Africa during the daytime is a lethargic place, stifled by the sloth inducing heat and humidity. The pace is slow and the energy level only begins to rise as the sun begins to set and cooler weather prevails. In the bush, the night takes on a different atmosphere and comes alive with the rhythm of Africa: hyena woops, donkey brays, cows moo, dogs bark and howl, villagers talk loudly, shout or sing, birds, insects, etc. and on a few occasions, the you can even hear the distant thumping of drums. Three or four nights in Ethiopia, I lay in my tent listening to drums and the occasional chanting coming from far away, wanting to go out there and see what was going on but hesitant to wander out of camp on my own into the bush and the pitch black night. I entertained images of tribal dancing and drumming in all sorts of masks and costumes, the kind of African gathering portrayed on TV. I asked Randy, the tour director who is pretty much down for anything and has been on the last three tours, if he had ever gone off to see what was going on, and he told me that he had a few times, usually it was a village party and the next time I heard something I should go grab him and we'd check it out. Unfortunately, for the next month the opportunity never arose. So Wednesday night I went back to my tent after another seemingly routine day, most people already having gone to sleep. We were at a bush camp, about 300 meters from a nearby village of 15 or so mud and brick dwellings, separated only by a barren field. It was one of those impossibly hot and humid days during the rainy season and after doing a little reading (A continent for the taking: The tragedy and hope of Africa, definitely check it out, a good history of how Europe, oil companies and America did West Africa) I found it impossible to sleep. Laying in my tent, thinking about what I'm going to order at Wendy's when I get home, I started to hear some faint drumming in the distance, but it would only go for about five minutes and then stop. I debated whether or not to go try to find someone to go with me and whether or not to go at all, and after about ten minutes decided to at least get out of my tent and see if anyone was awake and down to check it out. I came to Africa to see what was going on, so I was gonna go out there and see what the hell was going on. I was apprehensive to go by myself, not out of fear of any violence coming to me from the people, but the usual apprehension one has when going to a party alone where he doesn't know anyone, except in this situation instead of it being the friends of a friend or something of that nature, it would be a bunch of Tanzanian villagers. It could be pretty pretty pretty pretty awkward. Anyway, walking around the camp, I didn't see anyone up and I didn't feel right waking anyone, so I headed to my tent dejectedly, hoping that I would get this opportunity again. Just when I was about to get back in and call it a night, I saw a headlight bobbing in the field between the campsite and the village. I waited to see who it was and was surprised to see Randy. He had been having a few drinks in the middle of the field with three of the other staff members, had heard the drumming, and had came back to the camp to get his drum. We headed off to the field and met up with Miles,Samantha, and John, not knowing what to expect and what we would see. It was pitch black, the moon wasn't out, and the only lightcame from the vast amount of stars in the clear sky and the lightning coming from a storm quite far off in the distance, which looked likefireworks going off in a distant town. We walked up to find a group of villagers, about 10-15 small children and a few village elders, who were singing, drumming, and dancing in a big group. There were also a bunch of spectators from the villages and a few young mothers with their babies clinging to their back. They didn't stop singing when we came, and they laid out a few small wooden benches for us to sit on and watch. None of them spoke a word of English, and because of the darkness we couldn't see their faces and they couldn't see ours, only silhouettes. Still, I got the impression that they were waiting for us. The group was apparently some sort of children's choir led by a few of the elders, and I got the impression that they were probably singing some sort of church hymns with their own traditional African folklore style, and they were dancing as well. Their voices were amazing and they sang with a brilliant harmony and power, and it was unbelievable and exactly the type of thing you hope and pray you'll get to experience when you come to a place like Africa. Occasionally there was a break for what seemed like a prayer, and then they continued singing and dancing. The darkness and the inability to see their faces just made everything a whole lot more beautiful. Randy busted out his drums and played along with them and the rest of us danced the dance of the goofy white man in a big circlewith the other silhouettes. A distinct observer would have had no trouble picking us out, however, as the Tanzanians moved gracefully withthe type of rhythm that can only be innate and we moved with the type of unrhythmic movements, the flailing arms and spastic movements,that could only be that of the Caucasian North American. Except for me, of course. I move like a jellyfish, rhythm is nothing, it don't stop.It went on like this, them singing these amazing African hymns, occasionally doing a call and answer routine or letting the children sing solos,and dancing, us dancing and attempting to sing in Swahili, Randy playing the drums, well into the night for what could have been 20 minutes or what could have been 2 hours. At one point, the villagers took a break and Randy played "get up, stand up" on his drum and sang for theAfricans, who enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed their singing and dancing. When the night was coming to a close, all the children and elders grew silent and then started an aggressive prayer chant, everyone going at their own pace and ticking their heads in a weird way and combined with the darkness and the seriousness and aggressiveness in their tone it kind of freaked me out. The next day, Matt, now known as Captain America , told me the first time he had seen the same type of chanting in a South African township it freaked him out as well. The night ended with the group of children walking us back to camp, singing another song the entire way, and then the five of us walking back to camp repeating the word "wow" every 20 seconds or so.