You see, there are huge problems in Baraboulé, the most significant being drought. It has not rained well there for three years and none of the town's fifteen pumps is giving water. Every day people load up their donkey carts with barrels and go to the well at Filifili, 5 miles down the road. Those with donkey carts are the fortunate ones, of course. Others walk.

Yesterday (Sunday) I had some company for the trip to Baraboulé - Mark (an English SIM missionary on his first term here), and Ezekiel and Zechariah (two Fulani Christians from the South). When we arrived we met a young man called Adamah. Well, we didn't exactly meet him, but he did come and dance in front of us - a floaty, otherworldly kind of dance with a surreal commentary. He kept it up the whole morning. We tried our best to go ahead with the programme we had prepared, but it was hard. People gathered to laugh at Adamah's antics and at our evident discomfort.

At one point I nipped off back to the truck for a drink of water, and a man came up and introduced himself as Adamah's father. He said the boy had lost his mind just a week ago, he didn't know why. (Actually, this is not unheard of; occasionally someone goes off into the bush on their own and comes back insane - it is said the person has been 'hijacked' by a bush genie). I asked if we could pray for the lad and he said "I don't care" - a guarded yes. He called Adamah over, and his uncle. Of course, the rest of the crowd came uninvited, eager not to miss out on Act II. We crouched down and prayed for the boy in the name of Jesus. We amen-ed. Everyone craned their necks to see what would happen. Adamah leapt up, grabbed a dish of peanuts off a nearby woman's head, and danced off.

I suppose we really need not have paid for the stolen peanuts, but we did. As we drove away we all felt disappointed and a little bit humiliated. It had seemed such a good opportunity for God to work, and back up the preaching of his word.

Arrived back from Baraboulé around midday to find ten Fulani from Mali making tea in my house. They have been staying here this week for the Sahel Fulani conference - an annual opportunity for all Fulani Christians in a radius of a couple hundred miles to come and worship God and make tea together. Most of the Gorom crew are here too. It is great in particular to see Hama again - and his wives, both of whom are now following Jesus. He hasn't changed: last night around the fire he treated all seventy of us to a hugely entertaining story about a talking vulture.

Perhaps the other highlight of the conference was the work project. Everyone got together to build mud-brick houses for two of the poorest families in the church. There is nothing more therapeutic than an afternoon sloshing about in mud followed by a bowl of millet and an evening of worship. On second thoughts, the millet part is debatable.

I had a visit this morning from a boy from Baraboulé. I know him slightly - I have given him the odd lift to or from Djibo. As he was leaving he said, "Do you remember Adamah, the one with no head? You prayed for him." As if I could forget. Besides, it was only yesterday.
"What about him?"
"He's better."

In fulfulde 'better' is as ambiguous as in English, which on this occasion is infuriating; I can't work out whether Adamah is better better or just better. I should have asked if he has stopped dancing. I did gather that he slept properly last night for the first time since he 'lost his head', but I won't know the situation for sure till I see him myself next Sunday. Please take a moment as you read this just to thank God for what he is doing and to pray for Adamah, that God completely restores him and glorifies the name of Jesus in Baraboulé.

Love to you and your families,

Alla beydu jam,

Steve