On Saturday evening after the medical clinic, one of my colleagues invited me to go with him to greet the head imam (mosque leader) and give him Scripture.  This missionary had felt a burden to greet the imam but had been unable to find him.  We headed toward the mosque after the call to prayer.  When we arrived, we entered the courtyard outside the mosque but found that the imam was not there.  There are two mosques in the village, and the imam rotated between the two mosques.  We asked one of the men in the courtyard if he could guide us to the imam’s home.  He agreed and off we went, walking in the dark by the light of a flashlight.

Finally, after about a ten minute walk, we arrived at the imam’s home.  At first he welcomed us warmly.  We greeted him, and he brought chairs for us to sit on.  We chatted for a few minutes.  Then, we offered him a gift, the books of Genesis and Matthew in Pular Arabic script.  When he saw what we were offering, his attitude turned cold.  “I can’t read this,” he said.  At first we were unsure if he was unable to read it (illiterate) or unwilling.  After some more questions, it became apparent that he was unwilling.  He refused to even accept it.  We tried in vain to convince him he ought to accept it and read it, that it showed the path to eternal life in heaven.  Before long, he rudely ushered us out of his home.  Even though he didn’t want to, he guided us back to the main road himself because he didn’t want his grandson to guide us alone, fearing that we would speak to him about the Gospel.

As we arrived back at the clinic where we would be sleeping that night, we stopped and prayed for the stubborn imam.  We also prayed that he would not succeed in leading his community astray or turning them against our message.  You, too, can pray with us for the stubborn imam and his village.

One thing I love about working in the village is traipsing to the outhouse by the light of the moon in the middle of the night. (No, not really.) The first night we were in Loomal for the medical clinic, I went to the outhouse and accidentally walked through a swarm of cula (chew-la), also known as African driver ants. These ants travel in great swarms, up to 20 million strong. They like to swarm over something or someone and all begin biting simultaneously. They have been known to reduce a bird to bones in a few hours. Unfortunately, the cula did not start biting me until I was back in our room. They had gotten all the way up to my head, and were spread all over the floor. David helped pick them off me and I spent the next several hours feeling the lasting sting of their bites.

The second night in Loomal, I was determined to not have to go out in the middle of the night and thus reduce my chances of cula problems. You can imagine my surprise when I was jolted awake by David saying that cula were on him. That meant they were in the bed. David grabbed his flashlight and found that thousands of cula had entered the room at a ground level hole on the wall. They were swarming over our clothing on a chair in the corner. We were able to spray some bug spray around the legs of the bed to keep them from climbing up, and by morning, they were almost all gone. Our colleagues, who had their bedrolls on the ground did get bit a few times, but were able to shake the ants off and get away. The wife spent the remainder of the night in a folding chair and the husband slept on a long, wooden bench.

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This past weekend we helped out at a medical clinic outreach in a village deep in the Guinean countryside.  During the course of the clinic, we saw 92 patients.  Diagnoses ranged from the minor (heartburn) to the serious (heart murmur) to the critical (kidney failure).  We saw people of all ages from infants to a man 90 years old.  Billlie helped out mainly by registering the patients as they arrived.  David helped by showing the Jesus Film to people as they waited and by selling Scripture and health literature at the registration table.  Every person who came through the clinic was prayed for and received an audio cassette of Scripture before they left.  In the next few blogs, we will be sharing some of our experiences from the clinic.

This past week, a colleague and I went on an outreach to a village market.  We loaded up our backpacks with Scriptures and other literature and drove approximately two hours into the Guinean countryside.  There we came to a village where they were having a weekly market.

We prayed, got out of the car, and headed toward the market.  As we approached we saw some women dressed in the telltale head-to-toe covering of the most fundamental sect of Islam.  Fortunately, most women were not dressed this way.

We began calling out in Pular, “God’s Books, God’s Books!  Buy God’s Books!”  A crowd quickly gathered around us, and the people began looking to see what we had for sale.  We were carrying translations of Genesis and Matthew.  We also had Scripture calendars and some health books.

Almost immediately, people began buying Scriptures.  My colleague and I split up to cover more ground.  In places, a crowd gathered around me, a few people would buy some literature, and the crowd would gradually disperse.  Then, I moved on to another spot, and the same thing happened again.  It seems that people attract more people.  The people also seemed vaguely amused to see white people, dressed in African clothes, selling Holy Books and speaking Pular.  Some even asked if I was Arab.

As the day wore on, we sold more and more literature.  Eventually, it was time for us to head back home.  We had a quick meal of rice and peanut sauce at a lunch counter and headed back to the truck.

Some people ask why we sell Scripture in markets here instead of giving it away.  Quite simply, by asking a price for the books, we show that we are selling something valuable.  We know God’s Word is more valuable than anything else in the market.  Of course, we sell it for less than we paid for it.  We are not trying to make a profit, only to keep the books from ending up crumpled on the ground.  If people pay for something, however little, they are more likely to value it and read it.

One morning last week David woke me up waving a donut recipe in my face yelling “donuts, donuts, donuts…”  It was inevitable.  I knew his five- day- donut- hankerin’ would get the best of him.

Of course, I have never made homemade donuts a day in my life (who does?); but I can read a recipe.  Since it was really cold in the house (high 60s), the donuts had to rise in the oven for three hours.  And then again for another hour after we rolled and cut them.  Since necessity is the mother of invention, we used a round, plastic container, and a soda bottle top to cut out each donut.  David made the glaze and topped each masterpiece as it came out of the pot.

Since it was 5 o’clock in the evening before they were all finished, we ate them for dinner.  We ate, and we ate, and we ate.  We ate so many donuts we thought we would barf.  They were incredible!  David said they tasted exactly like store bought donuts.  Definitely Hot, Steamy Goodness!