It was just another evening for Solongo, the telephone operator of the Bayangol Hotel in Ulaanbataar, Mongolia. The hotel guests, mostly businessmen from overseas, were back from their days’ meetings. As was usual in the evenings, Solongo was flooded with their requests for calls perhaps to report progress at work or to talk to families back home. Solongo understood the guests’ needs and tried to help as well as she could.
Mongolia had just emerged from the authoritarian system of the Mongolian Peoples’ Revolutionary Party, which was backed by Moscow. The country was still under tight control. Contacts with foreigners outside the former Soviet bloc were a novelty. Communication with the outside world was regulated. All overseas calls made by foreigners at the hotel had to be first booked with Solongo and a deposit made in dollars, usually ten dollars. There would be a period of waiting, as Solongo would pass on the bookings to the Mongolia Telecom Company on Sukhabataar Street, not far away from the hotel. Foreigners paid a higher rate than citizens and there was an extra charge for priority calls.
Solongo looked at her list of waiting calls. They were to China, Russia, India, Europe and the US. She checked the deposit money in her drawer. She would hand over the dollars to the cashier before leaving for the day. Solongo was tired but all the calls had to be put through. The guests were waiting for their calls -- some in the hotel foyer, others in the restaurant. The work will not finish till late evening, but jobs were scarce and Solongo felt very lucky she was selected for this work, perhaps because she knew a little English.
The telephone on her desk rang. “I am putting through the two calls to the US one after the other,” said Batsaikhan, from Mongolia Telecom. Solongo walked out to locate the two guests who had booked the calls. Fortunately, they were together in the foyer. Solongo put the calls through to the telephone booth outside her office. “Please,” she said, “I shall connect one at a time, we have only one line, sorry.” When the calls were over, she checked the durations, made a refund or asked for the balance, usually a dollar or two.
Suddenly, a man came in through the swing doors of her office. “Can you connect me to Lahore, please, urgently?” he asked, “I need to talk to my wife, my child is not well,” and looked at Solongo. “Urgent, please. Do calls to Pakistan take long to get connected?” he asked. He seemed tired and anxious.
Solongo looked up. “Please, I will try. Pakistan in the US?” she asked.
“No, no,” said the man. “I said Lahore l-a-h-o-r-e; it’s a city in a country called Pakistan. It’s not the US. Separate country. The country code is 92 and the number is +92 42 36287683.” He spoke rapidly.
“Not in the US. OK. I will try just now,” said Solongo. “Please give me ten dollars deposit. You have to wait a little.”
“Sorry. I have just seven dollars in change,” said the man. “Please connect me. I will pay you the rest tomorrow.”
She dialled Batsaikhan in Mongolia Telecom. “Batsaikhan, can you please connect me to this number very urgently, +92 42 36287683”, she said in Khalkha Mongolian. “The man says his child is ill, but I don’t know what country it is. Near India, I think from the code. Please give him priority. He is a guest in our country. We have to help him, Batsaikhan,” she added.
The call came through in a few minutes. “You are very lucky, sir. I hope your child is well,” said Solongo, as the man took the call in the booth. Solongo got down to preparing the day’s accounts and reconciling the cash. The man was still speaking 15 minutes later when Solongo stepped out to check, before going back to her accounts. When she checked again a little later, she was surprised to see the booth empty. She replaced the receiver which was hanging by the cord, and went out to look for the man.
There was a person outside who looked like the man who had booked the call. Solongo was not sure.
“Did you book a call to Pakistan, sir?” she asked.
“No. I’m Ajay Chaudhuri. You know me. I am in Room 202. Is there a problem?” he asked.
“No, sir. I am sorry I disturbed you,” she said.
“What will I do now?” Solongo cried to herself. Maybe the man has gone to his room after making the call. Anyway, the Reception will debit his account, she thought, like it happened once or twice earlier.
On her way out that night Solongo stopped at the Reception to ask about the guest from Pakistan. Alinur, the night clerk checked the register, and to Solongo’s surprise could not find a man from Pakistan among the guests.
“Check tomorrow morning,” said Alinur. “Maybe his details have not yet been entered.”
It was October and very cold. The Siberian winter had set in. The night sky was crystal clear. The pavements and the roads were icy. As she walked, she could hear the sound of the train carrying coal from the mines to the Baganuur power station on the outskirts of Ulaanbataar. She turned right just after where Stalin’s statue used to be, walked past the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and then crossed the road for the bus home. The temperature on the building next to the Opera House said 12 degree Celsius below zero. It flashed the time: 20:16.
The three kilometre ride to Bayanzurkh took 10 minutes. She walked quickly to the Krushchyovka apartment block where she lived with her parents. She had to be careful not to slip on the ice.
“You are so late, dear,” her mother said. “You know how we worry about your safety,” offering a cup of warm mare’s milk and a little cheese. Dinner was a simple meal of mutton buzz. Solongo was tired and went to sleep early that night.
She reached office the next morning before the others. When Yondon arrived at the Reception, she asked him for the room number of the Pakistani man staying at the hotel.
“There is no one from Pakistan in the hotel,” said Yondon after checking the register. “It’s all up to date here.”
“What shall I do then, Yondon?” asked Solongo, after telling him what had happened. “It is possible the call cost $80 or more.”
“It seems he was someone who does not stay here but came in from outside,” Yondon said. “Tell Mr. Tsogt, when he comes in. But I do not know if he will help you….he is such a strict man. But try. I will tell you when he is here.”
Solongo went back to the office fearful that the Manager Mr. Tsogt might dismiss her. She had heard Mr. Tsogt was hard on all employees who he thought were careless.
“Mr. Tsogt is here, Solongo,” said Yondon on the intercom. “He will see you now, I have told him about this.”
The Manager sat in stony silence as Solongo related the story, almost in tears.
“OK. I understand that it was a mistake and that you were trying to help this man. I know you are a good worker. But the loss is not acceptable. You have to repay this amount. You can take your time,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. My salary is nine dollars a month,” said Solongo. “I will pay it to the cashier every month till this is repaid,” sobbed Solongo.
“I don’t know how you will eat, travel and live, Solongo,” said Yondon when he heard what the Manager had said. “But it is better than being dismissed, I suppose.”
“I will check with Batsaikhan and find out what the call cost. I know a 20 minute urgent call to India costs about eighty dollars,” said Solongo. “This one could cost a little more. I am sure I will be able to pay it back.”
“I do not have the cost of the call,” said Batsaikhan when Solongo called. Ever since we have entered into this partnership with Korean Telecom, we seem to have these delays in receiving information. But please take it at around ninety dollars for 20 minutes on priority.”
Solongo sat quietly for a while. Her parents’ pensions were hardly enough for their food, clothes, heating, an occasional visit to relatives and for traditional gifts. I will forego lunch and walk at least one way to work, she said to herself.
The next day Solongo reached her office early. Her school friend Tuya from the housekeeping section came to see her at lunch.
“Tuya, I will not be able to join you for lunch today. I have accounts to prepare.” When Tuya left, she opened the biscuits her mother had given her that morning.
The day passed quickly as Solongo connected calls, and attended the farewell of a colleague she hardly knew. There were biscuits and tea at the farewell, which she gratefully had.
It must be as cold today as it was yesterday, she thought as she started walking home from office that evening. The streets were deserted. A Lada car stopped and offered her a lift. Solongo thanked the middle aged man at the wheel, and said she didn’t need it as she was close to home. The car sped away. When she could no longer walk the remaining two kilometres, she stopped to take the bus.
“What’s the matter, dear, you look so tired?” asked her mother. She was the only child still with them. Her elder daughter lived in Moscow and hardly kept in touch.
“I’m alright, Mama, I was walking.”
“What about the bus?” her mother asked earnestly. “You know it is not safe to walk at this time. Just the other evening Sarana’s daughter’s handbag was snatched outside the ikhdelguur. She received a cut on her wrist.”
“Dinner is almost ready,” she said after a moment when Solongo didn’t reply. “We don’t have much today. My pension has not yet arrived.”
Solongo went to her room, took out the money she had in her cupboard. They amounted to a little over seven dollars in Mongolian Tughriks. She put the money in her bag. It is going to be my first payment, she said to herself.
She went back to the dining room and sat down to a frugal meal of boiled mutton and potatoes. “I got some potatoes today,” explained her mother. “Here, have some Boortsog. Auntie Batoyun came this afternoon. She brought them for you.”
Solongo left home early the next morning and walked the three kilometres to her office. She went to the cashier and deposited the money she had. She asked him if he could keep an account of the amounts she would deposit every month. The cashier looked up. He was an old man. “Yes, I heard from Yondon,” the cashier said. “I feel sorry this has happened.”
Solongo’s lunch that day consisted of a four Boortsog cookies she had brought from home.
Work was increasing every day. Requests for calls were mounting as the government was trying to sign all supply contracts before the year came to an end. It seems all the hotel guests needed to talk to their overseas headquarters to finalize their contracts. Solongo tried to be cheerful as she put through the calls.
As she left office in the evening, she walked slowly to the bus stop in Sukhabataar Square. It would not be possible to walk tonight, she thought. The cold was unbearable. After a long wait the bus arrived. She paid the one Tughrik fare and reached home.
As October came to an end, Solongo looked gaunt. She had to make an effort to smile. Most days she walked to office in the morning and didn’t have lunch. Sometimes Tuya came and shared her lunch with Solongo, too embarrassed to talk about her friend’s predicament. Occasionally, an American guest would insist on leaving Solongo a tip, which would help to pay for her bus and for some mutton or flour to take home.
By December Solongo had lost so much weight that she seemed to have shrunk. Her clothes looked oversize on her slight frame. They were unwashed. Her hair was unkempt. Fortunately, work was becoming lighter as most of the businessmen had signed their contracts and left Mongolia to be with their families for Christmas.
“I am alright, mother,” Solongo said cheerfully. “I don’t need to go to the doctor. The hotel is losing money so we are being paid much less. But it will be alright soon.” She refused to visit her aunts and cousins, ashamed of herself.
“If you wish I will go to the Gaandaan with you, Mama,” said Solongo, referring to the 18th century Buddhist monastery not far away, with the golden statue of the Buddha.
The next Sunday they walked to the monastery in the morning to hear the morning chants. It was a special day of the lunar month and there were many visitors. A few women were selling small bottles of holy water, so that the visitors could wipe their faces before prayer.
“Today it is too crowded,” said her mother as Solongo walked back home with her after prayers. “I will come next Sunday to seek blessings of the holy monks and pray for a husband for you.”
It was the end of January. Solongo estimated that she had paid back around forty five dollars till then. February was the coldest month in Siberia. Day temperature in Ulaanbataar was about 25 degrees Celsius below zero. Solongo began to doubt if she would survive till March. She frequently felt dizzy and had to go to the hotel doctor. Her mother was not well too, and had fainted one afternoon at home. Solongo suspected that her mother hardly ate and left all the food for her.
As March passed and April started, the temperature climbed slowly to about 10 degrees Celsius below zero. Solongo could walk home on the days she was able to leave early. She would take a shorter route and walk across slum areas with derelict houses and with bones, plastic and glass bottles strewn all around.
“Where are you going, lady?”
Four boys appeared from nowhere and stood in her path one evening. The boys were barely in their teens and looked Chinese. Solongo remembered her mother had said there were a few Chinese settlements there.
Weak from walking, Solongo stood still. There was still daylight so she could see the boys’ faces. “I am going home to Bayanzurkh. Move away, boys.”
The boys stared at her. “She is all skin and bones,” said one and they all had a laugh. As they turned to walk away, Solongo saw what looked like the handle of a knife jutting out of one of the boy’s jacket pocket.
“Don’t come this way again,” yelled one of the boys, looking back.
Shaken, Solongo hurried to get back to the main street and reached home as quickly as she could.
One morning Tuya came to see her in the office. Solongo was preparing a list of urgent calls.
“Do you remember Batu Ganbold from school?” she asked. Solongo looked uncertainly at her. “You will, when you see him. I met him unexpectedly last night and he said he would come to the hotel today around lunch time. He said he had recently come back after attending a course at Delft University in the Netherlands. I will bring him to you,” said Tuya.
“No, please,” said Solongo. “I doubt he will recognize me. Besides am I dressed to meet anyone, Tuya?”
“I have told him about you and what you are going through. He wants to meet you,” said Tuya determinedly.
Solongo tried to rise uncertainly as Ganbold and Tuya entered her office later that day. “Hello, Solongo!” said Ganbold as he put his arms around her. It’s been so long.”
“Yes,” said Solongo. “How have you been?”
“Look, let us talk at lunch. I am inviting Tuya and you. Please come to the restaurant.”
Solongo looked at Tuya and then said “OK. I need to finish my calls. After 15 minutes?”
Solongo sat down uncertainly at the table. Surprisingly, she did not feel very hungry, though she had hardly eaten at breakfast. Perhaps starvation reduces one’s ability to eat.
“I will have just soup,” whispered Solongo.
“Tuya has told me about your difficulties. Can I help in any way?” asked Ganbold, as the soup arrived. “Fortunately, I have been able to save a little while in Delft,” said Ganbold. “Remember we used to share a desk in school, Solongo? You were always the best student in class.”
“Thank you so much for remembering,” Solongo whispered. “Those days are over. I never went to university. Anyway my debt here is almost repaid. Perhaps another fifteen dollars. Soon it will be summer and I will be able to walk both ways and not need the bus.”
Ganbold reached for Solongo’s hand across the table. He looked into her eyes and said, “It is not a big amount, Solongo. Let me help.” Tuya looked on.
Solongo sat silently. “Okay,” she said finally. “I will ask the Accounts Department tomorrow and find out how much is outstanding, Then we can talk, Ganbold. I do not know how to thank you.”
Solongo went to accounts the next morning.
“I do not know,” said Mr. Batbayar, the Accountant. “I really have no time for this. It is the cashier’s work.”
“I am here only since last month,” protested the cashier. “You know Mr. Ganbataar, who was here for the last 15 years, passed away in March. Perhaps he put the amounts you paid under the head of miscellaneous receipts. Do you not keep your own accounts? I’ll try to check, that’s the best I can do. Please also check with Mongolia Telecom to see exactly how much you have to return. Old telephone bills are not traceable in the hotel.”
When Solongo called Mongolia Telecom at Sukhabataar Street, Batsaikhan promised to call back with the bill amount after checking with his accounts department.
“I have good news, Solongo,” he said when he called back in the evening.
“There is nothing to be paid. There is no bill for the call to Pakistan that evening and for all the other calls that were made in that week. Apparently the system was down and all data was lost. The government has paid the amounts that were due. Those Korean Telecom people had really wrecked our system. Nothing worked in that period.”
Solongo sat silently with the receiver in her hand. “But I have been repaying the cost of that call for the last seven months,” she managed to say. “You never told me this, Solongo, how will I know?” Batsaikhan asked.
Tuya and Ganbold sat quietly as they talked to Solongo the next afternoon. “Come with me tomorrow morning to the accounts department, Solongo, and I will try to recover the money you have paid,” said Ganbold.
“I don’t see how the hotel can pay you back,” said Mr. Batbayar. “If it was maintained separately, there could be a case. But if it is under a common head like miscellaneous receipts, I cannot separate. Do you have any receipts?”
“No sir, the cashier had said there was a shortage of paper,” said Solongo.
As Ganbold and Solongo left the hotel at the end of the day, there was still daylight. “Let’s walk a bit. It’s not so cold anymore,” said Ganbold. They caught the bus halfway.
“See mother, who has come! Batu Ganbold, from school! You remember?”
“Yes, dear. Batu, sit down. You must be hungry. I will get something to eat for both of you.”
They looked silently at each other and held hands. The window was open and a breeze came in. Soon it will be summer in Siberia. They could hear the children playing hide and seek downstairs and laughing with joy. It was a beautiful evening.