Beyond the Next Village by Mary Anne Mercer

Author:Mary Anne Mercer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2022-01-28T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Hard Choices

What a relief! Getting back to Gorkha, away from the furious activity of Kathmandu, the crowds and the noise and diesel smells of buses and trucks, felt like breaking out of prison. I decided to wait a few weeks before figuring when to submit my resignation. I was mostly just putting off the decision, but was still convinced it had to happen.

On the trek together back to Gorkha village, Corinne and I indulged in gaf garne, loosely translated as gossiping, which whiled away some of the ten-hour trip. Even the dreaded climb up Cheppetar Hill was less arduous than I remembered. Maybe it was the company, or because I could now see an end to the eternal trails, or maybe I was getting in better shape. Most likely all three.

“Doesn’t it seem odd that Fred isn’t coming to Gorkha to see our actual work?” I remarked as we sat at our first teahouse stop, sipping the sweet, hot brew. “There’s not that much happening in Kathmandu. But it’s a lot of work to get out here,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Too much work for him, I guess.” I still rankled at his implication that we weren’t working hard enough in the field. However, my annoyance turned to gratitude when, a year later, the Foundation president gave me a sparkling reference for my application for the Master of Public Health degree at Johns Hopkins University. That program launched the rest of my career in public health.

“Listen, we know what we’re doing, even if he doesn’t,” asserted Corinne. She was ever loyal to her team, somehow maintaining a calm reaction to the previous day’s pronouncements while loyally supporting our efforts.

We arrived at the Gorkha house in plenty of time for a cold beer, a hot supper, and a good night’s sleep. The next morning, the two teams headed back to our separate sites.

The trek to our next panchayat, Borlang, was relatively cool after a night of heavy rain. We passed by rice paddies that had turned a Day-Glo chartreuse, adding a colorful new dimension to the terraced hillsides. The porters and vaccinators chattered and bantered as we made our way along the trail, giving the sense that we were out on some lighthearted leisure trip. It could have been an outing with close friends back home—a trip to the hot springs for a swim or a hike in the hills of Mount Tamalpais. And I was included in their jokes, feeling that I’d been really accepted into the team.

At one point in the afternoon, when I was starting to feel tired and less sure-footed than normal, I slipped on some slippery gravel, landed on my derrière, and bounced back up, half-hoping no one would notice.

“Mary Anne Didi, arum gaarnu man laagyo?” quipped Bhim Raj, our jokester cook. Do you want to rest? Gentle chuckles from everyone.

“Ah, Bhim Raj wants to carry you!” retorted Sita, to more snickering.

“Okay, bholi, Bhim Raj? Tik?” I responded over his protestations. Tomorrow, OK? Raucous laughter.

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