Dodging bats while riding a motorcycle? Sleeping out under the African starry skies? Chowing down on corn mush and okra sauce? Just another day in the life of Brian Hauser, a CMF missionary in Banfora, Burkina Faso. Here’s his engaging account of a recent 24-hour period in the life of a cross-cultural evangelist.
At 5:30 p.m., during that golden hour before sunset, I am still frantically packing (amid a seemingly never-ending stream of visitors) for my trip to the village of Kangoura.
At 6.15 p.m. I finally roll out of Sindou on the motorcycle. The sun sets at 6:40 p.m. and I discover that, thanks to a little accident a friend had on the motorcycle, the headlight is pointing straight up into the trees. This doesn’t illuminate much of the road, but it does attract lots of bugs, that in turn attract several bats who are daring each other to see who can grab the most bugs and careen away just before smashing into the visor of my helmet.
At 7 p.m. I arrive in Kangoura. The plan is to chat with the three guys who work on the farm, especially C., a new believer. We cook spaghetti and omelets and sip tea while watching the stars come out over Africa.
At 10 p.m., the men head inside to go to bed. I pull my cot outside, wrap up in a Maasai blanket and listen to Acts chapter 1 a few times in French and Jula before putting an audio book on the I-pod. I fall asleep gazing at the stars. Each time I wake up (often, thanks to the tea) the moon is dimmer and the stars are brighter. A sleepless night of worship.
At 4:30 a.m. the roosters and turkeys lift up their rusty voices to call up the dawn and flies start buzzing around my head. The 30 minutes before sunrise are a stunning symphony of color. By 7:30, we have eaten breakfast and prayed for the start of work on the farm, reading Psalm 1 together. C. and I have also found a little time apart to read through Acts 1 again. We plan to study Acts 2 next week. I take care of a little farm business for CMF teammates and then roll into the town of Kangoura to visit with the Chief.
At 8:30 a.m. I find the Chief all dressed up to go to Sindou. We exchange blessings for the New Year and lament the fact that we were unable to plan this meeting. I tell him I’d really like to see his orchard of mango and cashew trees today. Since he’ll be back by 2, I decide to continue directly on to Jeliso and catch the chief and the orchards on the way back.
At 9:30 a.m. I am exchanging New Years’ blessings with B., my Imam/Marabout friend. He says, “You rode your motorcycle in this freezing (70-degree) wind?” He invites me ito his living room, and as I sit down, a wave of emotion hits me as I see that this holy man of Islam has put my Christmas card up on his wall. On a field of green construction paper a large yellow star bearing the words of Luke 2:13-14 beams over the rock formations of Sindou that Tabitha (my wife) traced and cut out of red construction paper. We talk at length about his cashew trees and his agricultural plans for the coming year as part of my informal survey of the needs of these communities.
At 11:30 a.m. I’m at the far edge of B’s field of cashew trees, driving slowly along a six-inch wide track he assures me is a short cut straight back to Kangoura.
At noon my back wheel falls off a little ledge into some sand and we take a little tumble. I am not hurt, as I was only going about 15 miles an hour, but am glad no one was around to see it.
At 1:15 p.m. I’m back in Kangoura resting under a cashew tree listening to another book chapter on the I-pod.
At 2 p.m. I’m in Kangoura eating “To” (congealed corn mush) and okra sauce with the Chief. He also has his Christmas card with Luke 2:13-14 hanging proudly on his wall. S. and A. join us and we ride double on the motorcycles on sandy tracks out to see his orchard. It’s huge. The first trees were planted two years before I was born. So we want to help them do a tree project? God’s sense of humor is grand. We will do tree projects with their invaluable help and learn a lot in the process.
At 4 p.m. we are back at the Chief’s house and I’m stuffing my face with more corn mush and spicy okra sauce. I step back and watch myself eating away with my hand in a common bowl with my friends, throwing down corn mush and okra sauce like its lasagna! I laugh as I lick my fingers clean. I ask the Chief if he can teach me some proverbs that use trees as illustrations. When we sit down again with S. and A., the Chief looks at us seriously and says, “The elders used to say, ‘He who plants a tree, digs a well, or buys a mortar (for pounding grain), will have great reward in this life and the next.” It’s given me a lot to think about. I pray that our physical and spiritual ministry in these communities will have the same kind of enduring blessing for the community. 
At 4:30 p.m. I can hardly keep my eyes open and I get ready to leave. The Chief asks, “What about our chats? (Bible storytelling) When are we starting that up again?” Next Tuesday, I tell him, we’ll start all over again. As I ride out of town I thank God for their interest and beg Him to sharpen me up for the task.
At 5:30 p.m., during that golden hour before sunset, I ride into Sindou and my front gate listening to Claude Debussy’s Claire de Lune. I wonder what I’ve done to deserve such a blessed life as my wife and kids pour out the doors to welcome me home with their own symphony of sound.