Marriage in the Darkhad Depression, Mongolia
By Simon Phillips
Contributing Writer
It is late autumn in a remote part of Khovsgul, Outer Mongolia. The animals have grazed well on the land and the family are ready to pack up camp for the winter and move to a slightly lower altitude where they will be a little better protected against the sub zero temperatures which cut through the air during winter.
This is the time of year that marriages take place. A bond that will prevail for life, and hold against the elements of this harsh landscape.
The Darkhad Depression borders the Western Taiga; Forest which reaches deep inside Siberia. Just 30km from the Russian border, it is a place of strong people; nomads who have ridden on horseback since the age of four. There is no comfort, save for the ever glowing fire in the family ger.
Over the last few days, Yadam's family have been beginning preparations for the marriage of his second eldest son. He has six sons and one daughter, a common number of children for a Mongolian herder family.
They live together, supported by a herd of two hundred goats, cows and sheep. Their nourishment is provided by these animals and all other necessities from the forest which lines the steppe.
A small ger has been erected for the marriage ceremony, in which a large vat of strong local vodka is distilling. The drips of near pure alcohol roll down the wooden funnel into a jar which will keep the wedding guests in high spirits. Two sheep have been slaughtered and left to cure in the cold air, ready to be served on the wedding table.
Cookies made from dough called ul-boov are lined up in the family home which is timber hewn in the shape of the traditional Mongolian felt ger.
This is the home of Yadam and his wife, a pirate's looking wife who hobbles about with a wooden stick, silently but with an aura of control. Married for 27 years, they have lived contentedly together.
The wedding day arrives and many faces appear from the surrounding community. Herders who live scattered though the valley. Women are turned out in their finest blue silk deels, the traditional attire of the Mongolian and symbolic of the eternal blue sky which they adhere to.
Looking to the West, the sound of hooves thundering across the steppe draws closer and out of the distance, ride nine horsemen on white steeds ― four to collect the bride from her home and five to receive the groom.
It is a dramatic sight. The riders reach the homestead and circle it five times. As they do this the guests cheer and one young man breaks out in a rage, swinging fists at members of the congregation.
He is hauled to the edge of a paddock by a couple of sturdy men and left to pound the ground with his fists, bawling tears out in his eyes.
Fights are expected at a wedding, in fact the Buruat tribe believe it to be a good sign. Stories of grooms being killed are not uncommon.
Huddled together inside the marriage ger sit a surreal crowd of characters. Benches have been arranged in the five metre diameter tent and nearly a hundred people are squashed together in here. They all look on expectantly as vodka is poured in shot glasses and a wedding soup of noodles with mutton is served.
The bride and gloom look far from happy. Their faces are set in forlorn frowns which deny the happiness a wedding would suggest. Having been brought together for function father than romance. The second eldest son should now have a family of his own.
The atmosphere in the ger is tense as two families; one of the mayor of Tsagannur, a corrupt, unbending official and Yadam, a kindhearted man of great wisdom and respect in the valley, are joined.
As the vodka flows, the atmosphere remains serious. Pieces of fat are cut from the cured sheep's back and offered ceremonially to the elders in the congregation.
When the time is right, Yadam takes the knotted rope which hangs from the centre point of the ger and performs the rites of marriage for his son and daughter-in-law. It is a solemn ceremony which will ensure years of security for the family.
The family sing well into the night and by the next morning many people are still ducking into the wedding ger for vodka, casualties litter the ground around the homestead, One man lies passed out on a pile of sheepskins, which he slept on in sub zero temperatures last night.
Throughout the wedding, Yadam's other sons have gone about their chores, tending to the animals and chopping wood, un-phased by the revelry around them, since nothing can be neglected in this subsistence life.
The yellow leaves of autumn thread up the edges of the valley towards the taiga and the river flows through the valley. As winter approaches and the ceremony has been rightly made, life once again returns to its hardy daily pace.
Simon Phillips is a writer and English teacher based in Seoul. He is from the United Kingdom and recently spent a couple of months working on a documentary in Mongolia.