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Although it was almost exclusively through body language, I was awed by the effortlessness of our communications. As we got to know each other, Pourou offered an invitation to spend the next three months with he and his family. And during that time I got to experience their gypsy-like lifestyle, moving their home to five different locations. Identifying with this nomadic way of life so deeply, I found myself fascinated by their values that had been in place since the time of Genghis Kahn, amidst satellite dishes, cell phones and Chinese motorcycles. I then witnessed the old paternal authoritarian roles and how the strength from this helped the family work together like a well-oiled machine under such harsh conditions.

It was astonishing to witness the supreme authority Pourou had over his entire family, with no one daring to challenge any of his decisions. For example, if a family member caught a fish and brought it home, it was Pourou who decided who would eat it. It was also their custom that the patriarch distribute the meat to each family member during a meal. Likewise, it was he who chose who received the best pieces. And, if the father was not home, the eldest son inherited the authority. Very distinct roles were divided amongst the Mongolian families, with each member contributing to their tightly-woven community.

The family embraced me as one of their own, never asking how long I would stay… or what my next plans were. Even though I seemed to create more work for them when I tried to help with the goats or sheep, I still felt as though they appreciated what I had to offer. With camera in hand, I followed them through their daily chores and documented their nomadic way of life—including when the entire community worked together, loading their belongings onto trucks, during their many moves. One of my proudest contributions was in teaching Pourou’s daughter Monkhtsetseg (age 16), and son Tsolmonbaatar (age 15), how to use my Nikon camera. Through this education, I was able to obtain some beautiful photos of the family as seen through their eyes.

I slept on the ground in the ger along with Pourou and his teenage children, but didn’t meet his wife, Khishigbayr, until after the winter months were over. She lived with their youngest children in a ger in the big city where they went to school. My role was to watch… to bear witness. But I never pretended to be, or tried to act like, a Mongol because I was so incapable of fully integrating into their ancient and wonderful culture. So, I stood off to the side out of respect, and observed the interactions of the family. Monkhtsetseg was responsible for milking the goats at the end of each day, while Tsolmonbaatar’s job was to daily walk three to five miles to find the horses that had been set free to graze. Pourou and I would often use my sidecar to check on his camels, living free on the steppes up to 50 miles away. I had always wanted to live in a family that was so close to one another, and the assimilation was heaven to me.

Why do I identify with this nomadic life of the Mongols so deeply? Maybe it’s because they continuously answer the call to roam from one pasture to the next… without fences to corral them in… with each move building upon their strength and resilience. These qualities are passed along from generation to generation through their tightly knit families. Through the eyes of Pourou’s family, I learned of the roles that keep them dependent upon one another as they lived and worked in unity. This was a culture born of the Genghis Kahn era that not only transformed the world, but miraculously established these strong family values—that continues to survive even in the harshest conditions. Because I draw a parallel of my own deep desire to be on the move without borders, it is of this chalice that I want to drink… and will return to Mongolia to satiate this thirst for adventure.