24 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW perforated by the gentle lowing of cattle in the street and the rickety wheels of horse-drawn carts driving past. While Bryan prayed at the front of the room to start the worship night, I stepped closer to the door, hoping to catch a breeze and escape the stifling air of the poorly-ventilated room. Jean stirred drowsily in my arms, leaning his tiny head against my chest, and the missionaries sat attentively in their straightbacked wooden chairs, apparently unfazed by the heat. Even the women in their elegant, colorfullyprinted, stiffly-ironed dresses sat comfortably, fanning themselves occasionally with small sheets of notebook paper. After praying, Bryan invited a missionary named Oumar up to the front, who then motioned for his friend Pierre to join him. Pierre and Oumar smiled shyly and then began to sing in Wolof: “Maa ngi jël dogal topp Jesus…” A smile creased my face. The words were new to my ears, but the tune was familiar—I Have Decided to Follow Jesus. As Oumar and Pierre continued singing, the rest of the missionaries joined in, voices rising and falling in tight harmonies. They sang faster and faster, louder and louder, perfectly in tune despite having no accompaniment. One man stepped out to grab a drum, and the others began clapping in complex, syncopated rhythms. The women swayed and sang— blues, pinks, yellows, and purples
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