God’s Hand in Friendship

By David S., on mission in Senegal

For the past twenty years, we have hosted a summer camp on an island about a four-hour drive from Dakar. When the big morning finally arrived, we all piled into our makeshift bus and lurched off. The atmosphere within the bus was electric! Imagine thirty twelve- to sixteen-year-olds, who had waited all year for this, jam-packed together and completely jacked up on caffeine and sugar. We started chanting in French and Wolof, accompanied by traditional instruments supplied by our older friends, so loudly that every head on the street turned to stare at our comically top-heavy white bus, which didn’t so much drive as sway through the intense Dakar traffic.

The island itself is not very large, perhaps only a few square miles, but it was perfect for us. We had a beach, a soccer field, and a forest of trees so enormous you could drive a car through their trunks. Every day, the guys would make several hundred trips to the well, about a quarter mile from our camp, to fill the reservoir next to the house. The days were also full of activities: competitions at the beach, soccer matches, Olympic Games, an island-wide scavenger hunt, bonfires, and a skit put on by our community.

Even our hours of rest—the cherished siesta—were full. Sitting on the porch, I can see crafts being made, a group of guys juggling a ball, and, over by the tree, an intense game of Uno being played. Pascal is entertaining another group with stories of adventure. Others nap on a large mat in the shade of a mango tree. The week went by in a flash, I think, because I was having so much fun. It was a gift to see how readily and enthusiastically my teammates were giving to the mission. While it was admittedly difficult (I think that was my first time sleeping on concrete without a mattress or pillow), the joy that lit up the faces of all the children gave me strength. For them, what little I could do mattered more than perhaps I will ever know.

It is beautiful to see the friendships that formed during the camp continue and deepen afterward. I was especially touched to see two friends from Arafat, the neighborhood next to ours—Assenbou and Morom, who before could only be found on the other side of town—becoming friends with Christian and Mike, two of our friends here in our little quarter of Cité Millionnaire. From soccer and trips to the well to prayer and conversation, I could see the friendship deepening. Now, after a month, the four are always together, whether here or across the highway. And the most beautiful thing, for me, is how organic the friendship is. We did not plan for it; it was simply the work of the Lord. All we did was run a summer camp, and He did the rest: building a true friendship uniting boys from different neighborhoods, schools, and religions. What a privilege it is to be a part of that!