Stories Of Survival - Episode 4: The Tsaatan — Guardians of the Taiga

Journey deep into the frozen forests of northern Mongolia, where fewer than 300 people still live in harmony with their reindeer. In this episode of Stories of Survival, host Phillip Grager explores the world of the Tsaatan (Dukha)—one of the last reindeer-herding peoples on Earth. Discover their migration from Siberia, their sacred bond with the reindeer, and the spiritual connection they share with the taiga. Through stories of resilience, humor, and tradition, we uncover how the Tsaatan’s way of life teaches us about balance, respect for nature, and what it truly means to live in connection with the world around us.

Transcript

Phillip: 0:01

Welcome back to Stories of Survival, the podcast where we journey to the edges of the world to hear, preserve, and celebrate cultures whose voices are at risk of vanishing. For those tuning in for the first time, I'm Philip Grager. I travel research and bring you the stories of indigenous peoples whose ways of life are endangered, but whose wisdom is timeless. In past episodes, we walked the planes of the Messai in Kenya. Then we sailed with the Baja, the Sea Nomads of Southeast Asia. But today, today we journey far north to the frozen forests of Mongolia. Picture this endless pines snow that clings to the mountains most of the year, and herds of reindeer moving silently through the mist here. Fewer than 300 people still live as their ancestors did. Herding riding and relying entirely on their reindeer for survival. They are the Satan, or as they like to call themselves the dha, one of the world's last reindeer herding peoples. Stay with me because what you're about to hear isn't just about survival in the cold. It's about a way of life that may hold lessons for all of us before we dive into their traditions and beliefs. Let's start with the heart of it. Who are the Satan people? The name Satan literally comes from the Mongolian word, sat, meaning reindeer. So when you hear it, Satan, you're really hearing the reindeer people. But if you were to ask them what they call themselves, they wouldn't say Satan at all. They proudly say DKA pronounced dka, and that name holds power. It's not just a label, it's an identity. It connects them to a lineage that stretches across centuries of migration, resilience and harmony with nature. The are one of the smallest ethnic groups in Mongolia, fewer than 300 people today, and they live in the Cyan Mountains, tucked deep in the forest near the Russian border. This region is known as the Taiga, a Subar forest where the winters last eight months. The snow can reach your knees and the nearest town can be days away on reindeer back. Historically, the duka traced the roots to the Tuvan people of Siberia. Centuries ago, they lived in what's now the Republic of Duan part of Russia. But during the 1920s and thirties, political turmoil, especially after Mongolia's northern border tightened, during the Soviet Times, it pushed many DKA families southward. They crossed into Mongolia with our herds of reindeer seeking safety and the freedom to keep their way of life. So that Satan story is really one of migration, adaptation and survival. They carry their beliefs, language, and hurting traditions across borders and into a new land and somehow against all odds kept alive their language. Han is a dialect of Tuvan, part of the Turkic language family. It's rich musical and full of phrases tied to nature. Every mountain, every river, and every herd has its own name and story. When they talk about reindeer, they don't just say it, they say he or she, because to them reindeer aren't animals, they're family. Let's talk about that bond for a moment because it's one of the most extraordinary relationships between humans and animals anywhere on earth. The Satan ride the reindeer instead of horses. They milk them to make yogurt, and sweetie si a salty milk tea that keeps them warm. During bitter winters, their hides are turned into coats, boots, and blankets. Their antlers are carved into tools, handles, or ornaments, but it's never done carelessly. They take only what's offered. Shed antlers. Milk when it doesn't harm. The calf hides only from animals that have passed. Every part of the reindeer is honored, used, and respected. It's a relationship built on mutual survival. The reindeer carried its Satan through deep snow and frozen rivers. In return that Satan protect them from wolves and keep them fed in the harsh winter. These animals are sacred. They believe reindeer carry not just people, but spirits, the souls of ancestors and protectors of the forest. When you enter at Satan Camp called an ORT or du, the first thing you notice is the shape. Tall, very conical, almost like a teepee, and it's built from birch poles and it's covered in hides. The Orlu is genius in its simplicity, easy to build and easy to take down, and warm enough to survive. Minus 40 degree nights that sat down, move their camps several times a year, following their herds to fresh pastures. Everything they own, tents, tools, cookware, even their spiritual shrines can be packed onto reindeer backs. In this world, mobility equals survival, but it's also a cultural preservation. Every migration is a lesson for the children, whether it's how to read the snow, how to sense danger in the wind, or how to know when it's time to move. These aren't just survival skills. They're acts of memory passed down orally, generation to generation. So who are the Satan? They're the last true reindeer herders of Mongolia. They're descendants of ancient Siberian nomads who found belonging in movement. They are people who built an entire culture around empathy for animals, for nature, and for each other. Their story isn't about isolation, it's about connection to their herds, to their land, and to a way of life that's as fragile as it is extraordinary. And as we continue our journey, you'll see how their language, spirituality, and traditions weave together to form one of the world's most intimate relationships between humans and the wild. Stepping inside an DU home, the air is warm thick with the smell of smoke and pine. A small fire crackles at the center, sending ribbons of smoke curling through a hole in the roof around it felt rugs lined the ground worn in smooth from years of stories. Told Andt shared in one corner a pot of sweet diet sight, that salty milk tea made from reindeer milk. Bubble softly. It's rich, earthy scent fills a tent. Breakfast might be tea, dried cheese curds called a, and maybe a bit of meat from a recent hunt. Simple, sure, but full of energy for a day in the Taiga before the sun fully rises, you'll hear bell's jingling someone. Maybe the father or eldest daughter has already headed out to check on the herd Here. Children grow up on reindeer. Some even learn to ride before they can learn to run steadily. By the time they're seven, they can guide a herd through a snowstorm and read the snow like a map. But let's be clear, life here isn't just survival. It's rhythm and it's balance that Satan don't fight nature, they move with it. They know the language of the forest, how to listen to the creek of trees that warn of an oncoming storm. How to follow the tracks of elk or wve. And how to find the safest frozen river crossing. Every skill is learned by doing, by watching, imitating, asking, and laughing. Kids learn by living not from textbooks, and that system works flawlessly, generation after generation. The forest isn't just scenery, it's family that Satan follow. An animistic, shamanic belief system where every living and non-living thing has a spirit. Rivers, mountains, reindeers, trees all carry energy that must be respected. There's a saying that goes, it means to understand the forest is to understand the divine, and that line captures their worldview perfectly. For the Satan, the natural world isn't just a backdrop, it's a teacher. There's spiritual leaders called Boo. Shamans are the bridge between worlds. The boo bless herds before migrations. Call on ancestral spirits to protect travelers and perform rituals when someone falls ill or when the weather turns dangerous. But don't picture this as a gloomy, ritualistic thing. It's woven into everyday life that Satan might ask for a blessing before setting out on a hunt or whisper thanks to a river before filling a bucket. It's not ceremony for show. It's a gratitude in action. And honestly, the Satan have a great sense of humor about it. All life in the Taiga demands it when your tent freezes solid or your reindeer wanders off in the middle of the night. What else can you do? But laugh? Warm up with tea and try again. But behind that humor is strength because the sata knows something. Modern society often forgets. Happiness doesn't come from comfort. It comes from connection. Connection to your animals, to your family, and to your land. Their days are demanding, but they're also intentional. Every task from mending a saddle to boiling tea is done with care. Every morning, every migration carries meaning, and this is where we can learn from them. Not how to live like that, Satan, but how to live life with purpose. To value what we have to notice the natural world to find humor even when things are hard, because if that Satan can thrive in the Siberian tiger, one of the coldest, most isolated regions on earth, then maybe they figured out something the rest of us are still searching for. But this way of life, the harmony between the Satan, the reindeer, and the Taiga is under threat. The TGA itself is changing. Winters are warmer, unpredictable weather makes migration harder every year, and a phenomenon called Z. When snow and ice form thick layers over the grass can starve entire herds. Imagine watching your reindeer, your lifeline, unable to reach the food buried beneath ice that shouldn't even be there in the first place. Summers, ones short and mild are now bringing wildfires that tear through grazing lands. The same forest, that shelter that Satan for centuries are now burning and there is the pull from the modern world as well. Many young Satan are leaving the Taiga for cities like moron or Lan batar. Some go to school, others find work, and while education opens new doors, it also closes others in cities they're expected to speak. Mongolian, not Duan. They dress differently, live differently soon. The songs of the reindeer herders, the Chance of the Boo Shamans, the words for the wind and snow that exist only in all start to fade. Each young person who leaves take a piece of tradition with them and sometimes, most times, that piece doesn't return. There are now fewer than 100 Satan families left in the world. Every elder who passes takes with them irreplaceable knowledge, how to treat a sick reindeer with wild herbs, how to predict the snow by watching the clouds, how to greet the spirits before a migration. This isn't just the loss of a community, it's the loss of a worldview, a language, a rhythm, a way of seeing the earth as living and sacred. And that's why telling their story matters. Because un recognition leads to silence and silence. Silence leads to extinction. But there's still time. There's still hope because as long as people listen, as long as we remember that Satan are not forgotten. That Satan aren't disappearing quietly, they've partnered with NGOs to protect their herds and pass down ancestral knowledge. Some families welcome visitors into the TGA guiding reindeer treks through the Misty large forests. Others carve and be jewelry from shed antlers selling them to support their families and to keep their traditions alive. It's not about freezing their culture in time, it's about carrying it forward. And here's where you come in. By supporting this podcast, you help us tell and share their stories with the world because survival grows stronger when it's shared. Now what can the Satan teach us? They can teach us many things, some being sustainability, which is where we let nature guide our decisions. They can teach us respect for animals, to treat them as partners, not property. They can teach us about resilience, surviving in the harshest climates without destroying your home, adapt, without harming and spiritual ecology. Seeing the forest, rivers, and animals as kin, not as resources to exploit. Let the phrases in this episode carry a piece of Satan life with you. If you enjoy today's journey, make sure to follow, subscribe, and share this podcast with others. And if you want to help us meet the SATs on face-to-face recording their songs, stories, and survival skills, you can support us through interacting with the podcast and following our Instagram advocates of Heritage. Every contribution helps us preserve voices that the world cannot afford to lose, that Satan may be small in numbers, but their voice is mighty. Thank you for traveling with me into the Taiga today. I'm Phillip, and this has been Stories of Survival. Stay tuned because our next episode will bring another culture, another language, and yet another survival story worth telling.