West African choirs are a joy to record. Each arrives with its own tribal style: its own dance moves, drum rhythms, percussion instruments, and lyrics rooted in local life. Tan gourds wrapped in a mesh of beads rattle in time with clapping hands. Bits of steel, pounded into dull gray thumb rings and tapped against rough-forged spoons, ring out high and piercing above the thunder of the drums. No two African choirs are alike, yet all share the same heartbeat: joy, proclamation, drums, and boundless energy!

As smartphones have become more accessible and affordable across Africa, BiblePlus has shifted toward recording choirs on video. The audio plays on the cute yellow solar-powered Kulumi players used by BiblePlus, carrying beautiful, energetic music to off-grid communities in their own mother tongue. Tucked into a pocket or swinging from a lanyard around the neck, these little players keep women company through the strenuous rhythm of their days: hauling water, cooking over a smoky open fire, and pounding fufu. The men, bent to their labor in the yam, maize, millet, rice, and sugar cane fields under the hot sun, are glad for the music too.

Yet when a moment of rest comes, in the cool shade of a sprawling tree and far from the blazing sun, the phones come out and the videos begin to play. Tiny BiblePlus microSD cards slip into those smartphones, each holding Gospel movies and a growing library of choir videos and testimonies.

Cyrus, Clement, Beth, and I have done our best to capture these choirs with simple techniques and modest equipment. Last year in Nkwanta, we recorded several groups as they danced, sang, and drummed with joyful abandon. Young men and women stood shoulder to shoulder with deeply wrinkled elders, praising the Lord together. But our knowledge and skills had reached a plateau. The choir videos were good, but we needed instruction.

Nashville Tennessee loves studios: hushed, controlled spaces lined with acoustic foam, studio microphones, massive video cameras, track lighting, and professional mixers. But the frontier where unreached peoples are eager to hear, ready to come and see, looks very different. In Africa, Asia, and South America, it is small churches with no electrical power and red-brown mud-hut compounds, where goats and chickens provide a free “livestock audio track” and mothers pause to nurse their babies. This is exactly where the Create Mobile team thrives. They don’t merely tolerate difficult challenges; they go looking for them, traveling to places like Mongolia, Cambodia, and Malawi to bring the instruction to the students. We needed training, so they packed up their instructors and portable classroom and came to a community with no AC and only rustic accommodations. They even reshaped their four-week smartphone curriculum, adding two topics specifically to help advance BiblePlus for OneWay Africa: making videos that share the stories of people who have decided to follow Jesus, and recording African choirs that drum, dance, and praise. I’m guessing our half-day lesson on recording a choir outside a mud-brick home, goats and all, was the first of its kind.

The Music! Enjoy the choir: click the image below then move your mouse down

Issa, the school director, oversaw the thoughtful placement of four smartphones and an affordable microphone, all pulled from the portable student recording backpacks. He and Eliya fussed over camera focus, white balance, frames per second, and audio preamp gain, all the while knowing the singers would not stay as stiff and nervous as they now stood, anxious about what was expected of them. Cyrus and Clement had recorded this choir before, but that had meant two friendly Ghanaian faces, not 21 students with four cameras, a drone, and a handheld gimbal. As Issa and Eliya adjusted the shots and measured sound levels, they taught at the same time, giving each student a clear responsibility and guidance on how to contribute to the team’s success. Beth and I provided tech and baby support.

Often, a couple of yards of colorful African fabric holds a small child snug against a mother’s back, leaving her free to sing and even dance. As soon as they can hold up their heads, these little ones are part of the daily work of life, watching as Mom washes clothes, cooks, and sings. Today, however, we had 21 students and a grandmother-to-be who was more than happy to cradle a beautiful sleeping infant.

Watch the (silent drone) video below — a Komba dance and drum circle: click the image below then move your mouse down

After the choir had shared their prepared songs, an improv session erupted. The singers swirled into a circle around the pounding drums, dancing. I apologize that the drone video has no audio, but it is still delightful to see the smiles and joy as we dance. We? Yes. As the team wrapped up, I jumped in and took my place among the young men, dancing in the blistering heat. The students were cheering for Uncle Pete as I staggered out of the circle, lightheaded and in search of a sip of Gatorade. Victoire, the tall young lady from Chad who was wearing the yellow beret in a previous post, was grinning broadly. As I caught my breath, I told her and the five or six other Africans under the tree, “You know, there’s a bit of a joke in the USA that White men can’t dance.” Before anyone else had a chance to react, Victoire blurted out loudly, “Oh, that true!” 

Enjoy the improvised drummer duel: click the image below then move your mouse down

Reflecting on a Different Style

Less than two months ago, I was traveling in France and took a couple of days to wander around Paris, savoring the timeless architecture and the well-worn limestone stairs that lead to hidden treasures for those willing to leave the crowds, to seek and observe. Maybe it is slow tourism, or maybe just contemplative strolling. One afternoon, I decided to visit Église Saint-Séverin and take in its stained-glass windows. I had brought my prayer journal, intending to sit in the cool shadow of the towering Gothic stone walls and simply pray and write. But as I sat gazing up at the geometric beauty of the vaulted stone ceiling, I saw people settling into the small wooden chairs. They were smiling and chatting with each other, which was not exactly the quiet contemplation I had anticipated.

I walked to the back of the church and noticed a few signs. A lay choir was about to practice. Africans and Europeans gathered into their assigned sections. A kind-faced young Frenchman led them through dramatic breathing and warm-up exercises that seemed almost like a caricature. As the choir rearranged chairs and singers, I returned to my journal and reflected on the upcoming work in Ghana.

Listen to the beautiful French choir: click the image below then move your mouse down

Then it came. A hush fell over the church. I looked up. The sweetness of the voices reverberated within the centuries-old walls. Heroes, apostles, and saints looked down from the magnificent stained-glass windows, glowing above this humble gathering of ordinary people. Here, in Paris, was the beauty of a global choir. I sat soaking in the warm harmony. No two church choirs are alike, but they share a common heart, for we are all one people. And what the French choir lacked in drums, it made up for in harmony.

As I sit writing this, I think of every tribe, every tongue, and every nation raising their voices together, from the Komba choirs to the Parisians of Église Saint-Séverin. United. A New Song.

PS: The students are still editing all the video and audio together into a choir video that we can share with you.  I’ll share it when it is completed.