divert and pilfer

Now that it is summer, two types of people walk the city streets in mad droves: foreigners and homeless people. The former are often European and can be found sipping lattes and networking at a European café or restaurant (or lugging around gigantic backpacks tying their dredlocks into a ponytail). The latter come in various shapes and sizes, can be found in interesting places, and are usually children. Foreigners I don’t really find all that interesting, it’s the homeless kids that astound me.

On my way home today there was a young boy, probably 11 or 12 but so physically stunted for lack of nutrition looked 8 or 9. And dirty as if the crud was embedded into his skin, like the dirt itself was becoming the skin’s replacement. On his lap was a ragged sleeping child. I can’t be sure of the age; I can only say that he was barely off baby food. And this child was as limp as a soggy rag doll. I have a niece who’s one of the deepest sleepers I’ve ever seen – you can pry open her eyelid and she won’t wake up. But this little, soggy rag-doll child looked dead, like he had just been wrung out with the laundry and was lying there to dry.

Most of these kids will have a cardboard box in front of them where passersby can drop in a few tugruks. Some of them, like this child, have figured out what really disturbs people. Apparently, soggy rag-doll babies and dirty, starved 11 year olds do it to me. I ended up buying a bottle of water and some biscuits at a nearby shop to lay down in his box with a 500 note (about 50 cents). More than likely the money in his box will go back to a parent who will buy alcohol and cigarettes with it. Some of the kids can be pretty persistent and irritating having learned a few key words in English (money, please) that they repeat pitifully while stretching their encrusted palms in your face. Some of them have worked out a system of “divert and pilfer” where they’ll target a loaded foreigner, distract him or her cleverly while a compatriot effortlessly relieves the foreigner’s pockets of a couple hundred tugruks. Others will display birth defects, facial or physical deformities and generally succeed in breaking your heart. The persistent ones you can find around shops or restaurants frequented by the wealthy. The divert and pilfer groups you’ll most likely find at bus stops. The deformed, handicapped or the ones holding babies will find a spot anywhere that’s shady (preferably near a busy area with lots of people) and stay there all day. At times, they will sing.

One will utterly despise the world for being the way it is when looking into the eyes of a starving child, whether they are irritating you, robbing you blind or awkwardly cradling limp infants. My friends, it is not right. For as much beauty as there is on this planet, in this reality, in this time, there is equal parts ugly - and it is an old ugly, a cunning ugly. This homeless boy that I encountered today, will most likely be homeless and starving and begging the rest of his life, however long or short that is. And I clench my teeth in anger at that thought, at my own helplessness. But one cannot love truthfully out of a hateful heart.

It seems my role in this child’s life was to show him kindness, the only kindness I knew how to show with my limited human scope. And the only way I can keep showing him kindness is in expectant prayer. For beauty, love and joy. For peace and comfort. The everlasting kinds.

My friends, love truthfully.

guns and ammo and pablo neruda

Some of the things I will put on here are going to be massively boring. At least that’s what I fear. For example, I’m currently in the midst of writing something about language learning and what kind of process that’s been like for me so far. And it’s boring! With a capital ‘B’ Boring! So I don’t think it’s very good if it manages to bore me, the writer. But it’s something important to me and relevant to my life here and I’d like for you to share in the experience with me. Unfortunately, instead of being interesting it’s just a piece of writing that really stinks and I don’t want you to be apart of that. The root of the matter, I realize though, is that I’m just uncomfortable with the thought that I might present myself as dull.

This makes me think about the nature of the concept of boring and interesting and one could argue that they are relative to the individual. My dad’s Guns and Ammo holds just about as much interest for me as a boiled egg does. And likewise, my love for Pablo Neruda holds no special area of his heart. On a side note, though, I think we both have a strong appreciation for good food, funny things, and traveling - amongst other things.

One of the most useful quotes I’ve come across recently that specifically relates to this notion of what makes a person interesting vs boring goes like this: “…‘I am an individual, and I am interesting because I like interesting things.’ But that’s not true. Liking interesting things doesn’t make you interesting.*”My dad is not interesting because he likes Guns and Ammo and building houses and going on African safaris. My dad is interesting because he’s Marvin and he enjoys living life and adding as much good to the world as he can in the best way he knows how. It’s his character, with all its beauties and flaws, that people find themselves being enriched by.

I’m still convinced that what I’ve written about language learning is altogether nondescript - and who’s to say this chatter isn’t a good snore? But, I’m also convinced that despite what I fear is boring is not exactly a direct translation of who I am and what I’m like. I don’t want to wear my interests like a mask to hide insecurities about my character and understanding of life. I know a person who is incredibly intelligent and uses that intelligence to hide the fact that there are several missing pieces in his life that make it relevant to reality and truth. His entire identity is based on a type of person he wishes and works to portray because he doesn’t think he has anything else to offer.

I’ve been like that before. In fact, I’ve spent a large portion of my life in a similar way as his. And truthfully, it’s an incredibly empty and transparent way to exist (and you realize this even as you’re living it!). Also, as one who loves Christ and is running the race, if my existence cannot point back to His perfect, immeasurable and loving goodness, than I am living it according my own standards with my eyes on the perishable and not the preservable.

I might go back and try to re-work what I have written about learning Mongolian - try to juice it up and add a little pizzazz. Or I might just let it be and post it in all its honest, trappings-less, boringness. Life is lackluster sometimes. I might not even post it at all now that I’ve hyped it up so much. What I hope for is that you’ve made it this far in the log and have enjoyed your time. That the sun is shining or the stars are out. That you have a thankful heart, that you have turned out the mercy and grace you live in towards others, and that there is good ice cream in your freezer. Now is the perfect time to go have some.




*Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie, “The Meaning of Life”, Paste Magazine, Issue 42, May ‘08

what's in a name

The title of this blog beat out six other rivals; including the likes of: Camel Soup, Ranting Camel, and The Camel. I have no special predilection for dromedaries, although it may seem so by the looks of my choice of titles. It just so happens that these strange and fascinating creatures inhabit my host country, and thereby become a working (yet boarder-line-strained) symbol for Mongolia. As for the thirsty part, well, you can take the meaning of that word anywhere you'd like. But it's a condition we've all felt at least once before.

The purpose of this log is simply that. A log. A log on the internet for people to read and enjoy. So my job is to make it as enjoyable as possible. And hopefully it will also be meaningful. I’d like to think that what I post will be good enough so that when you finish and go back to whatever you were doing before, this will have added to your day. In reality, though, I just hope you make it past the first paragraph.

Because what you will find in here is just the life I’m living within the context of my surroundings. Mongolia happens to be the backdrop from which my experiences, lessons, stories and revelations will occur for the time being. And in the fashion of a good old human being, I long to share those experiences et all with other human beings. Even if they aren’t really worth logging in the first place.

For example:

It is impossible to find recipes that specifically call for camel meat. You can Google it, you can scour recipe books, you can go ask your grandmother, but I am telling you that they do not exist. There is a hoax recipe for “stuffed camel,” but that’s it. And it is a tragedy because camel meat is dang good. Granted, this is coming from someone who has eaten bugs and enjoyed it. May all the vegetarians (and picky eaters alike) now gag.



Inspiring, captivating, gag reflex inducing. This is Thirsty Camel.