Rabies and Mud Huts

Ministry in the bush is not without its risks. Riding from village to village with Hassan, there is any number of potential dangers to be faced. Animals from the neighboring, fenceless game reserve frequent the roads we travel. One of the faithful church members survived a lion attack and has the scars to prove it. Hassan himself has twice turned around because he saw lions playing in the road. Elephants often roam down one of the major village roads on their way to the river. The sandy and eroded paths are treacherous themselves, sending motorcycles spilling and shredding car tires (I have changed 8 tires in 5 months). There is also the risk of accidentally crossing the border into neighboring Burkina Faso, quickly becoming an illegal alien.

With all of those hazards, the greatest danger is all too familiar. It’s one I have faced for years as a runner: dogs. I love dogs, but the beaten and abused guardians you encounter in the villages are seldom sniffing for friends. Far more common than lions, more territorial than wandering elephants, and more aggressive than both, we would be much more likely to fall prey to a dog than any other danger on the road. Whenever we pass by village compounds on motorcycle, we accelerate to outpace the mutts that give chase, kicking away any fast enough to catch up. Whenever we enter a new village, we are welcomed by the growls and barks of their canine protectors. And since “The Price is Right” never aired in Niger, you are almost guaranteed to cross paths with a mother protecting her newborn pups.

In January I made another trip out to Alambare with Rodrigo and Juanita. We rode out to three new villages that Hassan had just begun evangelizing. While we were preaching in one of the villages, we were invited in for a meal of couscous. Walking into the village I was suddenly attacked from behind. Without a bark, growl or any other kind of warning, a mother dog sprang from her hiding spot and got a good bite of my leg. Before I go any further, let me first answer some of the obvious questions that you are probably thinking at this point. Yes, it broke skin and let a good bit of blood. No, I did not need stitches. No, I did not cry. After patching it up we ate, had our service, and began the return trip to Alambare.

That night, while we were eating and relaxing in our hut, almost every person from the village visited us. They had heard about my “heroic” encounter with the wild dog and wanted to see the price of glory. Each time I would sheepishly lift up my pant leg to reveal a cut easily covered by one band-aid. Sympathetically they would wince at the sight of blood, tell me how bad the bite was, and wish me a quick recovery. Hassan began to get jealous of all the attention I was getting. He said he had fallen from his motorcycle recently and did not get near the same amount of fanfare. From that time since, any time an Alambarian dog has gotten near to me, the villagers chase it off and warn me to be careful. I was more frustrated and mad about the dog bite when it first happened because I knew I would have to go get rabies shots… super expensive here. However, by the end of the trip I was glad it happened because by it I learned just how much the villagers care for me.

Later that trip, sitting around the fire, Hassan shared his latest vision for ministry. In seven months he has opened churches in eight villages, of which he is the sole pastor. The work has grown to where it is difficult to visit all of the churches in one week. There are nine other villages that have invited him to come open a church, begging him to bring them the gospel. He quickly realized that the work is growing beyond what he is able to do alone. The amount of traveling, combined with the dangers, was becoming too much to handle. But God gave him a vision for how he could minister to all of those villages and more. He wants there to be a compound of huts just outside the church. They would invite other villages to send one or two to build a hut and stay in Alambare for a couple weeks to learn the gospel. After a few weeks of teaching they could then return to their home and share what they had learned. At the time there were two huts: one his own and the other for missionary visitors. I became so excited about his vision that I decided to join it. Right then we laid out the plans for my first home.

A month later I am a proud first-time homeowner. The circular mud hut they built comes complete with a thatched roof, two wooden chairs and a table. I share an outdoor shower and toilet with the other five huts in the compound. I still spend most of my time living in my apartment in Niamey, but now whenever I go out to Alambare I have a place of my own.

There is a song by an almost-famous American band about new love. The singer laments the loss of the mystery and excitement that define the beginning stages of a relationship. He has gotten past the honeymoon period and wonders, “why can’t it be like the first week.” I could say the same thing about my time here in Niger. I could say that I have been here long enough for the initial excitement to wane. I could talk about all the bad of this country that I have seen that could cancel out the wonderful experiences that comprised the content of my first few updates. I could miss the novelty of getting acquainted with a new country and a new people. I could. But those who have ever been in love know that true love is only beginning when the initial excitement ends. The longer I stay in this country and live amongst its people the more I fall in love. It may not seem new anymore, but everyday is just as exciting as the one before it. My experiences may not have the same novelty, but the familiarity makes them all the more enjoyable. In a place I never knew existed I now have a home. In a place where I was once a stranger I now have family that has named me and looks after me. In a place where the gospel was unknown a year ago I now belong to a church that almost mirrors the Acts model of loving and serving one another. Each morning that I walk out of my hut and I look on a village and a tribe that has captured my heart, I can’t help but think there is no better place for me than where I am right now.