Nomadic Family Retains Traditions, Accepts Changes to Survive

  JARGALANT, Mongolia – We left the capital, Ulaanbaatar, by vehicle early on a mid-summer morning, traveling northwest on a surprisingly fine asphalt highway. Vast, grass-covered plains stretched as far as you could see. Brown mountains with gentle slopes, looking more like massive hills, enhanced the scene.

  Along the way we passed small communities of Mongolians living in traditional “gers” – circular, tent-like structures – as well as concrete homes. With 3.5 million residents, Mongolia, about the size of Alaska, is the world’s most sparsely populated country. About 30 percent of its people live as nomads.   Environmental and economic issues have chased thousands of them from the countryside to land near the cities, especially Ulaanbaatar, where many of these urban nomads work.

  Our destination was Mongolia’s remote outback where the majority of nomads still live, managing the livestock that sustain them.

  In an hour or so into our trip the highway became a worn, two-lane road. Soon after we passed the village of Jargalant, a commercial and education center for this rural, north-central area. The road ended a few miles later and we began traversing open, grassy fields. On occasion, ruts created by other vehicles served as a makeshift road and a guide to our destination. It was a bumpy ride.

  Finally, in the distance, we spotted a smattering of gers spread out with considerable spacing over a high plain at around 2,500 feet.  Pine-covered hills formed a natural border. Cows, sheep and goats roamed freely – the country allows public grazing and homesteading - but each ger had its own pen to house their livestock at night.

  We stopped next to a pair of gers, side-by-side, where I was greeted by Chimgee, the matriarch of a traditional nomadic family. [In Mongolia, only first names, are used and short nicknames are common.] Her niece, Maralmaa, who served as my interpreter/guide during my week in Mongolia, had arranged the visit.

  We gathered inside Chimgee’s ger where I met her husband, Buyanaa, her 20-year-old son, Lkhavgaa, and daughter, Masha, 13. Missing were her youngest boy, Davaabaatar, 9, who was training for a national horse race to be held the following week, and oldest child, Suren, her husband Miigaa, and their son, Mandakhnaran, who were off on a family visit.

  All eight family members lived in the ger, which typically measures around 350 sq. ft., or about half the size of a two-vehicle garage in the U.S.

Tea Time

  As tradition dictated, Chimgee served tea and an assortment of homemade pastries to her guests. The drink combined green tea, milk and salt. For me, it would be an acquired taste.

Chimgee returned to her midday chore, making cow cheese. Milk simmered on a wood-burning stove while Chimgee, using a thin wire, sliced small squares from an already cooled batch. For her visitors, a vegetable and meat soup featuring sheep tail already had been prepared.

  Masha, the daughter, helped her mother. Lkhavgaa, the son, sat quietly nearby with his father, watching a judo match on a small TV. Upon our arrival I noticed both a satellite dish and solar panel adjacent to the ger, and now understood their purpose. Judo, I learned, was one of the country’s favorite sports.

  Buyanaa explained the family’s unorthodox path to their current station. He was raised in a rural area but not as a nomad. His father worked as a piping engineer, his mother, a livestock veterinarian. From an early age, Buyanaa loved horses and dreamed of racing, a national obsession dating to the days of Mongolia’s founder, Genghis Khan.

  As a boy Buyanaa connected with Chimgee’s father, a legendary horseman, who hired him to work with his horses and learn to race. He became a national champion. Chimgee, four years younger and raised in a nomadic family, started racing at 6. By 11, she also had won a national title. They bonded as teenage riders and married in 1997, when Buyanaa was 23 and Chimgee 19.

  The couple moved to Ulaanbaatar, where they started a family. Buyanaa worked as a welder. In 2010, he left for South Korea, where his welding skills earned a larger wage. Chimgee stayed behind. In winter, she worked as a seamstress. She spent her summers in the countryside helping her family with their dairy products.

  All the while, Buyanaa and Chimgee had a plan - to live freely as nomads.

  “It always was my dream,” Buyanaa said.

  Though still working on her cheese, Chimgee spoke up for the first time: “I was never comfortable living in the city.”

  In 2015, Buyanaa returned home. He had made enough money to stake the family’s new life.  They bought a small house in Jargalant, mainly for storage; a car; two cows; one calf; 15 sheep; and all the materials for their first ger.

  Today, 10 years later, the family would be considered prosperous in nomadic circles. Their sheep and goat herd has grown to around 300, while they own 24 cows and 11 calves. Their second ger, a luxury, houses the kitchen where Chimgee prepares most of their meals. They also own a flatbed truck for hauling supplies, and a motorbike used to help herd their animals.

  Buyanaa has a pair of horses around mostly for recreation. He enjoys keeping his riding skills sharp – at 52 he has competed on a senior circuit - and galloping across the plain with his youngest son and protégé.  Chimgee remembers Davaabaatar mimicking the sound of a horse as an infant and first climbing onto a saddle at age 3.

  Within six years he already claimed a gold medal in a prominent race and has a good chance to succeed in next week’s national competition.

Four Seasons

  In the life of a nomad, there is little rest.

  Chimgee rose before sunrise this morning, as she does every day, milking the cows and sheep. She then began cooking meals and processing milk for the day and beyond. During our visit, she also traveled a few miles to a wooded valley stream to fetch drinking water.

  Buyanaa and his older son, Lkhavgaa, handle the livestock, making sure they have enough to eat and drink and don’t wander off.  Buyanaa possesses a pair of skilled hands and, from his days as a welder, a fine mechanical intellect. For instance, he personally crafted most of his horse equipment, including the stirrups.

  “If you’re going to be a successful nomad you have to be able to do almost everything yourself,” he said.

  The seasons dictate specific tasks.

  Summer is all about finding the best grazing areas for their animals and keeping them safe from attacks by wolves and wild boars. Three attacks so far this year luckily resulted in minor losses – two sheep tails and a single lamb’s tail. Buyanaa does not own a gun, relying instead on a pair of watch dogs and a solar-powered red light system that is supposed to scare off unwanted visitors.

  In fall, the family prepares for the long, harsh winter. The livestock is fattened. Feed is stored. Weaker animals are butchered for their meat. Fallen pines are collected to feed the stove. Animal dung is turned into additional fuel.

  As winter nears, the family migrates to a low valley plain tucked between several mountain peaks about 20 miles southeast of here. There, the family gains partial relief from temperatures that can reach 20 below or more.

  Bayanaa said he and two other family members can break down each ger in around 30 minutes. The harder task is moving their herd and transporting all their furniture and equipment to their winter camp

  Of the four seasons, winter is the easiest – if you are prepared.

  “It’s the time for rest,” Bayanaa said. “If we get bored there’s always something to clean and animals to take care of.”

  It takes forever for spring to arrive. When it does, it’s go-time.

  Animals are sold at market. The family harvests the soft undercoat of their goats and sell it as cashmere. Mongolia is one of the world’s largest exporters of the fabric.

Setting up their camp needs to happen quickly as the livestock requires fertile grazing areas to gain much-needed weight.   Meanwhile, fierce winds, common from March to May, present daily challenges.

  And so the cycle goes from one year to the next.

  Reflecting on why some nomadic families prosper, while others fail Bayanaa said it boils down to a simple truism:

  “The hard-working families will succeed and have a good life. Others, forced to hire herders to handle their livestock or who let their animals die during the harsh winter, end up with nothing.”

Change is Afoot

  We finished lunch, which featured Chimgee’s hearty soup. [Reporter’s observation: Sheep tail does not taste like chicken.]

  The family lives austerely, which is underscored by the simplicity of their ger, a wood lattice-framed structure covered with a canvas.  Two single beds and five plastic stools are the only places to sit. A pair of dressers, a single credenza and a coffee table complete their furniture ensemble. Other than sleeping, eating and occasional TV viewing, little time is spent inside the meticulously organized dwelling.

  As is tradition in Mongolian gers, the north end serves as a family alter of sorts. Pictures of deceased family members, horse-racing paraphernalia and photos, and various meaningful knick-knacks are on display. Hanging from the rafters are the family’s most prized possessions – all the racing medals won by Bayanaa, Chimgee and Davaabaatar.

  Chimgee passed out another beverage called “shiguderi” – vodka milk. Always served to guests, it signaled the approaching end of our visit. The alcohol brought a bit levity to our conversation. Bayanaa, the size of an American jockey, boasted about his strength. Laughing, he lifted his shirt, revealing the muscular abs of a man half his age.

  I asked what issues impacting his family concern him.

  “The climate,” he said. “The summers have become shorter. August is about to begin but it already feels like fall. And the winters have become more harsh.”

  Equally troubling, he said, farmers are expanding their crop lands, shrinking grazing areas for the nomads’ livestock.

  Will your kids continue the nomadic life? I asked.

Chimgee chimed in.

  “I will not stop my children from doing what they want,” she said.

  At 47, Chimgee appears as fit as her husband but has a stockier  frame. Despite the years toiling in an unforgiving climate and over wood-burning stoves, she possesses flawless skin with barely a wrinkle.

  She said her eldest daughter and her family likely will move to Jargalant, where they can live in the family home. Thirteen-year-old Masha, busy most of the afternoon playing with an infant cousin, is a strong student and wants to become a teacher.

  Although Davaabaatar is only 9, Chimgee believes her youngest son will carry on the family tradition largely because of his love for animals.

  “He was breaking in horses when he was 7,” she said. “And we have a video of him as a young boy riding a cow.”

  That leaves Lkhavgaa, the eldest son. He appeared to be a shy and serious young man. That notion was shattered after I asked him about his plans.

  In a flash he had me watching on a computer tablet a hip hop video on YouTube titled “The Shepherd” starring – “You’re kidding, I thought?” - himself. An animated version of Lkhavgaa danced and pranced around his home and across the grassland outside.

  He loosely translated the opening lines: “I am the shepherd. Countryside suits me better than the city. I am not dancing with girls but sheep.”

  Posted on June 9, “The Shepherd” had more than 2 million views. Some of his fans have already tracked him down here, of all places, requesting a photo op with the unlikely star.

  Lkhavgaa appeared unfazed by his sudden fame.

  Are you moving to the city to pursue a career in music? I asked.

  No chance, he said.

  “I will remain a shepherd.”

Editor’s note: Fourth in a series from a reporting trip to Mongolia July 27-August 2, 2025

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Reported and written by: George J. Tanber

Edited by: Michael Gordon

Photo editors: David Kozy, Whitney Pratt Staley