Thirty years in Madagascar

by Thomas T. Matthews

Native agents are the hope of the mission field: European missionaries can seldom do more than superintend the work. They officer the army; the rank and file of the workers must be natives. The most important thing is to be sure of your agents. ‘The same commit to faithful men, who shall be able to teach others also.’ There were a few such at Fìhàonana, who went out on the Sabbaths to preach in the outlying villages. They generally took journeys of from five to ten and even twenty miles. They were not paid for their work, which was mainly a labour of love; but a ‘present’ of one shilling a month ‘to buy salt’ was given them. Salt was very costly in those days, and the polite way of making a small present was to give something to buy salt. Generally speaking the present went, not to buy salt, but to pay for books, a thing I encouraged. Razàka had a present of one shilling a week, for he did so much work for me, and helped in so many ways that I hardly know how I could have got on without him. He was my true yokefellow.

MALAGASY CHRISTIAN WORKERS.

A GROUP OF NATIVE PREACHERS AND EVANGELISTS.

Five young men were under special training, preparing them for the institution at the capital for the training of native agents. But, after all my toil and trouble, none of them went. Three of them passed the entrance examination, but after doing so, two were sent with the army to the south, and the third would not consent to go to the capital under our conditions.

The war in the south of the island during 1873, and the visit of the queen to the Bètsilèo country, greatly affected our churches and schools, so many having to go to the war or to follow Her Majesty. At one village no teacher could be found for the school, and the petty chief came forward and offered his services until a better could be found.

After the manse was built I felt freer to fling myself into district work of all kinds—preaching, teaching, doctoring, Bible and bookselling work, itinerating, and the work of those glorious Bible-classes, in which some of the happiest hours of my life were spent. A Bible-class generally lasted about two, but often three hours, until I would say: ‘I must stop, for I am tired talking to you.’ ‘Ah, sir,’ they would say, ‘you must be; but we are very thirsty, and have come a long way for a drink, and now we are at the well we want a good drink before we return.’ Some of them had come twenty miles. I found after a time that I was going at too high pressure, had a return of the enemy of student days, and had to slow down for a time, which was hard with so much to be done.

From about a month after we settled at Fìhàonana my wife had sewing-classes for the women, to which many of the girls came. It was not, however, until we got into the manse, and had a small schoolroom built near it, that systematic teaching for the girls was begun. A Scotch merchant friend sent my wife £5 to help her with her work among the women and girls, and with this I built her the schoolroom. Having secured the services of a Malagasy teacher, she was able to have a fairly good school for the girls five days a week, with a sewing-class twice a week for them, and once a week in the manse for the mothers. To provide needles, thread, thimbles, and material for three sewing-classes a week soon became rather a serious matter. Another old merchant friend got us a small bale of patches and remnants of prints, calicoes, tartans, tweeds and flannels, which was of immense service to us. He sent out such a bale every year for six years. With the contents we got patchwork or parti-coloured tunics, shirts and dresses made, also vests of tweed, tartan and flannel for the cold season.

When we first settled at Fìhàonana the small boys and girls wore no clothing. The bigger boys had a loincloth, and the girls a tunic. Our bale of remnants soon made a change. Of course all the garments were very much of the style of ‘Joseph’s coat,’ but that was rather a recommendation than otherwise. We did not give any of the garments away for nothing, but sold them at from twopence to two shillings each, and the money went to help to pay the salary of the Malagasy teacher. We could always sell ten times as much as we had, in fact the garments were often bespoken weeks before they were ready.

This teaching the women and girls to sew and make garments changed the tune of the remarks formerly made about them, and instead of the old. ‘She’s only a girl!’ and Ambin-jàvatra hiàny ny vèhivàvy, ‘Women are only trifles’: it was ‘Yes, the girls are of some use’; ‘The women are worth their salt’—which was a step in the right direction. Some of the work done by the Malagasy girls we brought home with us, and it astonished our friends very much indeed.