Second Week

May 23^rd, 2011

Today was a Monday just like in the United States, except here they call it “lundi.” I woke up late and slept through working out and running. Then, we went to campus, and had some conversations in the morning. To keep a long story short, it was a long morning. Then I had a conversation with Cheikh, who is a Muslim. This conversation lasted almost two hours and ranged in topics from absolute truth all the way to metaphysics. It was especially draining because over half of the conversation was in French. It took me about two hours to wind down from the mental taxation that was taken from me. When we got back to the compound, I was frustrated and drained, so I prayed a while and then read Hosea one and two, which always seems to rejuvenate me with the Gospel. Then, a spaghetti dinner (nice change) made by our beautiful female project counterparts and encouraging prayer and conversation with some brothers lifted me back up a bit more.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I was reminded of how much of a wretch I really am. After dinner, I had, much like my father often does, a craving for a little something sweet, so Kevin and I walked to the bakery. I then proceeded to talk to, on our way back, six Talibe boys while holding an éclair and a coke. How much more pitiful could I possibly be? Especially, in light of what I wrote yesterday, I am a hypocritical worm.

But I am not a worm—not anymore at least. I have been washed in the blood of the lamb, and it is for this reason that I will one day stand before God spotless, just like His Son. I know that it makes no sense, but this is the beauty of the Gospel. Why does God love a wormlike me? Because He loves a worm like me. It blows my mind more and more everyday. “And I will have mercy on No Mercy, and I will say to Not My People, ‘You are my people’; and he shall say, ‘You are my God’.” -Hosea 2:23

May 24^th, 2011

Today was good. Kevin and I spent time with our god friend Paba, and we also got to meet many new friends. We are lunch with Paba at a little on-campus restaurant, and we all ate out of a communal bowl. It was good food and an interesting experience. At about two thirty, we were rushed off campus because we caught wind that there would be a strike in the afternoon about the school food. Their strikes in Senegal are called “greves,” and they normally consist of thousands of students throwing rocks and hundreds of policemen shooting tear gas. I was disappointed, however, with how calm campus was when we made our exit. I was hoping for someone running around like a maniac screaming, “C’est la greve! C’est la greve!”

Tonight, we had a bonfire on the beach. It was a great time of fellowship, consisting of good hymns, good stories, and good people. We were accompanied by an African Rastafar, named Muhammad, who is good at making djembes but not so good at playing them. His djembe is the nicest one I’ve ever played, but when he started to teach me how to play, I could not summon up the right Wolof words to explain that I should be teaching him.

Now, I’m sitting at a table, about to take a shower and go to bed. It’s amazing how hot you can feel in a place before you take a shower, and then afterward, you feel refreshed and cool. It’s just like the Gospel: after God opens your eyes to His Gospel, you feel about and see the world in a whole new light—a light of grace, a light of peace, the light of Christ.

May 25^th and 26^th, 2011

The past two days have been very good. I have gotten to share God’s Gospel with six different people. On Wednesday, Kevin, Hillary, Brinkley, and I are lunch with two new friends. They are both Muslims, and one of them claims to know the hundredth name of Allah, which I thought the Koran said that no one could know. It is so crazy how people here have such a different idea of divine justice. They see no problem with God simply pardoning our sin with no one paying the debt.

Last night, it was “man night,” so we went to a supermarket (it had carts!!!) and ended up making crab alfredo with ice cream for dessert. It was actually really good, and I was the genius behind much of its creation (take that all my female haters out there). We sat around the table and shared each of our life stories. It’s amazing how fast you can bond with brothers imply by talking about how God has worked in you life.

Today, I was very nervous because I was supposed to meet with my friend who knows the hundredth name of Allah. I knew that there was no way I could reason with him about that, so I decided that I would just pray a lot and do what I could: show him the Gospel in scripture and trust God with it all. I was very nervous all day, and then when it came time to meet him, another strike began, which means that we, once again, had to leave campus. Even though I was very nervous, I was very disappointed that I did not get to meet him. He needs the Gospel terribly, and maybe if I can plant the seed, God can do the rest.

Now, I’ve just returned from the market where I bought eggs, butter, some type of meat, bread, a mango, and two apples. This will be my nightly diet from here on out because I am not sure that I can handle the weighty Senegalese cuisine more than once a day.

Tomorrow, Kevin and I get to go to Paba’s house for dinner after working with the Talibe boys all day. I really hope that I will get to share my testimony with the boys, and I am just as excited about going to Paba’s house. He is one of mine and Kevin’s best Senegalese friends and he has shown us so much kindness and hospitality. I can’t wait to talk about Jesus with him once again, and I pray that maybe God will speak through us and reach into his heart. God can do anything, and he likes to work miracles in unlikely places. Please, please, please pray that this is one of those places.

P.S. I apologize if there are any typos or grammar errors. I have limited Internet time, so I did not proof read any of these posts.

First Week in Senegal

May 21 & 22, 2011

Somewhere far across the expanse in front of me lies home: a place with grass, a place with properly-made hamburgers (you'll have to ask me about that story), and most importantly, a place with family and friends. It's easy, as I stare across the ocean,sitting in this conveniently-placed hammock, to reflect on my life. If there is one thing that I've learned in my first week in Senegal, it is that we in America--and, yes, I mean "we in America" in the sense of everyone, collectively, who lives in the United States (sweeping generalization, I know)--are lucky, very lucky.

On Friday, I had tea with new friends in their dorm room. This room was barely bigger than my dorm room at WKU. In my room, we fit two people with two dorm-size beds. Here, they fit between nine and twelve people with only three beds. Just to make sure you understand, that's nine to twelve people with only three beds.

We are lucky.

Yesterday, we went to a place called Goree Island. It was, at one time, the biggest hub for the slave trade between Africa and America. It is now a beautiful tourist spot, boasting European architecture, African artwork, and many, many--you guessed it--Senegalese shop keepers. Actually, I don't think the word "many" does justice to the number, and I'm not sure that any language contains such a word. Just imagine not being able to take five steps without having a Senegalese man or woman grab your arm and say, "My friend! Come to my shop! Very nice things and very nice price!" I actually came to enjoy letting people trap me into their shops and then either haggling with them in French until I got a great deal or seemingly obliviously smiling at them until I had the opportunity to rip the guilt clamp they had hit me with off of my arm. These people are desperate for your business, but it is not because they think that they will make it big one day. Rather, it is because they have mouths to feed, and these mouths are always hungry. One-thousand CFA, or about two USD, is more than a good pull for people like these.

We are lucky.

Last night, Kevin and I spent about an hour (which was a bit too long because apparently our team had no idea where we were and was about to send out a search party to find us) playing with three Talibe boys in the street. Their names are Marmadu, Kemba, and Lemon (you have to say that one with a French accent). They are probably around the ages of four, seven, and nine, and you could not believe how much joy these precious little boys got from our attention. They could have been waiting for weeks, who knows, maybe even years, for that sort of loving attention, and I praise God that he gave me the opportunity to be Christ to them for a couple of minutes.

We are lucky.

I don't tell you this to put you on some kind of a guilt trip; although, you probably should be feeling something like that right now. Instead, I tell you this to spur you to action. Think of ways that you can help these hurting people, not just in Senegal, but all around the world.

We are lucky,

but

we are even luckier.

We have the Gospel, and just like our American wealth, we are hoarding it, depriving the nations of the love that can set them free from so much more than just the sorrow flowing from their poverty. This love could turn the nations upside down--nations just like Senegal, where, at most, only one percent of the population is comprised of Christians. This Gospel--this love--if we would only take part in God's work to take it to every "nation, tribe, people, and tongue," could, would, and WILL change the lives of millions and bring infinite glory to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and our great and gracious Father in heaven.

first couple of days

May 16, 2011

“Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

-1 Corinthians 13:4-8

It is somewhere between 9:30 PM and 1:30 AM over the Atlantic Ocean, depending on what time zone we are actually in. I’m sitting between two new friends: one, a college professor at Penn State, and the other, a college student at EKU. Both are on their ways to Africa for their work: one to South Africa to communicate with university officials and the other to Senegal to proclaim the Good News of her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ’s coming, dying, resurrecting, and coming again. These two seemingly dissimilar people are brought together by the reality that they both have jobs and they are both doing them.

In the compartment reserved for magazines in front of me, there is a large yellow envelope that reads, “CERTIFICATE: The Flag of the United States of America.” Within its folds are letters from old friends: one, an eighth grader who is stingy with his money but not with his smile; another, a college quarterback whose heart is much bigger than his athletic prowess could ever be; and still another, a young teacher who has a passion for young souls rivaled by none. Love is the common theme of their letters, and love is the common themes of their lives. This is a love that does not originate in their own hearts, but it is a love that flows from the blood of Christ through their hearts and into the lives of countless others, including myself.

The funny thing about this envelope is that it did not originally bear these letters; instead, it bore a lifeless certificate. In the same way, we did not originally bear the grace of Jesus; instead, we bore lifeless hearts. But now, but the grace of God, He has taken out our hearts of stone and replaced them with hearts of flesh that can beat for His glory alone, allowing us no longer to be the bearers of death and hate, but instead, to be, just as the envelope, couriers of love—the love that never end. “To Him be glory forever. Amen.” -Romans 11:36

May 17, 2011

I’m writing this by the light of my dying iPhone, propped up on my shoulder and taking place of the room’s overhead lights, which shut off because of the obscene amount of power we are using by having two fans plugged in.

Today was a whirlwind. It began by breezing through customs without having anything I had with me inspected. Then, I had my first encounter with a Talibe boy. He was probably six or seven years old, and he wore neither a smile nor a frown; instead, his face shone with a lack of emotion as I walked past his little outstretched hand. What do you do?

Next, the twenty five of us piled into a gutted fifteen passenger can and dove to our residence. After a much-needed nap, I dove into my first experience with Senegalese cuisine. Thieou Yapp is a dish comprised of rice, vegetables, a spicy sauce, and in this case, goat meat. It was surprisingly good and, for a little over a dollar, it was definitely worth it.

When we were finished eating, we made our way to campus where we met many new friends. Martin is a missionary from the Congo. Vincent is a Christian student at the university. And Waly is an English major who needs my help on his exam on Monday. If there is one thing that I’ve learned about the Senegalese people, it is that they love relationships. I pray that one day I will be as passionate about relationships as they are. After our time on campus, a few of us had dinner at a small Middle Eastern restaurant. I had Chawarma Royale, which is chopped beef, egg, cheese, and fries wrapped in a tortilla. Now, I’m sitting in the dark, writing this. I think that going without reliable electricity for a while could really help a lot of people. It shows you just how much God really is in control. When it gets dark, you go to bed because that is how God made it. There is no beating the darkness without electricity, you just accept it and deal with it. Luckily, we don’t have the same problem spiritually. The light of Christ can forever shine through our lives of love in a world full of darkness.

May 20, 2011

Today was so good. We ran this morning, and Senegal feels so good in the early morning. When we went to campus, Kevin and I met Waly for tea in his room. After telling him about the Reformers and Puritans whom he is studying in class, we had Senegalese tea. It was amazing, and I can’t wait to bring the practice back to America. I met a few of Waly’s roommates: Papa, Phillipe, and Abdullah. It was a great time, and we got to talk about Christ! We then waited for the bus. While we were waiting, we played with two little Talibe boys (pictured above). The younger one could not be older than 3. It was heart-wrenching. They kept peeking out behind the bus across the street and smiling at me. It broke my heart to think that they are on the streets so that they can study a god who does not exist. I then got to talk (in French, that’s right) to a Talibe who was a bit older, maybe 8 or 9, about my family. His name was Adam, and his eyes were full of life. He is a little boy who has to make it on the streets. His little three-year-old friend is just like my nephew, Isaac, and Adam beamed at pictures of him. It’s amazing how similar people are even though they are from places thousands of kilometers away. These boys are no different that our boys. They need the same love, the same care, and the same Savior. Why is no one taking it to them?

here we go

Well, I guess this is it. I'm sitting here at terminal B7 in the Nashville International Airport waiting for my flight to Cincinnati, and then on to Washington D.C. ( no, Justin, I'm not going to have enough time to see any of the sites), and then on to Dakar, Senegal. Close at hand, I have a small stone, an origami elephant, four dollars and twenty cents ( all in change), a keychain with my name on it, an envelope full of letters, and fifty dollars cash from a best friend who is concerned with my stinginess in relation to how much I'm going to eat in Senegal.

These are the things that are most important to me as I leave this place. These are the things that will help me remember the amazing love from which I come. These markers represent the love of those who are at home right now, holding the rope as I climb over the ledge into the unknown, bearing nothing but the love of our living Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. This is the fountain from which their love has so faithfully and beautifully flowed, and this is the fountain that I long to show to the people of Senegal.

In Christ,

Ben Hussung