Mongolei - Tour - Mini-Reading

Here, we propose short articles, short stories about Mongolia as well as extracts from guide books on Mongolia.

I like camels. I was born in the Gobi. Our family owns more than twenty camels. Each year, we milk five or six camels. The yoghurt of the camel is the best. Just thinking about this moment makes my mouth water. I don't eat camel meat, not only because it is not good, but also out of pity. One should never kill a camel. There are plenty of things that one can use in a camel, for example the worthy wool, at least as fine and hot as cashmere. The camel gives a fat and mineral-rich milk. Not the least important aspect of the camel is that they are useful. The camel is happy with little, a little bush or tough grass is enough for difficult times. The camel is a ruminant.

When I was still a child, I played with a baby camel. I trained the little one; he only played with me. When I was close to herds of goats and lambs - here, the children look after the small animals - he came running to me so that I could caress him.

The camel gives birth every two years. It is rare for a camel to give birth to twins. The baby camel grows very slowly; this is why it needs attentive care. Here, in Mongolia , we call the little camel tschoiren. A little tschoiren is very sweet and its breath smells of camel milk. According to a well-known poet, the tschoiren must be saying to himself:

"...My mother sings ben ben,
In the heat of the Gobi ben ben,
My old mother ben ben,
No father beside her ben ben,
She hasn't got beautiful teeth ben ben..."

You have to be very careful with the tschoirens so that the wolves don't eat them. The mother defends her young with a lot of bravery even against a male in rut.

Sometimes a little one dies for an unknown reason. The poor mother stays next to the body for months and cries plaintively. What pain, I do not wish it on anyone to see or go through that. My mother has relieved the suffering of some of these camels. One brings the camel inside the house and sings the song "Höös" while milking her. My mother does it very well; she has done it many times. The song "Höös" is a melody which touches the heart. And the camel is a very sensitive animal. The tears come quickly to its eyes and the camel, smelling my mother starts the milk-giving reflex. From now on, she accepts my mother as her baby. She comes to give milk to her adoptive baby 3 or 4 times a day. Each time, she returns at peace to the prairie after the milking. The camel is so endearing. Have pity for these animals! They need our love and our help.

Camels live for more than thirty years. A new-born weighs around 35 kilos. At the age of 7, according to the fat content, from 400 to 600 kilos. The pregnancy lasts 13 months. One milks a camel 2 or 3 times a day in summer, twice a day in winter. A camel gives between 2 and 4 litres of milk a day. A camel can carry from 200 to 250 kilos of weight on its back. A male camel can give up to 16 kilos of wool.

Camel wool is classed as follows:

Mane : This is the long hair which grows above and below the neck, on the top of the humps and the upper part of the front feet.
Normal : these are all the other short hairs.
Baby : these are the hairs of the camel aged from 2-3 years. As a general rule, a camel drinks 60 litres of water, more than 100 litres if it is very thirsty. It can then survive for over a week without water. It can live for up to sixty days without eating.
We use camels as beasts of burden. The caravans were very famous in Mongolia . I owned a camel that I liked a lot. It had served many times in caravans. A caravan lasts for around thirty days. It depends on the distance. Then the camels become very thin. During a caravan, the camel is fed very little. A camel in a caravan has to take a load of between 200 and 250 kilos for 1000 kilometres.

In 1905, Otto E. Ehiers wrote about the Mongol camels in his voyage notes. .

".until now, I did not know how much a camel could look beautiful. To be conquered by this animal, one has to see it in Mongolia at the start of the caravan season, the fur new and shiny, the humps erect and full of fat, when it starts towards the long route to the Russian border after six months of rest and recuperation on the Mongolian steppes. Stocky, the big body balanced on a low centre of gravity, a beautiful head, big and wilful from which emerges a pair of eyes- which I have to say are full of soul, he stares at you, the look expressing an elegant submission to destiny; the camel seems the model of patience and power. From its neck hangs a hairy mane, thick bushy hair graces the back feet."

Once there was a time when the camel had two sumptuous antlers with twelve points. It also had a beautiful tale. The camel was therefore the most beautiful of all the animals. All the other animals were jealous. But the camel was calm, made good company and was generous. It was nice to everyone.
One day, a deer came to ask him for his antlers. The deer said: "I have been invited to a wedding. Everyone looks very elegant. Except me. Look at me! A bald head. If I put your beautiful antlers on my head, I would certainly be very elegant. I will return your antlers when you go to drink. I give you my word" After this wonderful speech, he took the camel's antlers and disappeared quickly.
To this day, the deer has not yet returned the antlers. It is because the antlers do not really belong to him that they fall off each year. But this does not help the deer help the deer remember to return them. When drinking, the camel sees his hideous head without antlers, it shakes his head thinking: "Oh no, no." Still today, the camel thinks that the deer will return his antlers. It is why it takes a look at the top of the hills in order to see if the deer is bringing them back. But this was not nearly the worst thing to happen to the camel. He had to part with his superb tail. Everyone knew that the deer had borrowed his antlers and not brought them back. One day, a horse came and said to him: "I have been invited to a wedding. Lend me your beautiful tail for today. I will return it tomorrow" From now on, when the camel shakes his little tail to shoo away the flies that irritate him, it thinks:

"Ah, wouldn't it be good if only I still had my beautiful tail"

One day, the camel noticed a poster announcing that the first twelve animals to see the next day's sunrise would be able to give their names to the lunar calendar. All the animals that wanted to have this opportunity got up very early and tried their best to be the first to see the sunrise Our old friend, the camel, looked east, the mouse perched on one of his humps, looked west at the top of the mountains. Suddenly, the mouse shouted full of joy:

"I can see the sunrise!" This time too, the camel was unlucky. But as a consolation has something in common with each of the animals chosen to mark the years:

Its ears look like those of the mouse.
Its stomach looks like those of the cow.
The pads on its feet look like those of the tiger.
Its snout looks like that of the hare.
Its body looks like that of the dragon
Its eyes look like those of the snake.
Its humps make it look like the monkey.
The hairs on its head look like those of the cockerel
The thighs of its rear legs look like those of the dog
Its tail looks like that of the pig

The camel has 34 teeth, 6 incisors, 24 molars, 4 canines. The incisors grow at the age of 8-9 years.

The small animals talk about their life to the boy in the town, who came on holiday with his grandparents.

I am the lamb. That is, the baby of the sheep. My mother is a ewe and my father is a ram. We all wear a genuine fur coat. In summer we perspire a lot. But in winter, we are hot.
In summer we take off our coat. It is removed using scissors. After, we feel cool. It is easier to gamble and play around. The rain cleans us and after a shower, we are as white as pearls.
We bleat with joy:

We belong to the category of the five traditional domestic animals. In autumn, we are shorn again, one removes our light coat. Thank goodness that enough wool regrows before the beginning of the cold season so that we don't get chilly when winter arrives.
With help from our spring and autumn wool, the farmers make felt with which they insulate their kibitkas. They need to keep warm too. With our wool, they make fur coats.
The farmers protect us from predators. Our worst enemies are the wolves. Without our farmers, we would be lost. We owe them a lot. To give us water, they dig wells. In summer, they give us cool water once a day. Without them, we would have died of thirst. Our farmers put straw aside for winter. During the snow storms, we receive fresh, sweet-smelling straw. It is a real pleasure to be in a protected enclosure and to chew fresh green straw. You can hardly imagine.
It is really enviable to have a hard-working farmer; they are not all like that. A farmer can't be reluctant to do a job. He also has to love the animals. Lazy people could never be farmers. It would be the end of us without hard-working farmers.
The farmers are unhappy without mutton. Without mutton chops, the Zagaan Sar- the white month would be unthinkable.

I am the baby of the goat. Our brothers and sisters of the same species are very supple. We are always hungry. We would eat everything until there was nothing left to eat if necessary. We climb up trees to eat the foliage.
We dig up the roots of herbs. When there is really nothing left, we eat the white ropes that hold up the kibitkas. We empty the wells.
There is a proverb that says:

The goat is the last resort of survival.
The goat is also the beginning of fortune.

The fine cashmere wool has great value. In spring, one combs our cashmere with a metal comb. With cashmere, one can make clothes as light as a breath of silk. Rich people wear cashmere with pride. Cashmere is the finest wool. Angora is intermediary wool. Kashgore is the roughest wool. It goes without saying that all the wool comes from us, the goats. Thank goodness, we are all cashmere goats. Our cashmere is worth more than us and that is our salvation.

The sheep is not from our species. But it has its uses. It is very warm. When it freezes, we seek refuge among the sheep.

We are healthy because we eat delicate herbs. It appears our meat tastes good. Mongols like goat meat. Koreans have even made a medicine from it to help people who are weak or elderly.
We also have numerous predators. The wolf is enemy number one. The cattle rustler comes in second position. And the dsud (bad winter without grass) is always a threat.
Our existence is threatened more and more. Numerous varieties of plants have already disappeared. Our grandmothers tell us that there used to be many types of delicious herbs. My mother tells me that the barren steppes were covered with a silver-green grass years ago. My father talks of beautiful and tempting herbs. Just talking about it wakes my appetite.
Well, I must stop wittering on. The herds have gone. My mother is calling. I'm coming mother!
Goodbye little man!

I am a foal, that is to say, the baby of a mare. My father is called a stallion. My brothers and sisters of the same species are called horses. We are unfortunately always attached in summer. We feed from our mother every two hours after which, at most, only a drop of milk is left. Our poor mothers think perhaps that it is us who drink all the milk. Men are mean.

In the evening, we are set free so at night, we can suckle on the teats of our mothers without interruption. On summer nights, we sleep standing up in the prairie.
My father tells interesting old stories. I love listening to these old tales. And you, child, have you read the book by James Aldridge?

It's called "wonderful horse." Have you read "The brown horse" by Tsch Lhamsuren? Oh, you lazy thing! Try reading one day.
We are Mongols like our masters. What links us to our heritage is similar to blood ties.
Now I will tell you a story that will break your heart:

Long ago, many of us were sent to a faraway land during the Jin dynasty in China . At the time of socialism in Vietnam , in China and in the USSR . It was a dark time. The emotion was such that the horses could scarcely eat. Everyone exchanged a last whinny to their friends who had the chance to not leave their country. The nostalgia of the native steppes wet their eyes with tears. Everyone complained about their captivity. At the border, everyone wanted to graze on the native grass one last time and drink the water of their country. The horse-keepers understood it very well.
Over the border, they were put into the hands of strangers. They were brutal and had a completely different smell which provoked sneezing fits in everyone.
Only time going by without interruption knows how many horses were removed from their native Mongolia .

A few managed to escape in the night and galloped towards their country though few had the chance to see their native Mongolia again. Once, a race-horse managed to get back to Mongolia . The old nomad to whom the horse returned saw it waiting and trembling in its winter shed. He could not hold back the tears. The horse was thin and its four shoes completely worn out by its adventure. Its body was covered in wounds. The remains of a harness hung around its neck. The homeland is something fabulous. Homesickness is worse than thirst This maybe depends on the way a horse is looked after. The last time that Mongol horses were used as mounts and beasts of burden was during the second world war with the Russian army. Mongolia delivered more than half a million to the red army. Many memories relating to Mongolian horses were told and written by red army soldiers. They sent numerous moving letters to the Mongol horse-farmers. You will learn more by reading an old newspaper from the time of the jubilee of the war.

Our endurance and our frugality are still highly appreciated. We are animals that are happy with little. We have heard of sacks of oats but the preferred technique of horse-raising in Mongolia is pasture grazing.
Horse-racing is an ancestral sport in Mongolia , the festival of Naadam is a day of pride, and the preparation leading up to it is intensive. You can't imagine what a pleasure it is to wait in front of the grandstand, to hear the songs of praise and to receive the Airag (fermented mare milk) that one pours on the manes of the horses.

One can't imagine a Mongol without a horse. Today, motorbikes have replaced them in many domains. There are almost as many motorbike riders as there are horse riders that take part in horseracing. But the tourists come for the horse riding.

The little camel

Ah, little man, you again? It's good that you keep coming back to me. It's really unpleasant to be attached all day in this heat. Look, that's my place, a circular patch of ground, cut short and bare. I turn around the hook to which I am attached all day. It's my life. I call my mother constantly. My mother calls me too when she is close enough and she says: "Be patient my little one, I have to walk far to find the juicy bushes, when my udders are full of milk, I will come running to you"

My mother tells me that, once, she didn't have to run so far to find sufficient food to eat. There were tall juicy herbs that I find impossible to imagine. It is now mid August and it still has not rained. We are happy when a few clouds form on the horizon. All the men and animals think that it will finally rain. But not one drop falls. All we get are sandstorms. Once, when everything was green, all my fellow camels stayed close to the colony and the kibitkas and faced the direction of the wind. All the camels' humps pointed towards the sky full of fat reserves.

My mother always says that the number of camels will diminish. Once, (in 1954) there were 890 000 of my fellow camels. Now, there are no more than 253 000. And why are there less and less of us?

This is due to numerous factors.
Firstly, the reserves that are necessary for our way of life are more and more limited. Secondly, many of us were killed to be butchered during the era of the planned economy. As the number of animals had to be maintained, they preferred to kill one camel rather than a dozen horses. Thirdly, since 1950 there have been no more caravans of camels that transport goods, which needed also many magnificent horses.

Once, camels were bigger, unsurprising considering the sport that they did. What is more, our mothers only give birth every two years while other species, every year. Goats and sheep often give birth to twins.
Finally, compared to the foal, we need a lot of time to walk on our legs with confidence.

But our wool is precious and the camel milk is very nutritious. Only our wool and our milk can save us. Camel hair is light, fine and warm and furthermore it doesn't fray. The manufacturing of camel wool is preferable to an abattoir. Since recently they have been making camel wool carpets.

Our milk is nutritious and healthy and one can make baby milk with it. We are grateful to businessmen who invest their money in this. They should bring in more and more tourists for camel rides because running around does not tire camels easily but getting up and kneeling down all the time is unpleasant. Ah? Can you hear? It's my mother's voice! Hurray, she's coming, I have to wait, I can't go running to you, I am attached. I'm thirsty. Come on mother! Goodbye little man, come back later.when I am alone!

I am the baby of the cow; my father is called a bull. Our uncles that can't marry are called bullocks. They pull the carts and suffer under their yoke. I will probably be a bullock too. My mother has to produce milk all the time. As long as she can produce milk, she will be allowed to stay alive. She must give a lot of milk and remain thin to not be killed as the Mongols dislike thin meat.

Our fellow cows, calves, bulls and bullocks are known for their peacefulness. In summer, we sleep in the middle of roads, there, the flies and the mosquitoes do not bother us as the passing cars chase them away. Lord only knows that we like to take our time to go anywhere.
But the reserves that are necessary for our way of life are more and more limited. In the Gobi, southern Mongolia , there almost no bovines because there is almost no grass high enough for us to grab with our tongues. We can't find anything to eat.

We don't have any wool or precious hair, but we give men a lot of milk and meat which is greatly appreciated. The bullocks work as beasts of burden. We are needed all the time. Since recently, foreign species of cows have not ceased to appear here, they give ten times as much milk as their Mongolian cousins. It is said that they are not really animals; in fact they are milk factories. If more arrive, we will soon be a minority.