The Choir is Powerless!

Three days ago, I performed with my church choir- “Chorale Revelation de Christ”- as an opening act for a visiting church choir from a nearby village. I believe I first knew about Sunday’s concert on Saturday evening at our regular choir practice. This is such a typical experience for me that I hardly considered that it would be of interest to mention, but that is just the nature of my participation in this choir. I simply never know what is in store, and it is difficult to gage how much others are equally flexible or if I’m just constantly missing messages. However, even at the end of practice on Saturday night I heard our director say he didn’t know what time the concert was going to start, but that was ok.

On Sunday, I heard the concert would be at 3:00 so we should arrive at 2:30. Obediently, we got to church sometime shortly after 2:40 and hung around outside, as hardly anybody had yet entered the sanctuary. At 3:00ish we donned our brown graduation robes and caps- typical concert attire- and made our way to the side pews. I believe our intention was to sing two opening songs for the visiting choir, and also maybe the offertory. I can’t say for sure because was we buttoned up our robes and adjusted our tassels, we were still deliberating among ourselves which songs to perform, and whatever was planned was so far from what actually transpired that it hardly seems important now.

We sang our opening numbers for a tiny audience. After all, it was only about 3:30 and who comes to a concert within the first half-hour of its announced starting time? I’ll tell you, about 30 misinformed people. So we sang our opening numbers and then returned to our places to watch the visiting choir.

In Chad, attending a concert, even a church concert, does not mean sitting placidly in your seat and letting the music wash over you. It doesn’t even mean tapping your foot with a smile on your face. Attending a concert in Chad means being on your feet, singing along whenever possible, ululating if able (or, in my case, unable but willing), and being visual evidence that it is a positive experience. As a result, as the visiting choir launched in to their program and the crowd began to grow, I hardly even noticed the people performing at the front. From my vantage point looking out at the audience, I was having too much fun watching the party unfolding before me. I filmed the crowd. I filmed some of the more flashy dancers in my own choir who were cracking me up with their colorful moves. It was as if the choir was providing background music for the audience’s show.

This next event was, in a less than ideal way, a perfect demonstration of just how true this observation could be. Three young women from the choir, wearing matching t-shirts and wrap skirts, made their way to the front of the church and positioned themselves on one knee in a prayer stance. This looked familiar. It reminded me of the way the choreography started when I danced in a Christmas program with one of my students. Sure enough, the familiar music began to spill out of the speakers: “Louez l’Eternellll. Car… Il est bonnnn.” Excitement stirred the crowd. This was a definite favorite, a sure crowd pleaser. Our own choir had performed this song not long before and it is a truly epic one. It starts off slow with this sort of 70s ballad feel, then abruptly switches into an upbeat dance piece, followed by a section of dialogue that people love to rattle off along with the recording, Finally there’s a part where a leader belts, “I will not die!” and everyone screams “NO!” “I will not die!” “NO!” “I will live!” “YES!” “I will live!” “YES!” “He saved me!” “YES!” “I WILL NOT DIE!” “NOOOOOOOOOOO!” etc. We were in for a treat.

Well, the 70s ballad started. The dancers rose from their knees and did some synchronized swaying.  A hundred voices had already joined in to at least match if not practically drown out the canned music. Then the mood switched. We’d reached the second part of the song. People threw their heads back and sang louder and with more energy. Everyone was out of their seats dancing along, most of them more animated and bouncy than the performers. Smiles abounded.

Then, the music cut out.

No power.

…Well, whoever let that rattle anyone in Moundou, Chad? We just kept singing! We didn’t miss a beat. Except for one thing. The dancers had stopped. They were looking anxiously at one another. (For those of you who are Mean Girls fans, it was the moment when the CD started skipping at the school winter pageant, before Lindsay Lohan saved the day by singing and rallying the whole high school to join in performing “Jingle Bell Rock” to carry the dancers through.) Except that this time everyone was already singing! And harmonizing! And percussing! And doing a better rendition of the song than could be found on a recording. But dejected, the dancers sank back down to their knees, staring gloomily at the ground and waiting for the “music” to start back up. The crowd did not give up. They sang louder and louder, more and more joyfully, carrying themselves confidently through the many complicated transitions, and willing the dancers to get back up and give us a show! It went on and on, with the audience performing earnestly and the performers sitting silently and self-consciously. A textbook picture of angst. After at least a full minute, someone circled around shushing the crowd into submission.

I wonder how many times we haven’t realized that we were better off when things WEREN’T going as planned… that whatever we had planned was not as special as the things that actually happened…

The dance number was followed by several minutes of unstructured downtime for everyone in the church. Eventually, someone beckoned our choir to stand up and announced that the choir CRC would do something now (..anything!). What followed was a real testament to how much of the Evangelical Church of Tchad repertoire I have integrated into my own this year, as we stood and sang a medley of about ten different songs. We would sing one song for a minute or two¸ and then the leader would point to someone in the choir and mouth a few words, and they would belt out the solo part of a new song that we would then launch into. As unplanned as it was, this was fine by me. Being a product of the Mennonite singing school means I have zero qualms with singing unaccompanied, and really enjoyed the break from electric keyboard and guitars. For once I could hear myself and all the harmonies. And, as always, the crowd provided moral support by singing along and dancing like pros.

We never did get power back. The concert ended with all of us, members from both the home and visiting choirs, standing together and singing a song we had learned the previous day that says, “We are one in a line of love.” We held hands and raised them high. It did not go unappreciated by me that I was singing this song amidst hundreds of people whom I so easily could have gone through life never knowing. We prayed, handed in our graduation outfits, and went out into the evening.

Until the next concert. As far as I know, we could have one tomorrow.