Whenever people ask me where I come from, I will say Beijing, China, first because I lived there for more than five years, and normally, people worldwide know Beijing. However, before going to Beijing for my middle school at 12, I was in Inner Mongolia, a province in China. (It belongs to China not Mongolia even though it was called Inner Mongolia. Confusing, I know.)
Inner Mongolia combines modern cities with vast natural landscapes, where you can see both skyscrapers and endless grasslands or deserts. I was born in Linhe, a small urban city in Bayannur of Inner Mongolia, surrounded by traffic, technology, and shopping malls, just like other cities. It is not as fancy as Beijing but has everything a child needs. The breeze of summer nights is always nice and cool, where you can hear neighbors talking to each other and kids laughing in the public plaza of my compound. Every time I go back and watch kids playing hide and seek or riding bikes there, I can see my childhood in them.
My grandparents(mother’s side) have three children: my aunt, uncle, and my mom. We have been living in the same compound for 10 years. Before moving to Beijing at 12, my daily routine was going to school in the morning, going back to my grandparents’ home for lunch with the big family, walking five minutes back to my home to take a nap, and then going back to school for the afternoon classes. Those years are still the most wholesome time I have experienced until now, as I know there are always people waiting for me at home, as they all give me so much love, so do I. After I left my hometown, the smell of Inner Mongolian foods made by my grandparents and the voices of my family turned into lingering nostalgia, giving me sadness and courage.
If you let me use one word to describe Inner Mongolia and the people from there, I would say “welcoming.” I have seen the bluest sky in Inner Mongolia’s prairie, with the vast grassland that can accept all my complaints or stress. Restaurant servings are generous, as if the chefs fear you can’t get full. When native people recognize you as a tourist based on standard Mandarin instead of Inner Mongolian dialects, they will ask “where do you come from” and end with “welcome you here.”
The kindness of Inner Mongolian people is attributed to our ancestors, the herders from different Mongolic tribes galloping across the prairies. As nomads, they must fight against any possible severe environmental conditions like snowstorms or drought. In front of nature, people need to help and cooperate with each other. The helping hand you give the foreigner today might save you in the future. Also, Mongol ancestors worshiped Tengger(the eternal blue sky), and they saw their resources as gifts from Tengger, so sharing is their responsibility. The guests coming to their home (yurt technically) were respected as people coming with blessings and good fortune. Being warmhearted and generous is not a performed courtesy for Inner Mongolian people, but has already turned into an instinct through thousands of years of traditions. That’s why we are still labeled as “welcoming” even though many of the Inner Mongolian people move from grasslands to cities to live, since this is our identity carved into bones and blood.
My parents told me the stories of my identity as an Inner Mongolian child since I was in elementary school. They had taken me to museums to learn about the history of herders or watch documentaries about nomads’ lives; they still brought me to the prairie to ride horses or watch some unique ceremonies. I got to know that my ancestors came from one of the more than 20 tribes in Inner Mongolia, the Urad tribe. They migrated in the late Qing Dynasty from northern Inner Mongolia to where their offspring live now, mostly located in the three Banners of Urad. My grandparents lived in one of these three Banners, the Middle Banner, and then moved to Linhe for more working chances in this urban developing city.
Once, I went to the Urad Middle Banner in Inner Mongolia to explore old cultures further. The timing I picked was excellent, allowing me to witness the Ovoo ritual ceremony and the horse-riding competition on the same day. These two have existed for hundreds of years. The family holding the ceremony and the competition prepared abundant food for all guests who might show up, and all guests who showed up were their friends. Since I wanted to see and join the Ovoo rural ceremony, I got up early that day and arrived there at 5:30 a.m. When I was worried about not having breakfast in the morning, the host family invited me to take some food in their temporary dining hall. Guests received various offerings, including milk tea, mutton, and buns. Many people like me who had gone earlier for the events sat inside chatting with each other. From the talk with the hosts, I got to know that they actually prepared all three meals for anyone who may come. They will pull people from the doorway into their makeshift dining hall, shouting, “Welcome, my friends! Enjoy the food, and please don’t be shy!”
When I was in elementary school, I recited a poem about Inner Mongolia called The Grassland in the Sky. There was a line that said: “Tenggiri Tala, my grassland in the sky, please listen to me, for I am also a son of the grassland.” That sentence has been at the bottom of my heart for these years, as I have never forgotten my identity, never forgotten my grassland mom.