A Near Miss While Job-Seeking in Mongolia: Part I

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!

Keep Reading: The School Isn't What It Seemed

Swearing-In and Site Placement

Peace Corps is an exercise in detachment. The first and greatest tearing away is when you leave your home, family, and country for Peace Corps. Then you get put in alphabetical groups for the purpose of room and board and generally keeping track of you. After a few days you get put into new groups, which seem to be assigned randomly for the most part, and sent off to your training site, where you are now made to live with a Mongolian family. During that time, your group gets split into lower- and higher-level Mongolian language classes. Then after 11 weeks of getting to know those fellow trainees, your host families, and Mongolian teachers well, you get moved to your site and away from everyone you’ve ever met before. And you start all over again.

Final Center Days and Swearing-In

PST wrapped up in the beginning of August, during which time we had to undergo practice with local Mongolian students, the TAP (Trainee Assessment Packet, in which we have to assess ourselves and discuss it with Peace Corps trainers), and Mongolian language testing - after which we got two days of relaxation before leaving our training sites, and coming back to the Training Center for “Final Center Days.” I was excited but also knew I’d miss my training site, my Mongolian teachers, and my fellow trainees. Goodbye, S---!

The first Final Center Day ended very dramatically with our site announcements. We went to a park where there was a giant concrete map of Mongolia on the ground. Whenever someone got their placement, they went to stand on the corresponding part of the map. I was one of the last (of 66) people to find out where I was going, and it turned out that I was going to K--- sum. The rest of Final Center Days consisted of meeting and getting to know our new coworkers. I met Enkhtuyaa, my landlady / training manager.

The last Final Center Day, Friday August 19, was the Swearing-In Ceremony, accompanied by performances of traditional Mongolian songs and dances (performed by the trainees). Of course there were speeches too. The US ambassador to Mongolia gave a speech. I was also one of 3 volunteers who had to give speeches. Swearing-in is the pivotal point: prior to that, we were merely “trainees;” now we are called “Peace Corps Volunteers” (Энх Тайвны Корпусын Сайн Дурын Ажилтан).

That realization lasted a moment before we had to grab our stuff and leave. The dozen or so people that were staying nearby in Bulgan, Orkhon, and Selenge Provinces, or Darkhan itself, would be sent directly to their sites. The rest of us would be bused to the capital, Ulaanbaatar (UB) before being dispersed to our sites.

I was in UB for about 3 days, from Friday afternoon to Monday morning. In UB, we had bureaucratic issues to take care of. We were also supposed to shop for whatever we couldn’t find at site, whatever that was - I only knew that it probably included most things I could think of. I also went to a small show by the Mongolian band Altan Urag.

On Monday August 22, I left for K--- in a car driven by Munkhjargal, the school’s social worker, with his wife, Enkhtuyaa, the training manager, who were also going to be my landlords. The trip took most of the day, mostly because we stopped several times. During one of these stops, I had my first taste of airag: Mongolia’s national beverage, an alcoholic drink made from horse milk. It tasted a bit like very watery unflavored yogurt. In all, we probably drove about 4 hours along one of Mongolia’s few paved highways. Mongolia doesn’t have a highway system that connects every part of the country. Some people had to fly to their sites; driving would have taken days. Most of the way, we saw only grass and hills, with a few random homes along the side of the road. The last hour or so of driving was along a dirt road which led to my site. My town doesn’t have any paved roads.

K---

When I arrived, I was greeted by Ouynbileg, an English teacher at my school, who is what Peace Corps calls my “Counterpart.” She and my landlords welcomed me to my new home:

My new home is a ger. It’s about 16 feet in diameter and 8 feet high in the center. It comes with a bed, tables, shelves, cupboards, an oven, a stove, a dry sink, and two cats. I inherited these cats from the previous PCV. One is called Amrag, meaning “lover.” The other cat is called Öör Muur, which means “the other cat.” Both of them quickly attached themselves to me. They hang around the ger all day, usually sleep inside it, and beg for food. The Other Cat also sits on my lap when I sit down, and follows me when I walk, and runs into my leg when I stop walking.

My training site, S--- was near the Russian border and surrounded by woods. My site is on the steppe, with almost no trees, and near the center of the country. This means it’s also nearly in the center of the continent, and about as far away as I can possibly get from the ocean anywhere in the world. This village (in Mongolian, sum) has about 3000 people, most of whom live in the countryside herding sheep and goats. Several hundred people live in the sum center, where the school, the hospital, the government buildings (and I) are located. I can walk around the entire village area in a couple of hours. I can also see the entire place from a large hill behind the school. Despite what Peace Corps’ information packet said, there is no internet access. To use the internet, I take an hour-long ride to a bigger, nearby sum. There also isn’t much you can buy here, even if you simply want groceries. To do that, again, you go to the next town. There are no foreigners here, other than me.

I have a great view of the sky, though!

On the first night, we got a windstorm, and Munkhjargal came in and showed me how to take down the stovepipe and close the flap covering the top of my ger. That week, we also got several rain showers. Gers are made of canvas and felt, which are not completely waterproof, so they inside gets damp. Don’t put your electronics near the wall. I don’t think I need to worry much about rain anymore though. We’ve already gotten snow, and it’s not going to get warmer. I’ll have to devote another entry to that process.

Feelings Going into Mongolia

When I was invited to Mongolia at the end of February, I was surprised because Mongolia wasn't a country I'd been nominated for, and I was uncertain of what to expect. I didn't know anything about Mongolia except what I learned for a report I wrote about Genghis Khan years ago. Immediately after accepting it was a rush to get the passport forms and other urgent paperwork in. But the more I read about Mongolia, the more excited I got, until I really couldn't imagine getting invited to any other country. It was all good for two whole months, with only a couple of moments of worry that something could happen before June - some sudden illness or injury or something. One of my friends was all set to enter the Marines in March when he sprained his ankle and boot camp got put off a month. If that happened to me, well, I'd already become endeared to Mongolia even though I'd never been there!

But in early May, even though I was still excited, the anxiety really stepped up. One day I went to the store and while walking down a random aisle, I suddenly stopped, got butterflies in my stomach, and just thought, "Holy ****! Mongolia! June 2nd!" It wasn't a panic attack, but it was just like it had all suddenly "hit" me. Most of the time the future creeps onward at a steady pace, but at that moment it was rushing down on top of me. Since then almost every day I've had one moment where I just stopped whatever I was doing, got this feeling like I'd had too much coffee, and inwardly screamed "Mongolia!"

Not to sound morbid, but I think of it as like a little death. In the case of death you have to make the most of your time alive - think seriously about what you want to do, and do it - because you're going away for a long time and you can't take anything with you. I have to make the most of my time in America, because I'm going away for a long time and I can't take much with me. I want every minute to be the most memorable, emotional minute ever. Now, I've also gotten frustrated because I feel like I've wasted all of the free time I've had for the last couple of years of under-employment, and that I've got to live two years in two weeks. Of course overall, my outlook has been positive. Major life changes bring every kind of emotion, don't they?