My African Grandmother, Part III

The sun comes up about 5:30 this time of year, and by 6:00 a.m. we were up and ready for the day. The first order of business was to prepare breakfast. Surprisingly, Elia’s granddaughters had left before the sun came up and would not return until lunch time. Our breakfast menu consisted of homemade biscuits, my aunt’s wonderful jam, tea and coffee.


Just as we were about to begin our morning interview, a young man entered the village. We greeted him in the customary way, and he sat down on one of the small African stools commonly used in the village. Another relative had come to visit; Elia’s nephew from a nearby village. He said he wanted to see his cousins (in Zambia they would be called “sisters”) and so he would be staying for the day. Elia later informed us that he is the only relative that helps her on a regular basis. He comes to collect firewood for her, although a recent job has kept him from coming as often as he would like.


We explained to him what we were doing, and he said he would stay and listen. He was a very quiet young man, but every now and then would help shed some light on Elia’s family, or explain something to her that she did not understand.


Even though Elia is 92, she did not tire as easily as I thought she would. I would ask her periodically if she wanted to take a rest, but she would insist that we keep going. We talked under the shade of the tree for several hours, and then I told her I needed to prepare lunch. I gave her some cookies (called biscuits in Zambia) and she ate almost the whole package while I cooked.


Elia’s granddaughters arrived home and helped prepare vegetables and nshima, while Elizabeth and I prepared the meat and potatoes. It is a good thing we prepared a lot, because just after we finished eating, another visitor arrived. She asked me, “Do you remember me?” How could I forget? I recognized this visitor as Elia’s niece. We had met her some years back when we took Elia to Livingston to visit her son. She had traveled with us to assist Elia. She was pregnant at the time, and on the way became sick. Poor Wes, he was sitting in the seat in front of her. I’ll let you just imagine what happened. Later we found out that she had named her new baby boy after Wes. We got to meet "little Wes," who is now about 4 years old.


After lunch I had hoped to wrap up the interview but the visitors did not leave. They were talking to one another, so I could not turn on my recorder. I decided to just sit and listen as best as I could since they were all speaking in Tonga. I used the opportunity to ask them a few questions about the family, and discovered that Elia had given birth to five children, three which are still living. These five children have given her 23 grandchildren, and her grandchildren have given her 32 great grandchildren. She even has one great great-grandchild. Sadly, many of them have never met this wonderful little lady.


Wes arrived sometime in the afternoon, and we set up his small tent. We had only been apart one day, but we are so used to being together all the time, that one day felt like an eternity!

For supper I made chicken strips to go with our rice, and the girls made some cabbage. As we sat out under the stars eating our supper, Elia said, “I feel like an American.” She was beaming from ear to ear and staying up way past her bedtime.


After another splash bath, it was time for bed. The second day had gone by very quickly and I was even considering staying another day, but that was about to change. In a nearby village, there was a wedding celebration underway. We could hear the drums beating and the people singing and shouting, but we truly hoped that it would not last past midnight. I managed to fall asleep for a few hours until the drum beating increased in intensity; it did not end until 6 a.m. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for Wes and I. Somehow Elizabeth managed to sleep through it all.


After breakfast we took down the tents, packed up and prepared to go to church. Elia put on her best blue skirt and a red hooded fleece sweatshirt. She looked like a little Eskimo all bundled up to go out into the snow; the temperature was at least in the 80s when we left for church.


After a morning of worshipping together in the little Baptist Church of Mujika, we took Elia back to her village. Although her granddaughters were still with her, we knew they would also be leaving soon. Our hearts felt sad to say good-bye, and she wanted to know why we had to rush off. I made a commitment right then that I would lift Elia up in prayer everyday. I can’t imagine how lonely she gets. I can’t imagine what it is like day in and day out to be alone. I’m just thankful she knows Jesus, who promises to never leave her or forsake her.


























The sun comes up about 5:30 this time of year, and by 6:00 a.m. we were up and ready for the day. The first order of business was to prepare breakfast. Surprisingly, Elia’s granddaughters had left before the sun came up and would not return until lunch time. Our breakfast menu consisted of homemade biscuits, my aunt’s wonderful jam, tea and coffee.


















Just as we were about to begin our morning interview, a young man entered the village. We greeted him and he sat down on one of the small African stools commonly used in the village. Another relative had come to visit; Elia’s nephew from a nearby village. He said he wanted to see his cousins (in Zambia they would be called “sisters”). Elia later informed us that he is the only relative that helps her on a regular basis. He comes to collect firewood for her, although a recent job has kept him from coming as often as he would like.














We explained to him what we were doing, and he said he would stay and listen. He was a very quiet young man, but every now and then would help shed some light on Elia’s family, or explain something to her that she did not understand.














Even though Elia is 92, she did not tire as easily as I thought she would. I would ask her periodically if she wanted to take a rest, but she would insist that we keep going. We talked under the shade of the tree for several hours, and then I told her I needed to prepare lunch. I gave her some cookies (called biscuits in Zambia) and she ate almost the whole package while I cooked.














Elia’s granddaughters arrived home, and helped prepare vegetables and nshima, while Elizabeth and I prepared the meat and potatoes. It is a good thing we prepared a lot, because just after we finished eating, another visitor arrived. She asked me, “Do you remember me?” How could I forget? I recognized this visitor as Elia’s niece. We had met her some years back when we took Elia to Livingston to see her son. This particular niece had traveled with us to assist Elia. She was pregnant at the time, and on the way, she got sick. Poor Wes, he was sitting in the seat in front of her. I’ll let you just imagine what happened. She felt so badly that she named her boy after him. We got to meet little Wes, who is now about 4 years old.














After lunch I had hoped to wrap up the interview, but the visitors did not leave. They were talking to one another, so I could not turn on my recorder. Therefore, I decided to just sit and listen as best as I could since they were all speaking in Tonga. I used the opportunity to ask them a few questions about the family, and I discovered that Elia gave birth to five children, three which are living. These five children gave her 23 grandchildren, and her grandchildren have given her 32 great grandchildren. She even has one great great-grandchild. Sadly, many of them have never met this wonderful little lady.














Wes arrived sometime in the afternoon, and we set up his small tent. We had only been apart one day, but we are so used to being together all the time, that one day felt like an eternity!














For supper I made chicken strips to go with our rice, and the girls made some cabbage. As we sat out under the stars eating our supper, Elia said, “I feel like an American.” She was beaming from ear to ear and staying up way past her bedtime.














After another splash bath, it was time for bed. The second day had gone by very quickly, and I truly was considering staying another day, but that was about to change. In a nearby village, there was a wedding celebration underway. We could hear the drums beating and the people singing and shouting, but we truly hoped that it would not last past midnight. I managed to fall asleep for a few hours until the drum beating increased in intensity; it did not end until 6 a.m. Needless to say, it was a sleepless night for Wes and I. Somehow Elizabeth managed to sleep through it all.














After breakfast, we took down the tents, packed up and prepared to go to church. Elia put on her best blue skirt and a red hooded fleece sweatshirt. She looked like a little Eskimo all bundled up to go out into the snow; the temperature was at least in the 80s when we left for church.








After a morning of worshipping together in the little Baptist Church of Mujika, we took Elia back to her village. Although her granddaughters were still with her, we knew they would also be leaving soon. Our hearts felt sad to say good-bye, and she wanted to know why we had to rush off. I made a commitment right then that I would lift Elia up in prayer everyday. I can’t imagine how lonely she gets. I can’t imagine what it is like day in and day out to be alone. I’m just thankful she knows Jesus, who promises to never leave her or forsake her.

My African Grandmother, Part II

Wes, Elizabeth and I arrived in Elia’s village about 10:00 a.m. on Friday morning. We were greeted by Elia in her usual way, with a dance and a big smile. We were surprised to see several others in the village, and wondered if they had heard the white people were coming. However, this time this was not the case. Two of Elia’s granddaughters and a great grandson, had arrived from Livingstone to see how she was doing after having been in the clinic for a foot injury.


I’m pretty hard-headed sometimes, and it takes me a while to see God’s purposes, so at first I was annoyed. I saw the visitors as interruptions to my plan; how would I do my interview with so many others around? And in addition to that, I had promised to bring food and cook for Elia, and now I had to cook for three others. Wes tried to encourage me not to worry; that the food would be enough, and that God had a plan. I whispered a prayer asking the Lord to forgive me for my attitude and to help me see His purposes.

Wes helped us set up the tent and cooking area. He left the trailer for me so that I would have a place to cook and store my things, and then he was gone. By this time it was noon and my stomach was shouting, “Feed me!” I had brought a gas camping stove because I figured that Elia would not have enough wood for all the cooking I planned to do. Elia was so amazed as she watched me preparing the meal. She was amazed at how fast I was able to cook on my little stove, and she was amazed that a white woman cooked for herself; she thought all white women had servants who did their cooking.

Elia’s granddaughters prepared nshima, the staple food of Zambians made from corn meal, and some rape (a green leafy vegetable) and I prepared potatoes and sausage. Together there was more than plenty, and as I watched Elia eating, I could see the joy in every bite she took. In fact, she couldn’t eat it all.

After lunch, the girls went to the nearby borehole (well) to draw water for doing dishes. I was beginning to see God’s blessings in bringing these young ladies to the village. This freed Elizabeth and I up to begin our interview with Elia.

As we sat under a shade tree, Elia sitting in one of our camping chairs feeling like a queen, Elia began to share the story of her life. Of course I had to prompt her with questions, because she really didn’t know where to begin.

For the next several hours we sat together under the tree, keeping cool with the wind God had provided, listening to Elia tell us tales from the past; these which I will relate at a later time. I had hoped Elia’s granddaughters would sit and listen, but they were not too interested, sad to say.

When we saw that the sun was turning a bright orange, we knew it was time to stop and prepare supper. Elia said that she was usually in the house for the night by this time, as she usually went in with the chickens. Yes, she keeps the chickens in her house; I think they are her companions.

As the girls heated water in the cooking hut for bathing, Elizabeth and I prepared supper on the gas stove; rice and beef stew. By the time the meal was prepared, the sun had set and we ate our supper while watching the stars come out one by one. If you have never seen an African sky at night, you are truly missing something. There are no neon lights of the city to detract from the beauty of the stars.

The girls and Elia had already bathed before supper, and so now Elizabeth and I took our splash baths in the grass enclosure that the church had prepared for us. I asked Elia where she normally bathed, and she said that she used to bathe at the river when there was water, but now she just went off into the bush to bathe. The church had also made us an “outhouse” or “cimbuzi,” for which I was very grateful!

Elia wanted to stay up and visit, but my eyes were drooping. I usually go to bed by about 9 p.m. myself, so I was ready to climb onto my comfortable cot and call it a night. September is usually a very hot month, but the Lord provided us a nice cool breeze during the day and cooler temperatures than normal at night.

It had been a good first day, and I wondered what tomorrow would hold. As I lay down I thought to myself, “I might consider staying longer than two days,” but that thought would change by the next night. Stay tuned for more.

My African Grandma, Part I

Her name is Elia Masowe, and she is 92 years old. We have adopted her as our “African Grandmother,” although she considers us her children. She says that Wes is her first-born son, so I guess that makes me her daughter-in-law. She has also referred to Wes as her husband, so I’m not sure what that makes me! Relationships in Zambia are very confusing, so to make it simple, we have chosen the relationship of grandchildren and grandmother.


We first met Elia back in 1999 when we came to her village to do a feeding program. It was a year of drought, and we were told that the people of Mujika were hungry, and so the small church we were attending decided to help out.

Elia was in the group of people that arrived that day to receive food. Little did she know that she was also going to be fed spiritually. Wes, and those with him, passed out packages of mealie meal (corn meal) and some basic supplies that Zambians use in cooking. When they were finished, they shared the good news of Jesus Christ.

When Elia heard that Jesus had died for her sins and wanted to give her a new life, she made the choice to invite Jesus to be her Lord and Savior. It was not the first time she had heard about Jesus as she had grown up in church, but it was the first time she understood her need for a personal relationship with Him. On that day, she made the choice to give Jesus her life.

Later, Elia related her testimony in this way, “God loves me so much, that he sent people half way around the world to come and tell me the truth about Jesus. I used to be the best at brewing beer, but now I have stopped.”

As a result of the outreach in Mujika, a little Baptist Church began. Elia was one of the first members, and when she can, she still attends.

In those first years, Wes and I went on a regular basis to teach the new believers at Mujika. At first we met under a tree. Elia was always faithful in attendance, and although she could not read due to poor eyesight, she listened well and was quick to answer questions. We were amazed at how she was growing in her new walk with the Lord, and we were encouraged by her energy and vitality for life at such an old age.

From the beginning Elia loved to share her new faith, although she was a little rough around the edges. She had been attending a Seventh Day Adventist Church, and when she accepted Christ and moved to the Baptist Church, the elders came to visit her telling her she was going to hell because she was worshipping on Sunday. She was quick to tell them where they could go because she now knew the truth. We had to talk to Elia about her method of evangelism, but at least she was not backing down!

We grew to love Elia more and more as we spent time with her. She made us smile, she made us laugh, and she made us cry to see her living all by herself. I don’t remember the first time we went to her village, but to see how she lived broke our heart. She had one little hut in which she slept, with a roof that looked like it was going to cave in at any moment.

Even though she was in her 80s at the time, she planted, weeded, and harvested her own maize. It was hard for us to imagine how she did all this by herself, but we were told that she had little help. Although a married niece lives right next door, she does very little to help her.

Elia has always been a giver. Whenever we go to her village she insists on giving us a gift. Over the years she has given us sweet potatoes, pumpkins, maize, and chickens. Although it has been very hard to accept her gifts, knowing she has very little, we’ve learned to them because we know that by giving, she also receives.

Knowing God’s command to take care of widows and orphans, God began giving us a burden to help Elia even more. At first we worried about the potential problems it would create with jealousy--a big problem in Zambia. We didn't want our helping her to hurt our ministry, but we decided we had to obey what we felt the Spirit was leading us to do. So, little by little, or bit by bit as they say in Zambia, we became more a part of Elia’s life. At first we just brought her small gifts of sugar, tea, and mealie meal, but eventually we saw a greater need—she needed a new home. Her roof would not last through one more rainy season, and the walls of her mud hut were crumbling.

We wanted the church to be involved in helping her as much as possible, so we got the leader and some of the people involved in helping build her a new home. This time it was not a round hut, but a small rectangular house with two rooms. For Elia, it was a mansion.

Elia will most likely live the remainder of her years, alone in this house. Although it is a much better home than the one she previously had, Elia has often said, “I’m ready for my new home. I look forward to seeing my Jesus.”

In the past few years, Elia has been in and out of the hospital. She easily catches cold, and has a persistent cough. When malaria attacks, she goes down hard. Each time she is sick, the pastor of the Mujika church calls to let us know. Each time when we visit her, we wonder if it will be the last time we see her, yet this little woman is stubbornly holding on to life.

Recently I decided I wanted to write down Elia’s life story. Although we have visited her many times, there was so much I didn’t know about this tiny little woman who dances every time we come into her village. I asked her if she would allow me to spend a few days in her village, and if she would tell me her story. This past week I spend two and a half days with Elia. I asked her many questions, and although I feel I will need to go back again, I’m beginning to put together some of the pieces of her life.

In the next few weeks, I will be writing down what I have learned. Eventually, if I am able to put it all together, I hope to put her story into a small book. I don’t claim to be a writer, so I doubt if it will be a best-seller, but that is not my goal. Elia's life is a puzzle to me, and I want to put together some of the pieces. I hope you will enjoy learning about my African Grandma.