How Greta Answers Stupid Questions

Everything about the village was wild—wind that pierced through woolen clothing, the harsh sun that scorched skin, mountains arching their jagged backs, the roads and roads that went to nowhere and more nowhere beyond that.

Metal gates divided the mud building from the dirt street outside. The compound had a dirt yard, hand-dug well and small garden.

Tibetan children--cracked, red cheeks, wide smiles, dark hair, fierce eyes--ran towards the white men as they began calling towards the house. 

Two women, dressed in Tibetan clothing, came out of the house to meet the guests as well. They, too, were wild, hard, lean…but white. Blue eyes, not black. The older, Greta, had white hair around her temple that blended into the auburn. She spoke with authority, using simple, unexaggerated words.

     “This is the orphanage,” her voice was quite, deep. “Most of the children have been here for over a year.”

The four American men walked close together, taking pictures of the building, children, compound. They had heard of this orphanage during a visit to a nearby factory, and were here to see the children.

After showing them the kitchen, laundry room and bedrooms, Greta led them to the classrooms. Seven wooden desks, a cracked blackboard and a cupful of pencils.

Anna motioned for the men to come outside, where a dented wooden table had been set with yak butter tea and peanuts. 

Greta then told the four men how she and Anna were sisters from Germany. They had moved to this village to start an orphanage after hearing a Tibetan pastor speak in their church.

As she spoke, it became obvious that life in this unforgiving valley was hard, often cruel.
Villagers were suspicious of the white women.

Winters were long, bitter.

Little electricity.

Most food came from whatever they could grow.

Paper for lessons was used and reused.  

The nearest city was three days by horseback.

But they stayed, taught and took in each child. Only yesterday one of the younger ones had asked to be baptized.

Greta finished her story and sat with her hands folded. A moment passed before one of the men cleared his throat and asked, “Where are the leaders?”

Confused, Greta wrinkled her forehead, tilting her face towards him.

     “My sister and I run the house. We teach, cook, clean—“

     “I know,” he interrupted. “But where are the leaders? Where are the men? You need men.”
Anna, who had been standing next to her sister, stiffened.

Greta leaned forward, hands still folded. She did not smile.

     “You want men? You lead,” she stared, unblinking at the man. “If you give up your life, move here and live here, I will follow you. Want to see men leading? Then you do it.”