Mandroso

Mandroso (Mahn-drew-sue) - used as an invitation - come in, take part, join us

Avia - (Ah-vee-ah) - used as a command - come here

I attempted to stay in the shadows cast by the small stores. The sun burned brightly in Toliara as I walked through the streets. I had only arrived a week earlier, and I wanted to explore my new home. I listened to the conversations and sounds around me while my eyes danced between the road, the sites, and the people around me. A middle-aged woman appeared from a small side street and turned just in front of me. She strolled at nearly my pace, and I decided to say hello. Upon my greeting, she turned around and smiled. We continued down the street and chatted in Malagasy. She showed incredible patience with my language blunders. Soon, she invited me to her home. Mandroso. I followed her down a small path which wound through small homes, huts, and fences. Upon reaching her house, she introduced me to her husband before inviting me inside. She offered me a seat, and she ran off to fetch her daughter. They both returned, and we discussed our families, my work, and the daughter’s studies. Still a new student of the Malagasy language, I could not hold a long conversation. Once we reached a silence, the woman thanked me for coming to her home. She asked her daughter to accompany me back to the main road, and I soon continued my walk home.

…

Mama Jeannette and I stepped into a sliver of shade to wait with the other women. The church service had just ended, but the director was not yet ready to lead us to our next location. Already past noon, some of the women had bought a small snack from a nearby  vendor. They peeled the skin from beles - a popular food similar to a sweet potato. As I stepped into the shade, one woman invited me to join in the small meal. Mandroso. I agreed, and she returned to the bele vendor. She bought a small potato and handed it to me. I split the potato and handed half to Mama Jeanette. Between bites, all of the women continued to chat.

…

I jumped into a pair of shorts and threw my sunscreen into my backpack before rushing out of my bedroom door. I apologized to the man and woman standing in Mama Jeannette’s yard; I did not expect them to come so early. They reassured me there was no need to apologize and told me to get on the back of the man’s motorbike. He was the soccer team’s manager, and he would take me to the correct soccer field. I had never met the man, and I had only met the young woman once. I couldn’t even remember her name. Yet, I climbed on the back of the bike and accepted the invitation. My friend had arranged the whole situation. With very few questions answered, we took off down the road. As we zoomed along and dodged potholes, I giggled to myself. I was riding on the back of a motorbike of a man I had just met and heading to some sort of soccer gathering. In honesty, I did not know if I would sit and watch a game, find myself in the starting line up, or simply practice with the team. I did not know if I would understand any of the language spoken. I did not know if my shorts would make me feel extremely out of place. Yet, why would I turn down the chance to engage with a women’s soccer league? Mandroso. Come into this.

…

The sun had just set as I stepped into Mama Jeannette’s yard. I had barely closed the gate when I heard a cry.

“Moooor-ghen-y!”

I looked up to find Josey (one of Mama Jeannette’s grandsons) yelling my name. Three other grandchildren soon echoed his call.

Avia!

It was a loving command, but a command nonetheless. I rolled my bike towards them, and we continued to chase each other for some time. When I wandered too far from the game of tag, I would hear the command.

Avia! Morgheny! Avia!

I had no choice but to follow the call. I would run to Josey or the other grandchildren and induce a fit of giggles.

…

A few weeks ago, my oldest brother sent me an email. At the end of the email he asked me a question: Am I doing and learning all I came to do and learn in Madagascar? In truth, I found myself a bit a shocked by the question. I had no true answer. When I boarded a plane to Madagascar almost four months ago, I had very little idea what was ahead of me. I could not entirely anticipate what I would do or what I would learn. I continue to wake each morning unsure of what the day will bring. There is a beauty in the mystery of each day and this year as a whole. God called me to Madagascar with a warm and loving, yet stern voice. Mandroso, Morghen! Come into this! I did not know what the year would bring, but I could not decline the invitation. Some days the abundant questions make me hesitant to follow the call, but God persists. Avia, Morghen! Come, Morghen! I want you here. I step forward, sometimes with hesitation, but God always walks beside me. He invites me into the mystery - into questions, into challenges, into joys, into love, and into a beautiful mystery.