Looking for Rice in all the Wrong Places

Some days do not turn out at all like you expect. Today was one of those days. Having determined to be more intentional about my Malagasy learning this month, I had set aside today for study and practice. After doing some errands in town I stopped at a place near the market and settled into a table and began studying.

After an hour and a half or two hours I needed a change of scenery and decided to take a walk. Since it was lunchtime, I decided to eat some local Malagasy food and practice what I had been learning. Something simple, rice and sauce hopefully with some meat with it, and I wanted to eat at a new place to meet some new people. However, every place I stopped was already out of rice for lunch. Really, they ran out of rice at the four places I stopped. How does this happen? The Malagasy eat rice every meal. Every meal. If they don’t eat rice they think they have not eaten. I could not understand how this could be. It was only 12:45pm, I really thought it would not be a problem to find some food. 

By this time is was hot and I decided to try one last place. Of course, they did not serve food at all, only drinks. I ordered a Coke and decided that would be lunch and then to continue home when I was done. As I was leaving and getting ready to flag down a taxi I hear someone saying, “My friend where have you been? It has been a long time!” I turn to see “Smile” beaming and walking towards me. He embraces me, gives me bisous and hugs. Then he began talking fast, really fast. He always speaks fast and I tell him to slow down, and he does for about two words. 

Smile is a Muslim who lives near us. He is in his late 30’s and I met him several months ago on the street one day. He asked what I was doing and where I was going. I told him and then asked where he was going. He says home. Then he says we might as well walk together and talk rather than take a taxi. I was thinking let’s just take a taxi and talk at your house, but knowing that would be rude I agreed to walk the 30-45 minutes back home. Did I mention it was hot? And I did not have a hat on? My head is still warm tonight, and a little red. 

So we walked and talked. We stopped at his friend’s house, a man who is 75 years old. We sat outside under the shade of a mango tree and talked for about 30 minutes. I learned about Smile, and then they asked me what I do and why I am in Madagascar. I decided to simply tell them about how Jesus saved me and changed my life, and that Jesus is the reason I am in Madagascar. I shared my testimony. Then I shared the gospel. Then I asked them what they thought. Smile, decided it was time to leave without answering the question. 

Continuing on our way we talked more. He told me about himself, and his beliefs. Every time I tried to ask him something specific or what he thought about Jesus, he deflected. So, I listened to him and prayed. 

We arrived at his home and he invited me to sit down. We sat and he brought out his lunch that his daughter had cooked and left for him. He offered to share with me, and although I refused, he informed me that as a guest I cannot refuse and must eat. So, we had rice and shrimp soup. Finally, I found some rice and meat. 

As we were eating, I asked Smile what he thought about Jesus. I shared some more from the gospel, and then asked him if he thought he was walking on the right path to get to paradise? He laughed and laughed. Nervously, laughed. Yet, he would not answer. He then informed me it was time to go because he had to be at the mosque to pray soon. Since the mosque was on the way to my house we walked together but did not talk much now. 

When we arrived at the mosque he asked me if I wanted to come in and see the mosque. I could think of no reason to refuse so I went in. I watched the ritual washing of hands, face, head, mouth, and feet. He asked me if I was not going to wash and I said I could not join the prayers because I followed Jesus. He did not have a problem with it. I asked if I could take a couple of pictures with my phone and he agreed.

Then we went into the room where 18 men and 3 boys were praying. All lined up, foot to foot. Standing, then bowing, then kneeling. Saying the same prayers as always. As I sat and watched I prayed. I sent Brandi a text and asked her to pray, I had no idea what I had gotten into. Yet as I watched and prayed I wondered if I was the first person to ever pray in the name of Jesus in that room? Would any of those men or boys ever hear the truth of Jesus’ life, death, burial and resurrection? My heart broke for them. For Muslims. For Madagascar. I had been privileged to hear the gospel countless times, yet what about these men and their families? 

When the prayers were over I greeted a few men. Then I met the caretaker of the mosque. An older man, maybe 70 or older. We did not speak much or long, it was as if he knew I was different and did not want to speak. Or, it could have been more realistic that like most of the others he had to hurry off and buy some khat, a leaf to chew like a drug. 

When I first entered the mosque I was a bit nervous. It was not my first mosque visit, but the first by myself. I left burdened. Darkness from Islam and from traditional religions weighs heavy on the people here. Today I learned that even though most call themselves Muslims, Smile said everyone follows traditional religion as well and appeases the ancestors and the spirits. Where to begin when dealing with such lostness?

Share the gospel and pray, a lot. My heart is burdened for Smile and the thousands like him. Join me in praying for him, and that I and others will share the gospel with him, and that he will soon find the right path and follow Jesus. 

Ceremonial Washing

 

The Mosque around the corner from our house.