Once a long time ago there was a man who died when his heart stopped. His family was very sad but they knew that they had to bury him so not long after he died they took him and put him in the tomb with his ancestor. Many years later his family went back to the tomb possibly to bury another member or possibly to perform the famahdiana (a ceremony when the bodies of ones ancestors are removed from the tomb given new burial shrouds and a celebration is held). When they opened the tomb they found the body of this man near the door, not in the place they had put him. He hadn't really been dead when they buried him, his heart had just stopped for a short while and when he woke in the dark and quite of the tomb he went to the door and called and called for help, but no one came to help and so he died there in the tomb waiting for someone to realize the mistake they had made. This is why the Malagasy miandry faty (wait for the dead)

Waiting for the dead is a two day long event in which the family of the dead person sit with the body day and night and friends and neighbors come to sit with the family. Mbola has told me that they are waiting for the body to start decomposing (aka just starting to smell bad) because it is only then that they know their loved one is truly dead. Other than being in that particular place there is no ceremony to Miandry faty. Many times people will sing or talk quietly, but I have also seen people gamble and drink. I have miandry faty a number of times, partially out of curiosity and partially out of a wish to show respect to members of my community but it wasn't until recently that I went to miandry faty for a friend.

A five-year-old boy named Doudone recently drowned in the river. This little boy was good friends with my neighbor Nanty and the two of them were always playing in my house, going through my things getting everything all dirty and breaking the crayons. They could be annoying but they are both such sweet boys. I will always regret that I told Doudone and Nanty to go play somewhere else the morning of the day he died, that I had other things I had to do and couldn't play with them when really all I wanted was to read my book in peace for a while.

What can you say about the death of such a young child? Mbola tried to comfort me by telling me it was his time and that God wanted Doudone with him, but while I am trying to learn to become a good catholic that sentiment dose not ring true. It was simply the unfortunate death of a young child.