FRIENDS IN DEED.

Thanks to Father Pedro Opeka, the "Good Friends' association is helping the people, of Madagascar build a new life.

CROWDS OF children swarm around the tall, bearded figure of Father Pedro Opeka wherever he goes. As he strides along the dusty street, pointing and gesticulating with enormous hands, his grubby band of followers jostle for position while they try to keep up. In the eyes of these children and their parents, Opeka is a miracle worker, the man who, against all odds, has transformed the lives of thousands of families in Antananarivo, the capital of Madagascar.

Opeka, who belongs to the order of St. Vincent de Paul, first came to Madagascar from his native Argentina 20 years ago to fulfill his desire to work with the poorest people on earth. In Madagascar he found them in abundance.

"At the beginning, I only wanted to rebel against the misery that I saw on the streets of Antananarivo, in the garbage dump and in the hills of Ambuimasi, where thousands of children and families had to endure an inhuman life," he says. "Then something had to be done; we had to lend a hand to those poor people so they could get out of the misery of poverty. It is there where I can say this story began."

Opeka "rebelled" by founding Akamasoa (Good Friends), a humanitarian association, which, to date, has built 17 new towns housing 16,000 people who formerly lived on the streets or in garbage dumps. In addition, 7,000 children are currently being educated in Akamasoa schools, and 3,000 people are employed in its various projects.

Meanwhile, thousands of people in Antananarivo continue to live in terrible poverty. The city dump teems with men, women, and children who burrow in filth for their daily bread. They have excavated huge tunnels through the compressed layers of waste in order to find things they can sell--bones, for example, are used for traditional medicine and animal feed.

In the center of the city, at every junction, barefoot children approach cars and implore the drivers for change. At night, rows of homeless families sleep on the pavement. During the rainy season, competition is fierce to find a place in the road tunnels. As children grow older, begging becomes less lucrative and so the boys often turn to stealing, while some girls, as young as 14, sell sex for less than the price of a soft drink.

A continuous stream of these desperate people come to the Akamasoa center for help--sometimes as many as 30 families a day. Opeka describes them as "the people society left on the roadside."

Akamasoa does not guarantee them an easy ride, however.

"The first thing that we do for these people is to give them a shock. They are told that there is no place in Akamasoa towns for resigned and defeated people and that to be part of Akamasoa they must be prepared to fight and to struggle to move forward," says Opeka. "Often you can see change quite quickly. A family that comes in exhausted, defeated, and sad seems, within a few weeks, to have been born again to life!"

New families initially are given temporary accommodation in houses made of wood and sheet metal. They live in these for a trial period of around two years, with the idea that during this time the family will regain some of the values it might have lost while living on the streets. People who have always stolen and lied to survive or who have been continually exposed to alcoholism, drug abuse, prostitution, and violence learn how to live in a community and respect others.

When the village leaders decide it is ready, the family forms a contract with Akamasoa (to whom it is expected to pay 10 percent of its wages) and is then given a more substantial house. For a further five-year trial period, Akamasoa can ask the family to leave if it does not respect the village discipline. Finally, the parents become owners of the house, which they are able to pass on to their children.

Financial support for this work comes from government bodies and individuals in many parts of the world. The government of Madagascar, though, has not been so supportive. Opeka expresses gratitude to it for at least allowing Akamasoa to work but admits that much of the humanitarian aid the organization receives is taxed and the land on which it has built new houses was purchased from the government at a high price.

Although the neat new rows of houses lining the streets of Akamasoa towns are an impressive sight, it is the change in the people themselves that is perhaps most remarkable. By regaining their self-respect, their lives are transformed, for with that self-respect comes a respect of others, a sense of community, and a renewed faith in God.

These newly acquired virtues are most easily observed on Sundays when between 4,000 and 8,000 people pack a basketball stadium to celebrate Mass. Around 50 percent are Catholic, but many Protestants and non-Christians also attend the service. Girls making their First Communion grin beautifully from below white veils while songs of praise fill the huge room. People clap and dance and laugh and pray in true celebration.

Of course Opeka knows there is much still to be done. For every family present at Mass there are many more in this city's gutters; for every girl in a white dress there are others who still sell themselves in the back streets. But after Mass, as he lifts and cuddles a tiny giggling child, his weather-beaten face crinkles into a smile that radiates love. It is this love that has achieved the impossible here, and it is this love that provides hope for those who remain "abandoned by the roadside."

Photos by MARTIN LUEDERS, a photographer living in Gaithersburg, Maryland. Text by MAGNUS MACFARLANE, a freelance writer in Glasgow, Scotland.