We were together on the roof of our first Bible School building, nailing tin sheets whose reflective surface made the normal 110 degrees heat harder to cope with. As we worked and talked, our conversation led me to remember the first time we met. That was nearly 6 years ago.

Even though Silas’ people are part of the Mandingo clan of Mali, he was born and raised in a Muslim home in the northern part of Ivory Coast, just across the Malian border. He is 29 years old. He grew up in extreme poverty, never studied beyond 5th grade, and went to work as a teenager to help his barber father feed the family. His adolescent life was sunless and grey. His failed attempts to become a mechanic fostered the feeling that he had no future, and this became a terrifying burden. His allegiance to family, tradition, and the Islamic faith proved to be insufficient to overcome his hopelessness and the guilt of secret sins.

His contact with a Christian (incidentally it was Cecile, the one he later married) was preceded by a vision from Christ while Silas was doing his Muslim prayer.  He had been thinking a lot about his life, his sins, his hopelessness, and he had a lot of unanswered questions.  After the ritual prayer, while still sitting on the prayer mat and doing “du’a” (spontaneous supplication or reciting of personal wishes or needs before Allah), he suddenly saw a bright light in front of him and heard a voice saying, “Go to my children and you will find the answers you are seeking.” Silas realized immediately this was a supernatural visitation.  And he knew instinctively the meaning of such words, for they were not Islamic words.  Something within him told him that “my children” meant Christians.  The only Christian he knew of and respected was a hairdresser named Cecile.  Silas knew that she was unlike most girls in his town.  She was God-fearing, chaste, honest, and very kind.  So he immediately got up from his prayer mat and went to see her.

Cecile told this young Muslim about Jesus. He surrendered his wretched life to Christ in May of 1991. Four months later his family discovered that he was a secret believer. He was immediately mistreated, insulted, disowned, thrown out. His father took away anything that would indicate in any way that he belonged to the Ouattara family, even his ID card. He became totally ostracized.

When Silas was not deterred in his Christian faith, the family and the Muslim community of Abengourou resorted to outright persecution. His father first summoned him and the pastoral staff of the Assemblies of God church which Silas attended. He accused our pastors of ruining his son’s life, and wanted Silas to recant. “The discussion degenerated rapidly,” Silas recalls. “My dad took up a rod and proceeded to beat me. One of the pastors shielded me from the blows with his own body. God protected us from serious injury, and helped us make it to the pastor’s car and leave.”

That was not the end of it. Silas was ambushed by his family one night after a late church prayer meeting. He tried to run away, but was caught just as he was about to rush into the courtyard of one of our Christian brothers.

“They began to beat me savagely. Blow upon blow, and kick upon kick. They nearly killed me. Blood spurted from my mouth and nostrils as I called on the Name of Jesus. They beat me for so long that I became numb and could hardly feel anything anymore. I was on the verge of passing out, but I could hear them rail and say ‘Where is your Jesus now?’ My assailants began to drag my limp body to my parents’ home. As they dragged me past a street light post, I made a desperate grab for the post and hung on to it. They began to hurl my head against it until I could no longer hold on. They succeeded in getting me to my parents’ house. Those who had come out to see what the noise was all about were told that I had become a dangerous madman, and that I had now been forcefully apprehended in order to be sent to my family’s village where I would be cared for.”

The church intervened. The police were called in, but there was little they could do when faced with an angry crowd of Muslims. The church had only one weapon left: Prayer.

Silas was locked in a bedroom and left alone. He too prayed. Later on that same night, his father ordered him to get up, wash, do the Muslim ablutions for prayer, face Mecca and recant. His head was throbbing, his face deformed, and his eyes swollen nearly shut. He was led robot-like to wash and do the ablutions. But then, amazingly, he was left alone to pray on the prayer mat. “I was spared having to be forced to return to Islamic prayers. I was even more amazed when they released me to go outside of the house the next morning.”

The pastor quickly arranged for Silas to flee Abengourou. I had already been alerted to his situation, and we had been praying too. It was our privilege to take him in, love him, disciple him.

Later, while we were still ministering in the Ivory Coast (our last field of work), it was our joy to celebrate his marriage to Cecile and dedicate their child in church. But the most wonderful thing of all is that even before Linda and I made a commitment to come to Mali, God called Silas and his wife to His work in the Muslim country of Mali.

Two years ago they joined us here in Bamako, knowing full well that it could cost them their lives. They have begun to prepare for the ministry in our Bible School. We are taking a man with a 5th grade education, a love for Christ, and a call upon his humble heart, and we are helping him reach the lost Muslims of Mali.

So here we were, in the sweltering heat, building a Bible School together. As we paused for another tin sheet to be passed up to us, I looked upon his face and tried to see if there were scars from his ordeal. I could not see any. Perhaps it was because he was laughing, and his face was perspiring profusely. Or perhaps I could not see clearly for the tears in my own eyes.

That’s what our work is about. You are the one making it possible by your prayers, and faithful financial support. Silas Ali Ouattara, and the many like him whom we are helping, are our victory - yours and ours, together.

Gratefully,

David (Faouzi) & Linda Arzouni