Thursday, 9 December, 1999
Now once again in Toora-Khem, the provincial capital of the Tozhu province, where the
reindeer herders live. Toora-Khem is a beautiful village (pop. 2500) of well-maintained
log houses on tree-lined streets, built along the Bii-Khem and Azas rivers and ringed by
snow- covered mountains. It looks like it could be ski resort in Colorado, and the people
here got a kick when I told them that rich Americans pay an arm and a leg to vacation in
places like this in America.
We arrived in Toora-Khem after a very tiring and trying 16-hour drive in some kind of a
cross between a cattle car and a safari bus, designed for 15 passengers, but into which 27
were squeezed, along with all their baggage. Fortunately, I was on the bus early enough to
get a seat. Some of the less fortunate had to stand the entire way. Fortunately, the bus
was equipped with a "pechka," a small stove that could burn either kerosene or
wood. We started with kerosene, but just about asphyxiated everyone, so we switched to
wood and managed to keep the bus warm enough that we didn't freeze to death, and fume-free
enough that we didn't all suffocate.
The "road" to Toora-Khem is more like a very rugged 270-km (170-mile)-long
hiking trail, winding around trees and through narrow defiles between rock faces, up
mountains and down into river valleys, the vehicle lurching and bumping along at about
5-10 mph, tilting first one way, then lurching back the other, throwing people and baggage
from side to side, heads banging against walls, ceiling, each other. The fact that there
has been heavy snow in the area didn't simplify matters, either we were sliding along as
well as lurching, and at times tilting so far to one side or that other that I really
thought we'd topple. But we had an excellent driver who knew his vehicle, and so after 16
torment-filled, neck-aching hours, we arrived sort of. We arrived on the other side of the
Bii-Khem, one of the two rivers that makes up the headwaters of the Yenisei River. It's
not yet frozen solid enough for such a heavy vehicle as ours to drive across, so, with all
of our bags, we all had to pick our way along the bank, cross a little inlet by means of a
wobbly and misshapen tree branch, then again along the bank to a point where the mushy ice
was narrowest between land and solid ice, and there again had to make our way across the
mushy ice on a round, narrow, ice-covered tree branch, then walk across the river and then
down into town. This all at 4:30 am on a dark, moonless night (fortunately, not too cold).
Fortunately for all of us, the paranoid and therefore well-equipped American had his
Mini-Mag flashlight to light the way. It took about 50 minutes altogether from the vehicle
to into town, where I and the person I was travelling with went to the local guesthouse,
where the night watchperson said she couldn't let us have a room, but begrudgingly allowed
us to sleep for a couple of hours on the floor of the reception area.
I've been travelling with Natalia Borisovna Tyrtyrkara, an energetic 68-year old woman
who heads up an organization called "Aborigenka." Aborigenka is devoted to
improving the living conditions of the indigenous people. Borisovna, as she's called, is
mostly concerned with health education, and her principal crusade is anti-alcohol. She's
very outspoken, clearly well-liked and respected, and like any grandmother, loves to tell
everyone to wear their hats, button up, not to smoke and drink, have another helping, and
turn the music down.
So anyway, we got in at about 5 am after the rigorous and tumultuous ride, and crashed
on the floor of the reception room of the local guesthouse for a couple of hours. Then we
were off and running, with Borisovna running around doing all her business and shunting me
from office to office with instructions like, "Here's an American scientist. He
speaks Tuvan. He doesn't speak Russian. Now you talk and I'll be back." Then she'd
turn to me and say something in Russian, and run off.
I've been sorely reminded the entire trip of my linguistic shortcomings and how they
are limiting my research. Borisovna dumps me off in some "darga's" (Tuvan for
director or boss) office, and I'm left stuttering and stammering, trying to explain my
presence. I do okay as long as I'm explaining, in a very simple way, my research questions
and goals, and then asking very simple questions. The trouble comes when the simple
questions get real answers that aren't so simple and that I don't fully understand, and I
can't ask intelligent follow-up questions.
I've also had a discouraging experience in the local archives, where I thought I'd find
a lot of important information. The archivist was nice and helpful, but I couldn't
understand a lot of what she was saying, and it appears that the archives contain very
little of interest to me (unless the archivist just doesn't want me there). She dumped a
couple of folders with "fond" (archival files) listings on me, then told me they
don't have the "dela" (documents) listed there. And she sat and stared at me the
whole time. I was tired and frustrated, and just wanted to be left alone to look things
over in my own slow way, but she had to sit there, perched on the edge of her seat,
watching my every movement, every time I had to look a word up in the dictionary, etc. And
I was placed on the back edge of her work desk, since apparently they don't have a work
area for people using the archives. So in fact Day 1 has been pretty much of a bust, but
I'm hoping for better luck next time.
Friday, 10 December 1999
Went running around today trying to organize things — planned to go to the
statistics office, but never got there. Elena Kynzen-oolovna Maady, the Secretary of the
Council of Representatives of Tozhu kozhuun, has been very patient, interested,
enthusiastic, and informative. She's also extremely well-informed and intelligent. She
took me to meet Arena Dongakovna Kashkak, the Tuvan language teacher at the Toora-Khem
school and the director of the Toora-Khem school museum. Arena Dongakovna was also very
helpful. Unfortunately, there simply doesn't seem to be much in the way of documentation
of the events I'm interested in (and everyone has told me that I won't find much in the
way of published information on Soviet-era repression or resistance against repression).
But as school assignments and projects, students have compiled little histories of various
local institutions (state farms, the town, school, etc), based on information from local
people. These little histories are handwritten in large, handmade, cardboard
accordion-fold albums, written in different colors, decorated by hand, with photos of
local people pasted in them.
After visiting the museum, we went to Iy, where Borisovna had a meeting to organize her
conference. Our driver, it turns out, was Valera Shyyrap, my friend Chaizu's relative with
whom we stayed last year!
We went to the school in Iy, a very attractive building that looks like it could be a
hotel in Aspen or Vail, and suddenly I found myself in a room crowded with ancient
reindeer herders. I had asked to meet with a certain one, Aleksandra Baraan, whose family
had fled to Mongolia during the years of repression. I also talked to a few others, most
interesting of whom was Darymaa Khoyatovna Kyzenek, who was born in 1920. However, she was
old and deaf and spoke very unclearly. It was a difficult and frustrating interview for
me, knowing that I had a wonderful source of information, but I personally couldn't tap
it. Basically, Elena Kynzen-oolovna took over for me, and I sat back feeling terribly
unworthy, inadequate, not up to my task, insecure, and highly aware of how it is simply
through an accident of birth that I have the opportunity to do this research that so many
others are, at least in some ways, better qualified to do, and that there are so many
people with great minds and powerful intellects who are doing petty clerical work in
provincial government offices or who are grade-school teachers, or drivers, or herders, or
dissolute, degenerate alcoholics, all for lack of opportunity (or perhaps that's a
condescending attitude — they have different opportunities and use their gifts well
in those capacities). Yet as unworthy as I may be, I'm the only one doing this research,
and these people certainly want it done, are very pleased that I'm doing what I can, and
are willing to contribute their efforts to help me do it.
Anyway, the interviewing was difficult, and I quickly became tired, frustrated,
flustered with so many people crowding in around me and staring at me like a TV program or
a circus freak. I couldn't formulate follow-up questions, couldn't follow speakers' trains
of thought. I wasn't prepared to do a bunch of interviews, and really didn't want to, so
after a few, I called it quits and went to look at the Iy school museum. Fortunately, I
taped the interviews. Now all I've got to do is find some sucker to transcribe them for
me.
The school museum at Iy is not as large nor as organized as the one in Toora
Khem. It
has a small display of material culture — a birch-bark pail for milk, a few
implements for suspending a cooking pot from the center of a "chadyr" (tipi)
over the fire, some hide-scraping tools, a baby cradle, a reindeer saddle. It had a couple
of hand-lettered posters with basic historical information, some stuffed birds and a lot
of class photo albums (sort of home-made school yearbooks). I took a bit of info from the
historical posters.
Two things I've resolved from this experience: 1) improve my Tuvan dramatically between
now and the next time I do interviews; and 2) bring an interpreter when I'm ready to do
serious interviewing, especially with government officials, when I have limited time and
need to ask very direct questions for specific and accurate information.
Back in Toora-Khem, went to Valera's for dinner. First I stopped at the local shop and
bought wine and cigarettes for the adults, candy and cake for the kids, thereby
contributing in one swell foop to all the things that are destroying these people's health
and culture. Tried to offset it by buying apples and oranges as well. Had a pleasant but
somewhat strained time with them. I was tired and my brain was fried from a difficult and
frustrating language day. I wasn't able to understand much or say much, and Galina twice
remarked that my Tuvan is worse than it was last year!
With him live his wife, Galina, and their 4 kids. Also, Valera's 76-year-old father has
come to live with them, who seems pretty sharp still, but very shaky (Parkinson's?), moves
slowly, and speaks very indistinctly. Also, Galina's nephew was staying with them for a
while, and they're expecting Valera's mother to come live with them as soon as she
recovers from a broken leg. So they've got 8 people in a little 3-bedroom cabin, and yet
had trouble understanding why I wasn't staying with them. I showed them my little family
album, then came back to the "Social Center" where I'm staying, fried and tired
and pretty damn discouraged, especially with my language difficulties.
Friday, 10 December 1999
Saturday, 11 December 1999
Valera invited me to go with him to Yrban and Systyg-Khem on his own business. I
figured I could use a day away from "working," and thought it'd be a nice drive,
nice scenery. He said he'd pick my up at 8 am, but came at 9, and then we putzed around
until 10:30 or so — a typical start. We went with Volodya, Valera's younger brother,
and their father. I'd met Volodya last year, when he was embarrassingly drunk. Valera was
so embarrassed that he tried to keep Volodya away from me, but Volodya was aggressive and
insistent on meeting the American, and finally they introduced us. Volodya kept insisting
on speaking to me in incomprehensible Russian, wouldn't believe that I didn't speak
Russian. He was obnoxious and offensive. This time, I barely recognized him. He looked fit
and handsome, was intelligent, funny and friendly. Another example of how completely
alcohol transforms people here.
In Iy we picked up a couple of Russian guys who were going to Yrban. We bounced along
the rutted, snow-covered path to Yrban (took about an hour), and there spent another hour
trying to scare up some "benzine" (gasoline) for Valera's "UAZik" (a
tough jeep-like vehicle). We had no luck with getting gas, but somehow managed to get
stopped by the local constable and fined for not having all the proper documents.
We went on to Systyg-Khem — a beautiful and very rugged drive, like a shorter
version of the hellacious drive from Kyzyl to Toora-Khem. The path wound up some fairly
high and steep hills before dropping down into the Systyg-Khem valley. The sun was fairly
low in the southwestern sky (it's always fairly low this time year, as it moves across the
sky from southeast to southwest). The sky was dazzlingly bright blue, the shimmering snow
zebra striped with shadows of spindly cedar and ghostly birch, creating beautifully
textured patterns perpendicular to the undulating road. At the point where we reached the
top of the pass before dropping down into the valley, I could see see on my left the
frozen and snow-covered Bii-Khem river lazily meandering toward Kyzyl, shimmering like a
white silk "kadak," (the ceremonial silk scarf presented to esteemed guests),
while in front of me the Systyg-Khem river snaked its way in to intercept the
Bii-Khem,
and all around were snowy, gently rounded hills, covered with pine, cedar, larch and birch
trees. (Unfortunately, I didn't bring my camera on this trip.)
Then we dropped down into the Systyg-Khem valley, drove across the river on the ice,
stopped in at a tiny and somewhat derelict, but very warm, cottage — the house of a
hunter friend of the people I was with, but he was out hunting. His mother gave us tea and
bread and some fried potato-meat combination. As usual, I was out of the loop as to what
was going on, so I sat an ate and played with the absent hunter's 4-year-old son while the
others left to conduct whatever business they had come on. About a half-hour later, Valera
came back to the cottage and told me that there were reindeer herders in town, and asked
if I wanted to see them. I was a bit reluctant, given the difficult experience of the
previous day, but of course I couldn't let the opportunity go. I expected to see actual
herders, perhaps even with their deer, but in fact I learned that there are only former
herders in Systyg Khem. Anyway, we went to the house of Sveta, the principal of the local
school, and I sat there and waited with her 3-year old son, Opei-ool, and a black cat,
both of which totally ignored me, while they went to rustle up a herder or two for me.
Valera came back and sat down and proceeded to make himself completely at home, eating
whatever he could find as he did at every house we went to (the custom here is simply to
start eating without being offered and without asking). A virtual procession of people
came in, one by one. Each time I thought it was a herder for me to talk to, when in fact
each time it was a person coming to petition Valera for a ride back to Toora-Khem for
themselves or for a relative of theirs, and Valera sat there in judgment, like a king
deciding their fate.
Finally Sveta returned with the reindeer herder, a fairly young woman (51 years old),
and we proceeded to have an excellent interview that restored my faith in myself and my
language abilities. I was able to understand virtually everything she said, and she was
able to understand me. I interviewed her in the waning twilight, in a kitchen softly
warmed by a wood-burning stove. The village's generator hadn't been turned on yet so there
was no electricity. Sveta, the school principal in whose kitchen we were, lit a small
kerosene lamp, and we finished the interview by the light of that lamp.
As soon as were finished, the electricity came on (proof that Murphy's law operates
even in such a remote and far-away place). Sveta provided us with raw salted fish and a
soup made with "ang e'ti" — wild game of some sort. Then we made our way
back to the hunter's cottage, where we were given another kind of wild game meat. It was
tough, overcooked, and not particularly tasty, I asked what it was, and they said
"dyrbaktyg" in Tuvan, and "ryc'" in Russian, neither of which I knew.
Then when I got back to Toora-Khem, I looked it up in the dictionary I had been eating
lynx meat!! Of course, that raised ethical questions in my mind — Is it an endangered
animal? Had it been legally hunted or not? I asked Valera, and he assured me that it was
not a problem, but I'm not convinced. At any rate, to these people, whose next meal is the
most immediate concern, such issues are irrelevant, and for me to get all judgmental about
it would only prove counterproductive.
While waiting there in the warm hunter's cottage eating lynx meat, the room began to
fill up with people, all of whom looked like they were planning on going to Toora-Khem
with us. There were 7 or 8 people, and we were already 4, in a jeep made for 5.
Fortunately, only three of them were actually going, while the rest were relatives seeing
them off. So we were only 7 people and a dog in the jeep.
We took off at 7 pm. We went along the road we had come by for about 40 minutes and
then hit a steep section of the road. I remembered coming down it from the other direction
and thinking it would be a bitch to get back up, and I was right. We tried going up the
middle, going over right tackle, over left tackle, around right end, around left end, and
we were sacked every time. We tried pushing, shovelling, shoving sticks and branches under
the wheels, and got nowhere. Then the engine died and wouldn't start (a fairly frightening
thing to have happen in remote Siberia on a dark winter night). We opened the hood,
checked for sparks, took off distributor cap, played with the carburetor, took out plugs,
took off the coil, etc. (Once again, the handy Mini-mag was much appreciated.) Turns out
fuel wasn't getting to the engine, probably because the jeep was on about a 60 degree
incline, and leaning way over to the left. We finally got it started again and decided to
return to Systyg-Khem to take a different "road." So, 40 minutes back to
Systyg-Khem, then onto the other road, which had its share of difficulties, was extremely
rough and at times we were driving leaning so far over to one side or the other that the
only thing that kept us from rolling was the built-up snow bank pressing against the side
of the vehicle as we drove along virtually sideways. And the tire chains on one side broke
and kept coming off, so Valera and Volodya had to keep jumping out and jerry-rigging them
together with bits of wire and string they found on the floor of the jeep — all this
late at night in -30 C (-22 F) weather, with bare hands. I stoically held the flashlight.
And we had a 76-year-old man, an tiny frail-looking 83-year-old woman, and another woman
in her 70s with us. Not a hint of complaint or discomfort from them. These people are
tough — "shydamyk" in Tuvan, meaning "durable,"
"hardy." I was trying to imagine my own strong, healthy 74-year-old mother in
the same situation and, well Mom, I don't know...
Anyway, thanks to the skill of our driver and the toughness of Russian jeeps, we made
it back to Toora-Khem at 2:30 am, running on empty both literally and figuratively, a
70-km (42-mile) trip in seven and a half hours. When we got back to Valera's house, his
wife got up and cooked up a batch of "manty," a type of boiled dumpling stuffed
with ground, spiced meat, in this case, moose meat. So in one day I ate lynx, moose, at
least one other kind of wild game, and raw salted fish.
Monday, 13 December, 1999
Didn't do much yesterday (Sunday) or today (a national holiday Russian Constitution
Day) besides reading and writing up my notes. I've been trying to plow my way through
"Odugende Chailag," a children's book in Tuvan that's about a young boy who
spends a summer with reindeer herders at their summer camp in Odugen Taiga, on the border
with Buryatia. That's the group I also hope to spend most of my time with, so I think it's
appropriate that I read this book. Even though it's a children's book, it's very tough and
slow going, much more difficult than, for example, the Tuvan language newspapers.
After that I went to Valera's house to have a "banya." There's no indoor
plumbing in these villages, so people bathe (usually once a week) in little sheds out
behind their houses. These are a lot like saunas, with wooden floors and a wooden bench or
benches to sit on, and a large cylindrical tank for water resting on top of a wood-burning
stove, which heats the water and produces steam. You dip out some of this hot water and
mix it with cold water that's in buckets on the floor, and, if you're a traditional
Russian, you flagellate yourself with birch branches. I haven't yet had that pleasure.
Only 8 pm, but feels much later. It gets pretty dark by 4:30 or so, and we drank a lot of
vodka at lunch today.
Tuesday, 14 December, 1999
Slept badly last night, got up in the middle of the night and studied Tuvan for a few
hours. This morning went to the village of Adyr-Kezhig, about 5 miles up river from Toora-
Khem, where I spent the morning in the school museum there, and talking with the museum
founder and director, Natalia Kushkash, and her husband. She's sort of a local celebrity
because, although she herself isn't from Tozhu, she's taken a great interest in the
history and customs of the area, is sort of an amateur ethnographer, and has even
published a small book called "Tozhu's Past." But before that, I was made into a
spectacle. When we first arrived, I was brought to the principal's office and introduced
to the principal. We chatted for a few minutes in Tuvan, and then he excused himself, came
back a few minutes later, and asked me to come out into the corridor. There, without any
warning to me, he had assembled the entire student body (about 300 students), and asked me
to address them. Although I'm getting more flexible and have come to expect such
situations, it still puts me off to be put on the spot like that, and I felt very
uncomfortable and flustered. But I muddled my way through it, and then spent a couple of
very productive hours in the museum.
Returned to Toora-Khem in the early afternoon, where I had hoped to spend the afternoon
in the Toora-Khem museum, but the museum director had already gone home. However, she came
to the Social Center for a meeting and brought with her some materials of interest to me:
a book in Tuvan called "Orus Sholu" (Russian Field), which she actually gave to
me as a gift; another book in Russian called "A History of the Tuvan People's Path to
Socialism"; and a journal with an article about Tuvan language maintenance among the
small group of Tuvans in China. I've been working my way through the "History."
I've read about 50 pages so far in about 5 hours, so I'm pleased with that kind of speed
and the progress it indicates in my Russian reading ability.
Thursday, 16 December, 1999
Spent Wednesday morning in the Toora-Khem school museum. Didn't get much information,
but at least I know that I've tried that source. Spent the afternoon in the statistics
bureau where I did get some good statistics on the decline in the reindeer population, and
some data that supports my speculations as to why.
Spent the early evening in the Social Center, sorting through the statistics I had
copied down and formulating further questions based on them, and continuing reading the
"History" book. Then Borisovna, who had been having some kind of consultation
with someone, called me into the dining room to join her and the person she was consulting
with. Turns out it was a remote relative, and they hadn't been so much consulting as
drinking vodka. It was funny and strange to watch this strong-willed 68-year-old woman get
drunk and really quite obnoxious, to see the woman who crusades against alcohol and has
put up posters condemning the evils of alcohol all over the walls of this Social Center
pulling out yet another bottle of vodka and plying people who actually didn't really want
to drink. And she was trying, as always but in less subtle, more outrageous fashion, to
control everything, even the table conversation, telling who to say what to whom.
"Adyr, adyr," ("Enough now,") she'd say, interrupting her guest.
"You're talking too much. I want to propose a toast..." And she go off on some
rambling toast, then turn to me, "Tell her about your mother and father," or
"Tell her about Indiana." As I was speaking she'd sneak another swill of vodka,
then she'd interrupt me to propose another toast. But I've got to give her credit —
she remained relatively coherent, and then stayed up working for an hour or so after our
guest left, and was up early the next morning, energetic as ever.
Among the frustrations of fieldwork: offices that aren't open when they're supposed to
be; people who aren't working when they're supposed to be, and when they told you they
would be; scheduling and timing in general that's simply not as structured and orderly as
in the good ol' US of A. Planned to spend the morning in the statistics bureau today. Got
a fair amount of good info there yesterday, but need more time. It's supposed to open at
9, but never did open all day long. I also had some questions for the deputy governor of
the province. He also said he'd be in and wasn't, then as I was leaving the government
building after looking for him, he came stumbling up the steps of the building, so totally
drunk that he could barely walk and was incapable of speaking. This on a Thursday morning.
And yet another instance of alcohol abuse: Volodya, Valera's brother who had been so
drunk last year but was a totally different person a couple of days ago, came around to
the back side of the Social Center and knocked on my window. I went around and let him in,
and he told me that his son had been picked up by the police, and he had to pay a fine to
get the kid released. Asked if he could borrow 100 rubles (about $4). I wasn't sure if I
believed his story, but I went ahead and gave him the money. Then a couple of hours later,
he came back, this time with his wife and two little kids. He was drunk, and Borisovna
wouldn't let him in, and didn't want to let me out to talk to him, but I went out anyway,
figuring no real harm could be done. We chatted for a couple of seconds, then he started
in asking for money again, this time to get his kids something to eat. I'm sure it was for
vodka. He was totally shameless, and very aggressive and insistent. I refused, and he kept
insisting, in a tone that was somewhere between begging and threatening. I finally gave in
and gave him 30 rubles just to get rid of him, but the experience left a very bad taste in
my mouth, and I don't want to see him again, which is unfortunate because he's a relative
of my good friend.
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