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.