The team was now gone somewhere in Senegal on their Luke 10 which left Detlef and myself alone back in Dakar. Because of Morocco being so expensive we were very short of funds. In fact we almost had no funds left at all. Which brought us to the conclusion that we would have to go on our own little Luke 10 as well.
Of course there was the infamous Bamako Express. A train running on a piece of track from Dakar to Bamako, Mali dating back to the colonial era. Stories of the train varied from horrifying to average. It wasn't that expensive and it would take us straight to Bamako. I argued for this option but Detlef was convinced we would be able hitch hike and save even more (bear in mind it's a distance of 1350km).
But first we went of in search of the Western most tip of Africa. It's very close to Dakar and we quickly found it. From there we wanted to explore the Lac Rose (Rose Lake) area. It was the famous finishing place for the Dakar rally when it was still held in Africa. The rose colour of the water comes from the high salt content of the lake. During the day hundreds of salt gatherers venture chest deep into the lake and dig out chunks of salt with their bare hands. It doesn't seem to be a very healthy process since they had sores all over their body which they tried to cover with little pieces of plastic.
We took a taxi here and after spending a few hours walking around the Lake we started looking for a place to pitch our tents. In this process we met a wonderful friend who helped us look for accommodation. But everything was too expensive for us. Discouraged and not knowing where to go our dear friend invited us to his place! It was very small so we ended up pitching our tents in front of his little house. During the hot evenings he rolled out his reed carpet and we had wonderful opportunities to share the gospel with him and his family.
Right behind his house was a Madrassat (a Muslim school where they teach children the Quran). I still had a few Arabic bibles with me and walked over and introduced myself to the master of the Madrassat. Innocently I told him that I was interested in the meaning of some of these scriptures but needed someone to translate the Arabic for me. His Arabic wasn't that good so he led Detlef and myself through town to a random house. As we were ushered in we pushed back the curtain and before us sat three very serious Muslim men. They were dressed in full white robes and looked like they came from Pakistan or Egypt. My pulse started racing. “What did I get us into now?” I nervously wondered.
One of them motioned for us to approach him and he took the Bible from me. He then asked which piece I wanted to translate and I led him to John chapter one. As he translated it to me we started to engage in conversation and the atmosphere became more relaxed. Later on however I saw that their attention was continually distracted by the TV in the corner. A Senegalese wrestling match had started! It looked like it was a pretty important match judging by the huge stadium and the tension on the ground. At least by this time we had worked through most of John chapter one.
While watching the match it became 5 o'clock and I could hear the Muezzin calling from the Mosque. I watched the Muslim men's reaction: their shoulders sagged! They didn't want to go to the Mosque. They were carnal after all. It was also our queue so I gave one of them the bible and we left. What a great experience it was.
The next day we greeted our friend and started venturing more in land on our way to Mali.
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