ump, bumpity-bump. “Watch out for that pothole, Honey. It’s a big one!” BUMP! And so our journey went. I sat with Clayton, Hadassah, my friend Abi, and of course Neil in the driver’s seat as we bounced and jounced our way down a rutted dirt road in our Nissan Patrol. I glanced at my cell phone. “5:30 P.M.,” I mused. “And we were supposed to be there at four. We are late even by Malian time.”

Several days earlier on Sabbath morning, an unexpected visitor had roared up to our house on a motorcycle and introduced himself as Douda Kone. After some pleasantries, he told us he had studied the Bible with Phillip and Naomi Polley, the AFM missionaries who worked in Kangaba for more than 11 years and in whose wonderful house we are now living. Every Thursday, the Polleys had visited him at his family compound in the large village of Salamale. He went on to tell us that his wife was dead, and he had three daughters. We were excited that Douda had taken the trouble to look us up. We made arrangements to meet at his home at 4 P.M. Monday afternoon.

On Monday, we left the house around 3:45 P.M. We were running a little behind schedule, but we were sure we knew where Salamale was, and we thought the nine-mile trip wouldn’t take very long even over rutted dirt roads. Douda had told us we should take the road to the nearby Guinea border and then look for a turn-off to the right. Salamale would be about five miles down the road. Sounds pretty simple, right? And it would have been simple—if we had picked the right road to Guinea. Having lived here only a month, we didn’t know there are at least two.

We drove down the road about three miles. Not seeing a turn-off, we decided to ask for directions in a village we passed through, just to make sure we were on the right road. My friend Abi spoke with a village man and shook her head at the answer. “He says we are not on the right road at all. He says we should go all the way back to Kangaba and take a different road to get to Salamale.” Neil and I wondered if the man knew what he was talking about. We were sure we knew where Salamale was. We just had to continue down the road another mile or two, and there would be a turn-off to the right. So we kept going.

About 10 minutes of bouncing and jolting later, we arrived at what we thought was the right turn-off. Thankfully, though, we decided to ask directions again before proceeding. The men we asked laughed and shook their heads, “Salamale! Not this direction. You have to go back through Kangaba on the main road by the market until you see a sign and a right turn-off for Salamale.” Oops. So much for being sure where we were going. Embarrassed, we retraced our tracks back up the rough road. As we passed through the first village where we had asked directions, I couldn’t bear to look out the window. I was sure I would see the man shaking his finger at me, saying, “See? I told you so.”

By this time, it was almost 5 P.M., and I was tempted just to call it a day, go home (which we would be passing anyway) and call Douda to make arrangements for another day. I’m glad we didn’t.

The rest of the trip went fairly smoothly. Once we found the right road to Guinea, it didn’t take too long to bounce down it and find the large sign pointing to Salamale. The road after the turn-off was one of the best roads we had been on that day. Before we knew it, we saw Douda waiting for us at the outskirts of the village.

We had a great visit with him and his extended family. The 30 or so children who crowded the entrance to Douda’s compound provided endless amusement for Hadassah and Clayton.

One thing that happened soon after our arrival made the whole bouncing, jolting, dusty trip worthwhile. After we sat down, drank the offered water and exchanged greetings, Douda reached inside his hut, and pulled out a bag containing his old French Sabbath School quarterly and his Bambara Bible, carefully wrapped in a piece of cloth. My friend Abi, a Muslim, asked him with a slight sneer in her voice, “Are you a Christian?”

Smiling at her, Douda nodded. “Yes, I’m an Adventist.” Then he turned to Neil and started teaching him Bambara from the first chapter of Genesis.

I couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across my face. Douda hadn’t had any contact with Adventists in more than two years, yet his faith seems to have stayed strong, and he is unafraid to identify himself as a Christian and an Adventist. In my heart, I praised God for guiding us together. I wondered how many other believers were scattered throughout the surrounding villages. Where seeds were planted, was a harvest now ripening?

Please keep Douda in your prayers. We later talked to Phillip Polley and learned that, although Douda identifies with the Adventist Church, he is not yet baptized. Please pray for our continued language and culture learning so we can aid Douda as he learns more about the Lord and the Adventist Church. Also, please pray for the other searchers we know are out there but we haven’t yet met.