenson’s accuracy of Three Cups Of Tea and Stones Into School – of which I have only read the former.
Yes, it is heart wrenching if Mortenson made up stories about his experiences in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Yes, it is unsettling if he exaggerated how many schools he built with the money he was given, because people believed in his vision and it would definitely be wrong to use that money to promote his books.
But before we throw stones, let’s just wait until these facts are cleared and while we wait, lets look at what he did, as much as what he didn’t do.
As Nicholas Kristof puts it in his NYT Op Ed “…helping people is more difficult then it seems…”. I concur. It is very hard, and I believe no one sees it coming when inspired by a specific cause. No one goes around wondering where and whom they could help; most likely you get involved because you encounter people and causes who inspire you. At least that is my experience.
Thanks goodness I was naïve and enthusiastic enough when I met Baaskaa in 2008. He needed support and had a plan of which I thought I could help to implement it. Excited by the initial success I thought that the positive results exceed the efforts and I developed a program to help more children. It took me two years to realize the full consequences of these decisions.
I don’t regret anything; seeing the kids bloom and become independent is a reward I will cherish forever, but oh boy, it is a lot of work.
You start out as an enthusiastic humanitarian to find yourself being a director of a board (not to mention your role as treasurer, receptionist and cleaning woman), asking, begging and pleading for money to keep your program going. The constant pressure of having to perform and deliver for your cause AND your supporters is tremendous.
The success with my first group of kids allowed me to ask for support. But now I have to take on more and more kids and produce results in order to maintain the funding for the original kids, as success will be measured in quantity more than in quality. Soon you find yourself hiring staff to do the work that you loved to do, that you set out to do, while your time is spent fundraising.
And then you get a chance to write a book. But none wants to read about the hours spent with a calculator or organizing logistics. People want to read the inspirational stories, the stories with emotional value. I’d love to write a book, because I want to give my children a voice, rather then talking about them (which is why I made a film), but I wouldn’t mention the exhaustive undertaking of daily tasks either, simply because it’s boring and no one would buy the book.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not want to excuse Greg Mortenson, but I am afraid of the repercussions this might have for all of us who are involved in humanitarian efforts. The expectations towards good people are so much higher and the pedestal they are put on crumbles so much faster. Good people fall harder than bad people.
Not long ago I was in Afghanistan and it’s obvious that there is a lot of money and where it is spent – but the criticism is tamed because there are too many people involved to pin blame. Xe, formerly Blackwater, is still operating, making millions, with our tax money. And the list goes on and on.
The fact is Greg Mortenson has built schools and helped children to get an education. He might have built a school in a spot that rendered the school useless - people who do unprecedented projects make mistakes. While showing us those images, 60 Minutes could have also interviewed the children who are attending a functioning school every day, or the parents who couldn’t afford to send their kids to school otherwise.
Before you throw a stone, think about how big you want it to be and which direction it should fall.
Yes, it is heart wrenching if Mortenson made up stories about his experiences in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Yes, it is unsettling if he exaggerated how many schools he built with the money he was given, because people believed in his vision and it would definitely be wrong to use that money to promote his books.
But before we throw stones, let’s just wait until these facts are cleared and while we wait, lets look at what he did, as much as what he didn’t do.
As Nicholas Kristof puts it in his NYT Op Ed “…helping people is more difficult then it seems…”. I concur. It is very hard, and I believe no one sees it coming when inspired by a specific cause. No one goes around wondering where and whom they could help; most likely you get involved because you encounter people and causes who inspire you. At least that is my experience.
Thanks goodness I was naïve and enthusiastic enough when I met Baaskaa in 2008. He needed support and had a plan of which I thought I could help to implement it. Excited by the initial success I thought that the positive results exceed the efforts and I developed a program to help more children. It took me two years to realize the full consequences of these decisions.
I don’t regret anything; seeing the kids bloom and become independent is a reward I will cherish forever, but oh boy, it is a lot of work.
You start out as an enthusiastic humanitarian to find yourself being a director of a board (not to mention your role as treasurer, receptionist and cleaning woman), asking, begging and pleading for money to keep your program going. The constant pressure of having to perform and deliver for your cause AND your supporters is tremendous.
The success with my first group of kids allowed me to ask for support. But now I have to take on more and more kids and produce results in order to maintain the funding for the original kids, as success will be measured in quantity more than in quality. Soon you find yourself hiring staff to do the work that you loved to do, that you set out to do, while your time is spent fundraising.
And then you get a chance to write a book. But none wants to read about the hours spent with a calculator or organizing logistics. People want to read the inspirational stories, the stories with emotional value. I’d love to write a book, because I want to give my children a voice, rather then talking about them (which is why I made a film), but I wouldn’t mention the exhaustive undertaking of daily tasks either, simply because it’s boring and no one would buy the book.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not want to excuse Greg Mortenson, but I am afraid of the repercussions this might have for all of us who are involved in humanitarian efforts. The expectations towards good people are so much higher and the pedestal they are put on crumbles so much faster. Good people fall harder than bad people.
Not long ago I was in Afghanistan and it’s obvious that there is a lot of money and where it is spent – but the criticism is tamed because there are too many people involved to pin blame. Xe, formerly Blackwater, is still operating, making millions, with our tax money. And the list goes on and on.
The fact is Greg Mortenson has built schools and helped children to get an education. He might have built a school in a spot that rendered the school useless - people who do unprecedented projects make mistakes. While showing us those images, 60 Minutes could have also interviewed the children who are attending a functioning school every day, or the parents who couldn’t afford to send their kids to school otherwise.
Before you throw a stone, think about how big you want it to be and which direction it should fall.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Nasa’s learns that 1+1=2, literally.
Day five. We have an appointment with a tutor.
I persuaded Baaskaa to have his level of education evaluated. At first he didn’t like the idea, until I convinced him that knowing is better then not knowing. Once we know, we can act.
Nasa on the other hand couldn’t wait.
During the past year Nasa had mentioned several times that she wanted to continue to learn how to read and write, but we never had the opportunity to teach her. Odgerel, her foster mom, tried for a short while, but was discouraged by Nasa’s non-linear learning curve. Some things she picked up quickly, others just wouldn’t stick.
Nasa, now almost 16 years old, has never visited a school, simply because people around her, who were in charge for her, didn’t seem to care if she was illiterate. It is my conviction that Nasa was told time and again that she is incapable of doing anything, including learning. In the end she believed what people told her and gave up trying. It was my sole intention to prove her wrong, to show her that she can accomplish something, when I sent her to the felt workshop last October.
In contrast Baaskaa had taught himself by looking at billboards and comparing letters. Once he was old enough he started visiting the library, where he began to learn in a more structured environment.
Selenge had made an appointment with a tutor, who ran a small classroom, attended by several children of different grades, like an old fashioned country school. Some were tutored in specific subjects, others were taught entirely new subjects. The tutor had experience with late bloomers like Nasa and wasn’t fazed by the task. When we introduced the kids to her, she embraced them and chatted immediately, which helped them lose their shyness.
Of course Baaskaa pretended to be slightly indifferent, but when we discussed school that evening, he admitted that he was excited. Baaskaa loves to learn; he is curious and sucks up knowledge like a sponge.
Luckily part of the donations we got through Leigh and Five Foot Five Productions were backpacks! The kids bought notebooks and pencils and after dinner they packed their bags, sharing the school supplies. It was heartbreaking to witness that! Preparation for their first day at school!
In Germany we get a Schultute on our first day of school. It’s a cone shaped, decorated carton, filled with nick-knacks and candies. I think it is supposed to ease the first day of structure and discipline, and to diffuse the tension and anxiety of having to leave childhood behind. (Never mind that I couldn’t wait!) But I would have loved to celebrate their first day of school with a Schultute, even so they weren’t the slightest bit anxious!
Yes, that's me on the left with my Bambi Schultute!
I persuaded Baaskaa to have his level of education evaluated. At first he didn’t like the idea, until I convinced him that knowing is better then not knowing. Once we know, we can act.
Nasa on the other hand couldn’t wait.
During the past year Nasa had mentioned several times that she wanted to continue to learn how to read and write, but we never had the opportunity to teach her. Odgerel, her foster mom, tried for a short while, but was discouraged by Nasa’s non-linear learning curve. Some things she picked up quickly, others just wouldn’t stick.
Nasa, now almost 16 years old, has never visited a school, simply because people around her, who were in charge for her, didn’t seem to care if she was illiterate. It is my conviction that Nasa was told time and again that she is incapable of doing anything, including learning. In the end she believed what people told her and gave up trying. It was my sole intention to prove her wrong, to show her that she can accomplish something, when I sent her to the felt workshop last October.
In contrast Baaskaa had taught himself by looking at billboards and comparing letters. Once he was old enough he started visiting the library, where he began to learn in a more structured environment.
Selenge had made an appointment with a tutor, who ran a small classroom, attended by several children of different grades, like an old fashioned country school. Some were tutored in specific subjects, others were taught entirely new subjects. The tutor had experience with late bloomers like Nasa and wasn’t fazed by the task. When we introduced the kids to her, she embraced them and chatted immediately, which helped them lose their shyness.
Of course Baaskaa pretended to be slightly indifferent, but when we discussed school that evening, he admitted that he was excited. Baaskaa loves to learn; he is curious and sucks up knowledge like a sponge.
Luckily part of the donations we got through Leigh and Five Foot Five Productions were backpacks! The kids bought notebooks and pencils and after dinner they packed their bags, sharing the school supplies. It was heartbreaking to witness that! Preparation for their first day at school!
In Germany we get a Schultute on our first day of school. It’s a cone shaped, decorated carton, filled with nick-knacks and candies. I think it is supposed to ease the first day of structure and discipline, and to diffuse the tension and anxiety of having to leave childhood behind. (Never mind that I couldn’t wait!) But I would have loved to celebrate their first day of school with a Schultute, even so they weren’t the slightest bit anxious!
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Handing out the Goods.
Day four. We made it back into the city with the usual delay.
I had laid out all the goodies and donations from New York, because originally I planned to bring a good portion with me to the country side. But we left in such a mad rush that I had no time to get organized.
Upon our return everything was still on display. Because we wanted to make it a scene for the film, Blake and I decided to postpone the distribution. The kids eyed the clothes, but didn’t say a word. I felt bad to tease them, but no one had any energy left for excitement anyways.
The next day, I just yelled out “presents” when the doorbell rang.
Selenge arrived. We had awaited her eagerly, particular Baaskaa and me, because we needed to talk and this was an exchange that required a translator. Without much introduction, the conversation started. What do they look forward to in the future, what was their grievances and experience since I saw them last?
It was a very heated discussion where emotions ran high and the revelations weren’t always pretty. Nothing I didn’t see coming, but still, it is difficult to see them be disappointed, to see them struggle and be fearful of the very same things you try to protect them from.
If you want to get more details, you’ll have to wait until the film comes out.
After the conversation we were so exhausted that no one cared about presents. Hours later, finally, we were all ready and up for it. This time I called out “presents” and they came running.
I handed out the jackets, shoes, sweaters, sport pants, matching hats, scarves & gloves, backpacks, rain jackets and the remaining underwear from last year. The kids were on cloud nine. Every time they thought that’s it, I found something else, something new.
It was hard not to get carried away and give them all of the clothes – I wanted to keep at least half of the donations to give to the care center kids.
Baaskaa was most happy when I gave him the sleeping bag. He watched me in my sleeping bag for the last two years and I could tell he really liked it. In addition, he was dreaming about living on his own soon, so getting a sleeping bag was perfect timing.
At some point Baaskaa looked around and asked: so, this is all the same brand?
And yes indeed, it was. I am a big North Face fan, always have been. Blake was decked out in North Face and now all the kids had a good amount of North Face gear. In Mongolia North Face is available, but it's rare and expensive.
Whenever we would go out, we looked like a walking advertisement billboard. Three kids and two adults in a line, walking down the streets of UB, all dressed in North Face. I thought it was hilarious and funny, and I think I wasn’t the only one - we got quite a few looks.
I had laid out all the goodies and donations from New York, because originally I planned to bring a good portion with me to the country side. But we left in such a mad rush that I had no time to get organized.
The next day, I just yelled out “presents” when the doorbell rang.
Selenge arrived. We had awaited her eagerly, particular Baaskaa and me, because we needed to talk and this was an exchange that required a translator. Without much introduction, the conversation started. What do they look forward to in the future, what was their grievances and experience since I saw them last?
It was a very heated discussion where emotions ran high and the revelations weren’t always pretty. Nothing I didn’t see coming, but still, it is difficult to see them be disappointed, to see them struggle and be fearful of the very same things you try to protect them from.
If you want to get more details, you’ll have to wait until the film comes out.
After the conversation we were so exhausted that no one cared about presents. Hours later, finally, we were all ready and up for it. This time I called out “presents” and they came running.
It was hard not to get carried away and give them all of the clothes – I wanted to keep at least half of the donations to give to the care center kids.
Baaskaa was most happy when I gave him the sleeping bag. He watched me in my sleeping bag for the last two years and I could tell he really liked it. In addition, he was dreaming about living on his own soon, so getting a sleeping bag was perfect timing.
And yes indeed, it was. I am a big North Face fan, always have been. Blake was decked out in North Face and now all the kids had a good amount of North Face gear. In Mongolia North Face is available, but it's rare and expensive.
Whenever we would go out, we looked like a walking advertisement billboard. Three kids and two adults in a line, walking down the streets of UB, all dressed in North Face. I thought it was hilarious and funny, and I think I wasn’t the only one - we got quite a few looks.
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