August 20-23rd

Because I didn't write during Dad's visit, I am writing up about Dad's time in Mongolia (August 5-19th) at a different pace.  I will post it later

 

August 20^th

I woke up at around 3:45 and brushed my teeth and threw on some clothing.  I met dad in the lobby and we headed to the airport.  I hugged him, said goodbye, and headed back to the hotel to get a few more hours of sleep ideally.  I slept very fitfully and, as a result, spent the rest of the day in a sort of stupor. 

I met Gundee for lunch and coffee then headed over to Enkhule’s house to get a bit of sleep, but at 9 I had more work, so I went over to Damba’s place.   Enkhule and M were very concerned, as were their families, about me going to a male friend’s house at night.  I tried to assure them that I was close to his mother and so I wouldn’t really be going alone.

Enkhule and M insisted to drive with me there and meet Damba in person. Damba greeted the with his usual big smile and his mother instantly came out to give me a big hug.  Damba, being a new shaman, had forgotten a few things and had to run out and grab butter for the lamps and milk and things like that.  I sat around chatting with his very sweet mother until he was ready to start.

Since Damba is a new shaman, only around 2 weeks now, he is shamanizing near every night for no purpose other than practice. People are not coming for help or advice, since he is new and inexperienced, so he is shamanizing for his own practice only.  As a result, the only people there were his mother, aunts, his teacher’s assistant and HS, one of his teacher’s fellow students.

It was clear that Damba was very new. There were lots of tiny things, like forgetting to line up the shagai on the altar.  I met grandfather first, but didn’t ask anything.  Next I met grandmother, who again had trouble with my name. She decided I needed a Mongolian name, and asked if I would accept it. I said that I would be pleased. She named me “Tsetsegdulam” (Flower Tara), a nice name that is also the Mongolian version of the name of my friends’ daughter.  It’s a very old fashioned name (not surprising coming from a spirit who is supposed to be hundreds of years old).  But I really like it. She asked if I accepted and liked the name, I said that yes, I did, and that it matched my friends’ child’s name and I was happy.  She said that she would only address me by this name and that the people present should also refer to me by that name.   She asked about my work and about my eyesight and we just talked and laughed a bit. 

When grandmother left, a darker spirit came. I was told not to present myself to him and we even turned out the lights. I was exhausted at this point, so with the lights out I basically fell asleep sitting up.

When shamanizing finished I was too tired to do much. I called Enkhule, but he was asleep, so we called M and Damba’s mom explained that I would sleep there and not to worry. 

Damba asked me about his voice when the spirits came, I told him that it was different, but hard for me to describe in my poor Mongolian.  His mom asked me about my recent trip to khuvsgul. 

I had a migraine from sheer exhaustion and so Damba gave me a great head massage to help relieve it. It really helped.  We chatted a bit more until everyone went to sleep.

August 21^st

In the morning, Damba helped me get a taxi to the office.  I had a lot of writing to catch up on after travelling with dad.  Enkhule called me when I was at the office to invite me over to his house, where his father would be preparing Marmot Bodog. Bodog is a special meat preparation, usually used for marmot, whereby the animal is filled with extremely hot stones and cooked from the inside out.

I sat in Enkhule’s tent and played with his little baby as we ate marmot, a very gamey meat, and one of Enkhule’s favorites. At around 10 o’clock, his three year old nephew marched in and asked for me to come into the main house so that he could sleep next to me. How could I possible refuse?    I went in and realized that mostly the nephew wanted to play games on my iphone, but that was OK too, and I curled up and went to sleep.

August 22^nd

In the morning I went to the office to do some more writing. I got a call from C, the shamaness who had come with me to Khuvsgul, saying that she had changed plans and would actually be shamanizing that night. Was I available to come? I contacted Gundee and we quickly arranged to meet at 5 o clock and head up to C’s house.

At 3 o clock I had a meeting with NS, a young woman of Tuvan ethnicity who had shamanic potential but wasn’t sure whether or not she would take her spirits on.  It was an interesting discussion. She is a very modern, UB woman, and being a shaman in the Tuvan tradition of her family is another world entirely.  She wasn’t sure she could reconcile those two ways of living. 

I recommended she watch the Korean film “Man on the Edge” for a good laugh, since it’s about a very modern Korean gangster who has to become a shaman.  So it was something she could relate to, and then we enjoyed a coffee. 

I wanted to buy a birthday present for Gunjee, who would be turning 7 in two days, but didn’t have any idea where to go. NS walked me over to a local toy store where she assured me I would find something right. I walked in and found a wall of Asian Barbie knock offs.  PERFECT. Gunjee loves “barbies” none of which are actual barbies. I bought her a “Nancie” veterinary doll, where the pretty, Barbie-like doll is wearing a scrubs/dress and has a little kitten doll as well as a medical box, stethoscope, clip board and more.   S, my host sister and Gunjee’s mother, would also be having a birthday soon, so I went to the state department store and bought her some nailpolish (which she adores) and some nice quality pearlescent makeup.

Gundee met me outside the state dept store and we made our way up to C’s home for shamanizing.  Upon walking into C’s ger I was struck by one thing—OH MY GOSH KITTEN!!!!!!!!  I was destracted for the rest of the time.  BECAUSE KITTEN.  I introduced C to Gundee and C introduced me to her mother and father.  Then she began shamanizing.

I first spoke to grandfather about studies and research. He was very annoyed by the double translation (Archaic Mongolian to Mongolian to English) and tried to have me speak to him directly, so I tried my best.

When it was Grandmother’s time to come, C was decked out in traditional Mongolian headband and earrings and some costume jewelry rings.  She also wore a braided hair extension with traditional hair clips. When grandmother came, she showed off about being fancy with all her jewelry.  She teased me for my costume jewelry earrings.  She gave me the costume jewelry pearl ring off her hand and told me not to lose it and not to submerge it in water. I agreed

Grandmother left and C removed the jewelry and hair extensions and put on a large, sheepskin vest with a mirror on it.  The next spirit was an especially fierce one who demanded to shamanize outside the ger.

Then the shamanizing was complete and C came out of her trance. She asked how it was and said “taking the spirits is very hard.”  Then she looked at my hand. 

“Wait, isn’t that my ring?” She asked.  This was followed by lots of laughing, me sheepishly giggling, and everyone explain that no, not anymore it wasn’t!  I still have the ring.

August 22, Saturday

I mistakenly thought it was Gunjee’s birthday, but it turned out to be the next day, so I spent a very relaxed day at home reading and working on a cross stitching project.  In the evening, I went out with some friends to a local park where we rented two person side by side bike carraiges and rode around the park chasing each other.  It was a lot of fun.

August 23 Sunday

Today would be Gunjee’s birthday.  I helped Gunjee and Soyloo chop potatoes for potato salad and we snacked on fresh pine nuts straight from the pine cone.  Some family members came over and we had buuz and salads and an enormous chocolate cake.  Of course Duulag wanted to steal the chocolate decorations off of Gunjee’s piece, but we wouldn’t let him. Since he is a two year old, this made him break down in sobs.    He also kept trying to play with his big sister’s presents. I really understand the concept of “terrible twos” now.

I gave Gunjee the Barbie doll and a bag of salt water taffies. She adored the doll most of all and kept playing with all the little veterinary accessories.

Reflections on Shamanism (2): Shamanizing in the House

Essay 02: Shamanizing in the House

This wasn’t the sort of place where one would expect shamanizing.  To be honest, the first thing that struck me about the room wasn’t the large shamanic altar, the massive drums, or even the giant stuffed vulture.  It was the teddy bears.

Previously, I had only seen shamanizing and shaman’s altars in gers, the traditional circular felt tents known as yurts in English and ger in Mongolian.  Even in Ulaanbaatar, many shamans in the appropriately-named ger districts kept a ger in their front yard and used it for socializing and shamanizing. 

However, Tulga had taken down his ger for winter and not set it back up, due to an unusual amount of rain, so the altar had been moved to the back room of his house. This room functioned as a guest room (my bedroom, in fact), and clothing storage.  The walls are covered in baby blue wall paper with teddy bears alternately having picnics or playing soccer. One wall is dominated by large, 3D Barbie stickers.

When shamanizing would begin, the bed would be cleared of sheets and blankets, and turned into a sitting area for supplicants of the shaman.  The room would be impeccably cleaned. In the corner, next to the altar, is a large mirror and chest that has been turned into a makeup vanity.  The mirror would be covered by a large blanket, also featuring a giant teddy bear.

The shrine is still on the north side of the home, facing south, but there is no door because we are in a bedroom. Even the south facing window is covered by a curtain.  The childrens’ toy car is pushed into a corner, and a tablecloth covered the miniature children’s piano, which will be used as a spare table.

From the main room, we can still hear the television. Someone will go to turn it off. The children will protest.  It’s one of the hazards of shamanizing in the house.  With the ger outside, the children might sit inside and watch television under the watchful eye of an older cousin. 

Even out near lake Khuvsgul, one of the centers of shamanism for Mongolia, a shift to settled housing has led to shamanizing in the house, rather than in nature or the ger. 

Some question whether shamanism can occur within the confines of a cement walled house.  Do the spirits feel uncomfortable coming and talking under the shadow of pop up Barbie stickers?

August 2nd-5th: Chanar, A New Shaman's Initiation

August 3^rd

Basically, it was family playing and hanging out until we got the car to go back to UB. Nothing really noteworthy, although I had a lot of fun playing with the kids, picking them up and giving them “horsey rides” and the like. 

August 4^th

I woke up at 6:30 and packed my bags to go off with ML to the country side.  I had been told to bring a sleeping bag, a deel, and warm clothing. I knew that Khulan and TS would be there, but otherwise, I knew nothing of what would be coming up in the next two days, just that it was big and only happened once a year.  I packed my Mongolian deel and put on my Tibetan chuba, put on good boots, packed a wool sweater and a jacket, my sleeping bag, fully charged camera battery, new camera card and my solar charger for my phone and waited to hear from ML.  ML came to pick me up at around 7:15 and drove me over to his place.

We came inside his home where another shaman, HT, was sitting with his mother.  His mother had made Khuushuu for breakfast.  We ate Khuushuur and drank tea while ML made his own preparations. He got dressed in a beautiful dark brown deel with navy blue lining.  He also wore a traditional Mongolian leather hat with fur flaps and a knotted top.  We went out to ML’s ger and were soon joined by several of ML’s disciples. One of them was a tall young man with a buzz cut and a shy smile.  He asked HT to put on a traditional cream colored deel.  Realizing he had forgotten a hat, the young man was forced to wear a white, lacy, women’s sun hat.   This young man, “Damba”, was the newest shaman initiate.  Today would be the day he would become a shaman. 

A white khadag was laid across his hands and he held in his right hand a silver bowl full of milk.  ML sat on his cushions and Damba knelt in front of him and recited a long ritual speech. Clearly the speech had to be memorized word for word, because he occasionally stumbled, and others would remind him of the words.  When he finished, he stood up and circled the ger clockwise, standing in front of each person and holding out the milk.  That person would cup Damba’s hands in theirs and bring the milk to their lips, drinking a sip, and then releasing the cup.  When he finished the circle, he returned in front of ML and drank the remainder of the milk. 

The instant the ceremonial portion was over, everything became relaxed, ML teasing and joking, and both men practically tearing off their deels.  I joked with TS, a female disciple I had met before.  Soon, a great number of people had arrived. The shamans packed up their altars entirely and we piled into cars and vans and headed to ML’s sacred site.

A pick-up truck arrived a few minutes before us and some men were working on setting up a ger on the north side of the sacred circle.  We unloaded from the cars and started setting up personal tents or helping with the ger.  I just stayed out of the way. 

Once the ger was set up, it was time to protect the site.  A red string was tied from the pillar in the center fo the sacred circle to the stove pipe at the center of the ger.  Another string formed a massive circle around the entire area.  A small entry way was made for cars to enter and leave, as well as for people to go out to relieve themselves. A bucket of herbal arshan (sacred liquid) was set by the entry way so that after leaving the sacred area, one could wash off anything that had been picked up outside.  This circle was to protect the new shaman, who would be especially vulnerable in what was to come.

Once the altars were set up inside the ger and a string attached from ML’s lamps to Damba’s new lamps, Damba changed into his ritual robes for the first time.  He looked very excited about the moment and urged me to take photos while joking around. He would start with ML’s drum, instead of his own, which was being prepared along with other ritual items by his sisters and female relatives.  One woman made “birds nests” out of birch bark with dough eggs.  Another shamaness cut some wool off of a sheep tied up near by and added it to the nest.  Another made dough lamps. 

People shouted for us to gather around. ML put on his headdress, effectively blindfolding him. Two other shamans grabbed him, each by one elbow. He began running clockwise around the sacred circle, wearing his heavy robes and with his drum against his head, drumming and singing a traditional Buryat folk song.   Others, who knew the song, joined the singing, many chasing after Damba as he drummed and ran.  I frequently had to dive out of the way to avoid being stampeded. 

In order to help family that didn’t know the song, ML wrote down the lyrics to the song.  I joined in the singing to help bring the spirit.  After around three rounds, Damba collapsed.  An attendant yanked the headdress off and used his hand to cover Damba’s eyes.  People shouted “shok shok shok!” and some would hit him on the back.  They helped him up and he began drumming and running again. After a few more circles his drumming escalated and he again collapsed. Again, HS yanked off Damba’s mask and covered his face.  I stood next to Damba’s mother, who was looking over my shoulders at the lyrics.  She was gripping the belt of my deel, occasionally leaning against my shoulder. 

“Is this difficult?” I asked,

“Very difficult” she answered nervously.

“Are you scared?” I asked again.

“Yes, scared.”

I leaned back against her.  I was nervous too.  The shaman was trying to take his spirit and go into trance, but there was a problem.  He could not match the time of both expelling his own soul at the same time as his spirit coming in.   The nervousness was well placed. During the first shamanizing, it’s possible for there to be problems, for things to go wrong.  A shaman could lose his soul and die during the shanar.  It’s rare, but far from unheard of. 

After having run and collapsed many times, the shamans brought Damba to one side of the field and had him drum there. I stood close with Damba’s mother, who continued to grip my belt. I put my arm around her, sharing her nervousness.  Manlai’s disciples stood around Damba and supported him as he tried to shamanize. He would drum and go into ecstasy, then collapse again.  Again, someone would push their hand over his eyes while others would slap his back, shouting “shok shok shok!” 

Finally, after this happened several times, something in the drumming changed. Instead of collapsing, it became stronger and stronger and suddenly he swung the drum out behind him and held it against his back. His posture and voice changed, his ongod spirit had come to him.  He sat and greeted his family.  His mother was shaking as she met the spirit. The spirit spoke very personally to her, both of them began crying.  It was deeply emotional for everyone. 

Since it was his first time to shamanize, the other shamans didn’t want him to do it for too long and brought the drum over and the ongod drummed and left.  Damba looked exhausted and a bit confused. Then suddenly a grin spread across his face. He had done it! He was really a shaman now.  He looked thrilled. We congratulated him and he kept grinning.

Soon he was shamanizing again and again. Family, fellow shamanic disciples who had already been initiated, and tushee (attendants) came to greet the spirit as damba briefly shamanized again and again. 

Soon after, ML shamanized as well and met Damba’s spirit, ML also personally met Damba’s spirit. 

After much shamanizing, ML shamanized inside the ger.  Damba, in his robes but not head dress, sat near by.  Two men herded the sheep into the ger and brought it in front of ML’s grandfather spirit.  Grandfather gently pet the sheep, trying to calm it.  He hushed the sheep, gave it tea to drink and milk, and gently spoke to the sheep. 

The two men flipped the sheep over, holding it belly up. Grandfather continued petting the sheep’s head and making calming noises.  One men took a knife and reached out his other hand. Damba handed over one of his sacred mirrors from around his neck.  Swifly, the man cut the sheep’s stomach, reached his hand inside, with the mirror, and almost instantly killed the sheep in the Mongolian fashion and without spilling any blood. Grandfather continued blessing the sheep then brought Damba over, who leaned closely over the head of the sheep.  Soon after the sheep was brought outside for butchering.

The intestines were cleaned out and blood was saved, the meat was separated from then offal. The blood was boiled until it became a solid pudding and some was stuffed and boiled in intestine as a sausage.  We ate some of the blood and offal and some was cooked into a rice porridge.  I’m not a huge fan of blood puddings, but it was alright.

The spirits wanted a party and demanded 55 songs, so all 20+ people crammed into the ger.  My bed would be under the east wall, under all the drums (one of which, specifically the new shaman’s soon-to-be-hingirig, for reasons unknown to me, smelled strongly of urine. I was very happy when that drum was removed from the ger.)

ML introduced his students to the family of the new shaman, and introduced me as a friend of T, ML’s teacher’s teacher, coming to learn about shamans.  Then a cup was passed around. For each person it was filled with vodka, the person would sing a song, then the cup would move to the next person.  When the cup reached me, I tried my best to thank the shamans and family in Mongolian.  I expressed my gratitude that, despite not being a shaman or a family member, or knowing them at all, they had welcomed me with open arms to this personal event.  I then sang the only 2 mongolian songs I know.  In between songs, I joked with Damba and HS, who enjoyed teasing me about my Mongolian. It was crammed and busy, but wonderful.

When we finished singing 55 songs, people went out to their own tents.  I suggled into my sleeping bag and Damba threw a quilt over me.  I used my deel as a pillow and soon fell fast asleep.

August 5^th

We woke up around 9:30, which wasn’t bad considering we fell asleep around 2 AM.  I was super excited from the moment I woke up, realizing that today my dad would be arriving in Mongolia.

We had a relaxed morning. I taught ML, HS and Damba how to play a dice game that my father taught me.  This took a large part of the morning.  Damba’s family made tsuiven for lunch.  After lunch, ML encouraged me to join Khulan, HD and a few others for medicinal herbs up the mountain.   We climbed up to find taavan salaa and ganga (wild thyme) but were distracted by the wild strawberries everywhere. It took a while to get up to the top of the mountain where the ganga would be growing because we kept stopping for strawberries.  I burrowed myself in the strawberries and ate my fill.  HS shouted out “There are snakes!”
I responded: “I’m wearing boots!”

“There are wolves”

“I like wolves!”

“There are bears”

“Then it’s like home!”

At that point HS gave up.  At the top of the mountain, we could see all of UB. The view was spectacular. We spent a while collecting several bags of ganga, which is used as incense in shamanic ceremonies, then descended the mountain.  When we came down, there was plenty of boiled meat and meat broth.  I ate and joked around with people.  ML was concerned about whether I was eating enough and kept putting more lean meat on my plate, knowing I preferred it to the fatty meat.

When we came down, several shamans were preparing to shamanize in the circle.  ML, HS, Damba, and another shaman BV were all preparing to shamanize their grandmother spirits.  ML’s grandmother spirit, as previously noted, is a skilled healer, so I asked her to do additional work on my ankle, which was really nice. 

A lot of it was the grandmothers talking to each other. Considering all the shamans were male, this really surreal. 

Then Damba began a special shamanizing. At first I didn’t know what was happening, then it became clear, he was in trance with the spirit of his deceased grandmother who had passed away 6 years ago, giving her a chance to talk to the family. The whole family, and the shaman, were sobbing. It was deeply emotional. Those of us watching were also brought to tears.  We left very soon to give the family privacy.

Finally the shamanizing ended and we all gathered in the ger.  Damba came forward with ritual offerings and made another memorized speech to ML. ML presented him with new cushions.   We all celebrated this new shaman’s achievement, shouting “hurai, hurai, hurai” and waving our hands in clockwise circles. 

Then things were over, just like that. I congratulated the happy Damba and his family.  We took our things out of the ger, the shamans packed up their shrines.  The red string was collected, and the ger dismantled.  The shaman and his family distributed traditional breads, cheeses and sweets to the attendees. We loaded outselves into cars and made our way back to Tolgoit. I was in a rush so ML drove me quickly back to M’s place. 

I packed and organized my things.  Enkhule picked me up and brought me to the airport.  We nearly missed my dad, who somehow managed to walk through arrivals right past us without us seeing each other.  We literally chased him down as he was leaving he airport.  We drove dad over to the hotel, I finally got a shower and we all went to sleep.

July 31st-August 2nd: Special Ceremonies Pt 1

July 31^st

The day was largely uneventful. I woke up latedid a lot of writing at the office, helped Clinton out with the bear and had a laid back day.  In the evening, Clinton, Lara, Augusta, Gundegmaa and I all went out for hot pot and debriefed what we had seen the previous day at shamanizing.  ML invited me out the next day to the country side with him, I was told not to bring an interpreter.  At first, I was a bit nervous because after living in India, and general being a woman travelling alone “come, but don’t bring anyone” causes red flags to jump up everywhere. But several friends vouched (correctly, I’ll assure you all) that ML was a trustworthy person, and chances are I was being told to come alone because it was a private ceremony.

August 1^st

I woke up early, got breakfast and waited for ML.  ML and his friend TB, one of the Morin Huur players came to pick me up. This immediately made me stop worrying. It would be a ceremony and there would be music.  We drove into tolgoit (I’d been at a hotel because of the family health stuff) and met a fleet of cars, including one van, and several more morin huur players as well as other people.  One was a young woman named Khulan (I’m allowed to use her name as it’s her Shaman name, not her personal name and she gave me permission to do so).  Khulan, 22, spoke pretty decent English and was studying at one of the major universities in Mongolia. I was told we were shamanizing because it was her birthday. I later found out that the actual situation was that it was the 3 year anniversary of her first becoming a shaman, and she was one of ML’s disciples.  ML’s car was filled with Morin Huurs, his shamanic paraphernalia and drums. There was no room for guests so it was just me and ML in the car and he spent the ride coaching me on shaman culture as well as Mongolian language. He is an invaluable teacher.

We drove a bit out of the city, passed the graveyards, to a secluded area where there was a large and interesting shaman shrine. In the center was a birch tree, wrapped in ribbons and khadags, it was surrounded by a ring of outward facing wooden poles.  The entrance was to the south, making it geographically the same as a ger.  We unloaded the sacred items into the sacred circle and then sat down for a picnic of home made juice and kimbab.  It was delicious, although I will never like seabuckthorn juice. Fortunately my almost childlike rejection of it was laughed at as the strange taste of an American (I took two sips, cringed and handed the cup to ML). 

It turned out that pretty much everyone else present was either disciples of ML or T, who is ML’s teacher, family of Khulan, or one of the Morin Huur players. I felt truly honored that I was allowed to be there. At first I felt I might be intruding on Khulan’s day, but she told me with a huge smile that she was so happy that I was there to share her special day and celebrate with her. I told her that I was honored to be allowed to attend, and congratulated her on three years.

The ceremony began with ML and Khulan simultaneously shamanizing.  ML’s grandfather spirit presented Khulan’s grandfather spirit with one of the red ropes (snakes) from his own dress.  A cup of milk was passed around to be sipped by all participants, and then a cup of vodka.  ML then ceased shamanizing and went to speak (as himself) to Khulan’s grandfather spirit.  Khulan’s grandfather arranged the men on the west side of the circle and women on the east and poured vodka for the men and wine for the women and asked men and woman to alternately come forward and sing songs to celebrate the day. I was brought forward and sang a Tibetan song, because it’s what I had on hand and someone had already sung the only Mongolian song I am confident with.

Then Khulan’s grandmother came.  This was one of the more fascinating ritual costumes I’ve seen.  First of all, instead of the usual headdress, she wore a traditional Mongolian hat with metal eyes sewn on it. Instead of string or rope tassles in front, the face was covered by a curtain of pearls.  Finally, and most interestingly, before the head dress was put on, Khulan was blindfolded with a thrice folded blue khadag. 

After traditional greetings, we had the same singing.  I came forward and grandmother asked me about my studies, I told her I was studying Mongolian language, religion and culture, and she asked me to sing in Mongolian.  I sang arvan tavnii sar (a traditional song). She asked if I knew any others, I said I only knew Minii saihan eej (suuni uner), she asked me to sing that as well and thanked me for my singing and studies.

We then had an afternoon break.  Khulan was tired, but in a great mood. We all joked around, ate snacks and drank juice and cola and the remains of the ritual vodka and wine.  Khulan was so happy that the celebrations were going so well.  I was so happy to be meeting nice new people, including two shamans who spoke some English so we could work together through my poor Mongolian and their decent English. 

As we were sitting around, I stretched out my foot and bumped something in the grass. It was a deer’s antler that had dropped in spring. Everyone else was shocked that I had found one, proclaiming it lucky. I was kind of surprised no one noticed it since it was 4 inches away from the picnic blanket and not under anything.  So now I have a deer antler

The next round of shamanizing was coming up in early evening.  Khulan and ML put on their paraphernalia and we reentered the sacred circle. This time, it was both grandmothers, who spoke to each other.  I also had a chance to meet ML’s grandmother again, who checked on how I was doing after our last meeting.  Many other’s came forward and Grandmother was her usual sweet but humerous self. 

At the end, Khulan ended shamanizing and came as herself to greet grandmother.  Grandmother presented her with two cushions (traditional seating for a shaman) which is a very special gift.  Khulan accepted them with joy and grace. 

It was time to end shamanizing and wrap things up for the day. The morin huur players started playing and ML began drumming.  He finished shamanizing and dropped, but the morin huur players needed to finish their song.  Suddenly we heard a crack.  We looked up, TB was collapsed, doubled over, breathing in an unearthly manner. His hand in a death-grip holding his now destroyed bow. 

The morin huurs were moved away and the shaman came over and began slapping him on the back with the tassels of his headdress.  TS, another shamaness, told me that this was one form of shaman sickness. He was possessed but not within his control.  His breathing and movements were animalistic.  He kept gripping and tearing grass from the ground.  After a few moments of hitting him on the back, he seemed to come to.  He stumbled his way out of the circle and towards the picnic area to spend some time alone after what was, presumably, a traumatic experience. A few friends came to join him.  ML asked if I was scared, I explained that I was concerned, but not scared. I had seen this sort of thing before in Thailand.   ML was relaxing and talking to me when suddenly, we heard a commotion. People were shouting for ML again. He jumped up and ran over.  TB was back in trance.

It was taking 3 full grown men to try and restrain him, his movements were so strong.  I was prepared to jump in and help if necessary, which nearly happened twice.  Khulan and ML both were trying everything to get the spirit out. It wasn’t working.  ML rushed back to the circle to start shamanizing, hoping that his spirit could directly intervene.  At this point, TB briefly snapped out of it.  He demanded his shirt be removed, he was sweating and in pain.  He was crying, shouting ML’s name.  We assured him ML was shamanizing and would help.  TB was struggling for control, and collapsed sobbing, and soon lost control again. The spirit was back.  There was literally a massive circle of dirt around him, about 2 feet wide on all sides, where TB, in trance had ripped the thick grass and flowers out of the ground.  The men tackled him again.  When the spirit briefly left and TB went limp for a minute, three men grabbed him and picked up his limp body, bringing him into the circle.

ML was shamanizing and his grandfather spirit was present.  TB was put in front of him.  The spirit would not calm down enough to be cooperative, and grandfather and the attendant had to whip him several times. I cringed as scarlet lines appeared across his already beaten back.  Finally they were able to blind fold him and seat him on cushions.  Grandfather tried to talk to TB’s spirit, who up until now had only been making animalistic grunts and growls.  He began to talk in an angry, unearthly voice.  TB’s parents, devout Gelugpa Buddhists, have a hatred towards shamanism and refuse to propitiate the family spirits.  For 3 years, TB has been afflicted by this spirit that will come, very strongly, and demand attention.

Grandfather was able to talk to the spirit and seemed to be scolding him. I couldn’t really tell. I was too transfixed by the situation to ask for translation. After a long conversation, TB’s spirit was given a drum, made a few more demands before he left, and drummed himself out, leaving TB collapsed, on his back, in the circle, sobbing.  After a few moments of trying to recover and ML and Khulan comforting him, he ran out of the circle into a quiet area of grass to cry on his own.

I helped clean up some of the sacred items in the circle and TB’s friends came over and brought him his shirt and jacket. ML coaxed him over to the picnic area to sit and talk.  The poor man was sobbing uncontrollably, cursing his situation and misfortune.  Khulan joined ML, as someone who had also experienced unplanned shamanizing.  We left them alone for a while.  When he had calmed down, I went over and talked with him. He was red eyed but seemed much better. I asked if he was OK and massaged his hand, which was stiff from the spirit’s grip.  I even got him to laugh a bit and we joked around a little.  He apologized to me for the spectacle, I laughed and asked what he was apologizing for.  I showed him a video of unintentional trance in Thailand and said I had seen it before and wasn’t scared and it was OK.  We started to get a few smiles out of him.  He then looked up and said in English “What the fuck?!”  And we all started laughing. I said “Yes, exactly, what the fuck?!”

ML drove me home, and kindly helped correct some of my common Mongolian mistakes, all in a gentle and joking manner. I was concerned about how tired he was, but he knew that this was his work. He told me that the issue with TB was common over the past three years, and it made him very angry at “shar shashin” (Yellow religion: Gelugpa Buddhism) because of it’s repressive views.  Whenever TB had a fit of this sort and ML was called, he would drop everything to help his friend.  I thought it was sweet and tragic. As someone who practices Buddhism, I felt especially guilty that a sect of Buddhism was creating such conflict.

We went to ML’s home and said goodbye to everyone who had attended the ceremony and dropped off the Morin huurs, the morin huur players and the shamanic paraphernalia.  Then ML drove me over to M’s house.

S was waiting for me, and we waited for M to arrive with the car. I was completely drained and fell asleep on the couch.  When the van arrived, we piled in, and I mean piled.  There were arms, legs, and boxes of shamanic paraphernalia everywhere. The hardest part for me was a combination of the darkened glass windows, which I hate with a furious passion, and the bright white fluorescent light in then cabin, which started causing me pain in about five minutes. It was so bad I had to use my scarf to cover my eyes.  In fact, when we arrived in the country side, despite then pouring rain, I practically fell out of then car in my rush to be out of there and almost immediately went to bed, because I felt to sick.

August 2^nd

I was still feeling exhausted from the previous day, so I slept most of the morning, woke up, then went back to sleep until lunch time. It was one of those days. After lunch, both M and his sister O were to shamanize on a local mountain near a sacred tree.

We set up the altar inside, but brought out all of the other shamanic items, the cushions, drum, etc.  M and O’s sister, E, a Bariach, was also in attendance ina  ceremonial role, dressed entirely in white from head to toe and with a single white cloth snake sewn in her deel. 

A little ways down the mountain, a bonfire was prepared. 

First the family came forward for consultation.  After some consultation and instruction, E started to make a mixture of milk, and herbs. She took the chest mirrors from both M and O and left these to soak in the milk mixture. She then took two black cloth snakes and left these to soak in the mixture as well.

Consultations continued and the O and M stopped shamanizing. At this point, their mother came forward to E, took off her shirt and bent in front of E.  I took the doubled over snakes (so, 4 wet ropes) and started whipping the mother on the head, back, chest, and legs. Then other people started lining up. I realized it was everyone.  S, M’s wife and attendant, told me this was for healing. I should have it done for my wrist injury, sprained ankle, and asthma.  I stripped down to my tank top and rolled up my jeans and waited my turn.

When it was my turn, I knelt in front of E expecting something not too hard. Even on my head, through my hair, it was so hard that it stung painfully. I was flinching and trying not to shout.  Then my back.  I now understand why wet ropes and whips were used as a torture about 400 years ago in the USA and on ships.  To make matters worse, the snakes had eyes made of plastic beads.  Then my chest.  It hurt like crazy.  When it was over, I was coverd in milk and herbs, my hair was sort of crunchy from the drying whole milk.  I asked Hulan to take a photo of my chest so I could see how red it had become.

We then had a fire ceremony, where one part of the family offered meat, butter, wild thyme, and vodka to the flames

July 29-30: A bit of something new

July 29^th

In the morning I went into the city to try and arrange flights and cars for my dad.  It took a bit of running around, but we got everything figured out. I also came to find that one plan on the itinerary was stupid, because I didn’t understand the direction of the places we were going, so I changed that and re arranged our hotel booking to reflect it.

I went to the grocery store and bought ingredients for Momo (Tibetan dumplings) and came home to cook for the family. M was shamanizing again, so I waited outside for him to finish.  Then, with U and Hulan’s help, we made about 80 momo for the family. They really enjoyed it. Even Enkhule came over to eat.

S told me that they would be going to the country side tomorrow, which I couldn’t do because I had some meetings I couldn’t miss. I asked how long. They said a week. This was a bit of a problem.  I said I could stay with friends in UB so it wouldn’t be an issue. The extended family will go out to the country on the weekend, and I will join them for that, but otherwise, I will stay in the city. I have some meetings to prepare stuff for my dad, as well as some interviews that I don’t want to miss.

The momos came out delicious and went over very well!

July 30^th

At 8 AM Enkhule came by to pick me up. I brought my bags over to ACMS, where we were informed that the electricity would be killed for the entire region at around 10 AM, internet included of course.  But Clinton and I had a mission: We would improve the bear!

Outside the ACMS office is a lovely playground, but it had the most depressing, crumbling concrete bear, covered in graffiti. It looked kind of terrifying. Clinton had the idea that we repaint the bear and went out and bought paint and brushes. When he told me the idea, I jumped!

So, at around 10:45 in the morning, Clinton said “Amalia, it’s time to wash the bear!” I changed into my messy clothes and we went outside with a bucket of water, soap, sponges and rags and proceeded to wash the bear.  We got more than a few weird looks from passersby.

We went back in, got paintbrushes and started painting the bear a chocolate brown.  ACMS office people came out to take photos and video and crack a lot of jokes about the crazy foreigners painting the sad, concrete bear.

I met someone to arrange a car for my dad’s trip, which was my last major concern for dad’s trip.  Then ML called and asked if I could come over that night and play with the kittens.  I, of course, agreed.  Kittens!!

After painting the base coat on the bear, Clinton and I came back inside and I met Augusta, a very nice student from the USA who had recently done research at Kailash and just returned from a research trip about nomadic women in the Gobi.  We talked about each other’s research, and she was quite fascinatied with all of the shaman stuff. She asked me if it would be possible to see a shaman.  At first, I thought no. M was out of town, as was T. But then I remember ML.  I gave ML a call and asked if he would be shamanizing tonight, he said yes, so I asked if I could bring friends, he also said yes.  I told Augusta, no problem, so she called her research partner, Lara, and their research partner and translator Gundegmaa to come.

We rushed over to Tolgoit and of course found that we would have to wait for ML to actually get there. A middle aged Mongolian woman was also trying to come, I explained that ML would be coming soon. She seemed very wary of us. Later we found out that she thought we might be missionaries.

ML arrived not long after and we went into the ger where I introduced him to my friends and also played with the kittens. I noticed a lot more people were coming in, so I told Lara and Augusta that the ceremony would probably go longer than the 1 hour I initially anticipated, but that if we needed to leave, there would be times when we could.

ML then told me that TWO shamans would be shamanizing, and that his Morin Huur (horse head fiddle) playing friends would also be coming.  This would be both amazing and long.

When the first spirit came, we noticed that the middle aged woman was being shockingly controlling.  For example, ML’s sister and attendant would say that we could go, and the woman would say men had to go first and stop us.  It turned out she was the other shaman’s mother.  We quickly declared that, despite the other shaman being gorgeous, he would have to stay single because he had the ultimate nightmare mother in law.

I went in front of the first spirit, who did a very good job.  Gundegmaa was very impressed with his mannerisms and advice.

Before the next spirit came, 3 morin huur players arrived. The shaman is a member of a rather large traditional Mongolian music band. They played a bit while ML did throat singing with them.  It was AWESOME.  When the shaman started drumming, they played Morin huur as the shaman was drumming to accompany the spirits coming and going. I had never seen anything like this.  It was intense and beautiful.

The next spirit was another male spirit and Lara and Augusta got a chance to meet him.  He gave us a talk about the difficulties of life and the ups and downs and how we needed to move past our challenges by reflecting on challenges we had already surpassed. Kind general advice.

The morin huur players played again as the spirit left. This time we were told that the spirit coming would not meet anyone. He would not interact with any women (so another shaman had to replace the sister in the role of attendant) and would not meet people. He would take a drink and leave. 

The shaman changed into a black robe with red ropes (symbolic snakes) on it, and switched to a triangular drum, as opposed to his usual circular ones.  The lights were all turned out and the curtain covering the altar was raised away.  The Ger was near pitch black, only illuminated by the three butter lamps.  The Morin Huur players started playing and the shaman began drumming, and a fierce male spirit arrived.  The music continued throughout as he shook and demanded a drink, took his drink, and left, all over a period of about 10 minutes.  It’s hard to describe or put into words, but it was a bit scary, very intense, and amazing.

After he left, the lights were turned back on, the altar covered again.  The shaman was given a few minutes to rest.  His attendant helped him change back into his previous costume and pulled off the female mask of his grandmother spirit. 

When she came, the morin huur players were playing an upbeat song, and Grandmother started dancing a traditional Mongolian dance https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yAfUZ81E42I . She interrupted them and told them to stop and demanded they play a traditional Mongolian dance song. Before anything could start, she wanted to dance.  We watched as she danced for at least 5 or so minutes.

We had been told that this grandmother was an exceptional healer, and so if we had any health questions, we should ask her.  Several people, including the students I was with, had questions. Obviously, considering the content and privacy, I will not discuss any details or anything identifying.

At one point all the men were kicked out except for a woman’s husband, this was done for an issue involving fertility.  Although at no point in the ceremony was any anatomy seen, it was touching that the shaman recognized the need for privacy and kicked out all the men.

I went forwards to ask about a stomach issue and was given a traditional herbal remedy. I also asked grandmother to look at my ankle. She intensely massaged it and at one point braced my foot so that the heel was on the floor, toe towards the sky, gripped my toes together and then punched directly downward, sending a shock through the foot.  She asked me to move my ankle. All of a sudden, I had full, painless mobility in a direction that was still causing me problems. The bonesetters here are GOOD.  She discussed the issue with my ankle and tied a red string above my ankle to promote healing. 

She helped heal a few more people. As this was going on, the other shaman was preparing.  Even at one point beginning shamanizing while grandmother was still there.  It was very strange to me to see one shaman going into trance while another shaman was already in trance. The morin huur players were going at it very strong. 

When ML came out of trance, he joined in with the Morin Huur players, adding percussion by hand drumming and joining in the throat singing with great enthusiasm. He promised to teach me more Mongolian songs and introduced me to his Morin huur players.

ML got out of his overrobe and walked us to the door. We told him we were looking for a taxi, but he refused and volunteered one of his friends to drive us back.  The friend did not seem enthusiastic, but was very nice about it. And clearly felt like it was his duty.  He was one of the Morin Huur players, so after we dropped off the students, we discussed Morin Huur as I headed back to my place for bed.  My only regret was that we couldn’t film the evening.