Meeting with Nergui, a horse breeder and trainer in the Mongolian steppe
The wind blows unhindered across the Sergelen Sum steppe, in the province of Töv. It’s a sign that spring has arrived; the first rains have begun, and the light green fields are emerging as the days grow longer. Following a dirt road, a few kilometers from the route, we find a ger, the traditional nomadic camp, surrounded by peacefully grazing sheep, cows, and horses.
Nergui lives here with his wife, Dulamdorj, and their four children. He is a reserved man, shaped by the solitude of long winters, with the gaze of someone who has spent his entire life outdoors. As he welcomes us into his tent with the first fruits of his first milk, he tells us his story with the simplicity of someone who feels no need to embellish anything.
“We got married in 2001,” he says. “Today we’re a family of six.”
The children are growing up. The eldest is twenty-two and always out on horseback, the nineteen-year-old daughter has started college and is studying veterinary medicine, the third child, sixteen, is already self-employed, and the youngest, five, will start elementary school next year.
I ask him what a typical day would be like for them in the middle of this seemingly endless land. “We’re busy from early morning until evening,” he says. “There’s always something to do. Taking the sheep here, the cows and calves there. It’s still a little quieter these days, but when we start milking the mares, the work gets intense, because it has to be done every two hours.” There’s so much to do, but the rhythm is always set by the animals.
The seasons change the type of work, but it’s always a lot. In the spring, they shear the sheep, harvest cashmere from the goats, and care for the animals during birth. In the summer, they take the flocks to pasture, milk them, make yogurt, cheese, and prepare “ariga,” a traditional drink made from fermented milk. In the fall, they fatten the animals, harvest hay, and buy or sell livestock. In the winter, they take the flocks to protected areas, giving special care to the young and the weak, and preparing for the spring births. And, he adds with a smile, “there’s always something unexpected.”
When I ask him what the best part of this life is, his answer comes without hesitation.
“I enjoy watching the animals grow, drinking good yogurt, and partying after the races.”
It’s a simple phrase, but it captures the deep bond that unites many Mongolian herders to the steppe. For them, it’s not just a job, but a way of life learned from childhood.
Among all the animals, however, horses hold a special place.
“Training them is one of the things that gives me the most satisfaction,” he says, petting one of the animals. “Seeing a horse you’ve raised and trained yourself run well is a joy. The whole family participates. Young and old alike share the thrill of the races.”
Horse racing is much more than a sport. In Mongolia, it represents an ancient tradition, part of the national identity. Children learn to ride almost as soon as they can walk. “They start around the age of five,” explains Nergui. “Then, by law, they can participate in competitions from the age of eight.” Nergui’s youngest son began learning to ride this year. He received a saddle for his birthday, and now that he’s finished school, he practices every day with his older brother.
Training the horses also requires patience.
“We train them practically all year round, from November to August. Winter is important: you have to feed them well so they’re strong for the racing season.”
When asked what the secret of a good racehorse is, he smiles slightly.
“First of all, it has to be fast.”
Behind that essential answer, one senses months of silent work, made of care, observation, and experience.
In the camp, there’s a special ger where the family displays all the medals their horses have won and the saddles of champions. I ask him what his most memorable career has been.
“It was 2015. I was training a four-year-old horse. He came second in our soum competition, third in the Töv province competition, and then won the Khüree Danshig Naadam. It was a truly special year“.
In Nergui’s family, some traditions continue to be passed down from generation to generation. One of these is the tamga, the mark used to identify the family’s horses. His is the letter KHA from the traditional Mongolian alphabet, meaning “iron.”
Many things, however, have changed since his grandparents’ time.
“Today we have machinery, technology, and much more information. Many things have become simpler.”
Yet, despite the changes, they take pride in continuing the tradition. Their young sons follow the flocks on horseback, they eat traditional foods at home, and their daughter, despite studying at university, has chosen a career that connects her with the family legacy.
In the northern part of the ger, where the most prized objects are usually kept, are all their medals. But Nergui, who has been training horses since he was fifteen, doesn’t keep a precise count of his trophies. He recalls winning five first-place finishes and six second-place finishes, but has over 30 medals.
When I ask him if, after so many years, he would make the same choice again, he doesn’t need to think about it.
“I’m happy with the life I lead. One of the best things is that thanks to horses, I’ve met so many people and made so many friends.”
Before we say goodbye, I ask him what gives him strength and hope in difficult times.
He doesn’t mention wealth or success.
“It gives me hope to hear the rain because it means there will be pastures, the animals will live, we’ll have yogurt, and we’ll celebrate.”
The afternoon is already drawing to a close, and his youngest son comes to remind us that it’s time to train. Nergui stands up, and we all follow him. The horses are prepared, they’re mounted… small steps, a foretaste of a great race that will one day arrive.
A beautiful and exciting custom tinged with tradition and innovation. Watching his children ride the horses, Nergui exudes a look of contentment. And even if they don’t win the race, they’re already champions.
By Sr. Sandra Garay, mc
