One of the songs I remember hearing the most during my elementary school years was Lionel Richie’s “All Night Long”, a song that was on the Top 40 radio loop for years. A true classic tune with Afro and Latin flavor, encouraging men and women, boys and girls alike, to get their groove on, and not to stop until the sun comes up. It’s become a timeless favorite, sure to be heard on a wedding dance floor or high school reunion near you. It carries a great message. Sometimes you just need to put your labors away and cut a rug. And Lionel makes sure no one is left behind when promoting the international virtues of a dance party. “We’re going to party! Karamu, fiesta, forever! Come on and sing along!”

Until a few weeks ago, I was unaware that All Night Long was such a fitting theme for a major Ethiopian Orthodox holiday called Timkat, or Epiphany, which is a nationwide celebration of the historical baptism of Jesus by John the Baptist. I reached Addis Ababa early on a Tuesday morning in mid January. After a shower and a bit of rest, I headed to meetings with one of our partners. After a comfortable night’s sleep at my good friend Ephrim’s guest house, I left in the morning for another day of meetings. Late in the afternoon that second day, my driver Arega and I headed to a hotel across town that was to be my homebase for the rest of the week. In passing conversation, the crowded roads of Timkat had come up and I remembered having some trouble driving around Awassa during the holiday a few years earlier. But that didn’t prepare me for what was to come this time, especially in the densely populated and largely Orthodox city of Addis.

I knew the city layout well enough to know our drive should take about 30-45 minutes, tops. But as we tried to enter the first major thoroughfare only to be sent back into the neighborhood, I knew we were in for an adventure. Women in white robes filled the end of each alley that led to the main road. They represented thousands crowding each intersection and lining the sides of the road waiting for the Orthodox priests to carry small replica Arks of the Covenant from the church to an open field where the celebration would continue. Arega and I traversed every back street possible to finally reach our destination 2 hours later. We joked that while GPS isn’t functional in Addis, the People Positioning Service was highly effective determining which roads were open and which were not. The last half-block of our journey had to be walked because, to my great surprise, the Bela Hotel was directly across the street from a large Orthodox church and the street was full of people. I weaved my way through the throng into the hotel lobby and then up to my third floor room. From my window, I had perfect view of the crowd and as I was getting settled to what I hoped was a restful, quiet evening, the scene outside was becoming more lively. Words don’t do it justice.

More than a thousand people filled several blocks up and down the street. The church was directly across the street and next to it was an open field with a tent and stage at the far end. The ‘worshippers’ cheered intermittently and could be found circling up in smaller groups dancing to their own songs while several carried beats on drums hung around their necks. Apparently, I had arrived before this church’s formal celebration had begun with its procession through the street – that’s what the crowd was waiting for! Shortly after I unpacked my bag, I looked out to see the priests exiting the church gates onto the road, carrying little multi-colored arks and extravagant umbrellas as red carpet was rolled out beyond their steps in 20 foot lengths. As they passed each segment, young men rolled up the dusty carpet and ran to extend the path in front of the clergy. Singing and dancing swelled on each side of the walkway. Some bowed as the arks passed by. Jubilation followed as the priests took the slow walk about two hundred yards to a stage where the arks would rest.

To this point, I was excited to witness such an authentic cultural event up close for the first time. The fervency of worship that seemed to spontaneously arise from the crowd was fascinating. The colors and sounds were unfamiliar, a bright and vivacious public display. I videoed from my window in order to share the experience with others. As the sun went down, the celebration began to take on a more somber tone, and little did I know the ‘festivities’ were just getting started. As many worshippers as would fit, filled the field adjacent to the church (across from the hotel) and lit candles where they sat under the moonlit sky.

From the stage, and out of several loud speakers came the voice of one of the priests. What sounded like a prayer lasted several minutes. Then came some fiery preaching. For the next 20 minutes, I got the sense the pastor was giving the “I hope you really understand why we’re all here” message. Adamant and authoritative. About 15 minutes in, it was apparent he wasn’t sure if the crowd was getting the message. Now, I couldn’t understand what he was actually saying, but we’ve all heard a preacher who isn’t quite sure if the congregation is picking up what he’s laying down. He went on and then after a few minutes break, another guy picked up the mic and had his own message to give. Several others took a turn speaking to the crowd and by now it was after 9 PM. After some intermittent pronouncements from the speakers, vocalization that resembled wailing came from the loudspeaker. The volume seemed to rise and the noise was so loud it drowned out the announcers calling the soccer game on my television. A heavy bass drum played in the background. “Thump….Thump….Thump”. The single pane window in my hotel room was shut, but it wasn’t doing much anyway. The more I listened, I could tell what I was hearing I was some form of ‘singing’. The all male late night Orthodox choir from South West Addis Ababa was just warming up. The vocalists went on, and on, and on…and on.

The sounds ranged from a deep guttural bellow, to a light, elongated note and any syncopation with the drum beat was unclear to me. I waited until about 11 p.m. to really try to sleep, quite exhausted from my meetings and fearing the dreaded ‘second full night’ when jet lag often sets in. The singing was as strong as when it began and the drum continued its slow monotonous rhythm. Silence would come for a moment and I could feel my tense body relax, knowing subconscious sleep was at hand. Then thump….thump…the drum and the wailing song continued.  A similar pattern lasted until four in the morning when finally, everyone decided to rest. In the meantime, I had stuffed my ears with tissue while laying sideways on my pillow with a hand towel over the other side of my head to try and muffle the sound emanating from the world-class speaker system the church was using for the celebration. I’ll leave my story there other than to say I found another hotel for the next night, unsure of whether the festivities across the street would continue after a less than confident answer from the hotel manager. 

My twelfth trip to Ethiopia was unintentionally one of the most eventful. Ironically, staying in the more developed Addis Ababa was more complicated than the quiet, emerging city of Awassa to the south. I had a productive week of meetings.  Spending time in an office or coffee shop evaluating years-long projects is an important, yet mostly uneventful process. It doesn’t lead to exciting tales of missionary adventure. The adventure of this trip was incidental to the purpose of my week in Ethiopia. But experiencing Timkat up close and personal reminded me how little I know about this nation that has consumed so much of my time the past 7 years. Ethiopia’s political turmoil of the past two years has fueled my deeper exploration into the the history its ethnic groups (or tribes) and evolution from an empire to fledgeling democracy. The colors, sounds, and expressions of devotion during this three day celebration that led to extended drives and an unintended all-nighter pulled a bit of a layer from my eyes. It gave me a visceral experience of their humanity that is missing from strategizing and analyzing statistics.

There was a freedom emanating from the crowds lining the streets that is not experienced throughout all of life in Ethiopia. I’m intrigued by what inspires that kind of effusive joy that seems compartmentalized to holidays. Our work is not primarily in areas heavily populated by Ethiopian Orthodox but the Arsi and Bale region has many Orthodox and Protestant families living among the dominant Islamic communities. They share a common experience and history that shapes their culture. My encounter in January motivates me to learn more. I want to know about similar experiences of the Muslim Arsi Oromo. My all-night long of forced celebration with a couple thousand Ethiopians underscores that if I am going to learn more, it’s going to take a certain kind of sacrifice. I must commit to spending the time, to listening, and in this case the endurance of a sleepless night. Yet, maybe a more fuller picture of their life will provide keys to unlocking the abundant life we long for them to experience.