Having already seen Doug’s video from his one-day trip to Manakana, I wasn’t surprised to see the crowd of people that thronged to greet the helicopter as we descended. A sea of faces expectedly waited for us to disembark. I quickly wrapped my lamba-oany (pronounced like lom-buh-Wannie) around my waist, something Doug had advised me to do. Instead of wearing dresses or skirts like in most villages around the country, he advised me to wear long pants and closed shoes and socks to prevent the sand fleas from having access to my ankles. As much of a nuisance as regular fleas are, these are much worse because they dig into the skin and have to be surgically removed. No need to convince me. Long pants it was. But a woman wearing pants in many villages is not considered appropriate feminine attire so wrapping a big cloth around the waist, which reaches to ones ankles and covers those pants is the perfect solution. It is also what most women in the countryside use as a skirt. And it comes in handy for wiping noses, drying hands, and so on. Extra lambas are usually on hand as well to shield ones face from the sun, wrap babies on ones back, use as a head scarf, etc. etc. Like one veteran missionary told me, “Never leave home without two or three of them.”

Having secured my lamba in place, I helped Jeremiah down and we faced the sea of excited eyes fixed directly on us. The huge sense of expectancy hung heavy between them and us. They wondered what to do. I wondered what to do. Finally I did the only thing I could think of and blurted out in Official Malagasy, “Hello to all of you.” Suddenly the bubble of uncertainty burst and they surged forward to greet us, eagerly shaking our hands. Smiling from their very core, they shook our hands and welcomed us to their village. I wondered if the hands would ever end, meanwhile searching the crowd for that one blonde head and a bearded red one. I was also thinking about the rain that had started to fall, searching my memory for what rain gear I had packed. Suddenly the sea of faces parted as Benjamin surged forward in his rain poncho to greet us. The contrast of his long pants, tennis shoes, and new rain poncho to the tattered clothing of most of those around us was only the beginning of a theme of challenging contrasts to last throughout our time. It was great to see him. The crowd cheered as we hugged. He assured me Doug was coming down from the church, at the opposite end of town. Sure enough, in a few minutes there he came, enveloped as well in his own rain poncho and carrying mine and Jeremiah’s rain coat. Ah yes, DOUG had remembered to pack them. The crowd went wild when I finally got close enough to give Doug a hug. Talk about feeling like a celebrity. The villagers had come to appreciate Doug and his ability and willingness to listen to them and converse in their language. Well, close to their language anyway. Turns out their dialect is not exactly what we know but once we learned their daily greetings, we could understand each other pretty well. So the village was excited to meet the wife of this missionary pastor who taught them in their language and listened to their ideas.

Along with Taisir, his daughter, Jasmine, Markus, his wife Esther, and crowds of villagers, we headed toward the church to escape the rain. Leaving the soccer field turned landing pad, we gingerly crossed the log set between the banks of a river. At least those of us not used to Manakana crossed it gingerly. Others zipped across like it was nothing, while many kids sloshed through the mud and water which got them across faster than waiting for the line-up at the log. Walking along the narrow path on the opposite bank of the river in the slippery conditions was also cause for caution, but soon we were on a path of hard-pressed mud away from the river and up to the wide open mud field (see picture) that had once housed those 163 houses. The silence made it hard to imagine the life and daily rhythm that would’ve been a-buzz at this moment in this very spot if the fire had not destroyed all those homes. As it was shortly before noon, preparations for the noon meal would have been underway. The thu-thump of pounding rice in hollowed out logs, the fanning of charcoal in simple metal “stoves” for cooking the pot of rice, kids carrying buckets of water on their heads back from the river for cooking the rice, other kids delivering a basket of leaves or freshly caught fish to serve with the rice. But today the only sounds were the giggles of the children following us on our path to the church. Other than one roofless mud hut, the only thing left standing in that area were Y shaped poles, (see picture) burned black from the fire but still pointing straight up. We later learned that these had been the center of ancestor and idol worship for the village.

We stopped by the new construction as Doug explained the progress. The first 4 x 4 meter house frame (on left in picture) was at the farthest end. When the decision had been made to make all the houses that size, the villagers had not conceptualized what that really meant. After the first frame was up, they all looked at it with great shock in their eyes, not wanting to complain or ask for more. Finally it came out that they felt that was really too small since many of the families had 8 or more children. At their request, Doug had called the person holding the purse strings and received approval for a 4 x 6 meter house (on right in picture). The first of that prototype stood next to the smaller version. It seemed huge next to the 4 x 4 house but we still wondered out loud how such a big family could make it work in such a little house. Our perception of Malagasy families, though, is that they don’t “hang out” in their houses like we westerners do, unless it’s raining. Otherwise, they cook, visit, hang out, and work outside and their house is more just to sleep in and house their belongings. Kind of like what we think of as camping. It’s no wonder we’ve heard some Malagasy say we westerners are a bit crazy to consider camping a recreational activity one chooses to do. And that explains why many in Manakana tried to find a different option for us than staying in a tent like we did. To them it seemed we were “roughing it” and they felt ashamed at not being better hosts. They were so concerned about us feeling comfortable there.

At the other end of that field and slightly uphill were two houses which had escaped the fire because of their higher elevation. Just beyond that, we turned sharply to the right and walked up a steep dirt hill where the Lutheran church (entrance to church pictured) sat overlooking the entire village. From there we could see the soccer field and helicopter, beyond that the school and a few houses which had also escaped the blaze. In the other direction was a clinic, a rather large building, with thick layers of thatch for its roof. It was surrounded by a packed dirt yard where kids had obviously played many a game. Beyond that was the river where Doug, Ben, and Michael had washed clothes (picture on left), taken a bath in swimsuits (picture on right), and fetched water for the kitchen. Beyond that and all around were the hills and mountains, covered with a lush green in every direction. “Absolutely gorgeous,” was Benjamin’s repeated comment as he videotaped that landscape.

Just before we arrived, decorating for Christmas services had been underway in the church. We were greeted with the most incredible Christmas tree smack dab in the middle of the front of the sanctuary. The tree was a lush green, having just been cut that day and carried to the church. Not a typical western idea of a Christmas tree though, it was actually branches cut off a leafy tree and stuck in a hole dug in the dirt floor. Decorations were mostly wild flowers set among the leaves, with one piece of tinsel and at least one red necklace. It was gorgeous and touching. Later candles would be stuck on long sticks and poked into the tree for the Christmas Eve evening service. Around the perimeter of the sanctuary, leaves had been braided together to form a natural green garland which was again graced with an occasional wild flower. Yet again, this was another example of what we seem to be learning over and over from the Malagasy people about making due with and appreciating whatever one has. If only we could really learn this lesson like Paul who “learned to be content whatever the circumstances.” (Philippians 4:11)

I was quickly introduced to the “kitchen,” housed in the chancel of the church, with two wooden tables set against the back and side walls, used for food and dishes. The three burner gas stove sat on the floor of the pulpit with its gas bottle just to the side. Many a joke has been made about heating up the preacher if his sermons went too long. Above the pulpit was the TP supply bag. Such an irreverent thing for such a place it seemed to me. Just in front of the pulpit were two plastic round tables and several fold-up lawn chairs. Our dining and living room, so to speak. Just outside the side door was a bench holding the water filter and basins for washing dishes. Next to them the jerry cans, plastic tubs for collecting rain water off the corrugated tin roof of the church, and the hand soap for those returning from the latrine. A short path led to that latrine (see picture) set among the bushes which provided privacy on the back two sides with walls on the two sides facing the church and its yard. One had to bend down to get in which seemed awkward at first with my lamba oany to contend with as well, but by the end of our time it became much easier.

As all of us sat visiting in the church and wondering about the rain, Doug realized it was past noon which meant we should think about food. Markus had intended to just drop us and go, but the weather had had a different idea. Whether it would clear enough for them to leave that day was anybody’s guess and a topic of all of our prayers. We wondered out loud about how we would manage sleeping arrangements for five unexpected guests (including one Malagasy man, Michael, who had been living there and helping until our arrival and was planning to go back that day to Tana). We also wondered about the food supply if we ended up feeding all of them, but we also knew that God would provide. What to do though for this lunch meal? It didn’t seem there was enough of any one thing to feed that whole group. But in Madagascar, when in doubt; cook rice. Doug started the water and then I jumped in. Fortunately I had brought along some leftover Spanish rice, fixed the day before. It was probably only 3 modest servings, but I figured we could stretch it with some more rice and add another can of tomato paste for more flavor. I had also brought fresh green beans, which I prepared with a few leftover pieces of salami I sliced up to give the beans some flavor. As I stirred my small amount of Spanish rice into the big pot of rice we had cooked, it brought to mind the story of the loaves and fishes; Jesus using what there was and making it enough. I am not sure everyone was stuffed by the end of that meal, but everyone seemed satisfied and it didn’t taste at all bad.

We chatted about the progress of the rebuilding effort while Markus kept an eye on the weather through the open space between the ceiling and wall along one side of the church. Suddenly he announced, “It looks clear enough to go. We better get out of here.” So they did. Within a short time we had traversed the length of the town again to get to the helicopter and the Coxes were waving goodbye to our only means of getting out of that village. It struck me that we were pretty much stuck there for a few days, with no one but us and the villagers and plenty of forests and hills. We walked back to the church and started to unpack.

Fortunately we had brought a tent along which was big enough for all four of us and two borrowed air mattresses. Unfortunately they deflated considerably during the night but without them I’m not sure I would’ve made it. Fortunately we had also brought 4 sleeping bags and pillows so we turned in that first night feeling quite happy about this adventurous camping experience. Since our tent was staked right outside the church, I was awakened more than once in that first night by the talking of men whose turn it was to guard the church that night. A rotation schedule had been set up of community men who slept in the church on the hard wood benches for the purpose of guarding the building materials stored inside as well as all of the wood outside and the government-donated rice which was stored in one of the mission tents not far from ours. A system had been set up for distribution of that rice to all the residents, who could come and request their portion when they needed it.

Knowing the tight food situation for most of the residents of the village, we felt very awkward eating our food we had flown in. Never were we hungry, never did we feel we were cheated. Even on Christmas Day when we didn’t have the ham or turkey we probably would’ve had at home, we felt undeservedly blessed to have all the food we could eat, while so many around us were not so well fed. To share with one though would’ve meant sharing with all and we knew we couldn’t do that. It made for some very familiar self questioning about the injustices of the world. It was Ben who expressed it well at one meal, “Here we have more food than we can eat and all around us are people who don’t have enough. It’s not fair.” He was right. It is not. I suggested he might work on a good solution to that problem and maybe he could one day change the world. If only we could all work on that good solution and change the world now!

The hot, dry days that had lasted throughout Doug and Ben’s stay before we arrived had quickly come to an end. The rain that had started the morning of our arrival had vacillated throughout the day, alternating between heavy downpours, light sprinkles, misty drizzle, and snippets of sun-warmed quiet. Certainly, this rain would pass quickly though. Or would it? I sure hoped so. Otherwise, how would we spend the next two days of Christmas if this soggy weather didn’t let up? And worse yet, would we be able to get out of town as scheduled on the 26th if these clouds didn’t clear out for the helicopter to get in? As always, God provided the answers to my many questions according to his timing, and better yet, “worked all things together for good” in all the situations that we were yet to face.