Mongolia travel report 2

With the shaman of the last reindeer nomads.

The Tsaatan

In the remote taiga forests near the border with Siberia, about forty families of the Tsaatan or Dukha people still live their traditional nomadic reindeer-herding lifestyle: They move with their herds from pasture to pasture and live in simple, teepee-like tents. The reindeer provide milk, serve as mounts and pack animals, and are an important part of their culture and identity. Although they strive to pass on their language, traditions, and knowledge of the taiga to the next generation, more and more are choosing a more modern life near cities due to climate change, restrictions on hunting and habitat caused by government conservation regulations, the shrinking number of reindeer herds, and harsh living conditions.

A dream

For the second part of my adventure in Mongolia, I had planned a trip to visit the Tsaatan, though without seeing a shaman. A few days before, however, a figure appeared to me in a dream: She introduced herself as an ancestor of the shaman and said that I would meet him, but that I should give him time, that he was reserved, but would ultimately help me.

Getting there

The Tsaatan can be reached by taking a domestic flight from Ulaanbaatar to Murun, followed by a nearly two-day jeep ride on dirt roads and, finally, a day’s ride over the pass.

The small but strong and extremely sure-footed Mongolian horses carried us safely through the marshy taiga on the mountainside. Our luggage included kitchen utensils, knives, medicine, sweets, fresh fruits and vegetables as gifts for the nomads. We had left our camping gear behind, as wild camping here would be too dangerous due to wolves and bears.

When we reached the first Tsaatan camp beyond the pass after an eight-hour ride, it was already getting dark. That family welcomed us warmly and offered us one of their teepees for the night. My translator told them about my interest in shamanism, so the next morning the only shaman in the area was contacted by walkie-talkie: As “chance” would have it, he was actually very close by. He was planning to move on with his family to their fall quarters the next day, but he had time today and would be happy for us to come and spend the night in their tent.

With the shaman

The tent stood on a hill. After our ride through wind, rain, and cold, we were very happy to receive such a warm welcome with milk tea, bread, and dried curd. The shaman and his wife were very open and friendly, and before long we were playing with their two young children, who proudly showed us their favorite reindeer and riding skills. They told us a lot about their nomadic life with their reindeer and horses, but when it came to shamanism, the shaman remained very tight-lipped. He said it was the wrong time in the lunar month to contact the ancestors.

When my translator asked again a few hours later if a ritual could take place after all, he explained that he was cautious around outsiders: Some had already come with the desire to learn from him but didn’t have the heart for it. Last year, a team had offered him a lot of money to perform a ritual for them so they could film it. He had refused and sent them away, but shortly afterward they returned with a shaman from another ethnic group, performed the ritual, and filmed it. Dismayed by these remarks, I explained that I hadn’t come to learn, but was seeking healing. After that, the conversation strayed from the topic again.

Shortly before dark, the reindeer that had been roaming freely were rounded up and tied up near the tent for the night. After dinner, however, the large shaman’s drum was taken out of the bag and placed by the stove to warm up, which gave me renewed hope. We kept talking, but really, we were just waiting.

The Ritual

Shortly after midnight, the moment had arrived: The shaman asked if I had brought any offerings, so I took the bottle of vodka and the cookies I’d brought along specifically for this purpose out of my backpack.

By the light of a single candle, just enough for me to make out the outlines, the shaman put on his boots and coat, smudged the drum with a juniper twig, and began to drum and sing. Sometimes walking sometimes running in place, and repeatedly spinning around, he drummed himself into a trance. During the intense two hours that followed, there were many wild phases and a few calmer ones, but his wife always knew what to do and gave instructions. Once I was told to lie down on the floor in front of him, prayers were recited and the drum was played over me, then I was told to drink some reindeer milk, then to sit down a little further away. Time and again, the cloths of his power objects and his robe lashed out at me, sometimes the drumstick flew in my direction, and once even a bowl of milk. Never harmful, but powerfully cleansing. As I watched the outline of this huge dancing man in the dim light, he seemed to transform again and again; with his robe adorned with animal bones and cloths, as well as his feathered mask, he often appeared to be more bird than human. We had to be careful that he didn’t get too close to the hot stove while spinning around, as there was limited room in the teepee. After more than two hours, his wife broke his trance, as the shaman couldn’t stand on his own and had to be supported by two men. It took his wife another half hour to bring him out of his deep trance.

After that, we sat down. His wife poured milk tea and handed each of us one of the now consecrated cookies. Then the shaman recounted in a calm voice what he had seen and what ritual I should perform at home. An ancestor must have been speaking through him, for he used an ancient language, and his wife had to explain what he said so that my translator could understand and translate it from Mongolian into German.

Around four in the morning, we finally went to sleep. I was pretty frozen through, because, being used to hot summer temperatures, these near-zero-degree temperatures with rain and strong winds were a real challenge for me. After all, the teepee consisted only of tent poles and tarps and was open at the top and bottom. But the shaman’s wife motherly wrapped us all in several warm blankets before she went to sleep herself.

Further

Just two hours later, the day began. The stove was lit and the reindeer were milked, nobody mentioned the nightly ritual anymore. We offered to help the family pack, and it was truly impressive to see how they stowed all their belongings in about twenty reindeer-hide bags, saddled their oldest reindeer, took the stove apart, wrapped all the parts including the pipes in the tent sheets and tied them securely to the animals, along with the cooking pots, the chainsaw, and bags containing the shaman’s drum, robe and other utensils. A few hours later, when everything was packed, the parents mounted two horses, and the children mounted their reindeer. Only the tent poles remained behind, for next year. That day, the four of them would be on the move for about six hours and then set up their new home before the end of the day.

The future?

I was deeply moved not only by the immense gift of getting to know this kind family and their harsh way of life, but also by being allowed to experience this powerful ritual. I don’t know exactly what this shaman did while in a trance, but my chronic back pain has been gone ever since.

But what will his future look like? It’s widely believed that the traditional way of life of the reindeer nomads will be completely abandoned in the coming years. What will happen to the shamanic knowledge? Will this fifth-generation shaman still be able to pass on his knowledge to one of his children? And will they be able to carry on the tradition? Where, and for whom?

The fact that there probably won’t be many left who will encounter what I was fortunate enough to witness, makes this experience all the more precious.