At 6:00 am I’m still on my first cup of coffee when the dancers start arriving. I’m not sure what’s coming, but am certain it will involve moving my old bones, so I quickly down cup #2 the of rich Tana coffee.
The class meets below the house in the building Ibrahim built with his own funds for any and all activities that serve the community and strengthen the church. Like most construction in Tana, it’s built on the side of a mountain, involving steep steps and not a little faith – but this is a sturdy and beautiful structure.
The dance class is small this week they tell me, due to faulty communication. They had been discussing how to split the normal crowd of 80 people into two groups in that space. I try to imagine that many people in the US showing up every Saturday morning at 6:30 am for an Israeli dance class. 6:30 PM maybe, but 6:30 in the morning…on a weekend?
Cathy asks me to speak and sing first, which I do, and then the class begins. The young woman and man teaching the steps are good teachers and passionate about what they are doing. We tumble over each other now and then and there is plenty of laughter – but there is much more than that. The leaders explain that every movement is a conversation with God, an expression of the heart or a prayer. Now I’m beginning to understand the appeal of this dance form and why so many attend weekly. The Malagasy are an artistic people and expressive in their movement – this is the perfect outlet. We learn a couple of dances and the class ends with the dancers on their knees, reading scripture and praying. It is a beautiful, serene moment, soon broken by the sound of children racing down the hill for their Saturday morning activities. Cathy apologizes that the kids’group is also unusually small this week,for the same reason: only 95 children.
They enter the hall and take their seats on the wooden benches. Some of the teen girls tote smaller siblings in their arms. They sing and pray loudly and watch expectantly as the teachers hang fabric for the flannelgraph story. Cathy tells the tale of Elijah and the false prophets. She’s animated and every child is quiet, every gaze fixed on her, from the youngest to the oldest. They love the stories, they love the colorful flannel characters.
I talk with them for awhile, asking about their dreams, about what they want to be when they grow up. Hands shoot up across the concrete room – they are not shy. Future pilots and pastors, teachers and policemen – and one airline stewardess – stand to tell about their hope for the future. These are children who live in life-choking poverty. Some are orphans, others from broken homes, all are struggling to survive. They patter up and down the steep hill several times each day on bare feet, carrying large buckets to draw water from the single tap that flows just on the other side of this wall. In the natural scheme of things,these children have little reason to think things will get better for them. But God is far above the natural scheme of anything and in Him everything is possible – a truth that is reinforced week after week after week by the Ravoahangys and their faithful team.
It’s finally time to pull out the large parachute the children have been eyeing. As expected, it turns chaotic fast. We play a game suggested by one of the Malagasy teachers – the children holding the parachute are fishermen and the children scurrying under are the fishes. I play a Veggie Tales song as the children dance underneath the chute. When the music stops, the net drops and we see how many fishes are caught. The kids love it, of course – and the teachers are already figuring out how they will use the new toys and materials and divide up the play time with twice as many kids in the weeks ahead.
The team moves to the veranda to begin cutting and buttering the loaves of French bread. As they exit the gate, each child gets a half loaf of buttered bread and a packet of Smarties – always a favorite because there are so many in a packet and they can be shared with siblings at home. The teachers meet to discuss the morning and the needs of the children. Several are in desperate straits and Cathy and I discuss how to find sponsors for some of them.
As darkness falls in the evening I think about our little pilots and pastors and teachers and policemen (and one airline stewardess:) I wonder what’s going on in their homes. I wonder if they’re hungry, if they’re hiding from a violent, alcoholic father or caring for a sick mother. I wonder if they are trying to study by paraffin lamp or if they’re lying on their floor mat, scared of the dark. I don’t know , but God does – and that is my comfort and their hope.
To donate to our Chifundo Kids program for orphans and vulnerable children click here . 100% of every dollar given to Chifundo Kids goes directly to aid children in the African nations of Malawi and Madagascar. Ancient Path is a 501 (c) non-profit organization and all contributions are tax-deductible.
