Madagascar - Down to the River (Day 8)

Last night I was up every two hours.  The animals around here are close to the bungalows and had moments all night where they just had something to say to each other.  Plus, the light on my porch wouldn’t turn off and it felt like morning all night long.  At 2 am, I got up and was ready to shower for the day. 

We drove to the medical clinic where Pastor Laurent’s brother works, had breakfast there, exchanged gifts with several people, including Pastor Jonah.  We then headed out for another long trip.  Our destination was a village called Ankaramalaza.

Ankaramalaza is in a remote area of Madagascar. Kelly said it was the most remote spot he had ever been.  I kept thinking of the saying I heard as a kid, “deep in the jungles of Africa.”  That’s what it felt like minus the literal jungle.  Pastor Laurent wanted us to come here because this is one of the centers of the Christian revival movement in Madagascar.  And the Presbyterians and Lutherans are the leaders of this movement.  Just so you know, Presbyterians are to Madagascar what Southern Baptists are for the South – the big dog denomination (50 percent of the churched people in Tennessee are Southern Baptist).  The Presbyterians are the pioneers, most attended, most respected. 

The annual event here is a 10-day equivalent of a Cursillo weekend and Stephen Ministry training.  Cursillo for us is known as Via de Cristo and it is a four-day short-course on what it means to be a Christian intended to mobilize people to be trained and motivated to serve in the local church.  The difference is this training here includes dealing with powers and principalities.  The event had over 25,000 people in the village.  Kelly and I were to only two vazahas (“white people”).   Everyone assumed we were French and said “bonjour” to us.  Some of the children said, “Bonjour, vazahas,” or “hello, white guys.” 

The people who “go through” this 10-day event are in training to become a “shepherd.”  In both the Presbyterian and Lutheran churches here this is a recognized and ordained position in the church.  The 10-days is a culmination of two years of training.  During the year, this village is a place that people care for the marginalized of society.  The shepherds care for those whose family members can’t handle them including mentally ill and those with great physical needs.  They also are trained to deal with casting out demons.  Apparently, the influence of the traditional religion is significant and they don’t back down from real issues with real people as they understand and experience them.  While were here, the shepherds walked through the village into each home shouting out to the spirits, “Get out of this home” or “Go!”  In the middle of one night, Kelly awoke to shrieking which was either someone with a demon or someone calling that demon to leave in the name of Jesus.   While Kelly and I both felt like we were “no longer in Kansas,” we both understood that these shepherds do so much for the church here.  They are people of great compassion who undergo years of training to preach, assist in church, counsel people, and other duties in the church.

To get into the village, we parked on the side of a river, hired some of the locals to carry our bags, went down to a riverside, and all crossed over by a pole-driven boat.  The village was on the other side of the river, up a steep hill.  The river was shallow, but active.  There had to have been 30 boats coming and going.  Upriver to the right was a beach area where people were swimming.  Having gone to the crocodile reserve a few days earlier, I’m not sure I would have been eagerly swimming there. Most of the boats were dugout canoes.  As in, trees.  Talk about old school technology.  It was a beautiful day and the color of the boats, river, people, trees, sky was spectacular.  I had a moment on the riverside.  There was something right about it.  Divine.

The people in the village were mostly poor.  Not entirely though.  This is a nationally recognized annual event and top level government officials who are Christians attend.  Whatever comforts they are used to in their homes is gone here.  This is primitive.  No flushing toilets or indoor water.  Definitely no heat or air in the small houses of the villages.  One of the announcements was gratitude that the fleas weren't as bad this year.  I’m impressed that civic leaders will submit to this level of humble living.  If fact, submitting to this way of living is part of the point of these ten days. Most of the houses are falafa – literally a house made with all natural materials.  Falafa here are the classic all wood homes with thatch roofs as those are the natural materials around.  In other places they are mud or mud brick homes.  Not impressive by our standards.

A side note on the toilets.  First, what we call the bathroom or restroom, they call the toilet.  I keep hearing “Where is the toilet?” and I want to walk someone into the bathroom and point to the toilet.   Second, I learned about what the Malagasy call a 101.  The “toilet” (bathroom) at the medical clinic in yesterday’s village was an outhouse that had a 101.  The outhouse had a hole in the flood with two 4” x 10” x 2” concrete pads, one on each side of the hole.  It is a 101 because one foot goes on one (“1”) side, the hole in the ground is the “0” and your other foot  (“1”) goes on the other side.  Diamondra told me about it giggling the whole time.

Though the occasional government leader or other leader shows up, most of the people here are poor.  Besides primitive, dirty, and dusty living conditions, what is shared by everyone is a shared faith in Jesus Christ.  Young and old, poor and poorer, poorly dressed and better dressed, healthy or sick, mentally ill or well, blind or sighted – all follow Jesus as Lord of life and Savior of the world.

We got to see that shared faith in action tonight.  We were ushered into the 2,000-seat sanctuary (loud speakers were set up in three remote locations in the village so all 25,000 could hear the service).  We were told to sit on the front row.  They were happy that we had travelled what was by then 47 hours to get to this place from America.  Kelly and I were asked to stand and introduced to the thousands gathered. The singing was once again beautiful.  The village runs on generator power.  The generators kept kicking off causing it to go dark in the sanctuary.  It didn’t faze the crowd one bit.  They spontaneously began to sing in a style I find moving.  Pastor Laurent is a rock star here too.  He was introduced with deep respect and then he preached the message with passion in his voice. 

After worship, we headed for bed.  We had a last minute change of plans.  Kelly and I ended up in a falafa close to Laurent and Diamondra’s block home.  I don’t mind.  A mattress on the floor with bedding on it works for me.  Even the lack of a pillow doesn’t matter.  I am in a good place.  God is in this place. 

Thinking of you.