Part of our time in Madagascar, my team and I served in Ebenezera Lutheran School. This looked differently day to day. We taught as many as eight classes a day. Sometimes we taught English, sometimes we taught bible stories, sometimes we answered questions about our lives in the United States. One day we were asked to teach health class on the spot. Another day we came in and found out we were painting a mural. We were also asked to teach Zumba all day one day. I’m telling you- anything could happen.
On this particular day, without any notice or preparation, we were asked to teach 9th graders for two hours. The options we were given were Youth and Alcohol or Youth and Tobacco or any other subject relevant to youth culture.
My incredibly brave teammate shared her personal testimony and went on to cover any other important topics that weren’t a part of her testimony. After she shared, she had all the students close their eyes and asked a series of questions to which they would raise their hand if their answer was yes.
The questions were not easy ones. They covered drinking, smoking, drugs, sex, abuse, and rape. At least four students raised their hand in response to each question.
Then our translator (and great friend) brought up the fact that when she was their age, she deeply wanted to share her story with someone but at the same time didn’t want anyone to know. She thought it might be beneficial for us to give them the opportunity to share with us since we are not a part of their daily lives or community.
We had them close their eyes again and raise their hand if they wanted to share with us. About seven students raised their hands. We only had two translators, but the translator who made the suggestion went on to say that maybe they didn’t even need us to understand them, maybe they just needed to say it. So we asked the students about that too and more than half of them were ok with sharing without a translator, even though we wouldn’t understand one word.
We told the students to keep their hands raised, and when they felt someone take their hand, they would follow them to a place to talk. I felt led to a specific girl and was nervous that Alisha was going to choose her because she was headed in the girl’s direction, but instead Alisha pointed to the girl, then to me, and I shook my head yes.
I took her hand. We walked down two flights of stairs and she followed me to the front of the school, where students didn’t typically hang out. We sat down together on the steps.
I looked into the face of a precious 14-year-old girl who began to cry and share her story with me. Her story was powerful and I didn’t understand a word of it. The importance of speaking aloud what we’ve been through was evident. I watched something shift for her even though we both knew I had no idea what she was saying.
Afterwards she asked if I could speak in French. She had shared her story in Malagasy, but most people in Madagascar speak both Malagasy and French. Sadly, I had to say no, but was somehow able to communicate, “do you want me to understand?” There was some motioning and pointing at my ears, and I believe she was looking around for a translator, which I took as a yes.
I found a translator and the first thing my new friend communicated to me was, “how can I be like you?” I asked what she meant by this and she said, “perfect and pure.” That broke my heart.
We talked through it. I was able to explain to her that her and I are the same in the eyes of God and we are made new when we accept Jesus. She opened up about some of the details of her story, but I feel those details are not mine to share.
What I do hope to communicate is that my friend is not the only indescribably valuable 14-year-old girl who believes she is worthless and can no longer have a purpose in life because of what she’s done and what’s been done to her. I hope to communicate that sharing your story is desperately important. I hope to communicate the freedom that comes along with saying it out loud, with telling someone what you’ve been through. I hope and pray the best for my sweet friend in Madagascar.
