18 19 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW Reflections from Today by Anna Brubacher “Hey! What’s the consensus on Senegal? How’s it going?” A text from my friend Sadie flashed across my phone as I woke up. I laughed softly, turning the screen off and crawling out from under my mosquito net. It had only been a day and a half since I’d packed a small suitcase and crossed the ocean, but my perspective on life had shifted in about a hundred ways. My dad and I were in Senegal to participate in an equipping conference for Senegalese missionaries. Our church was the sending church for the American couple who started the organization that sponsored these missionaries, and my dad came to teach a few conference sessions, while I was invited along to run a VBS program for the children of the missionaries. Sadie’s text floated back through my mind as I brushed my hair and prepared for the long, hot day ahead of me. Where to even begin? I thought, reaching for my phone. I opened my notes app and began to type— Reflections from Today: *** “I have taken air conditioning for granted my whole life.” My eyelids fluttered open and shut as the dilapidated gray car bumped down unmarked sand roads, criss-crossing through the sleepy town of Somone, slowing and stopping every once in a while for motorbikes, pedestrians, scrawny cows, and wild dogs. Twenty hours of travel had taken their toll, and the hot, dusty breeze blowing through the open car windows did little to dry the sweat dripping down my back. “We’re almost there,” my dad said from the front seat. “I think.” He looked to our driver, Michal, but received no response. Like most of the people we had met, Michal only spoke French and Wolof, one of the regional languages of western Senegal. Next to me, our other travel companions, Ruth and Andrew, sighed and stretched. “I’d give anything to shower and change!” said Ruth. “You’re not kidding,” I chuckled. The car took a right as we passed a building with Mickey Mouse painted on the wall. The narrow street was lined with brightly colored concrete walls and iron gates on either side, draped in flowering green vines. One of the gates in the walls opened as Jill, the American missionary we were staying with, stepped into the street and flagged us down, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight. I was so glad to see her, I
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