We pull out of Ivato airport as the sun rises on the rice paddies. People are already hard at work in the fields at 5 am and the streets are full of life as market vendors prepare their wares for the day. I have the luxury to enjoy the blazing sunrise, they do not. Ibrahim skillfully navigates the hilly, winding streets – skirting cars, oxcarts and pedestrians toting large bags.There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the roads or traffic patterns here; I’m sure there is, but I can never see it. The row of brilliant ,purple Jacaranda trees come into view and I forget about the traffic. I attempt a picture, but the road’s too bumpy.
Soon we reach the hill in Ambataroka that leads to the Ravoahangy house and turn down the steep driveway. A dense patch of red bougainvillea clings to the side of the medical clinic, the place is alive with flowers. A sweet little dog meets us….a dog that I know will be howling under my window when the sun sets, talking to his friends. (It seems the dogs in Madagascar sleep all day and chat all night.) Minutes later, we sit at the familiar kitchen table drinking delicious coffee sweetened with thick condensed milk while munching on equally delicious French bread.
It is now Thursday and the last I sleep I got was a mere three hours on Monday night. The floor feels like sponge under my feet and I’m beginning to see things, so I have no choice but to collapse in bed. I sleep the rest of the day and stay awake through the night, but it can’t be helped. I unpack and organize and do administrative work as I fight a losing war with a horde of mosquitoes . Ok, not a horde…three, but they work as a team and I am soon covered in bites. After repeated swats, some against my own head, I kill two of them. The lone survivor buzzes me all night. I cover every inch of my body and wrap my head like a Muslim woman. The little monster bites my face in three places. I begin to pray for the work here and, before I know it, Friday morning dawns and my work begins.
Cathy and I head out to their Global Action School – a place where people come to learn English, but walk away with much more. This is the first day of class and 40 students are enrolled – about half are pastors in training and the rest are from all walks of life, with different backgrounds and unique stories.
I return to my roots this morning. I sing a worship song and recount the story of God’s incredible mercy in my life, telling of His compassion and kindness and love toward all He has made. I don’t plan anything, but just let the words spill out from my heart. God’s presence is tangible in the room. I sing a song off our Face to Face album, In Heaven’s Eyes – a song I have sung countless times in diverse places – but not for many years. Personally, I have the sense of a spiritual return, a coming home – but I’ll think on that later. For now I’m fixated on the beautiful faces in front of me. Cathy takes it from here, speaking in Malagasy and French, telling the good news of the Kingdom of Love. The students take it all in as tears fill their eyes.
A teacher writes the chorus of In Heaven’s Eyes on the chalkboard and the students sing it with me. It’s a moment I won’t forget. I’m grateful that I’ll get to see them a couple more times before I leave Madagascar. As a matter of fact, Cathy informs me that I will be teaching the conversational English class at the end of the month in their teacher’s absence. I am no teacher, but gladly welcome the opportunity to hear their stories and learn about their lives.
As class ends, an impromptu worship session begins in the next room. I join a young man with serious keyboard skills, who can play anything he hears, in any key. We begin to sing together and more musicians gather. Soon the room is filled with rich, three-part harmonies and more joy than I can begin to describe. One young man tells me he is training to be a pastor, but used to be worship leader. He tells me how hard it is to give that responsibility over to someone else because all he wants to do is praise God with his whole body, soul and spirit. He is definitely a David. I guide a mini-session on spontaneous worship and, again, have a sense of a return to my roots. I’m grateful to be here and don’t want to leave, but it’s getting late.
Tomorrow is another day which will begin with, of all things, an Israeli dance group at 6:30 in the morning. I’m not sure what that means or what it will look like, but I’ll look forward to it. First, however, a mosquito net. Wouldn’t it be great if someone invented a headlamp with a bug zapper attachment? One can always dream.
