Outside the circle of the fire, the cows sit, stand and lie. They are striking animals, Zebu cattle with long, curved horns. When my friend pauses in his story, the only sounds to be heard are the boys chortling and the cows munching quietly on their millet stalks.

The Fulani, or Fulbe, probably originated from a prehistoric pastoral people in the area of the Upper Nile around 3,500 BCE. Historians speculate that as the climate of the Sahara became increasingly harsh, they began to migrate slowly west and south in search of pasture for their herds. By the 11th century CE the Fulani emerged as a distinct people group living in the Senegal Valley, and over the next four hundred years began to make their way slowly back east. Today they are spread across 18 countries in Africa from Senegal in the west to Ethiopia in the east. Numbering more than 20 million, the Fulani are the biggest nomadic people group in the world.

They are very different to the surrounding African peoples, tending to be tall and thin, with reddish skin and thin noses and lips. Their way of life has remained almost unchanged in five millennia a life characterised by one thing: cattle. "When we came to this life, we didn't discover farming. We didn't find the custom of making bricks in order to earn money. We didn't learn the custom of going away to work for others. We only found the cow."¹ It is difficult to describe the deep affinity which the Fulani have with their animals. A cow means joy, growth and security. The family drink milk to survive. The wife can make butter and trade it for millet and other food. Little by little the cow will produce a herd, the pride and joy of any Fulani.

My work here is Christian mission. The message, "For God so loved the world..." is by definition trans-cultural. It was received in rural Galilee and centred around a controversial and eccentric young prophet, a carpenter from Nazareth. His life and teaching intrigued the people and scandalized the religious establishment. After a short public ministry, his death and reported resurrection became the impetus for a missionary outreach which was phenomenal in its speed and scope.

Like the world's other nomadic peoples, the Fulani are facing an extremely vulnerable time in their history, with drought, desertification aand disease being the major threats. Poor rains last year have caused widespread crop failure in the north of Burkina Faso. For most tribes this is a setback but not a disaster; the millet harvest in the south was good, and the surplus will be transported up north. For Fulani families, though, the drought is something of a crisis. There is no pasture for their cattle. Some of my friends are intending to walk their animals all the way to Mali or Niger, where the rains were better. Others will stay put and try to survive until the next rains in July.

No strangers to suffering, the Fulani in our region have seen various relief and development projects come and go. Immunisation and pump-installation projects, for example, have helped some people here. Having worked for VSO for two years before coming here, I believe whole-heartedly in the goal of relevant and sustainable development. It can and will make a positive impact on the lives of Hamadou and others like him. But I also believe that God wants to liberate people in ways that even VSO can not, bringing forgiveness, hope and freedom from self-destructive ways of thinking and acting.

The validity of Christian mission in today's world has been rightly questioned. The very word 'missionary' is weighed down by the historical baggage of crusaders and colonialists alike. But where the message of Jesus is communicated with humility and respect, it can still represent good news for a hurting world. That is why I am here, and expecting to remain for several years - in a sense, time will prove whether it is a worthwhile occupation. I admit to being occasionally haunted by the parting shot of my university tutor: "It's a good degree, don't waste it!"

I celebrated Christmas last year in a small settlement in the semi-desert, amongst Fulani herders and their animals. For them, of course, December 25 is a day like any other. We sat outside and drank strong tea, looking up at the stars. Now and again a camel and its Tuareg rider swayed past, heading who knows where. It struck me that the first ever Christmas took place in a herding culture at a settlement not dissimilar to this one. And it was not hard to imagine the angel interrupting the tranquility of those first-century herders, to announce to them a bit of good news.

¹ Maliki, Angelo Joy and Suffering among the Nomadic Fulani (1985:20)