Does Inner Mongolia have "everlasting grasslands"?
Does the soul of the steppes--the endless, luxurious green grass--still exist?
Can the smell of milk tea call to wanderers in their dreams?
Whether the steppes will open up to the herdsmen once again
will depend on the efforts of all the people.

Give the words in your heart to the lute.
Give the songs of youth to the clouds on the breeze.
The meadow is always in your blood.
The steppe is always home for people on horseback.

The flourishing flowers are the love and affection of our dear ones.
The endless lush green grass is the soul of the grasslands.
The smell of milk tea is a call from kith and kin.
The steppe will always be open to us...

From this Mongolian pastoral song, we can feel the deep connection between the herdsmen and the steppes, which is as deep as the bond between farmers and their fields or the relationship between fishermen and the deep sea. Even travelers away from home still dream of galloping across the meadow--forever their spiritual home.

Inner Mongolia has been subjected to a series of blizzards, droughts, plagues of insects, and sandstorms for the last three years. So it is not difficult to imagine how the boundless "green sea" became miles of loess and sand, and how the ecology has become unbalanced due to desertification.

The herdsmen, who had been herding on their own pasturage since the sixties, have been forced to move around and seek new grasslands to graze their livestock. No matter how hard their life has become, they never give up their hope of aspiring to happiness on this steppe.

To assist these herdsmen after the disasters, a Tzu Chi relief team arrived in June this year at Tumot Zhon Khshow (East Banner) and Sunit Barong Khshow (West Banner) to distribute relief goods in Inner Mongolia for the first time. A second distribution was held from September 1 to 4 in ten villages of these two banners (counties).

Six months' supply of relief goods, such as flour and cooking oil, should be enough to support the herdsmen through the winter. However, this can only resolve their present crisis. To help them pass this critical time and regain the glory of their livestock industry, the local government plans to take measures that will, in the long run, repair the ecosystem.

No way out

Shaerying is a farming village in Tumot Zhon Khshow. The main crops are corn, potato and sunflowers. But because of the droughts of the last four years, the harvests have gotten poorer every year.

As the autumn harvest approaches, there are still only sparse corn crops and sunflowers growing in the fields. The shortage of irrigation water directly affects the amount of area under cultivation. One recipient of Tzu Chi relief goods, Ding Xile, said that spending US$3,600 to dig a well is just beyond the ability of poor farmers. Facing wretched yields year after year, there is nothing they can do but try their best to manage.

On the door of Chen Gaohuan's home, a couplet on the gatepost reads, "Work harder under arduous circumstances; pull yourself up by your own bootstraps." This is totally different from traditional gatepost couplets that wish for bliss, long life and wealth. It is as if Chen is encouraging himself not to be beaten down by cruel reality. However, the year is nearly over, and their life of hardship has not improved. Without the autumn yield, will there be winter supplies? Of course not! Hence, Chen and his wife are seriously considering letting their daughter drop out of junior high school.

Since the Sunit Barong Khshow began to be subjected to acute desertification, the livestock has not had enough to eat. To preserve their economic resources, herdsmen must sell part of their livestock to buy forage for the rest and keep moving about, temporarily entrusting the breeding stock to the care of others.

"A herdsman without sheep is like a farmer without land. When a herdsman's sheep is fed on other's grassland, it is equivalent to begging." Local officials said anxiously, "Even with favorable weather next year, it will take at least five years for the steppes to recover."

In 1999, the whole banner had 1.8 million head of livestock. In the last three disastrous years, the amount of livestock has decreased at the rate of 100,000 every year. At present, only 1.5 million animals remain. This summer, the grass still did not grow. Eighty percent of the herdsmen in the banner have been moving about practically every day. The total number of families that move about in search of pasture outside the banner is approximately 200, with more than 100,000 animals.

Without enough rain and grass, the livestock will be unable to survive. The herdsmen have no way out.

Primitive life

Narenhuaer, a 46-year-old woman, moved from Gerileaodu Sumu (village) to Duhumu Sumu in the south with her three sons and one daughter-in-law. The family had been moving about for more than a year now. During a one-year stay in Butumuji Sumu, they rented grassland for US$360 a year, plus US$240 for access to water to supply more than three hundred sheep.

When the grass was exhausted in Butumuji Sumu, they went home to Gerileaodu Sumu, bypassing the Saihantala pasture. But in June they were forced to leave home and move back to Duhumu Sumu.

In the last year they had walked approximately three hundred kilometers [186 mi]. They had no alternative but to be apart from her oldest son's family, who still stayed in Gerileaodu Sumu. Narenhuaer told us that they formerly had about six hundred sheep, but thirty of them died due to inadequate feed. This year, they had to sell two hundred more.

Using eight sections of the same metal fencing used for sheep pens, they made a triangular, tent-like home. They spread wool felt on the inside and outside of the tent to protect themselves against the cold. This temporary home was only four square meters [43 sq ft], and their only electric appliance was a small radio. Their kitchen was outdoors, with a stove that used sheep dung as fuel, and cooking utensils and seasoning cruets placed beside the stove.

"Simplicity" doesn't really describe the herdsmen's nomadism. Perhaps "primitive" would be a more appropriate term.

One couple, Baorizhaolu and Subuda, had moved from Sangbaoliga Sumu to Duhumu Sumu. Their two children were studying in Saihantala, and the average annual tuition was about US$600. If they hadn't sold off their sheep and cattle at a low price, they would not have been able to afford the tuition.

"The grass doesn't grow and the cattle don't have enough to eat. If I don't sell them now, most will just starve to death. In the good old days, cattle could be sold for US$145. This year, the price has dropped to US$115 per head." The 42-year-old Baorizhaolu sighed with emotion. He said that his family of four had been quite well off with the five hundred sheep he used to own. But within three years, his herd had declined to the point where he now owned only about one hundred sheep and ten horses.

Although Baorizhaolu's family has already been in Duhumu Sumu for a week, he still doesn't know how long they will be able to stay. He told us, "We are really grateful that Tzu Chi people have come from so far away to help us."

Mengke, a 47-year-old woman, was also a nomad. Before all the natural disasters occurred, she had never borrowed money from anyone else. But this July, she had to borrow about US$650 from the bank to buy forage. Two of her children had dropped out of school due to her economic difficulties, although one daughter was still studying at a teachers' college. Mengke hoped that her daughter would be able to find a good job and a promising future somewhere else.

"We don't know how to cultivate land. We don't have any other skills, just herding sheep. If one of our sheep gets mixed up with thousands of others, I can still tell which one is ours." Mengke's confidence had turned into concern for their future, as the livestock industry in Inner Mongolia was having a difficult time.

Song Yougui, a 61-year-old herdsman, left his home in Hebei Province at the age of fifteen. He married a Mongolian wife and settled down here. In his old age, his family of three has only fifteen sheep left and can eat only one meal each day. He said that he could not bear to rove around like a nomad without his family. He stayed at home so they could pass this difficult time together.

Maybe it was because he had left Hebai at such a young age and lacked support from his family--he was so touched by his bit of relief goods that his eyes were blurred by tears. When it was time for us to part, he turned around again and again to wave goodbye as he slowly walked away.

No break

As the herdsmen are exposed to sandy wind over a long period of time, most of them suffer from pterygium, trachoma and conjunctivitis. Sleeping during the night in yurts with just one layer of felt on the ground is the main reason they develop rheumatoid arthritis.

To coordinate the two distributions, the medical teams and pharmacists of the Hualien Tzu Chi General Hospital, Dalin Tzu Chi General Hospital, and Tzu Chi International Medical Association worked with the Inner Mongolia Disabled Soldiers' Recovery Hospital to hold free clinics. Such services, like a drop of water in the desert, are very precious, since the general public has no medical insurance. The most important task for the herdsmen is to feed themselves first and then their livestock. Seeing a doctor is not a priority at all. When they suffer pain, they normally just comfort themselves by saying, "Just hold on, it will soon be over." When they really have no alternatives, they take some pills and just wait and see!

"Because of their lifestyle and the weather, the most serious illness for these herdsmen is arthritis. Twenty percent of patients are troubled by cholecystitis due to the water quality and their unbalanced diet. Eating too much meat and not enough vegetables leads to insufficient bile secretion. And drinking impure water for long periods of time causes the formation of stones." Dr. Sun Yuping, an ophthalmologist at the Inner Mongolia Disabled Soldiers' Recovery Hospital, further remarked, "Holding free clinics can only provide medicines. The most important assignment at hand is to teach good hygiene."

Dr. Tsao Wen-lung of the Hualien Tzu Chi Hospital diagnosed a female patient's case as cardiovascular disease. He reminded her, "You need to be careful about the amount of salt you take. Too much salt in your blood means increasing the water content and workload for your heart." The woman respectfully bowed to the doctor. "Thank you so much! You are just like a relative from a distant place."

"How long have you been in pain? Any backache?" Dr. Feng Ching-shih of Dalin Tzu Chi Hospital carefully examined another patient whose right leg was aching. Dr. Feng explained to him that bending his back too long when he was farming would put pressure on his nerves, and so his legs would constantly feel either numb or painful. As the reasons for his suffering had accumulated over a long period of time, the doctor could not persuade the patient to change his ways. After all, physical labor has always been part of a farmer's life, especially in such lean years!

Zhou Xi had been cut by a reaping hook a few days before. Even with no anesthesia, he readily trusted Dr. Chang Yao-jen, deputy superintendent of Tzu Chi Hospital, to sew his wound up. Zhou's face showed no pain, but only relief, when Dr. Chang made the first stitch. We couldn’t refrain from admiring the toughness that had formed under hardship.

The first aid boxes that we distributed in June had been really helpful for the herdsmen and the residents of the rest home and orphanage, since they lived in pastoral areas with inadequate resources.

"It only took two pills to stop my diarrhea, just like that!" Mi Feng, a herdsman from Wurigentala Sumu, smiled as he showed the Tzu Chi volunteers a pack of pills and told them how he had followed the pictorial instructions for taking the pills to stop his diarrhea.

The distribution of relief goods, including food for the people and forage for their livestock, is only intended to continue temporarily. What is important is to recover the ecosystem and ensure the development of the livestock industry.

"Sunit Barong Khshow has never experienced such difficulties, but such disasters bring a benefit--the changing of viewpoints," pointed out Meng Rui, deputy director of the Bureau of Civil Affairs of the Inner Mongolia Autonomous Region. "This calamity has shown government officials and the public that innovation is a necessity as the environment is no longer suitable for the livestock industry."

The local government of Sunit Barong Khshow plans to develop four areas into "natural immigration zones." These four areas all have running water, electricity, roadways, and telecommunications. The first step is to move the herdsmen and their livestock out of the desert regions and to dig wells to irrigate high-yield plants for forage. Barns and shelters for livestock will be built. Rearing livestock in pens and rotating pasture lands will give the degraded grasslands time to recover. This will improve the herdsmen's lifestyle, and will even allow their children to go to school in the neighborhood as well.

Whether or not the grasslands recover next year no longer depends on fate, in the same way that the survival of the livestock does not depend solely on the natural grasslands, but also on the herdsmen's active management of the entire ecosystem.

Will the grasslands of Inner Mongolia last forever? Does the soul of the steppes--the endless, luxurious green grass--still exist? Can the smell of milk tea call to wanderers in their dreams? Whether the steppes will open up to the herdsmen once again will depend on the efforts of all the people.