The stillness of the African night was shattered by a piercing scream. Fair-skinned, red-haired Mary Slessor hurried out of her hut, a concerned look on her face. As she stood listening, she heard the sound of yelling and drumming growing steadily louder in the distance.
I settled down in a small corner of the café with a steaming bowl of soup, ready for a quiet hour to journal after a busy day. Quickly I realized it wouldn’t be very quiet as a loud group of women began gathering near me. I tried shutting their conversation out but couldn’t help overhearing the dynamic conversation.