Tuya has chosen the world

Day: 277

Sunrise:
06:03

Sunset:
20:37

Total kilometers:
1341

Soil condition:
Ice, snow

Temperature – Day (maximum):
2°C

Temperature – day (minimum):
minus 6°C

Temperature – Night:
minus 20°C

Latitude:
51°33’337”

Longitude:
099°15’341”

Maximum height:
1981 m above sea level

With bright sunshine and a temperature of plus 6 °C, it’s finally time for the spring camp today. The Tuwa are a hive of activity. Gamba and Purvee brought their reindeer into the forest at 7:00 a.m. to feed. A very good sign because they don’t usually drive the animals into the forest until around 10:00 am. It is 11:00 a.m. when Bilgee is still not in camp. “He probably no longer takes today’s departure date seriously after the constant blind alarm,” Tanja ponders. As the Tuwa generally don’t wait for each other, I’m nervous. “If we don’t want them to leave without us, he has to come now. “Can you get him? I have to keep packing,” I ask Tanja. “Okay,” she says and sets off. “Hurry up!” I call after her. “Yes, yes, let’s do it.”

After stowing most of my things in four large duffel bags and four messenger bags, I start to take down the large tent. However, I didn’t expect the tent pegs to be stuck in the ground as if they were set in concrete due to the massive night frosts and the frequent daily thaws. I desperately pull on the first one and fail miserably. I grab a pair of pliers to give me more leverage, but the tent nail remains completely unaffected by my action. I think about it for a while and come up with the idea of thawing the aluminum nails out of the ground with boiling water. I immediately fetch our kettle, the contents of which are boiling on the stove. I pour water on the tent peg and shake it around until it slowly starts to wobble. With enormous effort, I get the now bent thing out of the ground. I glance at my watch. “Ten minutes to get such a shitty thing out of the frozen ground. Can’t be true?” I curse under my breath and move on to the next one. Despite hot water and all the tricks, the stupid tension hook remains at the bottom. His colleague is a bit lenient with me and is out in five minutes, but again bent beyond repair. At least 20 of these tent pegs are still embedded in the ice. Tsaya comes with a big axe to help me. When she has chiseled one out, you can only throw the totally destroyed part into the garbage can. “Please be careful, I hardly have any replacements with me. If all the tent pegs are destroyed, we won’t be able to put up this fabric house,” I warn them gently. Tanja has been gone for an hour now and I’ve only just managed to get five nails out of the floor. Gamba is already starting to load his reindeer. “It can’t be true that after all this waiting, the damn tent pegs and Bilgee not coming are keeping me from the moving trip today?” I grumble to myself. The two appear at 13:00. “Sorry, we had to catch the horses first,” says Tanja, shrugging her shoulders. “Well, Bilgee could have done that this morning, as we agreed yesterday,” I reply. “But he didn’t do it. What can I say? The way I understood him, he really didn’t believe in this departure,” she explains. After more than two hours of hard work, I was able to pull all but three of the tent pegs out of the ice. A third of it is useless and I’ve used up all my energy for today. With a final effort I lift the heavy duffel bags with bilgee onto the horses’ backs, while Naraa runs around curiously sniffing at everything and, to our amusement, sticks her big head into the tepee opening to see what Tanja is up to.

Tso, who is also on a luggage trip today, is just leaving the camp with his reindeer. Gamba rattles a loaded stovepipe again. At this moment I get into the saddle. “Look at that! Naraa!” shouts Tanja as a greenish gush of water comes out of her. “No problem. Dsügeer dsügeer”, (It’s okay) says Bilgee, not caring. Tanja grabs his arm and leads him to Naraa. She moves her bushy tail to the side and when a small piece of a foal can be seen from the cervix, Bilgee calls out; “Denis get the camera!” I immediately jump into the tipi to fetch the cameras and flim cameras. Naraa now sits on both hind legs and has his front legs stretched out like a cartoon character. Then it lies to one side and before we know it, two thin, long, spider-like legs appear. We follow the birth of the new arrival spellbound, hoping that it will live. In the corner of my eye, I see Gamba setting his reindeer train in motion and disappearing into the forest. This moving day is also thwarted at the last minute.

Bilgee helps Naraa to give birth and gently pulls the baby by its front legs. It pops out and lies in the cold snow. Only the hind legs are still in the warm womb. The amniotic sac has burst and covers the foal’s wet coat in shreds. Bilgee blows it into his ears and nostrils. It does not move. A shock runs through my limbs. But then a movement and the oversized head turns a little as if in slow motion. “It’s alive! We call it Tuya (Arctic light),” exclaims Tanja softly. I even pull out the hind legs. Shivering from the cold, our offspring lie in the snow while the icy wind blows over their wet bodies. “Well, you could have chosen better weather to say hello to this world,” I say in a whisper. We immediately fetch a blanket to put the little one on. “So now the nasty cold snow can’t harm you anymore,” I say. Naraa bends her head back and examines what has hatched from her belly. She immediately begins to lick her child. As she is very weak, we hope that she will accept her baby. Bilgee says that it happens that weak mares reject their child out of self-protection. That would of course be fatal. Especially here in the taiga where there are no other mares to smuggle the baby to, or at least extract milk from. “I need salt,” says Bilgee, whereupon I immediately fetch some from the tipi. He sprinkles it over Tuya’s wet fur. Naraa seems to like it because she eagerly licks her little son.

Tsaya and Ultsan, who are present at the birth, say: “You can still ride off and leave Naraa and her baby there.” “They won’t do that under any circumstances. I’m not going to let our horse man go and stay alone with our offspring. I’ve never had a foal before and I don’t know what to do if something goes wrong? No, the two of them will stay,” Tanja replies firmly. “Don’t worry. I never thought of leaving you alone with our boy now. We’ll see how he develops over the next few days. Only when the situation stabilizes will I bring the luggage to camp. According to Gamba, the track should be easy to see. With or without snow,” I reassure her.

As Tuya’s whole body is still shaking like a leaf, we decide to carry him into the tipi. At least until it is dry. We put it down next to the stove. He breathes intermittently and fast like a fish. “Is that normal?” I ask anxiously. Tanja dries his wet fur with one of our tea towels. The newcomer’s head lies on her lap. It is an exciting and very beautiful moment. Considering everything Naraa has been through, Tuya’s birth seems like a miracle to me.

“It’s too hot in here and too cold outside. Changing Warm Cold is unhealthy for Tuya. We should take him outside again. “I think that’s a wise decision,” I agree with Bilgee, whereupon we bring the little one back into the cold and lay him on a blanket next to his mother. Just 30 minutes after Tuya sees the light of day, he wants to get up. It’s funny to see how his legs buckle when he does this. His almost white, soft hooves are already getting a little darker. “You’re already getting harder,” I say, feeling her out. After perhaps two hours, we help the little stallion to his feet. He stands there and sways. Then he falls over. We help him up again. “Standing there like a drunk”, I say as he sways back and forth and obviously still has great difficulty with his sense of balance. After the third attempt, however, it stands on its own for some time. Bilgee leads him to the teats. He immediately starts to suck. “Naraa has no milk”, Bilgee’s statement hits us like a punch. “What, Naraa has no milk? How is Tuya supposed to survive?” I ask, shocked. “We have to feed him something?” he replies. “Apart from dried milk, we have nothing. And it’s not milk but some kind of bad oil and additives. The milk is so bad that even I get diarrhea immediately. We can’t feed that to the stallion under any circumstances,” I decide. “Tuya was born at least two weeks early. That’s the reason why Naraa doesn’t have any milk yet.” “The milk will come in. It’s nothing unusual for mothers to produce milk after giving birth,” says Tanja. “Exactly, I think so too. She’s probably still getting milk,” I agree with her. I watch spellbound as Naraa’s teats get bigger and bigger due to the little one’s constant sucking. “Look at that. They’re really fat already. I’m sure milk is already coming out,” I say to Bilgee.

Because of the cold wind, Bilgee and Tanja sew a little coat from scraps of sheepskin and put it on Tuya, then we retire to the tipi. We drink hot tea and discuss the next steps. Suddenly Hadaa’s head appears in the tipi opening. “Congratulations on your offspring,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “We have to celebrate,” he says to Bilgee with a mischievous smile. Bilgee rises and leaves the tipi. “I think they’re having a drink now,” I say to Tanja. “Do you think so?” “I’m quite sure of it.” “He can’t drink now, can he? Bilgee has to look after our little one tonight,” she says and goes after the two of them while I step outside and look after Tuya and her mother. “They really do drink,” Tanja says, sticking her head out of the small windowless hatch of the Baishin. “I drink along and spit the swill into the teacup,” she grins and shows me the tinny container. “Good,” I reply. “They ask why I’m sitting here and not you? I said because you’re looking after our offspring,” she continues. “I’m sure you think you’re under my thumb.” “Never mind, as long as I don’t have to drink this booze,” I reply, whereupon her head disappears back inside the log cabin.

Half an hour later, Tanja and Bilgee come back. “It’s not that bad. It was just a bottle,” Tanja reassures me. “Good, you’ve done well,” I reply. Then we get the horses ready so that Bilgee can drive them back to the clearing. We have long since freed them from the burden of their cargo. “Should I carry Tuya?” she asks Bilgee. “Ügüj. (no) He will follow his mother,” he says. “It’s a long way,” I realize and ask myself whether our little one isn’t overwhelmed with the 1 ½ kilometers to the bilge camp? The same thing seems to be going through Tanja’s mind as she picks Tuya up to carry him. “Let Bilgee do it. It’s far too heavy,” I admonish. “Oh no. I’ll be fine,” she replies, stomping off. “Let him run! He’ll follow his mother!” Bilgee shouts, already striding ahead. Tanja puts Tuya back on his little legs. The little stallion wobbles after his mother like a delicate flower in the wind. Naraa calls again and again and waits. Three hours after his birth, the Taiga boy makes what I consider to be his first forced march. “I hope Bilgee knows what he’s doing,” I whisper and walk back to the tipi. I notice that Naraa’s afterbirth has been completely devoured by the camphounds.

I start to unpack the load again, exhausted from the day’s exertions. After 30 minutes, Tanja reappears in the tipi. “So, how did it go? Did he make it?” I ask. “You won’t believe it, but Tuya seems to be a real survivor. It took him a while, but it was no problem to get him to the clearing.” “Very good,” I reply, so tired that I could sleep standing up.

That night we sleep in our tipi for the first time. Tanja gets the bed I once built for Bilgee and I set up camp on the dirty floor. It’s terribly cramped in here and I’m so exhausted I can hardly think. Tanja gives me a few ideas on how to arrange my bed. So I fold up our large, heavy double felt mat and lay it on the floor next to the potbelly stove. Then I inflate my sleeping mat to place it on the felt mat. Then I stuff my clothes at the head end next to Tanja’s cot, take off my pants and jacket, which are dripping with dirt, and slip into my sleeping bag. Not without taking my girlfriend’s hot water bottle inside, of course. “Oh man, it’s been a day,” I groan, settling my aching upper body down. “Yes, an extraordinary day. And now we have offspring. It’s a beautiful foal,” says Tanja. “Without a doubt the most beautiful stallion in the whole of Mongolia,” I say. “Certainly,” whispers Tanja with a smile in her voice.

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