“Please do not leave me here. Wherever you want to go, I will go with you. Never in my life have I experienced the love you have shown me,” Spice said.

In August 2023, I wrote about looking for a person of influence in our community. In that article, I introduced you to two Muslim carpenters who operated a local shop, Spice and N’Koroh, whom I had hired to repair our furniture which was broken as we moved from Guinea to Kono, Sierra Leone. In getting to know them, it seemed that Spice was a seeker, and I asked for your prayers for him and N’koroh.

Thank you for praying for my friends. The Lord is answering your prayers in His own way and time. Their story reminds me of Matthew 24:40-41: “Then shall two be in the field; the one shall be taken, and the other left. Two women shall be grinding at the mill; the one shall be taken, and the other left.”

Spice (his nickname) is not a Kono. He is a Tenneh from the northern region of the country. After making some of the repairs, Spice charged me more than I had expected, more than I knew it should have cost. Rather than negotiating the price, I gave him what he requested. In this culture, when they notice you are not one of them or are new in the area, whether by your accent or looks, they want to gain as much as they can from you. I understood this mentality but played along because I sought a friend, a person of influence.

A week later, I met N’Koroh (which means big brother in Malinka or Kurankoh). N’koroh is a Kurankoh, also from the northern region of the country. I asked him to fix a bed. He also overcharged. I guess Spice spoke to him about me. I was not surprised by this, either; this was part of their personal jihad. Experience in Guinea taught me that every Muslim is a jihadist. In Guinea, they do not always define jihad literally as a holy war. To them, jihad is anything you do to disrupt the progress of an infidel until they become Muslims or at least say the Shahada—the Islamic declaration of faith that there is no god but Allah and that Muhammad is his prophet. They knew I was not a Muslim; therefore, that made me an infidel.

Their shop, located on an unpaved main road that led downtown, was not far from our home. The shop actually belonged to N’koroh; he had rented the property and asked his friend Spice to work with him. Many Konos, old and young, rich and poor, visited these men. It was not a modernized carpentry shop, just a simple, humble shop run by two young men struggling to make ends meet. Even though they did not have modernized tools, they did an outstanding job on all the furniture I asked them to repair or make.

Through the conviction of the Holy Spirit, I began to pray for them daily and continued to visit them regularly, having at the back of my mind the idea of finding one or more persons of influence (Matthew 10:11-14). Their workshop became like a classroom where I practiced the language and connected with people in the community.

Our friendships grew. I noticed that they were nice, and I wanted to continue our friendship without any ill feelings toward them because of their overcharging me when I first met them. I also wanted them to know that I understood the streets, too. I began to ask rhetorical questions about our first encounter and how they cheated me. When we cleared the misunderstanding, they opened up to me, telling me about their personal lives. We became so close that when thieves entered my courtyard at night, stole my iPad and Bluetooth speaker through my window, and even attempted to break into our house, they took turns as our guards every night until our landlord fixed the gate.

Spice began to show signs of a seeker, someone looking for truth they cannot find in their religion, and began to ask general religious questions. As I continued to mingle and secretly pray for them, he began to narrow his questions to the Sabbath, food and the life of Jesus Christ.

One evening, he visited our home with a standing pulpit. “I made this for you,” he said.

“Spice, could you come to church next Sabbath and present it to the church? We could also pray for you.”

“Sure,” he replied before turning his back and leaving. The next day, he returned to our home. “What time is your church service? What should I wear?”

“Come at 8:45 tomorrow morning, and dress just as you are.”

As promised, Spice was there that Sabbath. We presented him and the standing pulpit to the church, and grateful and overjoyed, the elders prayed for him.

This move angered his friend N’koroh, who asked Spice to look for another workshop. I tried several times to make peace between them but to no avail. N’koroh remained firm with his decision. I tried to discover the problem. No one could tell me, not even Spice. When I asked him, he responded, “I don’t know.”

I decided to investigate. I asked one of N’koroh’s close confidants about the new animosity, and he told me, “N’koroh thinks Spice is a betrayer of Islam. He doesn’t want anything to do with him.”
Spice continued to visit us at home but could not go to church. Earlier this year, Spice got sick. His index finger on his right hand became swollen. He would not visit us. One Sabbath afternoon after church service, I asked my son, Fred, “Have you seen Spice lately?”

“No,” he replied.
“Well, let’s go and visit him.

“I think you guys should take some food with you,” my wife advised. “You never know; he might be hungry.”

Approaching his house, we could hear the voice of an adult male crying. The wails were coming from his room. My son rushed in and found him sitting on his bed, holding his right hand with his left as if his right hand would fall off without its support.

“Go to the house and ask Mom to give you a thousand leones,” the equivalent of $45.00, “and come with the car!” I commanded. While Fred was on his way to get the money and the car, I helped Spice freshen up a little and change his clothes. I forced him to eat a little of the food we brought for him. We then took him to the hospital, where he received treatment. Afterward, we took Spice to our house to spend the night while my son Fred went to Spice’s house and cleaned up his room.

When we called our family together for worship the next day, my son mentioned to Spice, “I cleaned your room yesterday. You can go home and rest.”

Spice replied, “I will go later.”

We were all surprised to see Spice stay during our morning worship. Whenever Spice had visited our home before, and it was time for worship, he would typically walk out when we called for prayer. It is a way many Muslims fight conviction. This time, he quietly sat as we sang hymns of praises.

“Does anyone have any praises of thanksgiving or prayer requests?” I asked.

“I am thankful to the God of the Christians for showing me love and mercy through this family,” Spice said. “I am beginning to understand true religion. . . . But please help me; pray for God’s direction. I am confused. I don’t know which way to follow.”

Two months later, when we announced to everyone that we would be moving to a new location, Spice pleaded like Ruth to Naomi (Ruth 1:16-17).

“Please do not leave me here,” Spice said. “Wherever you want to go, I will go with you. Never in my life have I experienced the love you have shown me. All my life I have been in the street. With you, I feel safe.”

“Spice, we are Christians. We share Christ with our friends and families,” I said.

“I want to know Christ!” he exploded with tears in his eyes.

Unbeknownst to us, Spice quickly followed us to our new location and rented a room in our town. We were amazed and delighted, praising God when Spice immediately began coming to morning and evening worship and going to church with us every Sabbath.

I wish to start Bible studies with Spice very soon and want to suggest this to him in the next few weeks. Please keep him and me in your prayers for God to bless our meetings with wisdom and understanding.

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