A Traditional Future?

The half-crescent moon glowed in the predawn Mongolia sky as Agvaantogtokh and his family began preparing for yet another big move with their animals.

More than 50 million people in Asia, Africa, the Middle East and elsewhere practice and treasure this way of life. As nomadic pastoralists, they keep domestic animals and move with them to seek fresh pastures — often selling some of their livestock for meat.

Although nomadic pastoralism has sustained these populations for millennia, it faces mounting pressures from deteriorating environments, shrinking rangelands, and new generations who seek a less grueling and tenuous life. At the same time, pastoralism is modernizing, with groups leveraging new technology to better care for their animals.

But the practice has survived for so long because it is designed to adapt to a changing environment — pastoralists move with their animals to find fresh pasture and water, leaving behind fallow land to heal and regrow. “The broad view is that having mobile animals enables you to leave places that are overused or that have scarce water or food resources and move to places where there are more resources,” said Forrest Fleischman, who researches natural resource policy at the University of Minnesota. “And that means you’re not going to hammer the one place you’re stuck in.”

Experts say it is a lesson that could help those who raise livestock at much larger scales adapt and reduce the impact of animal agriculture on the environment. Pastoralists aren’t only trying to outrun climate change; they’re combatting it.

“They have the Indigenous knowledge,” said Edna Wangui, a geography professor who studies the practice at Ohio University. “There is a lot we can learn.”

Perhaps more than any other place, Mongolia is known for pastoralism. The practice is enshrined in the nation’s constitution, which calls its 80 million camels, yaks, cows, sheep, goats and horses “national wealth” protected by the state.

Chronic drought plagues Mongolia. So does warming. Since 1940, the country’s government says, average temperatures have risen 2.2 degrees Celsius (nearly 4 degrees Fahrenheit) — a measure that may seem small, but for global averages, scientists say every tenth of a degree matters, and a warming world brings more weather extremes.

And dzuds — natural disasters unique to Mongolia caused by droughts and severe, snowy winters — have grown harsher and more frequent and can keep livestock from accessing water or food.

A dzud pushed Agvaantogtokh and his family to move out of a southwestern province after a disastrous winter killed 400 of their animals. They’ve been in the eastern province of Sukhbaatar since 2020.

In Senegal, caravans carry the comforts of a furnished home, such as a metal bed frame and mattress, and water for people and animals.

With the rainy season approaching earlier this year, Ndiaye, his son-in-law Moussa Ifra Ba and the rest of the family prepared for a 170-kilometer (106-mile), 16-day trek.

Water and plentiful grass have become harder to come by. “One of the main difficulties related to pastoralism is the lack of grazing,” Ndiaye said. “The livestock are hungry, and you sometimes have trouble selling one because it is so thin.”

These days, rain is scarce for long stretches of time in some places and causes enormous damage in others. Desertification is a problem throughout the Sahel region of Africa, and scientists say human activity such as overgrazing and deforestation plays a big part. Senegal also has been getting hotter, too. Research shows temperatures have risen by almost a degree since 1975; it can reach a scorching 50 degrees Celsius (122 Fahrenheit).

Overall, per-person meat consumption in Senegal is among the lowest in the world; rates are more than six times higher in Mongolia.

Ndiaye’s family doesn’t sell their animals regularly because meat is mostly for special occasions: weddings, or holidays such as Eid al-Adha and Eid al-Fitr. When they do, a few head of cattle can provide enough money to get married, buy rice or even emigrate.

The family has the same deep respect for their animals that Mongolian pastoralists do. Ba is especially drawn to the sheep. He’s noticed that the rams cry when they move away from him, remember the names he gives them and come when they’re called.

“It’s a real friendship,” Ba said.

“We now have 4G cellular data, and it helps us a lot in communicating and getting forecasts,” Nurmaa said. “It really helps us a lot with communicating with our children because they’re far away.”

Their 18-year-old daughter studies medicine in the capital city of Ulaanbaatar. Their two younger children, a 13-year-old son and a 9-year-old daughter, are in school. The son spoke about becoming a herder when he was in his early teens. But not anymore.

“I won’t regret anything if my child won’t be a herder,” Nurmaa said. “I would like them to do what they aspire to do.”

Her view is not unusual.

“If you asked parents, very few of them want their children to grow up to be pastoralists,” professor Wangui said. “They want their children to be something else because they’re seeing the life of pastoralists is a tough life.”

Though modern tools promise to make things easier, many pastoralists run into obstacles. Those in Senegal, for example, often struggle to find signals for their cellphones. They rely mostly on older technology and methods.

Still, some leaders don’t offer help to pastoralists. Conflicts between herders and settled farmers also can erupt surrounding land use and access to water.

A few advocacy groups advise pastoralists to choose settled lives for their own good. In Senegal’s Sahel region — where the United Nations estimates 65% of meat and 70% of milk sold at local markets come from pastoralists — the head of the Association for Promoting Livestock Farming in the Sahel and Savannah suggests people put their children in school and diversify incomes.

“Climate change has caused enormous damage, and people are not aware of the dangers that lie ahead,” said Moussa Demba Assette Ba. “If you invest all your income in livestock and disaster strikes, you lose everything, and that’s what climate change can do.”

The former pastoralist built a home in 2006 that has since turned into a sprawling compound that provides solar power to neighbors. He encourages others to settle down as he has and seek ways to increase the quality, not quantity, of their animals.

But perhaps the biggest threat to pastoralism comes from within, as the next generation chooses other paths.

Four of Ndiaye’s seven living children don’t travel with their parents. He relies on help from Ba and a paid family friend to direct the animals to their destination.

Ba, 28, and his wife Houraye, 20, have a 2-year-old daughter and want to expand their family. They mused about a future in which at least one child stays in pastoralism while at least one goes to school.

“I’d like my children to keep up with the changing world,” Ba said.