WE MEET THE NOMADS

Friday, August 6

We are up early, good breakfast at 7, and into vans for the trip to the remote site where the clinic for the "ger" families will be held.

A ger is a round structure that the herdsmen and their families live in, and the landscape is dotted with them. The same type of structure is used by nomadic people in parts of Russia, and there they are known as "yurts". They're also used in town, as living quarters and very often as storage sheds or supplemental buildings for businesses.

The Mustangs are living in gers at present at the CTW compound, until their dormitories are finished. Gers come in different sizes, depending upon how many wall sections you use. The floor is wooden and comes in sections. The walls are made of a criss-cross lattice, that collapses like a folding child gate. In the center, two stout poles support a circular wooden frame. Lighter poles are inserted into the outer rim of this circle like spokes from a wagon hub, and extend out to the walls. There, they are simply tied in place.

CIRCULAR RING AND UPPER SUPPORT POLES OF A GER

Large sheets of very heavy felt are then wrapped around the whole structure. The felt is made by the herdsmen from the hair of the animals they raise - sheep, goats, yaks, horses and cattle. After a time, the felt takes on the shape of the structure itself. In these "modern" times, a sheet of plastic is thrown over the felt, especially over the top, to make it more rainproof, and a canvas cover that has been sewn to fit the structure is put in place over the whole thing. There is a vent hole in the top, like in a tepee, and this can be opened or closed with the help of long straps attached to the coverings.

A TYPICAL GER - NOTE THE ELABORATELY DECORATED DOOR

The side walls can be rolled up like a Roman shade on the outside, and a chimney effect then provides circulation, as air is drawn in from the sides and carried out through the vent in the top. It's quite effective. Five men working together can put a ger up in two hours, and can take one down in thirty minutes. This makes them very portable, and a family can relocate in a day.

LANNI AND ELOISE INSIDE A GER

Inside a home, pretty fabrics are hung around the walls, and furniture is arranged around the perimeter, against the walls. The ger is surprisingly roomy, attractive and functional. Mongol people have lived in them for centuries, so the concept is tried and true.

One might wonder whether they smell, with the felt being made of animal hair. They do. When it's raining, they really do. However, it smells a lot like a stable, which has never bothered me anyway. It's just a warm, earthy scent, not at all unpleasant, very reminiscent of my growing-up years, when my horse was my beloved companion. It didn't bother me at all.

Back to the clinic! First of all, there was the trip out there. We rode in the Russian vans, made in the early 70's and still hanging in there. There are a couple of newer vans, that belong to CTW, but the Russian vans and drivers are hired to transport us. I'm not sure the newer vans would make the trip. The Russian vans are a sight to behold. Gray, of course. I don't think the Russians know there are any other colors. Everything they make is gray. The vans have seen better days, to put it mildly. The door stops are gone, so to keep the doors from swinging completely around when they're opened, and breaking the hinges, they're tethered with pieces of wire, rope, whatever the driver could find. One is fastened with an old seatbelt strap. Not sure where that came from, since there are no seat belts.

We travel over paved road for a few miles, then the driver turns down a track - it would be an exaggeration to call it a road - and continue on. The vans wheeze and chug and groan, and the drivers herd them over the unbelievably rutted track without mercy. I half expected them to take out whips and start beating them! The vans protest, but the drivers are relentless. Our engine dies, and the driver raises a lid over a console next to him, tinkers a bit, then pours some clear liquid into something under the lid. I think it must have been Vodka, because the engine coughed, choked and clattered into life, and on we went. The vans rear and pitch and buck, but the drivers keep urging them on. We're bounced around the vans unmercifully, as the vans plow over ruts and holes and mudslides, like crazed animals in search of water. I will definitely be sore tomorrow.

We finally lurch into the camp, and the vans wheeze to a halt. We get out, a bit the worse for wear, and nursing a bruise or two, but we barely notice it. We're so excited to be here, and ready to get to work. There are two tents set up, one for the intake team to register the people as they arrive, and one for me and Toom Chris to do our job. We will take vital signs, and with our interpreters, get the history of each person - current complaint and what, if any, treatment they've had. By the way, "toom" is pronounced like "tome", and is the Mongolian word for "big". We have two guys named Chris. One is our pharmacist, and he is tall and slender. The other Chris is also tall, but no way is he slender, hence the distinction "Toom Chris". He's a shaven-headed, bearded biker, complete with leathers, studded belt, tattoos, the whole works. He's also an EMT, a Christian, and a marshmallow inside. He knows his stuff, and is fun to work with.

After Toom Chris and I have finished with a client, they are escorted by one of the Mustangs to a bench outside one of the gers where the doctors are working. The escorts try to keep the waiting lines at approximately the same length. We have two doctors today, each in their own ger, and our pharmacist is in a third one. There are a couple of empty gers as well, as we may be joined by a third doctor tomorrow, and possibly a Mongolian dentist.

There were only a few people waiting when we arrived, but shortly thereafter, people began to just materialize out of the brushy scrub that surrounds the camp. They came on foot, on horseback, in little horse-drawn carts, and a few on motorbikes or in ancient cars. They came from all directions, leading small children, carrying babies, assisting the elderly. They're dressed in an astonishing variety and combination of clothing. We see old pin-stripe suitcoats worn over baggy trousers of unknown fabric. The trousers are inevitably stuffed into the tops of leather riding boots, most of which appear to be of very good quality. Most of the men, and many of the women wear these boots, because horses are a part of their daily life. Everyone rides. T

he clothing combinations are original, to say the least. One woman was wearing a pair of modern, pointy-toed high heels over a pair of argyle socks, with Levi's and a long-sleeved sweater, with a sheer pink nightie top over that. Amazing.

Many of the women also wear hats, and they seem to favor white or cream-colored straw hats, with wide brims. Another favorite style is straw, shaped like a baseball cap, with a huge, very exaggerated bill on it, about a foot long, and fanning out at least eight inches wide.

The people are gentle, friendly, and extremely patient and cooperative. Their speech is soft and rhythmic, and I enjoy hearing it, though I don't understand a word. The intake team is sending them to us faster than we can process them, so our waiting line is building, but the people sit quietly, and the children are well-behaved. This promises to be a long, tiring, and very enjoyable day.

NOTE: Friends, I must apologize for the strange shifts in print style. I'm not doing that. I've given this print engine every command the law allows. Some parts respond, some do not. I'm copying and pasting this text from my old journal, but once I highlight and override with new print commands, it should respond. Even if it doesn't respond as I tell it, it should at least misbehave equally everywhere, but it does not. So, I guess we'll just take whatever comes. Perhaps we can make a game of it - "Guess the Print Style" or some such. Oh well.