Beep, beep, beep. My cell phone signaled the arrival of a text message. Scanning the room, I finally found the phone among some odds and ends on our counter. When I saw that the message was from the U.S. embassy in Bamako about 60 miles from us, I had a feeling it wouldn’t be good news. “Gunfire in Kati,” it said. Kati is a town with a military base just north of Bamako.

I interrupted Neil’s Bambara lesson to show him the message. He and his teacher began discussing what it might mean. Their discussion was cut short by more beeping from my cell phone as another message arrived from the Embassy, even more worrying than the first: “Gunfire in various parts of Bamako. American citizens advised to shelter in place.”

It was near the end of March, and the hot season was fully upon us. Although we weren’t aware of it at the time, those text messages signaled the demise of the government of Mali as we had known it. A coup d’état was in progress in Kati and Bamako led by some mid-level army officers who had grown increasingly dissatisfied with the way the government was managing the longstanding war in the north of Mali against Tuareg rebels and other groups, including radical Islamists, who had joined together to fight for an independent state. Presidential elections were supposed to be held in a month, but apparently the army officers didn’t feel they could wait.

For the last 20 years, Mali had been lauded as a stable democracy. Some have called it the most stable democracy in West Africa. Bamako, although a large city with millions of people, always seemed like a sleepy town. I could easily travel throughout the city by myself, visiting friends and shopping and never feeling threatened. There were frequent skirmishes in the north of Mali. The rebels were always trying to take control of major northern cities like Timbuktu, Kidal and Gao, but they had always been repulsed by the Malian army. But the north was far away from us and had little impact on our daily life. Now all that had suddenly changed.

Over the next several days, we followed the news stories coming out of Bamako with intense interest. Marc Coleman, AFM’s Africa field director, was in frequent contact, and we were cleared to evacuate the country if we felt threatened. Kangaba remained calm, but many people worried about what might happen next. And then it happened. The rebels in the north, capitalizing on the unstable political situation in the south, chose that moment to make their move. In about 48 hours they took Kidal, Gao and finally Timbuktu. The Malian army put up only token resistance and evacuated most military bases before the rebels got there.

The Christians who lived in those areas, the fruit of decades of work by various mission organizations, immediately left their homes and became refugees seeking safety. The rebels are stridently anti-Christian.

Our level of concern was rising, and we were praying about our options. What would the rebels do next? Would they continue pushing south, or would they consolidate their gains?

The confederation of West African countries known as ECOWAS was also applying pressure. They gave Mali’s new military junta an ultimatum; either they relinquish their illegal power to a transitional government within 72 hours, or dire sanctions would be implemented, including a currency embargo (Mali shares a currency with a number of West African countries), and the closing of borders (Mali is a land-locked country and depends on its neighbors for goods.)

For about a week and a half, we lived in uncertainty and continued to ask the Lord for guidance. Should we stay and try to stick it out, or should we evacuate briefly to Guinea, (the border is only an hour away). The evacuation option was complicated by the unfortunate fact that we didn’t have visas for Guinea. We knew visas were not available at the border crossing, and we couldn’t travel into Bamako safely to try to acquire them at the Guinean embassy.

What to do? In this state of uncertainty, we entered our second Sabbath rest since the coup. Sabbath morning, I received a call from friends in Kankan, Guinea’s second largest city located about three hours from us, who work with a mission organization there. They knew of our visa situation and offered to help us. They had a Guinean friend named Isac who had a family connection to the woman in charge of visa control at the border crossing near us, and he could get us across.

Neil and I took several minutes and earnestly entreated God to reveal His will to us and give us some sort of sign. After that prayer, we felt a measure of peace. We checked our email, and the first message was from Marc Coleman with the succinct heading, “Time to Evacuate.” AFM was ordering us to leave Mali for several weeks. We took this as our prayed-for sign and contacted our friends, asking them to put their plan in motion.

Forty-eight hours later, a few hours before the ECOWAS sanctions would go into effect and seal the borders, we found ourselves making our way through the complicated process of crossing into Guinea. It wasn’t easy without the proper paperwork, but Isac helped us a lot. After almost three hours, and with some very cranky kids in a hot car, we were safely in Guinea and praising God as we sped toward the mission guesthouse in Kankan.

We stayed in Guinea almost four weeks as we watched the situation in Mali. After a week, the borders re-opened, but it still didn’t seem like the right time to go back. Finally, near the end of March, we decided the situation had stabilized enough to warrant our return, and we happily began our journey home. The border crossing was much easier this time as we had been able to acquire Guinean visas during our stay. Soon we were thrilled to see our familiar surroundings again.

The political situation in Mali has still not yet completely stabilized, but we are happy to be back at our project site. Please pray for the people of Mali, the political situation and specifically the people in Kangaba. We don’t know what the future holds, but we are happy to know that God does.

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