Nomads No More: Mongolia's New Urbanites Hunt for Homes
When Enkhtuya's family moved from frigid northwestern Mongolia to the capital city of Ulaanbaatar six years ago, it was more than a seasonal migration.
It was a permanent escape, a leap of faith away from a cold, hard life into what the family hoped would be a new era of opportunity.
The decision to pack up everything and drive three days across mountains and steppe wasn't made lightly.
The family's job prospects were bleak, and a round Mongolian felt tent, called a ger, would be the only thing keeping them from homelessness.
The wheels of their vehicle barely touched paved roads as they crossed a bare landscape that has changed little since Genghis Khan roamed it more than eight centuries ago.
Sitting in her new brick home on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar with a stove radiating heat to keep out the February cold, Ms. Enkhtuya remembered one of the main reasons she left the west.
"You couldn't spit because it would be ice falling on the ground," she told GlobalAtlanta with a smile. The housewife had just come in from doing chores as the sun dipped behind mountains. The temperature had dropped to about 10 degrees Fahrenheit. She wore a tanktop.
They don't lead a charmed life, but it has been a remarkable turn of events for the family of four, which includes husband Bat-Amgalan, 13-year-old son Barkhas and 5-year-old daughter Uurtsaikh.
After arriving in the capital, the family was so poor that the kids had to be sponsored by World Vision, a Christian relief organization.
What they didn't know was that World Vision's charity would eventually lead them to an Atlanta-based organization that would help pull them up by their bootstraps: Habitat for Humanity.
Founded in Americus, Ga., Habitat builds affordable homes around the world for low-income families or those hit by disaster.
It's not a charity; the homes are built by volunteers, but the families must buy them, usually with money loaned on more generous terms than they would get from a bank.
With future residents and teams of foreign volunteers including U.S. Ambassador Jonathan Addleton pitching in, Habitat held its first Blue Sky Build in 2009. The effort resulted in 30 new houses in the Bayanzurkh district on the eastern outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. Many of the $4,000 homes sit empty as the organization recruits new families.
The pool is large. Thousands of Mongolian migrants have flocked to Ulaanbaatar in the 20 years since the country shirked Soviet-style socialism for free-market reforms. Few can afford homes of their own. Habitat has already built more than 1,500 homes around the country.
Enkhtuya's husband makes $220 per month hauling products in a cart at Naran Tuul, the city's bustling outdoor market. She thought the family would be scrimping and saving for years. Now, thanks to Habitat, they will have the house paid off in five years if they maintain a $50 monthly payment.
"It's a dream come true," Ms. Enkhtuya said.
This gratefulness is partially responsible for the 80 percent payback rate on microfinance loans provided through Habitat, said Charles Jolliffe, country director for Habitat for Humanit Mongolia, who believes a lack of opportunity and capital is only thing keeping most Mongolians from moving up.
Banks have traditionally been reluctant to offer loans to those with little collateral, though that is changing slowly, he said.
"I think the people are very ambitious. They want to move forward. They want to keep improving their life, no matter what their economic status," said Mr. Jolliffe, an India native who took up his post 10 years ago.
When they arrive in the city, most migrants pile into apartments with family or set up their gers on a relative's land. The result is an overcrowded capital for one of the least densely populated countries in the world.
Mongolia's constitution guarantees each citizen a plot of land called a hasha, a symbol of each family's independence. But they're often claimed on the outskirts of cities, separated from nearby plots only by fence pieced together with wood scraps.
In Ulaanbaatar, property developers are finding profits in high-end residential developments geared toward Mongolians and expatriates cashing in on the country's growing mineral wealth, but soaring construction costs have left lower-income families with fewer options.
More than half of the city's population lives in settlements informally called ger districts, which are connected to the city's power grid but aren't hooked into other utilities like water and heat. The districts are mostly to blame for the gray cloud that settles over the city in winter as people burn coal (and anything else they can find) to stay warm.
The Mongolian Ministry of Roads, Transportation, Construction and Urban Development estimates that in 2010 126,000 families in Ulaanbaatar were living in structures that remain disconnected from water and heat, according to a report by M.A.D. Investment Solutions.
The ger is a symbol of national identity for all Mongolians, from herders to the highest government officials. (Vice President Joe Biden's recent meetings with Mongolia's president and prime minister were staged in a ceremonial ger inside the capital building.) But most modern-day Mongolians value practicality over nostalgia, Ms. Enkhtuya said.
"The ger is the dwelling of the old days. We were not settled for a thousand years, so we had no need for a house," she said.
Most people stay in gers simply because they're cheap and portable, said Adam Saffer, CEO of Gateway Development International, a Virginia-based company that matches building technologies with construction needs in developing countries.
"There's a lot of people living in gers because they cost $50 or $150 but most people in the city would like to live in an apartment or a house," Mr. Saffer told GlobalAtlanta.
Mr. Saffer has spent the last year trying to gain traction for products that will help address the country's need for affordable, energy-efficient housing.
One such solution is Gateway's ThermoBlock, a polystyrene form that can be stacked and filled with concrete to create insulated walls. The houses can be built quickly, an advantage given Mongolia's limited building season, and provide instant insulation. Each house would cost about $10,000.
The problem? Outdated building codes, an industry resistant to change and cumbersome bureaucracy has so far kept ThermoBlock from receiving the government's go-ahead.
"In a word, we need to be approved by the Mongolian authorities for us to really make a difference here. As we meet all the U.S., Canadian and international codes, we remain hopeful," Mr. Saffer said in an email.
Gateway recently started producing the blocks in country with special equipment designed and shipped by National Foam & Equipment, a Rutledge, Ga.-based provider of spray-foam insulation.
As for Ms. Enkhtuya, she counts her blessings every time she walks into her home.
"Thousands of families have come to the city over the past 20 years looking for a better life. We still have many dreams to go for," she said.
Next on the list?
"Decorating my house."
It was a permanent escape, a leap of faith away from a cold, hard life into what the family hoped would be a new era of opportunity.
The decision to pack up everything and drive three days across mountains and steppe wasn't made lightly.
The family's job prospects were bleak, and a round Mongolian felt tent, called a ger, would be the only thing keeping them from homelessness.
The wheels of their vehicle barely touched paved roads as they crossed a bare landscape that has changed little since Genghis Khan roamed it more than eight centuries ago.
Sitting in her new brick home on the outskirts of Ulaanbaatar with a stove radiating heat to keep out the February cold, Ms. Enkhtuya remembered one of the main reasons she left the west.
"You couldn't spit because it would be ice falling on the ground," she told GlobalAtlanta with a smile. The housewife had just come in from doing chores as the sun dipped behind mountains. The temperature had dropped to about 10 degrees Fahrenheit. She wore a tanktop.
They don't lead a charmed life, but it has been a remarkable turn of events for the family of four, which includes husband Bat-Amgalan, 13-year-old son Barkhas and 5-year-old daughter Uurtsaikh.
After arriving in the capital, the family was so poor that the kids had to be sponsored by World Vision, a Christian relief organization.
What they didn't know was that World Vision's charity would eventually lead them to an Atlanta-based organization that would help pull them up by their bootstraps: Habitat for Humanity.
Founded in Americus, Ga., Habitat builds affordable homes around the world for low-income families or those hit by disaster.
It's not a charity; the homes are built by volunteers, but the families must buy them, usually with money loaned on more generous terms than they would get from a bank.
With future residents and teams of foreign volunteers including U.S. Ambassador Jonathan Addleton pitching in, Habitat held its first Blue Sky Build in 2009. The effort resulted in 30 new houses in the Bayanzurkh district on the eastern outskirts of Ulaanbaatar. Many of the $4,000 homes sit empty as the organization recruits new families.
The pool is large. Thousands of Mongolian migrants have flocked to Ulaanbaatar in the 20 years since the country shirked Soviet-style socialism for free-market reforms. Few can afford homes of their own. Habitat has already built more than 1,500 homes around the country.
Enkhtuya's husband makes $220 per month hauling products in a cart at Naran Tuul, the city's bustling outdoor market. She thought the family would be scrimping and saving for years. Now, thanks to Habitat, they will have the house paid off in five years if they maintain a $50 monthly payment.
"It's a dream come true," Ms. Enkhtuya said.
This gratefulness is partially responsible for the 80 percent payback rate on microfinance loans provided through Habitat, said Charles Jolliffe, country director for Habitat for Humanit Mongolia, who believes a lack of opportunity and capital is only thing keeping most Mongolians from moving up.
Banks have traditionally been reluctant to offer loans to those with little collateral, though that is changing slowly, he said.
"I think the people are very ambitious. They want to move forward. They want to keep improving their life, no matter what their economic status," said Mr. Jolliffe, an India native who took up his post 10 years ago.
When they arrive in the city, most migrants pile into apartments with family or set up their gers on a relative's land. The result is an overcrowded capital for one of the least densely populated countries in the world.
Mongolia's constitution guarantees each citizen a plot of land called a hasha, a symbol of each family's independence. But they're often claimed on the outskirts of cities, separated from nearby plots only by fence pieced together with wood scraps.
In Ulaanbaatar, property developers are finding profits in high-end residential developments geared toward Mongolians and expatriates cashing in on the country's growing mineral wealth, but soaring construction costs have left lower-income families with fewer options.
More than half of the city's population lives in settlements informally called ger districts, which are connected to the city's power grid but aren't hooked into other utilities like water and heat. The districts are mostly to blame for the gray cloud that settles over the city in winter as people burn coal (and anything else they can find) to stay warm.
The Mongolian Ministry of Roads, Transportation, Construction and Urban Development estimates that in 2010 126,000 families in Ulaanbaatar were living in structures that remain disconnected from water and heat, according to a report by M.A.D. Investment Solutions.
The ger is a symbol of national identity for all Mongolians, from herders to the highest government officials. (Vice President Joe Biden's recent meetings with Mongolia's president and prime minister were staged in a ceremonial ger inside the capital building.) But most modern-day Mongolians value practicality over nostalgia, Ms. Enkhtuya said.
"The ger is the dwelling of the old days. We were not settled for a thousand years, so we had no need for a house," she said.
Most people stay in gers simply because they're cheap and portable, said Adam Saffer, CEO of Gateway Development International, a Virginia-based company that matches building technologies with construction needs in developing countries.
"There's a lot of people living in gers because they cost $50 or $150 but most people in the city would like to live in an apartment or a house," Mr. Saffer told GlobalAtlanta.
Mr. Saffer has spent the last year trying to gain traction for products that will help address the country's need for affordable, energy-efficient housing.
One such solution is Gateway's ThermoBlock, a polystyrene form that can be stacked and filled with concrete to create insulated walls. The houses can be built quickly, an advantage given Mongolia's limited building season, and provide instant insulation. Each house would cost about $10,000.
The problem? Outdated building codes, an industry resistant to change and cumbersome bureaucracy has so far kept ThermoBlock from receiving the government's go-ahead.
"In a word, we need to be approved by the Mongolian authorities for us to really make a difference here. As we meet all the U.S., Canadian and international codes, we remain hopeful," Mr. Saffer said in an email.
Gateway recently started producing the blocks in country with special equipment designed and shipped by National Foam & Equipment, a Rutledge, Ga.-based provider of spray-foam insulation.
As for Ms. Enkhtuya, she counts her blessings every time she walks into her home.
"Thousands of families have come to the city over the past 20 years looking for a better life. We still have many dreams to go for," she said.
Next on the list?
"Decorating my house."
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