She is a Mongolian Puppy

After some long and difficult conversations, Cady and I have come to a decision. Because Lucy is a Mongolian puppy we feel it is best to make sure that she stays a Mongolian puppy. By that, I mean we have decided to begin looking for a good, new, Mongolian home for Lucy.

When we brought her into our home we agreed that we didn't know how long she would be with us. Our only goal that night was to give her a warm place to sleep and a little bit of love she probably had never had. Each day Cady and I have talked about what we will do. Do we keep her for our 2 years here? Do we keep her through the winter? Do we keep her until her strength returns and until we can find a good, Mongolian home? We have finally made a final decision. We have decided to post signs and begin looking for a family that needs a haasha puppy.

Lucy is, after all, a Mongolian dog. The longer we keep her the less prepared she will be to live like Mongolian haasha dogs do. We cannot soften her up. We cannot domesticate her.

Thank you to those of you who have gotten Lucy gifts. I'm sure she feels your love and appreciates it. As to whether or not you should send them? Well, I can't tell you how long she will be with us. She may be with us another couples days. She may live with us for weeks or months. We just do not know. We hope that we can find her a new home as soon as possible. Therefore, we leave it up to you what to do with your gifts for her.

Cady and I both love Lucy and have found this to be a very difficult decision. We believe that Lucy has come into our lives for a reason. She has given us much as we have given her much. It will be hard for us to say goodbye, but we believe that it is necessary, that it is best for all of us.

Lucy!

More on these photos later... but here's our new friend Lucy!

Sandwiches again?

When Cady is out of town on business, there’s only one person to feed. I don’t need to make big meals. And it’s not that I can’t cook, it’s that I’m so good at making sandwiches. Besides, this way I’m saving the good food, the good meals for when we can both enjoy them. I don’t want to be selfish. And, it’s only four days. Mmm, sandwiches….

Traveling a lot!

I've been in and out of site for business travel for the past couple of weeks since my birthday-- lots of interesting trips, including an all staff meeting in the beautiful Terelj National Park, and a trip to a cooperative development informational meeting in Bulgan aimag. The Bulgan trip was my first adventure out -- and I learned a LOT about cultural communication and being patient and prepared for everything! This next week or so, I'll head to UB, the capital for a two-three week training with our advisors on Value Chains.

The Terelj all staff meeting was a great experience. I got to run a couple of sessions, including, "How to Utilize Your PCV" where we discussed some possible work plan ideas and expectations we had of each other, and for fun, a team building exercise called "Touch the Can" -- You can see from the photo below how much fun our advisors had doing the team building activities... however none of them are touching the can! We had 4 team building exercises that were "cooperative" games-- and in true competitive Mongolian fashion, we turned them into competitive games with scoring and a champion team at the end. We had fun though-- the 3 other CHF placed PCVs had a good time catching up, and it was nice to do some capacity building training with our advisors.

Homemade Zza!

The other night we had incredible pizza. Thanks to the spices we’ve received, namely Italian seasonings, and Cady’s creativity, we had what tasted like restaurant-style pizza. So, so good. It put store-bought, restaurant, and delivery pizza to shame. It’s a true slice of Americana. It’s the best pizza I have had in Mongolia. And believe me, I’ve searched for it here. Mongolians just can’t make pizza like Americans can.

Indecisive No Longer: “Maybe”

When I was in AmeriCorps, one of my teammates, Jessica, and I were paired for a team-building activity. We were to come up with up with a name for our team. We couldn’t decide on one. When it came time for us to say our name all we could think of was “in” and “decisive.” I’m still not sure who was which.

I think I have always felt a little indecisive.

Since coming to Mongolia, and particularly now after being at site, however, I can firmly say that I am more direct now than I have ever been. I attribute that in large part to the word “maybe.”

Maybe, it seems to me, is as much a part of Mongolian culture as anything else: Are we going to have a meeting today? Maybe. Why did students not come to class today? Maybe it’s because they think classes are boring. When will the heating problem be fixed? Maybe tomorrow.

Sometimes I just want to know if it will or if it will not, if the answer is yes or no, if we can or cannot. Sometimes, then, I just need to say, because no one else will, that it won’t, that the answer is yes or that we can.

I knew before I came here that Mongolian people are lax, that being on time, for example, does not meant the same thing here as it does in America. Being hours “late” is the same thing sometimes as being on time. Waiting is customary. Waiting is expected.

Sometimes I just can’t wait. Sometimes it is important to do. Sometimes someone just needs to get the ball rolling. At work, that person is usually me. It’s not a role with which I am very accustom or necessarily comfortable, but it’s feeling more natural each time I do it.

Other times it is okay to wait. Maybe it’s not always necessary to have an answer to know what’s going on.

Site: My job at MUST of Darkhan

My job at the Mongolian University of Science and Technology (MUST) of Darkhan has many parts. First, I teach English to students. All of my students are studying to become English and Russian translators. Their focus, then, is language studies. I have recently learned that this translation studies major at MUST schools across Mongolia was 2 years ago discontinued by the Minister of Education. Therefore, the two grades of students I have are some of the last of their kind. I have 3 classes. 2 of those classes are with 3rd course students, a.k.a. juniors (the same group of juniors) and the other is with 4th course students, a.k.a. seniors. With the 3rd course students, I teach Spoken English and Grammar/Vocabulary. With the 4th course students, I teach Spoken English. Oddly enough, the 3rd course students have stronger English language skills and are all around better students. As a result, I have been told that most of my time here in Darkhan will be spent instructing the 3rd course students, those who are most willing to work with a native teacher and those with the most potential to capitalize on their instruction. From my end, I am thankful for this. The 3rd course students have thus far been a pleasure to teach.

Second, I observe the other English teachers. These teachers have a range of language skills capabilities, methodological styles, and teaching abilities. Their desire, as with all teachers, is to become better at what they do. There are 5 other English teachers. They are all women. In fact, all of my 11 counterparts are women. The longest tenured English teacher has 10 years experience at my school. Each of these women has a Master’s degree. So, in Mongolia they are all qualified to teach college English. In my observations, I note their strengths and weaknesses, how they can improve and what new teaching styles would be of benefit to them. I work with 1 teacher each week. I observe 3 classes each week. After I have worked with each teacher, I begin again the rotation. My general assessment thus far is that each teacher needs improvement, but more than that, the curriculum is in need of changing. The greatest problems I observe is that students 1) regardless of level or ability are being too quickly moved along by their teachers and are not given adequate time to learn what they have been taught and 2) the content is not optimal for beginning learners or for long-term learning. Both of these are problems not particular to Mongolia; they exist everywhere.


Peter with some of his counterparts at Opening Ceremonies

Third, I am preparing my colleges for the TOEFL IBT or Teaching of English as a Foreign Language Institutional-Based Test. It is a modified, more basic version of the international-recognized TOEFL exam. I am preparing 7 women (5 of which are the aforementioned English teachers) for the exam I am told they will take in the next couple weeks. For the most part, I teach strategies for question-answering. I assign them homework, sample tests, and then twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays, we work through them together. After two weeks of preparation, it is apparent to me that language skills of even the better teachers require a lot of work. They all do, however, have the desire to improve. It was their idea to receive homework daily. We talk about answering such things as detail questions, main idea questions, inference questions, etc. And what we’re really talking about, as much as it TOEFL preparation is just as much about critical thinking.

Finally, the last big part of my job is to act as an advocate or an advisor for all things university-related. When I am asked or when a situation requires it, I give feedback on a variety of issues. Some of my recent interjections as an advisor have been about the format and content of student presentations. The 4th course students are required to present on a three-week language practice they conducted over the summer as well as a recent two-week teaching practice which pulled them from all classes earlier this semester. I sit in on these presentations and share my impressions with the department chair and the other English teachers. I find that I am more openly honest and constructively critical than I think I have ever been. I realize the absolute importance of my candor and therefore don’t hold back. I genuinely want these activities to be of the most benefit for the department and for the students. That requires, in my professional opinion (I’ve always wanted to write that), changes in procedures and attitudes. These same things are sometimes required university-wide, as is with the case of a proposal I have been working on that I will turn in to the school director on Monday. This proposal discusses the very serious early semester attendance problem, in which many students do not arrive until the 2nd, 3rd and even sometimes 4th weeks of classes. I have taken it upon myself to interview teachers and student representatives, compose a document for change and to bring it before the administration in an effort to improve an existing university problem.


The University Building

So far, I have really enjoyed this job. I spend a lot of hours lesson planning, developing relationships with co-workers, giving advice on any number of topics (sometimes this comes in the form of seminar presentations), assessing my work environment and thinking about what it all means. It is challenging. It is rewarding. It is the kind of Peace Corps assignment best suited for me.

Following the Packers

I’ve done this one before. While in AmeriCorps there was a time or two when I had to check the games via the web. At times I would even “watch” the whole game on nfl.com. Thankfully, there is a feature which allows a person to follow the game play by play with the use of a self-updating feature, updating itself every few seconds. This way I could anxiously, nervously rock back and forth in my chair, wondering: ‘but what did that play look like?’ It has its pros and its cons. Worse yet, when living in London in 2000, I had to go the better part of the season tracking the Packers exclusively from the Internet. I was now 7 hours ahead of Packer time, a.k.a. Central Standard Time. In my flat we had a TV that had maybe 4 channels. Somehow I was, however, able to watch Monday Night Football on Tuesday mornings. I guess it had something to do with the fact that I was in London and not, say a developing country half way around the globe.

I realize now that all of that was just practice. Now I am 13 hours ahead, twice as long in time as I’ve ever been from Brett Favre, Lambeau Field, the heartbeat of Packer Nation. These days I go bed Sunday nights anxious, nervous and wake up the same. I hurry to work, praying to God that the Internet is working that day. I wait a full far too many minutes for nfl.com to upload. Then, I let out a jubilant yelp that the whole school can probably hear or a “Shit!” that only the people in the room can hear. As I see it, this is exactly what Peace Corps is talking about with their second goal: bringing American culture to my host nation.

You might be asking yourself, what is Peter doing from Mongolia to ensure victory? After all, I’m a superstitious about this as I always have been. I know that being a shareholder just isn’t enough. So…when doing laundry, for example, I use the appropriate number of green and yellow-colored clothes hanging clips. This past week we played Chicago. We were 4-0 going into the game. And as logic would have it, I placed 5 clips on my Packers t-shirt, making sure to lay the shirt upright so that the gods would see what I have done. Another example? Sure. Well, let’s see. My superstitiousness also carries through when I go running. I run in the hills behind our apartment. On top of the higher hill tops are owoos, traditional rock piles placed by passers-by asking for safe journey (see photos). A person passing by must walk 3 times clockwise around the rocks. So, when doing so, I lay the appropriate number of rocks. A couple of weeks ago, we played the Vikings (a game in which, I might add, Brett Favre broke the all-time TD record). We were 3-0 at the time. I laid…that’s right, 4 rocks. We won. So, sometimes it works and others it doesn’t. My game plan now, however, is different. I have come to realize that I can’t do the same thing every week. What sense would that make? After all, the Packers don’t prepare for each team exactly the same way. They still prepare, though. And as long as the Packers prepare, Peter too prepares.

GO PACKERS!

PhD Party

First, a little background…

In America (here I go beginning a comparison…exactly what I shouldn’t be doing) getting an advanced degree is usually a lot of work. To get my Master’s degree it took me two somewhat grueling (and at times, very grueling) years. I would not, however, say that the completion of my degree was necessarily an American cultural event.
Now, on to the party…

Last week Thursday I was told: “Tomorrow night you’re going to be busy.” Seeing as how I didn’t have any plans I was wondering how they knew something that I didn’t. They told me that I was going to go to a celebration for a teacher at my school who just received his PhD. In Mongolia, I was told, when people get their PhD they usually get a big party that is a lot like a wedding. The party is held in a reception hall, or in this case, a hotel (ironically, this is the same hotel where we always came as trainees when would have sessions in Darkhan. It was trippy to say the least.). There is cake, dinner, people give speeches of congratulations, singing and dancing, and, of course, plenty of drinking.

I arrived at the hotel a little before 7:00 p.m. We (every teacher from my school was invited) waited, as is customary, in the lobby about a half an hour before we went into the large banquet room. Then, word came that were should enter. What I saw was the most elegant presentation of tables I have seen in Mongolia. The room was a rectangle. There were two very long tables along the sides. There was another long table along the back (furthest from and facing the door as is customary in Mongolia) where the honored guest and his wife sat. Also at this table was the director of the school and other honored teachers. Down the center of the room were four round tables. The table at which I sat was closest to the stage.

Each table was beautifully decorated with plates of appetizers, glasses, bottles of vodka and juice, cans of beer, a bowl of fruit, and a cake. My counterparts told me that such a party costs a lot of money. I could see why. In fact, we each gave 6,000 Tugricks.

First, we sat down. We waited. More people came. We waited. Then, the lights went down low, music that could have been from Rocky came blaring through the speakers, and the man of honor and his wife entered the room to the voice of an announcer who you would have thought was calling a heavyweight boxing match. We all clapped and cheered. When everyone took their seats the first bottle, the best bottle, at each table was opened and each person’s shot glass was filled.

For the first time, I was a table with all of my counterparts. It was me and 11 Mongolian women. Ladies, all the ladies…. To take the first shot there is a traditional order: honored guest first, then the oldest man, then the other men by age, and then the women by age. As the only man, I was to begin. In order for the next person to begin drinking the person before them must finish their drink entirely. What was I to do? I took the shot in one swig.

I guess you could say that it was all downhill from there…

While my harem drank one-by-one, the first performance came to the stage. Somehow, lucky for this social commentator and general Mongolia enthusiast, our table was directly in front of the stage and my seat was closest to it. In Mongolia, most celebrations begin with the playing of the traditional musical instrument, the horse fiddle, a beautiful sounding two-string instrument. They played two songs, both of which everyone in the room knew and sang along to except myself. And so there you have it, the perfect Mongolian celebration recipe – drinking and singing. Interestingly enough, it almost always seems like everyone Mongolian in the room can sing. People in this country are very talented.

Next, dinner was served. Soup. Mongolians have this thing about soup. It has to be scalding hot. And no matter the temperature outside, soup is the meal of choice. It takes me back to the summer during my training when temperatures peaked into the low 100’s and still they would serve shuul, soup. Can you imagine that? In fact, the host family of one of my closest friends, Jacob, served him schuul for 90% (not an exaggeration) of every meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Really rather amazing when you think about it. It almost drives a PCV to madness. I doubt highly that Jacob will ever look at a bowl of soup the same again. So, what did I do? I shook my head, smirked, and thought to myself: “Of course, schuul.” To make matters worse, I was wearing a white dress shirt and the soup was colored red from beets. A few shots in me, I slurped and splattered. I knew I shouldn’t have worn that shirt. Unfortunately for me, it was the only clean, this-event-presentable-ish one still hanging in the closest.

As we ate, a cute little girl, the niece of the announcer came to the stage and sang a song in Japanese. Random? Maybe anywhere but in Mongolia.

Following that, the lights were brought down low again, the Rocky music and the announcer’s booming voice returned. “It’s time to cut the cake!” He calls to the front Erdenbat, one of the school’s most well-respected and longest-tenured professors. He is also our department advisor. Erdenbat is far and away my favorite counterpart. He and I became good friends at the department picnic a month before. Erdenbat may as well be a comedian because 1 out of every 4 things the man says gets a laugh from everyone within earshot. Edenbat is asked by the announcer to cut the cake. Regrettably, he says, he is too old and not experienced in the ways of pastry dissection. He calls to the front, to the cake, the head of the Food Science department (yes, that is correct). I’d like to tell you that he did a masterful job, that the first slice was cut like something out of a movie. I’d like to tell you that. The piece was put onto a plate and brought to the rear of the room where the guest of honor received it, said a few words of thanks and took the first bite.
Mongolian cake…. Hmm…. It’s not American cake. It looks the same, but the taste is a little different. I’d like to note here that the small cake in the center of my table stayed untouched the duration of the night. Maybe the ladies know what I know.

Anyway, Erdenbat. Erdenbat, with microphone in hand (I think they knew what they were doing with this move) continued his act. He calls my table to join him in a song. The first name filling the room – Peter. Erdenbat has this way of making you do anything that he wants you to do. You simply cannot say “no.” I don’t know how he does it. So, my table and I stand and join him. They sing. If I knew the words, I would have too. I did, however, stand with my arm around Erdenbat, his arm around my back. When our 13-part harmony stuttered to a close, we took to our table. Erdenbat and I exchanged a hearty handshake and broad smiles. One of the ladies gave up her seat for “the man,” who sat next to, you guessed it, yours truly. And what would you guess we did know? If you’re thinking: “Fill up those glasses!” then you are correct. We all raised our glasses, Erdenbat began, we all followed. I took it in a full swig.
And then it happened.

Erdenbat did this thing he seems to always do when he drinks (always meaning, the one other time I have drunk with him, the picnic). When he drained the clear sneaky punch in his glass, he turned it upside down and put it on the top of his head. He looked at me with perhaps the biggest smile I’ve ever seen a person wear. We all started laughing. The ladies asked for my camera. We took a picture. We laughed heartily. We drank more. Indeed, it was the highlight of the night. You see, Erdenbat does not speak English. Well, that’s not true. His vocabulary includes: “Yes,” “No,” “Thank you,” “Good bye,” and “Peter.” It doesn’t ever matter though. I always have a translator. And even if I didn’t, the man says everything he thinking with his face, his body. I almost never wonder. Besides, he’s always happy.


Peter and Erdenbat at the party!

One by one, each department made its way to the stage, gave some words of congratulations, sang a song, laughed at the end and took their seats again.
Then, the tables were pushed back and the dancing began. We (yes, I include myself, the non-dancer) danced traditional Mongolian dances. I had two dance partners. Both of them led. Both of them were thoroughly amused. I couldn’t stop laughing.

After somewhere around 10 Mongolian-sized vodka shots, two bad Mongolian beers and a night packed full of true Mongolian culture, I decided to call it a night.

Happy PhD!

Peace Corps: The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love

We all know the Peace Corps slogan. I’d read it, heard it many times. But how tough could it actually be? Before I first applied to Peace Corps over 5 years ago I had this idea that I’d be living on a tiny island in the middle of the South Pacific. In point of fact, that’s exactly where I was supposed to go. I thought to myself: “Now this is going to be the real Peace Corps experience. There’s going to be no Internet. There probably won’t be TV. Sending letters, not knowing when they’d arrive or when I’d receive them, will be the mode of communication. It will undoubtedly be hot as hell. The weather will be unpredictable. One day it will be sunny. Another day, torrential downpours. Then, for months straight it will be sunny, almost too much sun. Teaching English will be the primary job assignment. It’s likely that there won’t be a blackboard, and if there is, there probably will only be a very limited supply of chalk. It’ll be lonely. Most days there won’t be many, if any, native English speakers. The housing will be minimal. Will there be running water? Will there be plumbing? It’s definitely going to be remote. It will certainly be man versus nature. It will be community-building at its best. It will be a real Peace Corps experience.”

Wherever they send you, Peace Corps is going to be tough. It’s going to be physically demanding. It’s going to be mentally exhausting. It’s going to require every inch of your being to survive. And every so often you’re going to ask yourself: “How can I do this? Maybe it would just be easier if….”

This is not my reality. Well, the whole Pacific island thing isn’t and it wasn’t then either. I declined the Invitation, deciding to do AmeriCorps instead. Over 5 years later, I reapplied, was again accepted and myself accepted the Invitation. I’m in Mongolia. I don’t live alone; I’m married. It’s not the heat that supposedly lasts for endless months. I have the Internet, a TV, reliable mail (regular packages even), a blackboard and plenty of chalk, running water, plumbing, and yes, a significant and already rewarding host-national community. I’ve only been at site a month and a half and I know now that what I used to think of the Peace Corps is both still true and not. The difference is that I am no longer assuming.


The view from our apartment

Staying healthy, being sound in body are the physical demands. It’s not as easy you might think. Medical care is different, to say the least. Being your own doctor, and by that I mean being cognizant of your own health, is paramount. Should you fail yourself or should your body fail you, your Peace Corps service may likely end early, like it or not.

The mental exhaustion is the daily cultural and language differences. This, I have found, is the most difficult part of being a Peace Corps volunteer in 2007. Often times, I find myself wanting to compare life in Mongolia with life in America. Sometimes that works, but usually it doesn’t. This just isn’t America. Not being able to understand or be understand can be exhausting, especially in the beginning. It’s as if you’re speaking a foreign language and acting like you’ve come from a distant land.

As I was told by numerous Returned Peace Corps Volunteers (RPCVs), the key to survival is not to have expectations. Disappointment does not make for a healthy or productive two years. The highs will be high and the lows will be low. Really, though, where isn’t this true? The same can be said for life in America. I know I’ve asked myself many times, especially in grad school: “How can I do this? Maybe it would be just easier if….”

I can only imagine what life as a PCV would be like on a Pacific island. I can, however, tell you exactly what life is like as a PCV in Darkhan, Mongolia. Expectations aside, I’m beginning to think that this job is one of the toughest I’ve ever had. And, yes, I do love it.