Last week we had our first snowfall. I walked to the sports gym at the Economics College in a dust storm. When it hasn’t rained, the wind picks up sand and carries it to places such as my ear canals and window sills. There is always enough dust in the air to make the insides of my shirt collars filthy no matter how hard I scrub the back of my neck. I would have stayed inside, but my school was having a sports day for the students, so I had to face the dust.
Sports with Mongolians has been a strange and sometimes terrifying experience. Each game is played essentially the same way we would play it back home, but with the added element of fisticuffs. On our sports day, we split up into three teams: first course students, second course students, and teachers. All of my students are girls. Very docile and shy in the classroom, but furious maniacs in competition. In one game I was punched in the face no less than twice, once a forearm across the nose and mouth that my nose is still tender from. After yoga class the day before our sports competition, one student told me to "prepare for bump", while shaking her little fist at me. In a certain way she was kidding, but I attempted to prepare myself for the many bumps I did in fact take.
On my team, I was the only one who knew how to play basketball, so I had to take the ball up the court every time, and every time I encountered a circus of hands that, after pushing me aside, would steal the ball and take it down to their end of the court. A game of basketball with no fouls is a different game entirely, and not one that I’m any good at. We lost all our games, but I felt fortunate to have finished without a getting a bump that resulted in a concussion or falling on the uneven floorboards.
When we went back outside, the wind had died and the dust storm had turned into a light mist. The mountains were dusted with snow and the students were all excited and talked about how beautiful it was. I agreed. So, it’s the start of a long winter. It warms up to around 60 in the afternoons some days, but as soon as the sun goes down at 7:30, it drops down below freezing.
Today I walked across the river and the slow moving streams were frozen over.
Every Sunday my director, Seeligma, feeds me lunch and gives me a Mongolian lesson. Afterward I always play her son, Otgonbayar, in chess. He’s thirteen and up on me two games to one. It was a wash this afternoon. He beat me up and down the chessboard, playing little tricks on me, but he’s really sweet about kicking my ass. He has sleepy eyes and I want him to be my friend.
After lunch at Seeligma’s, I was invited to Pujee’s, one of my students, for an early dinner. She made buuz (pronounced "boats"), a steamed dumpling which Mongolians eat on a very regular basis, with horse meat. They were delicious, but she wouldn’t let me stop eating them and I was uncomfortable by the end of the session. After we ate, she asked if I wanted a beer, and I told her I was O.K., that I didn’t need one right then, so she sent her husband out to buy a couple.
At five, I told Pujee that I needed to leave to clean my house. She seemed genuinely disappointed when I wouldn’t let her clean it for me. I got a similar reaction from two of my other students who offered to clean my house and wash my clothes. I feel slightly uncomfortable even fielding the question and I can’t seem to explain myself to their satisfaction. It doesn’t work to tell them that I’m a grown man, and despite the fact that I’m clearly a slob, that I can do housework on my own. They’ve been doing these things since they were little girls, and, to my understanding, it would be their honor to help me out. Neither of us seem to know how to react when I can’t allow them the honor.
My students and co-teachers are my best Mongolian friends. Whenever I’ve needed something, they are the ones who’ve helped me. When I meet them in the market, they always follow me around, telling me where I can buy certain things. When I don’t know how to get somewhere, they come pick me up at my apartment and show me the way. I told them how much I love Mongolian yogurt, and the next day, a student brought me a jarful. I was looking for a kitten, and soon one of my co-teachers brought one to me. They are the sweetest folks. In light of this pattern, it might be smart to mention how I don’t like being pummeled across the basketball court.