The west coast of Africa is probably one of the most difficult mission fields in this fallen world. Ever since the white man first visited these shores, it has been considered his grave.
Selling Girls, Port Loko, Sierra Leone
While we believe the child of God should ever be willing to say, “Here am I, send me,” yet many fear to offer themselves for this part of the “Dark Continent.” To such, let us say, “Our Father understands every difficulty to be met, and we can trust Him who careth for us.”
From Lake Chad on the east and the Sahara Desert on the north to the Atlantic on the south and west, there are fully 250 languages and dialects spoken. Into but few of these tongues has the Bible been translated. Along the coast line, some progress has been made and missionaries are doing a little, but when we think of the millions who yet lie in darkness, we can but appeal to every soul who is acquainted with Jesus to help us in this mighty conflict against ignorance, superstition, and heathen worship in every form that Satan can devise. Pen can not describe the awful condition of real devil-worshipers.
I often chill when I call to remembrance the first time I stood face to face with a god of the Crepo people, who inhabit the Dahomey country, along the Bight of Benin. Made of clay, eyes and teeth of shells from the seashore, a gown of native cloth that had witnessed many a storm and hot tropical sun, a small basin of food and water, and a frail shed for a cover, formed the sad object of worship of a large gathering of souls in gross darkness. With deep anxiety they watched every move I made and every expression of my countenance. How I longed to tell them of Him who “can save to the uttermost” all who would come to Him. My prayer was, “Lord, help me to turn them from these dumb idols to the living God.”
With an earnest appeal, I was asked to make a gift to their idol. Let it be remembered that there is an unseen power from beneath, the power from the “arch-deceiver,” that takes possession of these poor souls as they prostrate before their objects of worship. Wrapped in gross darkness, and filled with superstition, they at once fall a prey to the influence of fallen angels, and are thus led into the darkest deeds. While the powers of darkness from beneath are taking fast hold upon the inhabitants of this world, let us give praise to God that He is sending down His Holy Spirit, and filling every true missionary with that power sufficient to meet the elements from beneath, and protecting us by His mighty and holy angels who excel in strength the angels of darkness.
Our Father is a mighty God; our Captain, one who has never lost a battle. What we need are men and women, spirit-filled; men and women who are not afraid to face the conflict, and with whom angels can co-operate.
Heaven on the one hand is anxiously waiting; Africa on the other hand is calling. “Look, the fields are white;” can you say there is plenty of time? God’s Spirit and angels are going out before us.
A short time ago while on a visit to one of our mission stations, fifteen young men, representing eight tribes from the hinterland, called on me in person, asking me to take them to our school where they might be trained, so they can carry this message to their parents and friends who worship these dumb idols. With their native clothes wrapped around them, they found their way to the coast. Eager to be educated, they had gained some knowledge of the written English. Their earnest appeal found a place in my heart. By faith I promised them help.
Since coming back to our mission station in Sierra Leone, I have received two letters from them reminding me of my promise, and of their earnest desire to prepare for the work of God. Who will send us help to train these young men?
A few days ago I had a very touching experience. Mrs. Babcock called me and said that a woman wanted to see me. As I stepped to the other side of the house I met a woman with a little boy tied on her back and by her side stood another of about twelve years of age. As I looked into his bright face a glow of gladness seemed to radiate from his very countenance. The mother then said to me, “I want to give you my boy to be trained for God.” As I looked at the boy again, it seemed to me that I could read his anxious appeal, “Won’t you take me?” When I told that poor mother that our home was full, and our means limited, she turned homeward with a sad heart, and tears fell from the face of that dear boy.
Will you help us make souls glad in Jesus? Yours for dark Africa, S. C. BABCOCK.
