Passengers

They were waiting for me as I headed out of town. The old lady and her young companion waved wildly beside the mound of belongings on the side of the road.
"We need a ride to Namwianga," the woman explained. "I'm bringing my granddaughter to start school at the Basic."
We stashed the box, suitcase, plastic bags, and mealie meal in the back and the two of them climbed in the cab with me. The woman then began a delightful tale (in excellent English) of her long connection to Namwianga Mission. She was one of the first students of Myrtle Roe in the 40s and 50s. She remembered the Shorts, the Shewmakers, and the Hobbys, and named other missionaries I'd never heard of. She told of the excellent education she received, of the caring teachers, of the wonderful Christian influence the Mission had on her. Now, she explained, she was bringing her orphaned granddaughter to the same school that had meant so much to her.
As we arrived at the school, she pointed to the buildings where her teachers had lived long ago. She shook her head in wonder at all the new structures in the complex.
I left them to get the girl settled in the dorm. I smiled all the way home, hoping that some day in the far off future one of my students will bring a granddaughter to school and tell glowing tales of her days at Namwianga Mission.