The southern edge of the Sahara Desert is a mysterious land; its striking landscape makes a strong impression on the viewer. Black volcanic mountains tower over emerald green oases. Cascading waterfalls and lush private gardens reveal a stark contrast to the dramatic beauty of the desert where sand waves roll toward the horizon. Intermittent adobe cities dot the landscape inhabited by people whom time forgot.

My many years as a missionary in Niger have afforded me numerous unique opportunities. Often I have ridden on dromedaries (one–humped camels native to northern Africa) to remote villages, one village being nearly 100 miles from where we live in Agadez. For other excursions, it often begins with many hours of driving in my Land Rover, followed by many more hours of walking beside our dromedaries, before we reach our destination. It is always a treacherous task to visit these villages in an attempt to give out the Gospel to these Moslem people—people held in a mixture of witchcraft and Islam. However, God has shown His power and protection in marvelous ways.

The proud Tuareg people, who generations ago used to crisscross the Sahara with their large caravans bearing goods of trade, today barely make a subsistence living from tending their few camels, donkeys, and goats. However, on my visits to their nomadic tents, they are quick to give me the best of their “desert hospitality.” After a long trip, they often offer me shade inside their humble tent home–made of woven palm leaf mats and tree root poles. They serve me fresh milk, still warm from the dromedary cow’s udder, served in a large gourd. If I am to stay the night, I am always offered a bed in the tent instead of a palm leaf mat on the ground. The beds are not more comfortable than the mats but help to discourage the onslaught of mice, ticks, scorpions, spiders, and other desert critters of the night. I remember on one occasion, as we sat around the evening fire outside the tent, I heard a faint sound of something digging softly in the sand. It was not until the next morning that I learned that it was a viper that had dug itself into the sand—not far from where I slept!

Once, while making a trip during a fierce windstorm, my vehicle broke down. The carburetor was completely choked up with sand and dust. Visibility on the ground was less than 50 feet. I was compelled to rebuild the carburetor inside the cab of the truck where it would be sheltered somewhat from the blowing sand. Thankfully, after several hours, the parts were reassembled, the engine roared to life, and we continued on our journey.

With all the inconveniences and hardships to reach these nomadic people, I can say that it is still worth every effort to be able to take the Gospel for the first time to these remote villages. Our conversions over the years have been few, but precious. One such example is a young man whom we will call “Ananias.”

When I first saw him, 30 years ago, he was a young man with braided hair. Back in that era, young Tuareg lads selectively shaved their hair, letting some of it grow long. The long parts were then braided. Even those who put on the Tuareg turban, which they usually do at the age when they reach manhood, would allow the braids to hang out from under this special type of turban, for which the Tuareg are renowned.

Ananias and his family lived some 50 miles away from where my family and I lived in the town of Agadez. Whenever possible, we would make trips out to their village in the desert to give them the Gospel and occasionally show Bible filmstrips. We would show the filmstrip in a tent we had set up for this purpose, using power from the battery of my Land Rover. For a screen, we used a white sheet. The first few showings of the filmstrips were quite an adventure to say the least! It was interesting to see the reaction of these desert dwellers who had never before seen television or a movie, and for many, not even a photograph! I remember showing the filmstrip one time about the story of David and Goliath. Whenever the filmstrip showed the pictures of Goliath, Ananias and the other young men in my audience would throw stones at Goliath’s likeness on the screen to show their disapproval of him! We could not help but laugh!

Through the years, Ananias and I became good friends, and we helped each other in many circumstances. I taught him many things, yet he was not the only one learning. I learned much from him as well. As with anyone with whom I would come in contact, my prayer would be that they would one day receive Christ as their Savior, and such was my prayer for Ananias.

Oh, how we did rejoice on the day we heard that Ananias’ brother Abrahim had accepted Christ! Each time he came to town, he would visit us and bring news of the family. Because of the low literacy rate, we had begun to record parts of our Bible translation into Tamajaq (the language spoken by the Tuareg) on cassette tapes. We furnished Abrahim with tapes of Scripture readings to aid his spiritual growth. Often, we would record our Sunday morning messages onto cassette tapes as well. Abrahim would play these tapes for his family out in the desert. Yet, still no news came of Ananias’ conversion, and so we continued to pray.

Again, Abrahim visited us in town and this time he reported that his mother had confessed her faith in Jesus Christ! I shall never forget that day when I made a trip out into the desert to visit her. She came to me, radiant and filled with joy, expressing to me her thanks for the messages on tape to which she had listened and to which she owed her salvation. It is difficult to describe in words the change I sensed in this dear lady. The joy expressed in her countenance alone was adequate testimony of a miraculous change. After all, joy is not one of the outstanding characteristics of desert life and culture. I prayed that Ananias would soon follow his mother and brother in receiving Christ as Savior.

In 1992, war came to this remote part of the Sahara Desert. Tuareg bandits, armed with machine guns and other modern weaponry, roamed this vast territory, robbing and killing. It was no longer safe to visit Ananias and his family. Our contact was reduced to visits from family members whenever they came to town to sell sheep or goats and purchase food. I prayed that one of these visits would bring news of Ananias’ conversion.

Finally, we received word that Ananias’ mother had become very ill. Her illness (probably a fatal variety of malaria) was prolonged, and we often prayed for her and sent special things out for her to eat. Soon afterward, we heard that she had passed away. I, along with three Christian Tuareg from our little church group in Agadez, went out to the campsite to visit the family for the purpose of presenting our condolences. We were not able to learn much about her last days. Most desert people are reticent to talk about this sort of thing, yet we were told she spoke often of the Lord and had a clear mind to the very end. Somewhere out in the lonely desert, she was buried just eighteen inches below the hot sand. Her friends and relatives did their best to cover this primitive grave with heavy stones to prevent the jackals and hyena of the desert from digging it up. Would his mother’s death bring Ananias to the realization of his need of Christ? We continued to pray and hope as the years went by.

Finally, one glorious day, I received a letter from Ananias. The letter stated that he had accepted Christ! He also said that he had read in the Gospel of Mark that when one believes on Jesus Christ as Savior and repents of his sin, he is supposed to be baptized. He wanted to come into town for me to baptize him! What a joyous reunion when he arrived in town and told me that not only he but also his wife and daughters had trusted in Jesus Christ! He further explained that he had been closely observing those who attended our Gospel meetings and who had confessed Christ as their Savior and had concluded from his observations that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is real!

While I was overjoyed with his news, I could not help but remember that I had known this man for thirty years. Thirty years is indeed a long time for preaching...for praying...for hoping!

Some may ask, “Has it been worth it?” Worth the time, the effort, the cost? Is it worth risking ourselves in this less–than–friendly environment? Our answer to this question must be affirmative; indeed, we are compelled to admit that we have paid but a very small price to take the Gospel to an eternal soul whose worth it is not possible to calculate. Thirty years seems such a long time here on earth, but it is nothing compared to eternity!

When we first came to Niger, we did not know all the difficulties, hardships, disappointments, and discouragements we would face in this strange new land. We did not realize the depth of spiritual darkness and satanic oppression we would encounter as we endeavored to fulfill the Great Commission, but we were confident that God would honor His Word.

It is important to note that the same command to “go” is accompanied by the promise of “Lo, I am with you always.” God has been true to His promise. Every day in this Moslem land is a miracle of His sustaining power. We have seen precious souls put their faith and trust in Christ, and we thank God for the privilege we have to carry the Gospel to those who have never heard.

Yes, thirty years is indeed a long time—but it is worth the wait!