A few years ago, he was quite ill: open blisters and wounds on his hands, feet and legs. Unable to walk and depending on his son to carry him everywhere. Shunned. Trying to adjust to changes in his life that I can't even imagine.
This morning I went to his house and his granddaughter couldn't find him. "Oh, he just takes off for Yokma (4 km downhill) or sometimes Gongma (2 km uphill) to visit friends."
"Tundup?" I asked. Surely not Tundup.
When he walked in I admitted he looks 10 years younger and he agrees I look 10 years older than the last we saw each other 3 short years ago. "What happened?" In simpler words he said "the healing art of community." What medicine at our fine district hospital couldn't do was provided by people who care in his home, his village and a few stellar community health workers who let him know we still needed him around.
I sometimes forget what the people who are on an edge of life have to teach us. Today, Tundup reminded me.