The first time you meet him, you would notice the walking stick. It is not for decoration; it steadies his steps as he makes his way up the steep slopes of South West Khasi Hills. On the other hand, he almost always carries a bundle of seedlings. This is how people of Wahsiej know him— “Ma Teibor”, the man who never let retirement slow him down.
Born on 12 December 1961, Teiborline Marwein spent his life in the Forest Department, a career that gave him both purpose and respect. After decades of service, he could have chosen rest. He had earned it. But Ma Teibor was never the kind of man who saw retirement as the end of his duty. For him, it was simply another season—an opportunity to continue what he had always done: live for the forest.
In June 2023, at sixty-four, when many of his peers had put away their boots, he laced his up again. He joined the MegLIFE Project as a Project Associate (Forester), not for a salary or recognition but because he still felt the call of the trees. His work took him across the rugged terrain of the district, where plantation sites lay hours away from the main roads. Some required treks of three or even four hours. Yet he never hesitated. Villagers recall seeing him arrive with his walking stick in one hand and seedlings in the other, ready to guide them.
What he offered was not just technical advice but a philosophy. When he bent down to press the soil between his fingers, he taught people to look for signs of life. When he planted a sapling, he showed them how to dig deep enough to give roots strength. And when he spoke, his words carried the weight of someone who had lived his entire life in service of the land. “Plant not just for today,” he would say. “Plant for your children’s children.” The villagers listened because they knew he was not simply giving instructions—he was handing over a legacy.
Back in Wahsiej, his own home bears witness to the same passion. On three separate plots of land, Ma Teibor maintains nurseries that cover 2,466 square feet in total. There are 18 nursery beds, each carefully arranged with eight species of indigenous trees. To outsiders, these may look like rows of green saplings. But to him, they are something much more. A nursery, he often explains, is a classroom where children learn patience. It is a laboratory where the community experiments with nature’s resilience. It is a temple where respect for the earth is quietly instilled.
Children are drawn to him. They follow him through the plantations, eager to carry seedlings in their tiny hands. Villagers admire his patience and call him a guardian of the forest. Younger staff in the MegLIFE project look up to him as a mentor, inspired not only by his knowledge but by his stamina and spirit. His colleagues say his presence changes the energy of a site—when Ma Teibor is around, people work harder, laugh easier, and believe more strongly in what they are doing.
There is something almost symbolic in the way his weathered hands, once used to turning files in government offices, now cradle young saplings. Every tree he plants is a reminder that experience is not a burden but a gift, that wisdom is best passed on not through words alone but through action.
Of course, time leaves its mark. His bones creak a little more, his pace is slower than it once was. But none of that has dulled his determination. If anything, it has deepened his resolve. He knows that he may not see the forests he plants in their full glory, but he plants them anyway. That is his way of living, and his way of teaching others how to live.
The people of Wahsiej often say that his spirit is evergreen, and it is easy to see why. Watching him walk into a village with his seedlings, children running behind and villagers waiting with quiet respect, you understand that some callings cannot be retired from. For Ma Teiborline Marwein, the forest is not work. It is not duty. It is life itself. And as long as there are trees to be planted and knowledge to be passed on, he will keep walking.
Retirement, after all, is only a word. The forest is forever.