Mongolians Meld Old, New In Making Arlington Home

New arrivals find themselves seated beside classmates who share their passion for Ghengis Khan and basketball (boys and girls alike are mad about basketball, and many play it every day). But they do not tend to isolate themselves from other ethnic groups. During a conversation about his homeland, one recently arrived Mongolian student threw in some Spanish he'd picked up from Central American classmates.

Arlington has no Mongolian-owned restaurants that serve native food, but there is a Mongolian weekly newspaper. The National Geographic Society recently had an exhibition on Mongolian culture, and the Smithsonian Institution plans a three-day festival on Mongolia in October.

Mongolians speak lovingly of Ghengis (they pronounce it CHIN-gis) as a gifted promoter of "international trade between countries," although outside Mongolia, his name has, fairly or unfairly, been synonymous with barbarism and ruthless conquest.

"Everybody has minus and plus in history," Altantsetseg said, noting that in 1999, Time magazine named Ghengis its Man of the Century for the 13th century.

Embassy officials have inquired with the District about erecting a statue of Ghengis; they would like it in Georgetown, where the embassy is. If it is built, it will be a far cry from the communist era, when people in Mongolia were forbidden to mention Ghengis. Underground books circulated, however, as did tales from grandparents, and these days Arlington students' presentations about their homeland place him prominently beside horsemanship and buuz (a meat dumpling).

Despite academic advantages, Mongolian students have had to adjust to cultural differences.

Toroo Manda Khanysh, 13, a seventh-grader at Williamsburg, said it was hard to get used to the more subdued physicality of Americans. "Some students, I'd just touch them, I'd get in trouble," he said.

Mongolian kids bolster one another's memories of home and instant message with friends in Mongolia. Still, some parents fear they are adapting to American culture too quickly.

The community leaders have been working with the school system to open a Saturday school, similar to Arlington's Escuela Bolivia, that would teach Mongolian culture and language.

Until then, there is the children's festival. At the event last month, spectators watched a video of men dressed in Speedo-like shorts and knee-high animal hide boots, performing traditional Mongolian wrestling as the American folk song "Hop Up, My Ladies" played.

When their turn came, the three girls dancing to the Black Eyed Peas gyrated to flashing green and orange lights, then ran offstage and hugged each other.

"I messed up, didn't I?" said Enkhuush, her face flushed.

"At first I was nervous, and I was kind of shaking," said Enkhjin, grinning. "But then I felt really good up there."

The judges thought they were good, too. The girls' "Shut Up" routine was 800 years and 6,000 miles from Ghengis's empire, but, after a decision was made to split the contestants into two categories, it won first place.