My Grandpa is My Hero

“A postcard from East Africa” — one of the many ways Grandpa brought the world back home to us.

Written by Charity (Sitamulaho. Known to him as Mwangala)

My Grandpa’s journey reminds us that ability is not defined by circumstance, but by the courage to keep going.

Though he later became differently abled, his spirit, wisdom, and legacy remained whole.

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Growing Up in His Shadow

I grew up by his side, walking with him and always feeling protected from my very strict uncles and aunties. He was a man who stood tall, strong, loving, and firm. A retired Chief Aeronautical Information Services Officer.

My Grandma named me after herself. She called me Sitamulaho. He called me Mwangala, after my mother. I grew up hearing these names and answering to them without question, wrapped in their meaning. I think this was his way of keeping his daughter close to him.

Ah… I was loved.

When Life Changed

When I was six, I learned he had pain in his foot or ankle. I can’t quite remember where it began. The pain persisted until it became so severe that his foot had to be amputated. Just like that, my Grandpa lost a foot.

It wasn’t long before the illness progressed, and doctors indicated that his leg, too, had to be removed. He was amputated to the knee, and I had to adjust to him walking on crutches.

As the youngest in the household, this was initially traumatic for me. Technically, my Uncle Emmanuel was the youngest, but traditionally, as his niece, I was the baby of the house. Yet even then, I saw how tough and resilient Grandpa remained. He never complained, never changed, and never used his new reality as an excuse not to show up.

Strength Beyond Circumstance

He never stopped ploughing.

I can still see him, balancing on one leg, a crutch on one side and a hoe in his hand. He carried on, providing for us so we never lacked. We lived on perfectly balanced nutrition sustained entirely by his hands and love.

He kept cattle and chickens, and we often fished, though he chose not to keep goats, sheep, or pigs.

A Life of Provision

Our orchards were a paradise: guavas, pawpaws, lemons, mangoes, and sugarcane. We had everything. Squash, baby marrow, cucumbers, strawberries, and all types of tomatoes, especially the cocktail and Roma ones that I devoured raw with a bit of salt, straight from the garden.

While most people fetched water from the river, Grandpa had a well. It was a life of abundance, the kind of sustenance I am now forced to buy, in a world where even growing a little in your backyard can be restricted.

A Man of Depth and Taste

My Grandpa was a resourceful and studious man. He brought Europe and Africa together in our village, a beautiful marriage of cultures that sustained us.

I remember his stereo system and his collection of vinyl records and LPs. He had photos carefully framed and mounted on the walls, each picture telling a story of where he had been. Stories that made me fall in love with aviation and believe it could be my career too.

How could I not? He was a man of great taste. He loved me, and I loved him deeply.

Hands That Built Our World

He was incredibly skilled with his hands. He built the furniture in our home: beds, couches, and living room pieces.

Each of us had a bed with a solid concrete base built into the room. He sewed covers and stuffed mattresses and cushions with beaten yarn and sometimes sweet grass used for cattle feed.

We lived in comfort, handmade comfort. Innovative comfort, crafted with pride.

We lived on everything homemade. The only things he chose to buy were back-to-school items. Not because he didn’t have the time, but because he enjoyed strolling into town now and then, showing me around. I think those moments mattered more to him than anything he could have made.

We Simply Lived

I can’t imagine the stigma he may have faced, moving from walking freely to using crutches, but I never experienced it.

My friends and classmates treated him with respect. I don’t recall whispers, stares, or judgment. Perhaps our generation was simply more humane, or perhaps I was too carefree to notice.

In our home, his new ability was never a limitation. We simply lived.

Grandpa and I, walking to Boma—just like we used to. Visual recreation inspired by memory

Moments I Carry with Me

I remember our walks to the market for back-to-school shopping, my small hand joyfully trying to support him on his crutches.

I remember Independence Day celebrations, how he would make sure he walked me to Boma and stayed to watch the events with me.

Now I understand why I instinctively did the same with my children, walking alongside them for safety, just as he did for me.

He was a stout, upright man who feared nothing and no one, except God. He respected everyone regardless of age and carried the knowledge and worldliness he had gained from his aviation career.

Ah… he was well exposed, and I lived for those fireplace story times.

He would send postcards from all over the world, bringing stories of life beyond our village.

I remember his stories of flying and airports, of hangars, navigation systems, and radiotelecommunication. He spoke a language I came to understand at such a young age, the phonetic alphabet, Alpha, Bravo, Charlie. I had already learned it, simply by being near him.

Radars, charts, and flight paths were not just part of his work, they quietly became part of my world too.

When I Lost Him

At thirteen, I moved to Namibia to live with my parents. Shortly after, I learned that he had succumbed to illness, and perhaps loneliness, since we had been so close.

By the time we arrived, he had already been laid to rest.

I never got to say goodbye.

But I have made my peace by keeping his skills, his strength, and his spirit alive in us.

His Legacy Lives On

I didn’t fully realize it until now, but this Foundation exists because he did.

He was not born differently abled, but he lived that reality with dignity, strength, and purpose.

My daughter, the Founder, is reading this for the first time, but it feels right to dedicate this Foundation to her great-grandfather, the stout man she never met.

Cheers to all differently abled individuals and their families, those with us, and those who have gone before us.

My Grandpa is my hero.

This work is dedicated in his memory.

If this story touched you or you can relate, please share it to help us spread awareness and build a more inclusive community.