I can only speak of what I personally witnessed of Sir Tei Abal. I don’t pretend to know the full measure of the man, and so I leave the rest for you to judge, perhaps from the newspaper cutting below or from your own memory of him.
In his twilight years, I would often see him — a solitary figure walking slowly, yet with purpose, from his humble village in Keas. He would make his way up the steep hill and down again toward Wabag town or nearby villages. There was something deeply moving in his presence — a quiet strength, a gentle dignity, and always a soft smile playing on his lips, even though it seemed he wrestled with Parkinson’s or a similar ailment.
He struck me as a man of profound thought, perhaps finding solace in those solitary walks. What was equally clear was that his retirement from politics had left him with very little — no vehicle to ease his travels, no trappings of wealth or comfort.
And that, more than anything, said everything about the kind of leader he was: one who gave his all to serve his people, and expected nothing in return. He left behind no riches, only the powerful memory of a man whose entire life was marked by humility, service, and unshakeable dedication.
Those quiet, lonely walks now linger in my mind — as a symbol of strength, sacrifice, and a legacy written not in speeches or monuments, but in footsteps on the dirt road home.