Mrs. Makupa

Kelly Hamby called me over to his veranda, saying, “Linda, I need your help.” Then he introduced me to Mrs. Makupa. The old woman sat hunched over in her chair. She briefly looked up at me with tired eyes and slowly thrust out her hand for me to shake. Then her eyes returned to her lap. As she sat in silence, Kelly told me her story.

Mrs. Makupa had met her husband when they were both students at Namwianga. Her husband eventually became an administrator at Namwianga Secondary School and was acting in that role when Kelly became headmaster in the 80’s. Kelly thought highly of him, and credits Mr. Makupa with helping him learn his job.

When Mr. Makupa became ill, Mrs. Makupa and her children left Namwianga and took him back to their home village. It was a decision that made their lives more difficult but offered him the opportunity to die with dignity. The ensuing years brought more and more heartache. Three of the Makupa’s five children have died, and two others are disabled. Mrs. Makupa, now in her eighties, is raising five grandchildren. Three of the grandchildren are preschoolers.

Kelly had made arrangements for Mrs. Makupa to receive a bag of maize each month to help her feed the family. However, the system for distribution did not always work. On the day I met her she had come to tell him that she had not received any grain for the months of June or July. Kelly wanted me to know Mrs. Makupa and her situation so that I could assist her during the months that he would be back in the U.S.

Kelly made some phone calls and located the two bags of grain that she was to receive. I got Harold, one of the young men who work on the mission, to go with me, and we agreed to take Mrs. Makupa and her grain to her home. While we were discussing the arrangements Mrs. Makupa sat in silence, her eyes down. As we explained what was going to happen, she looked up and spoke to Kelly. “My life has been hard,” she said quietly. “I am sorry that I have to come and ask you for help.” Kelly reassured her that she was not a burden. In reality, he reminded her, the Bible defines pure religion as taking care of widows and orphans.

Then, with great effort, Mrs. Makupa rose from her chair and shuffled her bare feet toward the edge of the veranda. On the steps she stopped and put on the tattered canvas shoes that she had left there. She labored to make the climb into the Land Rover, collapsing with relief into the back seat.

We turned off the main road and began following pasture roads. We kept going farther and farther as the roads became worse and worse. I began to wonder who had brought her to see Dr. Hamby. Harold asked her and found out that she had come by herself, on foot. She left her home at 9:00 that morning and had walked four hours to get to Namwianga.

Even our vehicle took almost 45 minutes to find her small farm. The brick and thatch hut had cardboard covering broken windows. Chickens raced around the yard as three of the grandchildren ran to greet us. We unloaded the sacks of maize and said our goodbyes.

I clocked the mileage on the return trip as I tried to picture Mrs. Makupa in her ragged shoes walking the trails to get to Namwianga. The distance was 5.9 miles.

Mrs. Makupa has haunted me. I remember her tired face, her hunched shoulders, her downcast eyes. I know there are many more like Mrs. Makupa in southern Africa—elderly women raising their grandchildren alone. The words of James 1:27 echo in the bush: Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress. . .