Mongolians love eating the internal organs of sheep, goats, cows, and horses. Americans can't stand it.
Гэдэс is a word that sends shudders through the
stomachs of many volunteers, causing their lips to involuntarily
contract into a harsh “үгүй.” This is because not only
do Mongolians fill their digestive tracts, they often fill their
digestive tracts with digestive tracts.
Mongolians eat quite a bit of organ meats. Most of us Americans did
not grow up eating organ meats, and find them difficult to stomach.
Some Mongolians don't care much for it either, and that may be why
my school's kitchen did not cook гэдэс, which is
great since I had lunch there most of the time. Other Mongolians
though love it and even say it is one of their favorite foods. The
first time I ate innards was right after the first time I saw a goat
slaughtered, because internal organs spoil faster than muscle meat, and I
personally don't care much for them.
It’s also true that Mongolian traditionally eat vegetables a lot
less. This was one of the biggest diet complaints from a lot of
volunteers, especially our vegetarians (I’m not sure how they pulled
that off). The concern over vegetables is serious enough that the
PCMOs (Peace Corps Medical Officers, i.e., our doctors) gave us
bottles of vitamins when we arrived. The steppe can get pretty lush
in August, but in general growth only occurs within a 3-4 month
space each year. Even when the weather's warm though, growth is
limited by permafrost in some places. There isn't a whole lot you
can grow and much of it has to be transported long distances. Hence
the main vegetables are ones like potatoes that can be grown and
stored easily, and in many countryside shops you will only find
potatoes, onions, carrots, and cabbage, with an emphasis on the
potatoes. Mongolians put these in soup, but both the quantity and
variety are small compared to American meals.
So how is that Mongolians manage to stay alive, with so much red
meat and so little green? The answer may be гэдэс.
Mongolian boiled goat guts: a delicious bowl of Vitamins A and C
Organ meat may be essential to the diets of many groups of people
around the world, and not just Mongolians. The Inuit traditionally
ate an almost all-meat diet full of fat. We might expect them to
waste away from vitamin deficiency. Traditionally though, they
didn't. That's because here are no essential
foods, only essential nutrients, and nutrients can come from many sources. [1] Americans generally assume they
can only get vitamin C by eating things like oranges, but meat also
has Vitamin C, if you eat it raw. Understandably, we don’t eat raw
meat because of the risk of food poisoning, but if you have no other
source of this essential nutrient, that may tip the scales in favor
of eating raw stuff. The Inuit ate a lot of raw meat, and also ate
internal organs. (Not too much though: seal livers contain so much
vitamin A that they can kill you! [2])
The Mongols are similar to the Inuit in some ways. They live in a
harsh environment with few veggies, and while they don’t eat raw
meat, they do eat
lots of fat and organ meats. Organ meats contain more vitamin C than
muscles, and also other nutrients like vitamins A and D. The
liver is an especially good source of vitamins. [3] This may be why
I have been told that гэдэс is necessary for good
health, and why Mongolian children are chided to eat their гэдэс
the same way that American children are told to eat their
vegetables. While they may not have been able to explain exactly why
it was good, they were on the right track.
Meat isn't the only source of nutrients, of course. Mongolians also
get vitamin C from fermented horse milk [4] and tea. [5] Another
intriguing possibility is that Mongolians may simply be inherently
better at absorbing nutrients from the kinds of food which are
traditional in Mongolia. [6] It may not be quite enough, since
studies show that Mongolians are at risk for a number of health
problems. But they are doing better than we might expect, and other
factors like health care and smoking may play a part in bad results.
People work with what they have, and like many other cultures around
the world, the Mongolians' traditional diet has been honed to make
the best use of the their environment. Keep that in mind the next
time someone offers you buuz filled with minced sheep rumen.
Notes
A lot of people have said something like "There are no essential nutrients," but the place I read it was in the Discover Magazine article "The Inuit Paradox," where the authors quote Harold Draper. The article, by Patricia Gadsby and Leone Steele, is on Discover's website at http://discovermagazine.com/2004/oct/inuit-paradox. There's a
lot of interesting stuff in this article, including the fact
that a diet without enough fat can also be toxic, and that Inuit
have much fewer heart attacks, but more nosebleeds.
From N. Oyunbayar: "Before 1992 there wasn't much research in this area. But now
we know from our research that Mongolians are better able to
absorb foods with more acid. So, traditional food should be kept
in the country."
http://mongoluls.net/ger/meatmilk.shtml#sthash.iJaQiuWE.dpuf I don't know if this is true though or what research they are referring to. The text is originally from Ger magazine, which is no longer available.
Celebrating Mongolian New Year during Superbowl 50
Two days ago, we had the Superbowl here in America, and the Broncos
beat the Panthers. I didn’t see the kickoff though, because I was
celebrating Lunar New Year the Mongolian Way.
Elders of the L.A. Mongolian community gathered at Golden Mongolia restaurant
On February 7 at noon there was a Tsagaan Sar celebration at Golden
Mongolia restaurant, located
in L.A.’s Koreatown near the Wilshire-Vermont Metro station. More
properly, it wasn’t an actual Tsagaan Sar celebration. It was a
celebration for Bitüün (Битүүн), the name of
the day before Tsagaan Sar. Tsagaan Sar started yesterday, Monday
February 8 and is continuing until tomorrow, Wednesday February 10.
(That's three days long - and in the countryside where I was, the
festivities often went on a whole week.)
In Asian culture, each new year is associated with one of twelve animals. What most Americans don’t know is that each year is also associated with one of five elements - earth, water, fire, wood, metal. 12 animals x 5 elements = 60 combinations, which makes for a traditional “century” of 60 years. This year is the year of the Fire Monkey, or Gal Bich Jil (Гал бич жил).
The Los Angeles Mongolian Association holds a celebration for the ахмад
(ahmad), or elders of the community, every year around
Tsagaan Sar. I got to speak to some of these elders, some of whom
were visiting from Mongolia. (I can only imagine their surprise when
they arrived here and it was 75° F (° C)!) I went to the celebration
last year, and knew they would have one again this year, so I made
sure to check the time. Unfortunately, the Mongolian community and
its activities aren’t always well-publicized around L.A.
Yes, we also had huushuur, and they even put the plate right in front of me!
This little girl guards the gifts that have been prepared for the older Mongolian guests.
Lunch contained plenty of Mongolian holiday staples, such as buuz
and even airag,
and was followed by singing and dancing (mostly waltzing,
naturally). I sang "Би Монгол эр хүн" ("I am a Mongolian Man") with
the help of the karaoke machine. They also made me make a brief
speech.
White guys
More to my surprise, I also met two other white guys at the
celebration. In fact one of them was wearing a deel
- a very old-fashioned deel, as you can tell by the cut of the chest
flap. His deel had a straight diagonal slash across the front,
instead of the right-angle corner on more modern styles. As it turns
out, they play Mongols in historical reenactments, so they knew
quite a bit about Mongolian history already. They’re planning their
first visit to Mongolia later this year, so wish them luck!
Since it's autumn now, today's Mongolian word of the week is хэнз.
Хэнз (henz) means “late-born” and refers to
late animals, children, and even plants. It may not be a
particularly common word - as a matter of fact, I found it by
randomly flipping through a dictionary - but, it is useful for
people who herd animals.
In honor of the start of school in September, today's Mongolian word
of the week is сургууль (surguuli) "school,"
with a guest appearance by school's root word, сурах
(surah), "study, learn."
How much wood can a wood chuck chuck? Mongolians ask a
different question
Since marmot-hunting season is underway, today's Mongolian word of
the week is тарвага (tarvaga) "marmot." If you
know what a groundhog or woodchuck is, you're familiar with marmots
- all of them belong to the genus Marmota. In fact, In
Mongolian, the groundhog or woodchuck (Marmota monax) is
called хойд америкийн ойн тарвага "North American
forest marmot." Two species of marmots have long been ubiquitous
residents of the Mongolian steppe. One is Marmota baibacina,
the gray (Altai) marmot. The other, more common one, is Marmota
sibirica, also known as the Siberian, Mongolian or tarbagan
marmot. (Obviously, the designation "tarbagan marmot" is from the
Mongolian word for marmot.) Keep reading for more about marmot hunting, the plague, and
Mongolia's equivalent of English's famous tongue-twister about a
woodchuck.
Before I could really celebrate, I needed to get all the
necessary materials together, and quickly: they needed my
passport, diploma, physical exam, and negative HIV test by August
15, so they could get me to Ulaanbaatar by August 25th. (Mongolian
schools usually start on September 1.) When I went to Mongolia the
first time, I knew by the end of February that I was leaving in
early June, but now I had under two weeks. Is it even possible to
get a visa in such a short time? Just in case something went
wrong, I held off on my public announcement that I was going to
Mongolia. But the timeline was so short I announced my new job a
few days later anyway; it wouldn't do to call my friends as I was
getting on the plane!
The days after my acceptance were rushed and emotional as I got my
passport, diploma, Peace Corps documents, and medical tests in
order. This itself was eventful, although outside the scope of this
story. I was so busy on my end that I didn't care much that KUDS had
not sent me any more definite material yet. Finally on Saturday,
four days after being notified of acceptance, I got my official
acceptance letters from both schools, and a contract. The contract
was remarkable, first of all, because it was so short - barely two
pages. It also bore the signature of J. Soronzon (Ж.Соронзон),
the principal of the Russian Joint School, but not J. Solongo (Ж.Солонго),
who heads the university. This was done for some unexplained
"administrative purposes" although it was assured my relationship
would be with both schools. I quickly checked and saw that the three
main points from the ESL information packet - apartment, salary, and
round-trip air transport - were there. The minor points, like taxi
fare, were not though. In fact, the "Employer's Obligations" section
was remarkably undeveloped - consisting of only those three
points mentioned.
Page one of my contract from the Mongolian University of Film and the Mongolian-Russian Joint School.
Page one of my contract from the Mongolian University of Film and the Mongolian-Russian Joint School. The Russian School's principal J. Soronzon's signature and stamp is on the bottom.
I had to acknowledge I'd gotten the contract but declined to say
anything else about it until I could look at it closely.
Meanwhile, I called off a shopping trip with my mom to get winter
clothes in order to type up the entire contract and post it to the
teacher's forum. Trudging through it in such detail, I could tell
that it was poorly written, by someone who was obviously not a
lawyer (or a native English speaker). On the surface it guaranteed
what was in the packet, but seemed to undermine them through a
litany of "duties" for me and "rights" for the employer it
undermined them. The fantastic job offer I'd gotten suddenly
sounded sloppy, and stingy, and completely different from what I
had been led to expect.
I went to a poolside barbecue that night, but I might as well not
have gone. I was so obsessed with the status of my Mongolian job -
if I had one - that I couldn't appreciate the moment. I jumped in
the pool but swam among salary deductions, bit into a hot dog and
tasted visa processing fees.
The tide of opinion on the ESL cafe forum shifted after I posted the
contract terms. Originally teachers commended the job based on the
terms in the info packet, but now they uniformly agreed it was a bad
deal. I had known something was wrong, and now I realized what kind
of "something" it was as the teachers singled out a number of other
slippery points for individual criticism.
Sunday I wrote back to the representative with some of my
concerns, noting that several teachers concurred with my opinion,
and asked again to speak to some teachers from the school. His
response is below:
In some places here there is a lack of detail, which you
certainly have noted. Part of the reason for that is that this is
uncharted ground, unprecedented in the history of either school.
There has never been a foreign instructor at KUDS, and I
understand that the same is true of the Mongolian-Russian Joint
School. The ESL program at KUDS is doubling in duration. The
upshot is that the program is being developed even as it is being
delivered. You, and the other American ESL teachers, have the
unique opportunity to help shape the future for these students,
and the future of the program.
This is why there is not a full hour by hour breakdown at this
point. We wanted to be fair, and to set reasonable expectations
for all, and used the base of a 38 hour work week to set that
expectation. It is a salary, rather than an hourly wage. It is,
especially given that the salary is post-tax net, a good one.
The staff at both schools are experienced, knowledgeable and
professionals in their field. The students are also among the
finest in the country, driven and passionate about learning,
especially in the arts. In the info document, you can see a few
photos of the classrooms and lecture halls at KUDS and the
Mongolian-Russian Joint School. There are computer networks
throughout the building, the class rooms are consistent with
schools I attended (I don't want to say how long ago Smile ). KUDS
is located in a historic building; it was originally built to
house the government offices. It was one of the first
"skyscrapers" in UB (a skyscraper at that time was 3 stories
tall).
I believe the visa that is being processed will be the HG visa,
though I do not know that for certain. They are processing a long
term work visa for you, and in researching that it would seem that
the HG is the appropriate one. The HG visa can be renewed yearly.
Mongolian visa restrictions have eased considerably in recent
years. However, I will seek clarity on that for you. The visa will
be completed prior to your departure, of course, and the visa
itself issued at the airport in Ulaanbaatar (this is not an
unusual situation, that is their protocol). I have not been told
the cost of the visa, so I will find that out for you.
You make a very good point about the deductions. I will seek
clarity on that question as well.
And you asked a couple of questions about prior foreign teachers,
which I am afraid I cannot answer, as there haven't been any.
Smile You are the first in what will be a long list of
distinguished teachers. You will set the bar for those to follow.
I was utterly confused by his remark that there were no teachers
I could contact and the we would be "the first." I mean, hadn't he
taught at the film school? Furthermore you can clearly see
foreigners teaching English in the promotional video at the Russian Joint School'swebsite:
He responded to that that he hadn't actually been a teacher at
KUDS, but had had some sort of consultant role. I was apparently
mistaken about his role. But now it threw some other things he
said into doubt. As a consultant he no doubt met a few students,
but likely didn't have any idea what it was like teaching them in
a classroom. It could also explain why I had been asked fewer
teaching-related questions than at other interviews I'd had. He
didn't address the teachers in the Russian School video, but
suggested I arrange a call with Consul Carmen B. Cabell tomorrow,
as he might be able to allay some of my concerns. I did not know
what the consul was supposed to do, as he obviously did not work
at the school, but I agreed anyway.
The Mongolian-Russian joint school allegedly uses cameras to monitor teachers and enforce heavy salary deductions for offenses ranging from damaging school property to filling out rollbooks in the wrong color of ink.
Big Sister is Watching You
The next morning, on Monday, I posted the contract terms on
Facebook too, and my friends who are more experienced teachers, or
live in Mongolia, all offered pretty much the same criticism as on
here. In fact, one of them called four particular provisions of
the contract "bullshit." Also fortuitously, another friend
reminded me that I had in fact met a woman who worked at the
Russian School and could ask her. This teacher reported that the
school did deduct from salary, like stated in the contract. I was
actually lucky that the deductions were provided in my contract in
English - when she started there, they only provided the school
rules in Russian, which she didn’t speak. But most notable was her
claim that the Russian Joint School installed cameras in the
classrooms to monitor teacher behavior - and enforce deductions
for mistakes - a situation she compared to Orwell's 1984.
Big Sister Soronzon is watching you!
Given this, I began to doubt whether I would want to work for the
Russian School even if they changed the whole contract.
That afternoon, I got a call from Consul Cabell, the Foreign
Missions Head of Post at the American official at the Mongolian
consulate in the U.S., asking if he could allay my concerns. I was
surprised to be called by a consul official, who I assumed would be
quite busy. Since he works at the consulate, not the schools, I
asked how he could know much about the schools’ workings. He said
he’s known the principals for many years and can vouch for their
character. This actually did the opposite of reassure me: I do not
want my bosses to be friends with a consulate official.
Since he asked what my concerns were, I expressed the major ones as
politely as I could, and listened to his explanations, summarized
below:
The teaching hours and duties are poorly defined: “This is a
new enterprise” and they didn’t want to “fit it into a square
box”
The pay is potentially much less than what is stated: They
hire “enthusiastic” teachers and aren’t just in it for the money
Litany of penalties give the impression the school does not
trust teachers: Said he wasn’t aware of the deductions. Also,
everyone absolutely trusts everyone else.
Retroactive rent penalty: Also said he wasn’t aware of it
A teacher at the school said there were cameras in the
classroom: “Well, cameras in classrooms aren’t uncommon
nowadays.” And then he wanted to know how well I knew her, said
that since I didn’t know her that well I should take her
statements with a grain of salt, and she probably was just a
very unhappy person and I can’t make a judgment based on one
person’s opinion, against all the other teachers who love
working ther.
Mr. Cabell sounded friendly and enthusiastic and concerned, which
must do well for a job that requires acting as a go-between, but on
reflection the answers were very hollow. You can be flexible without
being vague; define some hours that sound reasonable, and if the
breakdown of duties and workload seems off, adjust them later to
suit the teacher's and school's needs. Enthusiasm and money are not
mutually exclusive; I can get paid to do something and still have
fun doing it. I would certainly not be enthusiastic if I had
to wonder how much of my next paycheck I would actually get. And
although I did not know the one teacher who complained very well, I
did know her, which is more than I can say for Mr. Cabell. I
had not myself heard from the supposedly numerous teachers who love
working at the school. (Actually, had I really dealed with the
school? I'd only dealt with their American proxies.) So yes, I do
trust the disgruntled teacher more than you.
Longtime friends: J. Solongo of the Mongolian University of Film, and Carmen B. Cabell, Foreign Missions Head of Post at the Mongolian Consulate in the U.S.
I visited the website of the Consulate of Mongolia in the United
States, at http://www.mongoliaconsulusa.us/the_mission.aspx,
and Mr. Cabell IS an official. It also has a biography of him here:
http://www.mongoliaconsulusa.us/consul%20cabell%20bio%2012.13.12.pdf.
Even so, according to Wikipedia's entry for consul, a
consul is an "official representative of the government of one state
in the territory of another, normally acting to assist and protect
the citizens of the consul's own country, and to facilitate trade
and friendship between the peoples of the two countries." If so, I
am suspicious of this consul's ability to assist citizens of his own
country, such as me, if he is friends with my boss.
The consul website also has a section on visa requirements, so I
checked them. I had completely forgotten about passport photos! All
my previous visas - to Mongolia, Japan, China, and Korea - required
2 3x4cm photos. The consulate page about visas lists these as a
requirement. The school had never asked for them, so they couldn’t
possibly be processing a work visa. As one of the posters on Dave's
ESL cafe noted, in all likelihood they were planning to get me a
tourist visa instead, which is easier and cheaper for the school.
Work visas require the employer to pay extra fees on the foreign
worker, so some places don't like them. However, working on a
tourist visa is illegal and puts the worker in a precarious
position. One of my friends once got a job at a private corporation
in Mongolia, which did not get him a work visa and instead gave him
only a tourist visa. After 90 days he had to leave the country and
reapply for a new tourist visa to reenter, and in the process
perjure himself about his reasons for visiting Mongolia.
That night I revised their contract with provisions I wanted (no
deductions, no retroactive rent charge, clearly defined hours and
duties) and emailed that to the rep too. I also said that I was
curious if the other hirees had any experience in Mongolia and would
like to talk to them. I admit that this was a front on my part - I
wanted to let them know what I had found out that casts doubt on the
schools' trustworthiness.
Meanwhile, my friends in Mongolia also referred me to more teachers
- foreign teachers - at the Russian Joint School. In
fact I had a lengthy chat with one of them. He seemed to have done
better than the other teachers, but still gave a very negative
assessment of the school. He did aver that he liked some of the
students, but otherwise had nothing good to say. According to him,
the school had had many foreigners over a period of 15 years. There
was a camera in the restroom as well as the classroom. Many teachers
had their salary cut in half for infractions. Few teachers renewed
their contracts and some couldn't wait that long and bailed out
despite the retroactive rent penalty. A German teacher was hit with
heavy rent payments last year because of the policy. The apartment
was only about $250 a month, so it was actually double rent.
On Wednesday, I heard from another applicant for the position, so I
conveyed what I had found out. Already suspicious, she asked tougher
questions at her interview than I had, which Greg didn't seem able
to answer. She seemed to have had a variety of teaching experience
already, and told me it was not good that the recruiter had not been
a teacher, had not worked at one of the schools (the Russian school)
he was recruiting for, and had no continuing relationship with the
applicant so there was no one to appeal to if the relationship with
the school went bad. Those considerations undermine the credibility
of recruiters.
The punitive tone of the contract already suggested that the Russian
School did not trust its teachers. The installation of cameras
confirmed that. And since they had lied to me about the other
foreign teachers, it seemed I couldn't trust them either. Such an
atmosphere of mistrust is a fundamental problem, an issue of
morality and personality, which would not change even if the
contract did. I realized that even if they approved a change in
terms I should decline acceptance of the contract. With that
realization, I felt a great sense of relief after days of continual
stress.
Before I got the chance to reject them though, they rejected
me. Thursday afternoon, Greg emailed me and said the schools
had considered my revisions to the contract, rejected them, and were
withdrawing the job offer.
The strangest twist was yet to come though. I also heard from the
other applicant, and she said she had been offered a job. She
emailed me the contract terms they gave her. To my surprise,
this new contract was actually incorporated some of the changes I
requested! In light of this, I don't know why they were unwilling to
negotiate with me. I think she still won't take the job, because
she'd already heard enough bad things about them. But it is a good
sign that maybe the schools realize they need to offer teachers
better terms.
A few days ago I had a close encounter with a job. I was
tantalizingly, perilously close to working for the Mongolian
University of Film and the Russian Joint School (in fact I would
have been in Mongolia already), but it didn't work out, and now
here I am writing about what went wrong. Schools, jobs, and people
vary widely, so my adventure here is just one possible story, but
it is a possibility. I hope it will be of interest to
other people looking for work in Mongolia, and might even prove
useful.
Eternal Blue Sky
Anyone who reads this blog knows about my fascination with
Mongolia. Hopeful of going back there, several months ago I began
looking for teaching positions in Ulaanbaatar. Among the listings
I found, was one from the end of April 2015, which had few details
- not even the institution's name. It directed the curious to
contact someone with the decidedly English-sounding name Greg. I
figured I might as well find out what it was about so I emailed
him and attached my resume. His brief response acknowledged
receipt of my resume and assured me they would review all the
candidates but did not give much more information. Greg was
associated with the "Eternal Blue Sky" company - the hiring
institution's name, perhaps? I didn't find anything about it, but
many Mongolian schools have no web presence. I supposed I
would have to wait until I got further in the hiring process
to find out more.
Two months went by, and I assumed Eternal Blue Sky had chosen
another candidate. Then one sunny morning in July - the morning of
our Los
Angeles Naadam, in fact - I received another email from
Greg, apologizing for the delay and making up for the lack of
information. Greg told me the opening was for a position with KUDS
(КУДС). KUDS is short for Кино Урлагийн Дээд
Сургууль (Kino Urlagiin Deed Surguuli), which
means "University of Film," "University of Cinematography," or
something: it does not appear to have an official English name.
The email also came with a large and colorful information packet,
which explained the school's missions and benefits for teachers,
although most of its bulk was general information about Mongolia.
KUDS is an arts school, with several programs besides film, and as
an artist that immediately attracted my interest. But the benefits
also sounded very good: $2200 a month for 38 hours a week (22 of
them teaching), my own rent-free apartment next to campus, and
round-trip airfare! I know people teaching in Mongolia for much
less. Heck, I know people working in America for less. There were
a number of minor benefits too: eating at the school, an grocery
supplement, reimbursement for transportation, etc. The only
thing that seemed to be missing was health insurance, but if I was
getting paid that much, I shouldn't have trouble arranging my own.
A page from the Mongolian Film School's ESL information packet, describing some of the benefits
The other thing I remember was mention of a "long-standing, warm
and professional relationship with the Mongolian - Russian Joint
School." Now, while I wasn't familiar with KUDS, I knew the
Russian Joint School, and had seen it once before. It is Secondary
School #3 in Ulaanbaatar (Mongolian schools are numbered),
often called simply "The Joint School" or "The Russian
School." Its official Mongolian name is Монгол Оросын
хамтарсан сургууль (Mongol Orosyn hamtarsan
surguuli). It is one of several nation / language-themed
schools in the capital; others include the British School, the
American School, the Chinese School, the Turkish school, etc. They
apparently shared a faculty but I wasn't sure what else. But I
knew that the Russian School was far from the apartment, and I'd
rather not commute there. If I haven't mentioned it before, I'll
mention it now: Ulaanbaatar traffic is the worst traffic I've seen
anywhere.
The next step, in mid-July, was writing an essay about why I
would like to work at the film school and why I would be a good
fit - easy given my prior experience with Mongolia, teaching, and
art. It must have pleased the hiring committee, because we
arranged an interview for Saturday, August 1. In the meantime I
researched KUDS. I had heard plenty about some other universities,
like the National University of Mongolia and the Mongolian
National University of Education, and knew people who had attended
there or worked there. The film school had completely escaped my
attention during my three years in Mongolia though. I didn't know
any students or teachers there. KUDS and the Russian School had
websites in Mongolian but not English, but at least they had
websites: some schools only have Facebook pages, and some have
zero web presence. What little I understood certainly sounded
good. A couple of Mongolians assured me that KUDS was a
respectable school, so it would be to my advantage to have taught
there, although none of them knew any of the teachers. I posted to
Dave's ESL cafe too. No one there had heard of the place,
unfortunately, but they did agree that the terms I quoted from the
promotional packet were quite generous. I asked Greg if I could
speak to some teachers at the school. I didn't get a reply, but it
was quite possible that the question had gotten lost among the
many others he was undoubtedly getting from multiple applicants.
When I finally talked to Greg on Skype, he assured me it was good
that I was nervous - if I wasn't nervous, I probably didn't care.
I relaxed and by the end it had turned into a friendly
conversation, as I talked about my time in Mongolia and he told me
about how how eager the students were to learn English and
participate in the international film scene. It turned out Greg, a
filmmaker from Canada, hadn't taught English there, but came as a
specialist in film production. I was genuinely interested KUDS's
goals and didn't want to ask too many "selfish" questions about
benefits, but I wanted the relationship between the university and
the high school clarified. I was informed I would teach at both
schools. The Russian Joint School also focused a lot on the arts,
and students hoping to get into KUDS would typically go to that
high school. Although the class schedule was unknown now, I hoped
I would be teaching on alternate days - switching between them
would be a commuting nightmare.
Greg admitted that he did not know exactly when the KUDS hiring
committee would make a decision. He would forward his
recommendations to the university, but once he did, it was back to
waiting. I tried to get back to my normal routines of writing,
drawing, and living and not think too much about what will be.
But, it was already August, and school starts in September. There
would be a hurry later on, I just knew it.
I was correct. Over a week later on Tuesday, August 11, I got a
surprise call from an unknown number. KUDS had only contacted me
by email before, so I didn't initially suspect, but this time they
found it necessary to reach me by phone: I was accepted to teach
English at the Mongolian University of Film and the
Mongolian-Russian Joint School #3. I was going to Mongolia!
Mongolian script clock: "Hour" and "minute" hands on a clockface marked with the traditional shapes of the numbers one to twelve.
Cyrillic
цаг
Transcription
tsag
IPA
[tsʰak]
Layman’s
Pronunciation
TSAHK
Translation
time, hour, watch, clock,
tense
In Genghis Khan’s time it was
caγ.
Today's Mongolian Word of the Week (#64) is цаг (tsag),
which means "hour," or "time," or a variety of other related
things such as "watch," "clock," or "tense." Most generally, цаг
means "time," as in илүү цаг (ilüü tsag)
"extra time," чөлөөт цаг (chölööt tsag)
"free time," and цайны цаг (tsainy tsag),
"tea time" (see my post about цай).
There are several other Mongolian words that can also mean “time,”
such as үе (üye) and хугацаа
(hugatsaa). Цаг is often paired with them to
refer to time in a very general sense as цаг үе and
цаг хугацаа. Both үе (üye) and
хугацаа (hugatsaa) refer to durations of
time, so when contrasted with them, цаг refers to a
point in time. Цаг is also often paired with мөч
(möch) as цаг мөч; both mean "instant,
moment."
Possibly
Fun Fact: In addition to time, both үе
and мөч also name parts of the body. Үе
means "joint" and мөч means "limb."
Hour
In a more specific sense, цаг means one hour - 60
minutes. When you ask a Mongolian what time it is, they will give
the answer in цаг. (Notice that Mongolians use the
verb болох (boloh) "become" when talking
about time!)
Одоо хэдэн цаг болжийн? - Odoo heden
tsag boljiin? - What time is it becoming? Гурван цаг болжийн. - Gurvan tsag boljiin. -
It's becoming three.
Watch
Цаг also means "clock" or "watch," the devices used
to measure the hour:
The "hand" of a clock in Mongolian is literally
known as the Needle of Time (цагийн зүү () -
зүүzüü = needle), as in the opening words
of this poem about New Year's:
Цагийн зүү зүрхний хэмнэлээр цохилж... Tsagiin züü zürhnii hemneleer tsohilj...
The hour hand, beating to the heart's rhythm..
....which you can hear set to music in this video from Шанз
3, Mongolia's all-female shanz-strumming folk pop
group: https://youtu.be/rlJm57L8l88
Tense
Tense is time marked on verbs, so Mongolian also uses цаг
to name verb tenses - both its own, and the ones they learn in
English class.
одоо үргэлжилж байгаа цаг (odoo ürgeljilj
baigaa tsag) - present continuous / progressive tense
("the time that is continuing now" - үргэлжлэх =
"to continue")
How's the Time Air Today?
However, the most unusual of the extended senses of цаг
for English speakers occurs in the compound word цаг агаар
"weather," with агаар (agaar) "air." This
sense is also found in the word for climate, цаг уур,
with уур (uur) "steam." Such an association
is actually not unusual: the Spanish word tiempo
means both "weather" and "time." And after all, what is weather
but changes in air over time?
More Examples
Цаг бол алт. Tsag bol alt.
"Time is gold." (The Mongolian equivalent to "Time is money.")
Би цаг барьдаггүй хүнд дургүй. Bi tsag baridaggüi hünd durgüi. "I don't like people who aren't punctual."
(цаг барих = "keep the time." See my
other post about барих.)
