海角大神

In a few days Otgonmuren鈥檚 family will pack up their ger, their round felt tent home. It is late August, time for herders to relocate for the winter.

Some of them will relocate, that is. His sisters will stay in town to attend boarding school. Mungunshur, 16, plans to be a doctor. Munkhzul, 8, also plans on college, though she鈥檚 not yet sure what she鈥檒l be.

Everyone knows what Otgonmuren will be. The slim 15-year-old with a strong singing voice will be a herder, like his father. It鈥檚 what he鈥檚 done since dropping out of school eight years ago: looking after the herd of 300 sheep, goats, horses, and cows.

鈥淢y daughters can go to another place, maybe even another country, but my son has to stay here so he can herd,鈥� says his mother, Purevchuluun, who like many Mongolians uses one name.聽

Otgonmuren鈥檚 situation isn鈥檛 that unusual in Mongolia, a landlocked nation of 3 million where one third of the populace practices herding. Last year around 100 students dropped out of school in the northern province of Khovsgol where Otgonmuren lives, according to Otgon-Erdene, a local government education specialist. Most were boys聽鈥� a reversal of most countries.

Mongolia鈥檚 boys have largely caught up, after the country鈥檚 reverse gender gap soared in the early 鈥�90s. But they still make up only 38 percent of higher-education graduates, according to the National Statistics Office. As the country urbanizes, Khovsgol social worker Bayarsaihaa is among those who worry that herding boys could be further left behind if the lifestyle they鈥檝e trained for begins to vanish聽鈥� erased not just by modernization, but a warmer, drier, and more dangerous environment.

鈥淚f they don鈥檛 graduate and they don鈥檛 become herders, they don鈥檛 have a job,鈥� says Bayarsaihaa.

鈥楴on-formal' students

Otgonmuren attends a week of instruction in the fall, and a week in the spring, like three dozen other 鈥渘on-formal education鈥� students here in Tosontsengel, a foothills town of 4,000. Across the country, about 10,000 students age 10 and older participate in such programs, according to the Ministry of Education聽鈥� 68 percent of them boys.

In between those weeks, they forget most of what they learned, says Sarahntuya, Otgonmuren鈥檚 teacher.

She moves around her simple wood house as she talks, feeding her youngest son, 5, and a toddler granddaughter. There is a well in the yard and a forlorn-looking dog tied up by the outhouse. Like many residents, Sarahntuya lives in a log cabin hidden behind tall walls聽鈥� a family compound, or hasha. Despite this uninviting appearance, people are friendly. It鈥檚 not unusual to drop in unannounced, even on a teacher.

But few 鈥渘on-formal鈥� students show up in the spring to test for the next grade and eventually graduate, she says. Many of them can鈥檛 read. Some don鈥檛 even know the names of colors.

鈥淭hey鈥檙e like five-year-olds, they鈥檙e like my son,鈥� says Sarahntuya.

Boys from herding families fared better before the country鈥檚 abrupt democratization and privatization in the 1990s. Under socialism, herding was a collective activity; fewer families needed boys to quit school and help, says Enkhtuvshin Shiilegdamba, country director of the Mongolia Wildlife Conservation Society. In the first few years, dropout rates for boys and girls combined . By the late 1990s, only 50 percent of boys were enrolled in secondary school, versus 71 percent of girls.

Today, that鈥檚 improved significantly. Here in Khovsgol Province, a recently completed five-year UNICEF program provided financial and technical funds to operate mobile schools in gers. UNICEF also helped fund inclusive education for children with disabilities, and to improve communication between schools to track the highly mobile population. In 2016, there were only 612 dropouts in the entire country, according to Ministry of Education data, and the reverse gender gap has almost disappeared for grades K-12. But that leaves out 鈥渘on-formal鈥� students, like Otgonmuren.

In addition to math, Mongolian, and other academic subjects, Sarahntuya tries to teach them more practical skills, from opening a bank account to talking on the phone and sending text messages. At the school, where Lenin鈥檚 portrait is still displayed prominently in the entrance, Bayarsaihaa, the social worker, worries about the children鈥檚 social development. They are shy about approaching former classmates, she says, even when back in town.

鈥淪tudents study each other,鈥� she says. 鈥淐hildren who drop out don鈥檛 get that.鈥�

Outside pressures

Children may not like school, Bayarsaihaa says, but it is the parents who decide to take them out. She tries to convince parents of the advantages of an education, but doesn鈥檛 always succeed. Once children drop out, they鈥檙e difficult to find. Herders usually move their gers several times a year 鈥� and not always to the same locations.

Many teachers are married to men who dropped out, too, and Sarahntuya herself is married to a herder. But her husband is also the principal. The couple plans to pass the herd on to their sons, but to pay someone else to watch the herd, while their children pursue careers that utilize their college degrees.

Otgonmuren鈥檚 family, whose only income comes from herding, does not have that option. Fewer herding families do, as environmental changes make it an even more difficult lifestyle, says Tungalag Ulambayar, adviser to the Minister of Environment and Tourism. Mongolia has experienced an average temperature increase three times the global average in recent years, and a general 鈥渄rying up,鈥� says Ms. Ulambayar.

鈥淢ongolians usually say dzud, that kind of major disaster, happens every decade,鈥� she says, referring to summer droughts followed by severe winters. In 2010, killed 8 million animals. 鈥淣ow it鈥檚 increasing, it鈥檚 like [every] five or six years.鈥�

Under socialism, the government owned the livestock, so herders did not feel losses 鈥� or successes 鈥� as deeply. With freedom came the opportunity to own as many animals as you can afford, and the livestock population grew from 30 million to 70 million, according to Enkhtuvshin of Wildlife Conservation Society.

鈥淩angeland specialists are quite concerned that we鈥檙e getting to a really degraded situation from which it鈥檚 difficult to recover,鈥� says Enkhtuvshin. Today, the Wildlife Conservation Society is teaching herders more sustainable practices.

Changing years and seasons

Back in Tosontsengel, Otgonmuren鈥檚 mom has noticed the changes. Over milk tea and freshly picked berries, Purevchuluun remembers rainy summers with plenty of grass, and fatter animals that could better handle the winters.

But other changes have been positive, she says. Although the family鈥檚 summer location has no running water, they do have a solar panel and a television. Inside the ger, the family makes efficient use of the small space, sticking toothbrushes, sunglasses, and papers in the wood beams supporting the ceiling, and arranging furniture against the felt walls.

Purevchuluun, with permanently rosy cheeks, sits near the stove in the center, with pots dangling from the wood ceiling frame above her. Family members regularly duck in and out of the ger鈥檚 low doorway. Her daughters busy themselves heating milk tea, while Otgonmuren races off on a motorbike to buy bread. After many hours spent with the animals, he is learning to read their needs, his parents say. One of the only lessons that remains is experiencing a dzud.

Otgonmuren likes everything about herding, he says once he鈥檚 returned, but is particularly fond of galloping his horse. At school, he used to like math and Mongolian, and still studies both during his two weeks of classes each year. Last spring he attended the end of school party with his class, though he no longer studies with them. The children were nice, but he knows other students who have dropped out who have not been treated kindly.

He has taught himself how to repair motorcycles and cars, and his mother says they may send him to a mechanics course in Ulaanbaatar聽鈥� although it isn鈥檛 clear when, or who would help while he鈥檚 away.

But the summer is almost over. This time of year is always hard.

鈥淚n the summertime we are all together,鈥� Otgonmuren says.聽

Katya Cengel reported from Mongolia on a fellowship from the . You can find her on twitter