Where In The World Is Cailie Kafura?: May 2012

I walked across an empty land,
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand;
I felt the earth beneath my feet,
I sat by the river and it made me complete.

My 5 hour bus ride to the ancient city of Kharhorum ensured the promise of no return from nomad's land.
The scenery left no mystery of my life to come for 2 weeks-- rolling hills, soaring eagles, countless sheep, the quintessential yurt, and the eternally blue sky.

My host mother picked me up from the bus and squeezed me in the truck with the other neighbors; this made for an instant meet-and-greet as we were piled on one another and the woman next to me casually breastfed her "way-too-old-to-be-breastfed" child. After 30 minutes of this amusing adventure, we arrived at my humble abode.

Setting the ultimate ambiance, the nomad father herded the 1000 sheep form atop his horse with the dust emphasizing his silhouette at sunset. I was given my bed in the first of three yurts, which was adorned in Chinggis Khan tapestry and horse memorabilia. Dinner was concocted in a steel basin over the stove, which was heated with livestock dung(very resourceful!). Rice and meat soup was given to the father first, then to the guest, followed by the 5-year-old-son, and finally the mother. Everyone sits on the floor eating their portions, which are massive to begin with and a second helping is required. I was so tired, but it was quite awkward climbing into bed while in the kitchen with the family. I eventually gave in, knowing tomorrow would hold the true nomad experience.

   "OY!"...My father yelled this at me at 7am the next morning and said "horse!" He was wearing his traditional del, which is a long jacket with traditional buttoning and a colorful sash tied around his waist. I hopped on the horse and followed the mother and son over the endless green mountains, passing menageries of livestock on our way. Our destination was the well, where other nomads and their flocks gather to be watered. Sheep became one wooly mass as they squeezed in to reach the water trough, which was an unfurled monster truck tire.

   For four hours, our duty was to water the current batch while keeping the other species away until it was their turn. The word of choice was "CHUU!" when trying to keep the others grazing instead of quenching. Furry and horned cows, elegantly tressed horses and fully woolen sheep surrounded the watering hole. We took turns dropping th bucket into the well and heaving it back up to pour it in the tire trough. While the horses were being watered, the father lassoed one of them and exchanged it with one that we rode in on. By doing so, it meant that while each horse had to serve their duty, it also had its freedom.

   When all were quenched, we leaped back upon our trusty steeds and travelled yurt-wards. Lunch was delicious--called "Suutei Bodda"-- meaning sweet milk-based rice. My father and I had a conversation through the phrasebook, which resulted in lots of awkward silences. I learned that he is 23(but looks 33), has 4 siblings, his name is impossible to say, and he has 2 kids. He learned that my name is Cailie, I have a 22-year-old-brother, and that I am from "Chicago" (because no one knows what Wisconsin is :) I showed the family my pictures from the day and they retrieved their photo album. Good old family bonding!

   That evening, after being asleep for some time, I was awoken by the unmistakable squeaking bed across the room from me. This bed is where my host mother, father, and 5-year-old-son slept. I could not believe my ears--were they truly performing the deed not only with a complete foreigner (ME) 6 feet from them and their own son in the bed with them?!?
SURVEY SAYS: "When in Mongolia....indubitably!"
I had to find my happy place before their happy place made me gag! It was a serious struggle to fall asleep after that "family bonding" experience; little did I know it would continue every night for the next 2 weeks. Oh joy.

     On the bright side of the reproduction cycle, a brand new baby sheep was born the next day! Umbilical cord in tow, he was shaking in his wool socks as he tried to make sense of this new world. He soon became a part of the family as he lives in the yurt!



    By 8am, we were on horseback to return to the well; watching the family interact with their livestock made me realize why Mongolians are not seen as the friendliest of people. Using whips, sticks, lassoes, and rocks, nomads control where their herds go and keep them in line using one of these harsh methods. At my orphanage, nurses would pick kids up by one arm and carry them to the designated feeding area. Cruel, but when watching how goats ("kids" for irony's sake) are picked up by their horns, I see that the treatment of people stems from the traditional and historic treatment of animals. I truly struggled with the culture shock of Mongolia with its lack of respect for many aspects of life was evident in the city; now that I am in the countryside, where Mongolians originated, I see that their lifestyle has simply stayed the same since everyone was a nomad.

   Observing the family's etiquette at mealtime makes for dinner and a show. Beginning by drinking the traditional milk tea before every meal, they slurp it from the bowl. The meal is served, containing rice and mystery meat without fail. (I definitely ate horse the other day... Tea and SeaBiscuits! ... Did I take that too far?) They love their milk tea so much, they pour it in their bowl with their food. What convenience! Having your tea and eating it too! Just to meet their quota, they drink one more bowl of this "suu" tea after each feast. Father whips out the matchbox and fashions the end into a toothpick. All three of them sit there in their own world picking away at their teeth and spitting their finds in whichever direction they please. I sit there in amazement, wondering if I should join in the fun. Instead, I just giggle.

   Almost a sign of meal appreciation, the father passes gas freely; he grabs some toilet paper and heads for the "toilet" in the front yard-- two wooden planks and a hole. Pantless and squatting, he laughs, I laugh, and the family resumes their normal lifestyle, which seems to follow the golden rule of "You are what you herd!"


        When we reminisce on our childhood, memories of Hey Arnold on TV, Oregon Trail on floppy disk, and dressing up as Power Rangers on Halloween come to mind (for those of us 90s babies).
However, the childhood of my nomad brother will be unforgettable and envied by many. At only 5 years old, he has the freedom to roam this beautiful neighborhood of his, without the fear of pedophiles or killers. Frolicking amongst the bulls, sheep, and dung, he is wild and free...peeing and playing at his heart's content.
His chores include doing homework(copying numbers) and jumping on a half-wild horse to herd the mighty masses all by himself. I don't know about you, but I sure believe this sounds like a quality hood!


     The in-laws arrived yesterday, along with their "Goldilocks" syndrome when they realized a white girl was living in their yurt! Although I didn't understand what they were saying, it was obvious with the "subtle" head nods in my direction that the words were about me. I am a walking sore thumb in these here parts!!
I picked up a few phrases like "Amerik," "Chicago," and "Goy"(meaning good). At one point, one of the nomad fathers said "Boss" (stand) and motioned for me to verticalize myself to eye up my height....to say I felt like Bigfoot would be an understatement, as not only was I taller than him, but my head grazed the ceiling.


     As you all know, I am not an alcohol consumer, but in this circumstance, it would have been rude to refuse. A single cup of beer was passed around the yurt, followed by burning vodka shots. Even the toddlers were given sips of the fun! I assumed this was special occasion drinking, but I was proven wrong when the beer and vodka returned the next morning at breakfast.... "Ain't no party like a nomad party, because the nomad party don't stop!!!"

Speaking of drinking, my host father woke me up with a tall glass of what he told me was tea. Noting its bright yellow appearance, I became suspicious. Confirming my doubts, the mother points to the son and says a word that must have meant urine."OGUII!" I yelped, in refusal of this repulsive offer, assuming it was a joke. Until I saw the father chug half of the bodily fluid. I was disgusted but at the same time, unphased, because nothing this family does shocks me anymore...



   After seeing that I was shivering from the cold, my host mother pulled out a silver kimono-esque Del from an old chest. She has me put it on and gives me a silver earring to wear. To complete the look, she brushes my hair into a braid and ties the scarf around my head. We were two girls playing dress-up and taking pictures of the final result. She then makes a gesture to symbolize "gift." I am now a proud owner of an authentic handmade Del! I am sure I will be all the rage when I sport it in Wisconsin's winter!
I have made my dairy state proud as of my last night's success of milking a cow! My host mom put her del and headwrap on me so I could look the part, and then she began the photo shoot. When we returned to the yurt, she continued the fashion show, having me wear 100-year-old hats and my host father's traditional coat.

I swear, every morning I am greeted with new surprises. On my final Mongolian countryside morning, the lucky surprise hung above me in the form a sheep carcass. Its head on the floor. Its insides lay in a heap in a bowl that my mother played with. I have one of two choices. Laugh or gag: the usual two options. I nervously laugh and document the scene before me, while pitying the sheep.
A few hours later, it was yet another goodbye for me. Hugs for all, I thanked them and said "Bayartai!"

   They have been an amazing host family: warm, welcoming, and the best sense of humor. Language barriers do not exist unless you allow them to...charades and kindness create lasting friendships or in this case, surrogate families, as my host parents call me their daughter and themselves my family. ♥