The Mongolian Steppes

            I look at the ground in front of my plodding feet. The long grass is very green like the rest of the Mongolian countryside. Hills, trees, everything is green in the broad daylight. But the time of day is changing. Evening is beginning to fall, and that changes the colors. The hills that I am walking toward have changed from the smooth green to more of a rough golden hue. The ground changes under my feet as I cross the road. Calling it a road is something of an exaggeration though. It is really just a pair of tire tracks that cut through the grass extending in either direction as far as I can see. Right in front of me is a telephone pole that is only one in a series that runs parallel to the road. Once I walk by these though, the signs of human existence are all behind me.

            Shrubbery begins to appear. At first it is barely longer than the grass. But it begins to climb as I do. I glance at the plants, and begin to wonder which ones could cause me harm. Earlier one of the guides had warned be about stinging nettle. We were on the way to fetch firewood from the nearby grove. Next to the camps the river that watered the camp had carved a hill in the plateau. A short distance downstream the grove bridged the river, where there was a plentiful supply of fallen wood. I was climbing down the incline when my guide pointed to a plant and informed me that it was stinging nettle. There was such a mixture of plants in the general vicinity however, and I never figured out which one to be wary of. So as I was climbing the hills on the opposite side of the camp, I did my best to avoid all contact with anything that looked like it could do me harm. This was difficult since the hill was coated with knee high plants, and there was no discernable path.

            When I reached the top of the hill I was rewarded with a beautiful landscape. Hills, just like the small one I had just climbed created a skyline in the distance. Dozens are well lit nearby while others fade as the distance grows, requiring more imagination to see clearly. The valley in front of me appears to have some sort of building, but I cannot tell what it could be. The slope that lies at my feet is very steep, keeping me from traveling any further. Trees are thinly scattered across the hillside. Several are crowning the hill near where I am standing. There are also several exposed rocks along the ridge. I decide to turn back and find a nice open spot facing the sun to settle in.

            As I walk along the hill, I notice that the shrubbery has become shorter. I look at it and realize that it is small rather uncomfortable looking plants, very different from the grass at the bottom. The fact that this looks smooth and green from the bottom of the hill reminds me of home. Near where I live the hills appear very smooth and yellow. Driving by on the freeway it looks rather comfortable and fun to play in. But upon closer inspection the plants turn out to be waist high plants with seeds that attach themselves to clothing with ease. If these stickers are not painful they are annoying and somewhat destructive to clothing. One of my friends said that while before she had thought that these hills looked nice, she would forever remember that they are covered with some incredibly uncomfortable plants. As I look at the small plants that I crush with relative ease, I am thankful that they are so small compared to those not only at home, but those further down the hill too.

            I found a place to rest and looked out. Here was the rest of the world. Everything nearby sloped down. The hill I had just climbed ended in the field I had just crossed. On this field lay the camp, several Mongolian gers, round huts designed to withstand the harshest winters. Even further was the river, and behind that a grove of trees. Looking at the river I was reminded by my damp underwear of the events that had taken place right before my trek. Having been out on the steppes for several days at this point, riding horses, sleeping on the ground, and shoveling massive amounts of animal feces I was beginning to get dirty. I had gone down to the river with several of the guys to bathe. We stripped down to our boxers and climbed in the water. But getting in was more difficult than I had imagined. The first problem to overcome was the cold. The water was so cold that within a minute of being in it body parts went numb. This would have been manageable if entry were a gentle slope. Instead there was a sharp drop off ending in many slippery rocks. The first step in the river sent me knee deep. The second almost sent me tumbling as I tried to keep my balance. Eventually I got about waist deep and just stood there. I had no desire to freeze my whole body, and everyone else was taking their time. Eventually the others climbed in, and we all went under as a group to prove our manhood. By this time though, the lower half of my body was numb, and I decided that some sun and warmth was necessary. So I climbed out to the shore, slipping every time I set my foot down and getting muddy as the last step send me careening into the bank. Sun drying immediately had helped, but I was still cold from the river, so I climbed the hill, and lay out in the sun to bring my body temperature back to something that would not concern a doctor.

            When my veins stop griping at me, I look at more than what lies directly ahead of me. To my right the impending sunset forces me to squint, so I do not take the time to look at the neighboring gers that I know lay in that direction. Instead my gaze is drawn to the left. There I see more short hills like my peak. Shadows begun to grow from those hills. Little do I know how those hills will play into my life in the near future. Later I would go chasing some sheep and goats who had wandered into the shadow of these hills. As I would move out of the sunlight and into the darkness, I would become cold. Only the active pursuit of the wandering sheep will keep me warm. I would follow the sheep on the ground, while my professor would climb the hill as nimbly as the mountain goats he was chasing. As I will round up the sheep, I will clap my hands, both for warmth and to scare the sheep in the general direction I want them to go. After herding sheep I would return to the camp after sunset, finding warmth only in the fire. As I would go to bed, I will wrap myself well in my sleeping bag, but even that would not keep me warm, and I would succumb to the cold. But currently I am still sitting in the sunlight, warming myself like a lizard.

            I hear laughter behind me and turn to see some of my friends behind me, joking together. They strike up a conversation with me, but we are soon interrupted by some more of the people in our group. They are chasing a herd of sheep who have wandered up to us. We are already in a position to lead the sheep the right direction, so we get up and start to send the sheep in the correct direction. And so I begin my adventure that would eventually end in cold. But the cold is not the end of my story. When I will wake up the next morning I will step outside into the wonderfully warm sunlight. I will again become active, doing things that warm my muscles, and rid my body of the chills that have taken up residence there. In the morning the sun will end not only the chill of night, but also the middle ground in which I currently reside. Warmth will reign, and I will be content.

Soma

            Soma was surprising to me. I did not know what to expect when I got to Nibo Jibon. All I had heard was that I’d be working with street boys, but that did not mean anything to me. I had imagined that there would be orphan boys who had been taken in by the Missionaries of Charity. I did not expect it to be a home for mentally and physically handicapped children. So when I walked through the gate into the courtyard where the boys spent their time I was surprised. As I walked by the children on the way to the volunteer room in order to drop off my stuff I saw many different people boys. Some were crippled, others had vacant stares. None of the boys seemed capable of higher functions. I went into another room to begin working with children, and that is where I met Soma.

            His most distinct feature was his head. From his eyes down it looked normal. One tooth was shorter than the rest, and slightly crooked. And when he looked at me I was never quite sure if he was looking at me or past me. These differences were easy to overlook compared to the top of his head. Right above his eyes it expanded sideways until it was about twice as wide as it should have been. It was also much taller than normal. This made me think of the protagonist from the recent cartoon movie Megamind. Even with a large head, he was rather short; standing next to me he was shorter than my shoulder.

            As I walked into the room where many children were sitting Soma gestured to me. I was neither sure what he was doing or who he was gesturing to. His palm was facing the ground and he curled his fingers. After being confused for a few seconds I decided action was necessary, and I walked over. He patted the ground next to him. I understood this gesture much better. Sitting next to him he looked very intently, placed the tips of all his fingers together so that his hand formed a cone, and started moving it toward and away from his mouth rapidly. Then, with the most concerned expression, he pointed at me and said, “Eenh?”

            This took the cake for confusing me. I did not know what to think. Was he asking if I wanted to eat? Or if I had eaten? I never found out. He simply kept asking in the same fashion. I decided that the safest answer was “no” since that would not result in me being handed food by a mentally challenged child. When I finally told him no, he looked at me, concerned, and said, “No?” while waving his hand at me. When I confirmed, “No,” he adopted a very pitying expression and said, “Oh…” and took my head in his arm, pulled it into his chest, and patted my head. This interview happened several times throughout my time with Soma, with a different reaction every time. Sometimes he just looked downcast; at others he patted my shoulder and would start rubbing my back. Every time though he seemed extremely saddened by the fact that I said no to his query.

            The more time I spent with Soma, the more I could see his intelligence. When I looked into his eyes he seemed to have plenty of thoughts that he could not express. He also had retention skills that far exceeded the other boys. When one of the workers suggested that he sing, he was very shy about it at first, but then he really started to go for it. Though his lack of clear speech and knowledge of the English language made it impossible for me to understand his words, it was clear to me that he had something that he was saying. And I grew more impressed with his intelligence.

            This also may have had to do with the other boys I was interacting with. While working with the boys, I met children with many different problems. One boy was so deformed that he was permanently confined to a wheelchair, his arms always over his head. His brain was not functioning properly either since he always had this overly-excited look on his face. Another boy would wander around with one hand clasping my arm, the other holding a bottle cap to his mouth. As he walked he would make one of two noises. “Bula bula bula,” was the noise he would make as his one open eye would fixate on the ambulance that was parked in the yard. Or he would make a deep gurgling noise as if he were trying very hard to clear some mucus deep in his throat. The boys in the home had so many problems and looked so strange that in comparison the Down syndrome boy living at the home appeared rather normal.

            There was something more about Soma though. He was not normal looking in the least. Instead, what stood out was his compassion. Helpers were in limited supply. Helpers like me, who spent their time playing with the children, were a treat that was few and far between for the boys. I could only do so much for the boys. So when it came to spending time with them, every boy wanted a small piece of me, including Soma. Soma acted differently however. As I would sit with him he would enjoy my company. When someone else needed attention however, he would immediately give up his position. He was willing to claim my attention, but when he recognized a need greater than his own he would allow for that need to be filled.

            And that need was not necessarily to be taken care of but to be given attention. When sitting with Soma, he would do nice things for me as often as not. I remember sitting next to him and thinking, “He is giving me a hand massage.” I did contemplate trying to massage his hand in return, but decided against since he was always commanding, and if I did not follow his orders exactly, I was gestured at until I complied. Like when we were sitting on the floor together cross-legged and he told me to take off my shoes. I did not understand right away and his actions become more exaggerated until one of the other volunteers told me that he wanted my shoes off. He was very happy after I took them off, but always insisted that they sit behind my back.

            Soma also acted at a protector on several occasions. Due to the mentally unstable nature of the boys, some underestimated their strength and would use that strength on me. Being unwilling to fight with mentally handicapped children, I would not do anything. Soma, however, had no qualms about beating them off. Some of the boys also took interest in my shoes that Soma had asked me to remove. He did not like this at all. So he would tell the other boys, “No!” and take my shoes from them. Then he would hand them to me and tell me where to put them so that they would be safe.

            Soma also became fascinated with my pants. Because of the ground conditions in Kolkata, I had rolled my pants up to just below my knees. This piqued Soma’s interest. He had me sit on a planter so that he could get a clear look at my legs. Then he sat on the ground and started unrolling my pants. He was very methodical about his task. And when he finished, he suddenly became engaged with the zipper. After thoroughly investigating the zipper he rolled them back up. This was impressive to me because he rolled them up to the same exact height, and rolled them better than I did most of the time.

            As I was leaving Nibo Jibon I decided to look into Soma a little bit more. There was a board on the wall that gave information about all of the people living in the homes. It told the name of the boy, their ailment a picture of them and sometimes had a description about them. The diseases ranged from mental retardation to “weakness.” I scanned for Soma and found his picture and learned his name. His ailment was described as “mental retardation.” I thought to myself, “There is no way that is the extent of his problems. He is too smart to be mentally retarded.” Then I looked at the date of birth. It was in 1994. That meant he was eighteen years old, and two years younger than me. But he acted more like my seven-year-old nephew. All of a sudden I found myself agreeing with the sign.