Among the Malagasy People of Madagascar
Go ... and make disciples of all nations
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Among the Malagasy People of Madagascar Go ... and make disciples of all nations |
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| Volume 19, Number 7 | July 2004 |
| The Barry Rosie family have worked on the mission field in Africa for more than 18 years under the oversight of the: |
Church of Christ c/o Phillip Young 140 C.R. 170 Corinth, MS 38834 |
Eugene Holland - 662-287-1721 Jerry Bates - 662-287-3351 |
| I know what it is to be in need, and I know what
it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any
and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty
or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:12-13
It’s been a very interesting month to say the least, and a very unusual month too. I wish I had the talent that Paul had, being content whether well fed or hungry, living in plenty or want. I haven’t quite gotten the knack of making the switch so easily. I grew up in the land of plenty and it took years of living in Kenya before I was able to shed some of the extraneous things that westerners have come to depend on. Malagasy marvel at how Malagasy the Rosies are, and how unlike the typical Americans. This month Barry and I have been labeled “Zanatany”. There is no comparable translation. It roughly means, “children of the land”, but it carries a tribute to one who has willingly adopted and become part of a poorer country. We were duly touched. Living and eating with Malagasy has become second nature to us. We even use a pit latrine as well as the best of them. It is swinging back the other way that has given me so much difficulty and this month our work has initiated this swing in the other direction, placing us face to face with rich and famous Malagasy as well as numerous ex-patriots. We drug out the suit and tie in moth balls, the dry clean only dress and the high heels. We’ve breakfasted at the Hilton this month and dined at the Colbert. We shared meals with University professors and Malagasy big business men. It’s amazing some of the things a missionary is asked to do. The month culminated with an official invitation to the home of the American Ambassador for a garden party in honor of American Independence. Our invitations were engraved and we were required to R.S.V.P. I wasn’t sure my dress was just right. I already knew my hair was all wrong. I was the only one there wearing no makeup and teetering on my high heels. I just knew I would do the same old Stacy thing, embarrass myself to death, and sure enough I was true to form. It’s so much easier to eat goat guts or chicken heads than to attend a diplomatic function! As we stood in the receiving line, I couldn’t even figure out which one was the American Ambassador, much less know what to say to her. As we drew closer to the big moment, the diplomatic assistants had to whisper to both myself and Barry, “No! Please don’t shake our hands, just move on and introduce yourself to the Ambassador.” More than twenty years ago, I sat on an airplane next to presidential candidate Jessie Jackson and even after a half hour of chatting, I didn’t realize who he was until the person behind me asked for his autograph. I haven’t changed in all those years, not one little bit. In the receiving line, standing next to the ambassador was a tall well dressed man. As I shook his hand and said hello, I was haunted by the feeling that I should know him, but how in the world could I know by face the husband of the American Ambassador to Madagascar if I couldn’t even recognize the Ambassador herself. I smiled and passed on but the image of that man stuck in my mind as I reached for a coke from a white vested waiter (everyone else was drinking wine) and passed to the far corner of the garden where hopefully no one would try to make small talk with me. I smiled trying my hardest to look suave, knowing that I looked exactly what I am, a grass roots missionary, no more no less. I strained my eyes trying to find someone I knew, my mind running in circles the whole time on that man in the receiving line whom I should know. I drew a breath of relief when someone from the podium directed the guests to move forward to hear the diplomatic speeches. The American Ambassador gave her speech in French. Barry was fit to be tied, but everything was so hush hush it wouldn’t be proper for me to translate, so I eased my feet out of my high heels to cool themselves on the grass and was thanking God that for a few minutes in which all I would have to do is listen. Here came the white vested waiter again, with Champaign this time. How was I supposed to know that I was supposed to take one so the whole group could toast the president of the United States and the President of Madagascar, even if I never intended to drink it? The waiter tried discreetly to get me to take a glass, but I refused, and then it happened. As he moved on, shaking his head at the ignorance of this grass roots missionary, he tripped over my high heels that should have been on my feet. Stacy! You’ve managed to do it again! One would think I had already done enough. At least my last faux pas for the day embarrassed only me. I am so thankful I didn’t shoot off my big mouth about that tall man whom I thought was the Ambassador’s husband. He turned out to be no less than the Prime Minister of Madagascar, Jacques Syla, himself. Stacy! When will you ever learn? This grass roots missionary was never more happy than to beat tracks out of that garden, get back home to peel off the dry clean only dress and pry off the high heels, and get back to my grass roots women who live in mud and brick houses and who don’t care a wit if I know my p’s and q’s, garden party diplomatic etiquette, or recognize one of the most publicized people in Madagascar. While standing in that garden, an American man who had arrived in Madagascar just that morning, engaged us in conversation. When he found out we have lived in Madagascar for seven years he said, “Wow, you must know everyone!” I just laughed. |
| Did You Know. . .
. . . that it’s taboo to take a cat on a long trip? That’s ok. We didn’t know it either, until a few days ago. We’ve been here seven years and we still have so much to learn. This week we learned that it’s taboo to take a cat on a long trip, unless you pay 1,000 Malagasy francs (20 cents) in coins. “Pay, 1,000 francs? To who?” I asked of Kit when he brought that tidbit of information to our supper table. “I don’t know. I never did figure that out, but Jacobin (Kit’s friend) bought a cat while we were in Morondava and he couldn’t get on the bus until we gathered the 1,000 francs in coins,” was Kit’s reply. We may not get that answer too soon. One thing is for sure. We don’t know it all about Madagascar, and we probably will never know it all if we lived here a hundred years. |
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Roland and Rose Mohsen are missionaries who work with the church in Paris, France. They came to Madagascar four years ago and spent a month with us teaching and sharing Christ. They’re coming back this month to spend two weeks with us and we welcome them with much joy. Roland and Rose are bringing two friends along with them and they are coming to serve the Betikara children this time around. Two weeks of fun and games are in the schedule with a good measure of Bible lessons and lots of hugs and love. We look forward to having them. Rivo and Fano celebrate one year
Special Thanks
School Plans Progressing
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| What
can you do?
You can pray!
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| Miniature Missionaries
We picked up our number one miniature missionary in town after his ten day river trip. He didn’t want to talk about it. He went to bed at 4:00 pm and didn’t get up until the next morning. It was then he started talking and he hasn’t stopped since. Apparently, it was a wonderful trip. He went with a group of missionary kids and three adults. Three of the kids were from South Africa, two were Swiss, one from France, one from Russia, one was Malagasy and Kit was the only American. Two of the children spoke very little English. For five full days they rowed down a river in a remote part of Madagascar. Three days were taken up with getting to and from Antananarivo. The other two days were rest days, one near a waterfall where they jumped from cliffs (36 feet high, so Kit reports) into a still pool and the last day of the trip was spent on the western shore of Madagascar. They cooked all their own meals, slept in tents, and didn’t bathe for the whole ten days. Every evening was spent in Bible study. “We need to do the river trip as a family, Mom,” Kit exclaimed. “Why, Kit? What made the trip so good?” “It was being away from everything! There wasn’t even a village near the whole length of the river. And it was so good just being together with nothing else. We need to do it as a family.” I have to agree with this child.
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B.P. 7554 Antananarivo 101 Madagascar Tel. 011-261-32-02-081-14
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We welcome you to join us in this work for Him . . .
