At 5:30 am the coastal city of Toliara springs to life. A cacophony of church bells, roosters, bird song, vendor calls and voices in conversation fill my tiny hotel room. The owner’s son is practicing piano and the owner’s cat is yowling again. I don’t know if yowling is a word but I can’t sufficiently describe the unearthly sound this creature makes. Someone has been sweeping the dirt outside my room for the last 30 minutes so I have been awake for awhile. A man in the street begins to sing; he’s as good as anyone at the Grammys and better than most. Pure sound, interesting style, good technique – a natural gift. I can’t see him but my guess is that he’s one of the rickshaw drivers parked in the road.
Yesterday was a long, hot, dusty day here in Toliara. I discovered in the morning that this little bed and breakfast hotel is only a B&B when the cook shows up. So together with our long-time partners and friends,Jonoro and Hanitra, we trek into town in search of coffee. We find an outdoor cafe but after we sit down a bus of French tourists arrives. The solitary waiter is run off his feet and leaves us until last. After an hour or so, he takes our order for bread and coffee – which comes promptly and is delicious. Jonoro, Hanitra and I spend the day catching up and making plans for our trip into Anjabetrongo. It will be several more months before the crops yield a harvest and the children are very hungry these days, so we plan to make a large meal of rice, nutritious beans and fruit on the days we are there. We also plan to buy maize for Fandahara’s family and distribute it to each household.
It’s time for Jo and Hanitra to go and collect their children from school. Walking through the streets alone to a restaurant at night is not the smartest choice, so we talk to the hotel desk clerk. Yes, it is possible for me to eat in the hotel restaurant if it is possible for them to cook what I want. I ask him what they can offer, and quickly jump at the first thing I recognize – eggs and french fries. We’re all tired so Jonoro and Hanitra go home. I grab my journal and sit at the gate of the hotel, watching the rickshaw drivers pass as the sky darkens.
The relative quiet of the night is welcome after a day of propaganda vans. This is the long-awaited election week in Madagascar and,with 33 presidential candidates in the running, everyone is competing for air-time. Air-time consists of music blaring from large speakers strapped to the side of a van or truck and the loudest van wins. Often the supporters dance behind the van, or atop a flatbed truck as it makes its way through the streets. In Tana we got stuck in the middle of a huge demonstration for a candidate who is the president of a national kung fu association. Several vans covered in campaign posters and an unending sea of men dressed in a variety of kung fu costumes paraded by our car. The enthusiasm for their candidate was palpable.
But tonight there is only the sound of the yowling cat, the upstairs piano, the clatter of rickshaw wheels and the chatter of voices. I swat at bugs and wonder if there will really be dinner tonight. The hotel waiter rides out to the gate on a bicycle and returns ten minutes later with a few eggs, so there is, at the very least, the hope of dinner.
An hour passes as I sit in the near darkness. I am about to give up and go to my room when I hear something sizzling…somewhere. Through the window I see the waiter fussing over a single table in the deserted, dimly lit restaurant. He creatively arranges a napkin in a glass, fluffs it and fluffs it again. He places a spider-plant in a water jar in the center of the table, and tries out different placements for the condiments and toothpicks. I turn back to my journal and the movements outside the gate. I love watching the swinging lanterns on the passing rickshaws.
Eventually the waiter beckons me inside, bowing and smiling as he shows me the beautifully arranged table. All of this was for me. His effort has made this a most elegant feast, no matter what food is served. But a cheese omelet and fries comes, beautifully presented on a square platter – which he carefully places in front of me in diamond form. Lettuce and slices of tomato have been arranged to look like a flower. For some reason I want to cry. The beauty of his actions, the beauty of this simple table, the beauty of the simple food and the care with which it is presented all touch my heart. He brings a small silver bowl with ketchup, a basket with bread and a small silver bowl of mayonnaise. And then the electricity goes out and the cat, who is now inside the restaurant, starts yowling.
In the pitch blackness, I feel around for my iPhone but before I can grab it, the waiter is here with a candle and a battery-powered lamp. I can see nothing beyond my table and am now eating in a spotlight, but I enjoy every bite. I am still recovering from some dicey fruit I ate the other day so, as beautiful as it is, I don’t dare touch the salad. I cut it up and move it around my plate. Finally, I tell the waiter that I’m full – voky be! – and he grins widely, fulfilled in his job for tonight. It’s boring to be a waiter in an empty restaurant and the tips are terrible.
I walk across the dark, empty courtyard to my corner room and fumble with the lock for a minute. I have much to do and tomorrow will be a long day gathering supplies and food for Anjabetrongo. I lay my head on the pillow- for just a moment, I tell myself. A moment turns into a full night’s sleep which is fairly restful but for one persistent mosquito – and now I’m ready for a new day and, hopefully, a cup of hot coffee.
I have a thought upon waking. The owner of this hotel is a devoted Jesus follower who has a fruitful ministry in this city. In the past, this hotel has been filled – mostly with European men who come to Madagascar for less than noble reasons. It has always been hard to watch middle-aged men escorting beautiful, young -and very young- Malagasy girls into their rooms. This year, thankfully, there is none of that. Now I pray that God will make this faithful man’s business as successful as his ministry.
UPDATE: I’m uploading this from an outdoor cafe that has wifi (as well as mice and lizards) . About an hour ago a bomb made of grenades exploded here in Toliara at a police station near Jo’s house. Our driver was commandeered to drive police to the scene and he reports that one policeman is dead and two others, critically injured. There is a mass political rally planned in Toliara later today and will be many more around the country. Please pray for the victim’s families, for protection for Malagasy citizens and for peace to reign in Madagascar.
