Black Man's Burden, Page 2

  II

  The young woman known as Izubahil was washing clothes in the Niger withthe rest but slightly on the outskirts of the chattering group of women,which was fitting since she was both a comparative stranger and as yetunselected by any man to grace his household. Which, in a way, waspassingly strange since she was comely enough. Clad as the rest withnaught but a wrap of colored cloth about her hips, her face and figurewere openly to be seen. Her complexion was not quite so dark as most.She came from up-river, so she said, the area of the Songhoi, but by thelooks of her there was more than average Arab or Berber blood in herveins. Her lips and nose were thinner than those of her neighbors.

  Yes, it was strange that no man had taken her, though it was said thatin her shyness she repulsed any advances made by either the young men,or their wealthier elders who could afford more than one wife. She was anothing-woman, really, come out of the desert alone, and withoutrelatives to protect her interests, but still she repulsed the advancesof those who would honor her with a place in their house, or tent.

  She had come out of the desert, it was known, with her handful ofpossessions done up in a packet, and had quietly and unobtrusively takenher place in the Negro community of Gao. Little better than a slave orGabibi serf, she made her meager living doing small tasks for thebetter-off members of the community.

  But she knew her place, was dutifully shy and quiet spoken, and in thetown or in the presence of men, wore her haik and veil. Yes, it waspassing strange that she found no man. On the face of it, she wasgetting no younger, surely she must be into her twenties.

  Up to their knees in the waters of the Niger, out beyond the point wherethe dugout canoes were pulled up to the bank, their ends resting on theshore, they pounded their laundry. Laughing, chattering, gossiping. Lifewas perhaps poor, but still life was good.

  Someone pretended to see a crocodile and there was a wild scampering forthe shore. And then high laughter when the jest was revealed. Actually,all the time they had known it a jest, since it was their most popularone--there were seldom crocodiles this far north in the Niger bend.

  There was a stir as two men dressed in the clothes of the Roumaapproached the river bank. It was not forbidden, but good manners calledfor males to refrain from this area while the woman bathed and washedtheir laundry, without veil or upper garments. These mean were obviouslyshameless, and probably had come to stare. From their dress, their facesand their bearing, they were strangers. Possibly Senegalese, up from thearea near Dakar, products of the new schools and the new industriesmushrooming there. Strange things were told of the folk who gave up theold ways, worked on the dams and the other new projects, sent theirlittle ones to the schools, and submitted to the needle pricks whichseemed to compose so much of the magic medicine being taught in themedical schools by the Rouma witchmen.

  One of them spoke now in Songhoi, the _lingua franca_ of the vicinity.Shamelessly he spoke to them, although none were his women, nor even histribal kin. None looked at him.

  "We seek a single woman, an unwed woman, who would work for pay andlearn the new ways."

  They continued their laundry, not looking up, but their chatter dribbledaway.

  "She must drop the veil," the man continued clearly, "and give up thehaik and wear the new clothes. But she will be well paid, and taught toread and be kept in the best of comfort and health."

  There was a low gasp from several of the younger women, but one of theeldest looked up in distaste. "Wear the clothes of the Rouma!" she saidindignantly. "Shameless ones!"

  The man's voice was testy. He himself was dressed in the clothing wornalways by the Rouma, when the Rouma had controlled the Niger bend. Hesaid, "These are not the clothes of the Rouma, but the clothes ofcivilized people everywhere."

  The women's attention went back to their washing. Two or three of themgiggled.

  The elderly woman said, "There are none here who will go with you, forwhatever shameless purpose you have in your mind."

  But Izubahil, the strange girl come out of the desert from the north,spoke suddenly. "I will," she said.

  There was a gasp, and all looked at her in wide-eyed alarm. She beganmaking her way to the shore, her unfinished washing still in hand.

  The stranger said clearly, "And drop the veil, discard the haik for thenew clothing, and attend the schools?"

  There was another gasp as Izubahil said definitely, "Yes, all thesethings." She looked back at the women. "So that I may learn all thesenew ways."

  The more elderly sniffed and turned their backs in scorn, but theyounger stared after her in some amazement and until she disappearedwith the two strangers into one of the buildings which had formerlyhoused the French Administration officers back in the days when the areawas known as the French Sudan.

  Inside, the boy strangers turned to her and the one who had spoken atthe river bank said in English, "How goes it?"

  "Heavens to Betsy," Isobel Cunningham said with a grin, "get me a drink.If I'd known majoring in anthropology was going to wind up with my doinga strip tease with a bunch of natives in the Niger River, I would havetaken up Home Economics, like my dear old mother wanted!"

  They laughed with her and Jacob Armstrong, the older of the two, wentover to a sideboard and mixed her a cognac and soda. "Ice?" he said.

  "Brother, you said it," she told him. "Where can I change out of theserags?"

  "On you they look good," Clifford Jackson told her. He lookedsurprisingly like the Joe Louis of several decades earlier.

  "That's enough out of you, wise guy," Isobel told him. "Why doesn'tsomebody dream up a role for me where I can be a rich paramount chief'sfavorite wife, or something? Be loaded down with gold and jewelry, thatsort of thing."

  Jake brought her the drink. "Your clothes are in there," he told her,motioning with his head to an inner room. "It wouldn't do the job," headded. "What we're giving them is the old Cinderella story." He lookedat his watch. "If we get under way, we can take the jet to Kabara and gointo your act there. It's been nearly six months since Kabara andthey'll be all set for the second act."

  She knocked back the brandy and made her way to the other room, sayingover her shoulder, "Be with you in a minute."

  "Not that much of a hurry," Cliff called. "Take your time, gal, there'sa bath in there. You'll probably want one after a week of living the wayyou've been."

  "Brother!" she agreed.

  Jake was making himself a drink. He said easily to Cliff Jackson,"That's a fine girl. I'd hate her job. We get the easy deal on thisassignment."

  Cliff said, "You said it, Nigger. How about mixing me a drink, too?"

  "Nigger!" Jake said in mock indignation. "Look who's talking." His voicetook on a burlesque of a Southern drawl. "Man when the Good Lawd washandin' out _cullahs_, you musta thought he said _umbrellahs_, and saidgive me a nice black one."

  Cliff laughed with him and said, "Where do we plant poor Isobel next?"

  Jake thought about it. "I don't know. The kid's been putting in a lot oftime. I think after about a week in Kabara we ought to go on down toDakar and suggest she be given another assignment for a while. Some ofthe girls, working out of our AFAA office don't do anything except drivearound in recent model cars, showing off the advantages of emancipation,tossing money around like tourists, and living it up in general."

  * * * * *

  On the flight up-river to Kabara, Isobel Cunningham went through thenotes she'd taken on that town. It was also on the Niger, and theassignment had been almost identical to the Gao one. In fact, she'd gonethrough the same routine in Segou, Ke-Macina, Mopti, Goundam and Bourem,above Gao, and Ansongo, Tillaberi and Niamey below. She was stretchingher luck, if you asked her. Sooner or later she was going to run intosomeone who knew her from a past performance.

  Well, let the future take care of the future. She looked over at CliffJackson who was piloting the jet and said, "What're the latestdevelopments? Obviously, I haven't seen a paper or heard a broadcast forover a week."
br />   Cliff shrugged his huge shoulders. "Not much. More trouble with thePortuguese down in the south."

  Jake rumbled, "There's going to be a bloodbath there before it's over."

  Isobel said thoughtfully, "There's been some hope that fundamentalchanges might take place in Lisbon."

  Jake grunted his skepticism. "In that case the bloodbath would takeplace there instead of in Africa." He added, "Which is all right withme."

  "What else?" Isobel said.

  "Continued complications in the Congo."

  "That's hardly news."

  "But things are going like clockwork in the west. Kenya, Uganda,Tanganyika." Cliff took his right hand away from the controls longenough to make a circle with its thumb and index finger. "Likeclockwork. Fifty new fellows from the University of Chicago came in lastweek to help with the rural education development and twenty or so menfrom Johns Hopkins in Baltimore have wrangled a special grant for a newmedical school."

  "All ... Negroes?"

  "What else?"

  Jake said suddenly, "Tell her about the Cubans."

  Isobel frowned. "Cubans?"

  "Over in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan area. They were supposedly helpingintroduce modern sugar refining methods--"

  "Why supposedly?"

  "Why not?"

  "All right, go on," Isobel said.

  Cliff Jackson said slowly, "Somebody shot them up. Killed several,wounded most of the others."

  The girl's eyes went round. "Who ... and why?"

  The pilot shifted his heavy shoulders again.

  Jake said, "Nobody seems to know, but the weapons were modern. Plentymodern." He twisted in his bucket seat, uncomfortably. "Listen, have youheard anything about some character named El Hassan?"

  Isobel turned to face him. "Why, yes. The people there in Gao mentionedhim. Who is he?"

  "That's what I'd like to know," Jake said. "What did they say?"

  "Oh, mostly supposed words of wisdom that El Hassan was alleged to havemade with. I get it that he's some, well you wouldn't call him anationalist since he's international in his appeal, but he's evidentlypreaching union of all Africans. I get an undercurrent ofanti-Europeanism in general, but not overdone." Isobel's expressive facewent thoughtful. "As a matter of fact, his program seems to coincidelargely with our own, so much so that from time to time when I hadoccasion to drop a few words of propaganda into a conversation, I'dsometimes credit it to him."

  Cliff looked over at her and chuckled. "That's a coincidence," he said."I've been doing the same thing. An idea often carries more weight withthese people if it's attributed to somebody with a reputation."

  Jake, the older of the three said: "Well, I can't find out anythingabout him. Nobody seems to know if he's an Egyptian, a Nigerian, aMOR ... or an Eskimo, for that matter."

  "Did you check with headquarters?"

  "So far they have nothing on him, except for some other inquiries fromfield workers."

  Below them, the river was widening out to the point where it resembledswampland more than a waterway. There were large numbers of waterbirds,and occasional herds of hippopotami. Isobel didn't express her thoughts,but a moment of doubt hit her. What would all this be like when the damswere finished, the waters of this third largest of Africa's rivers,ninth largest of the world's, under control?

  She pointed. "There's Kabara." The age-old river port lay below them.Cliff slapped one of his controls with the heel of his hand and thecraft began to sink earthward.

  * * * * *

  They took up quarters in the new hotel which adjoined the new elementaryschool, and Isobel immediately went into her routine.

  Dressed and shod immaculately, her head held high in confidence, shespent considerable time mingling with the more backward of the nativesand especially the women. Six months ago, she had given a performancesimilar to that she had just finished in Gao, several hundred miles downriver.

  Now she renewed old acquaintances, calling them by name--after checkingher notes. Invariably, their eyes bugged. Their questions came thick,came fast in the slurring Songhoi and she answered them in detail. Theycame quickly under her intellectual domination. Her poise, her obviouswell being, flabbergasted them.

  In all, they spent a week in the little river town, but even the firstnight Isobel slumped wearily in the most comfortable chair of theirsmall suite's living room.

  She kicked off her shoes, and wiggled weary toes.

  "If my mother could see me now," she complained. "After giving her allto get the apple of her eye through school, her wayward daughter windsup living with two men in the wilds of deepest Africa." She twisted hermouth puckishly.

  Cliff grunted, poking around in a bag for the bottle of cognac hecouldn't remember where he had packed. "Huh!" he said. "The next timeyou write her you might mention the fact that both of them arecontinually proposing to you and you brush it all off as a big joke."

  "Huh, indeed!" Isobel answered him. "Proposing, or propositioning? Ifeither of you two Romeos ever rattle the doorknob of my room at nightagain, you're apt to get a bullet through it."

  Jake winced. "Wasn't me. Look at my gray hair, Isobel. I'm old enough tobe your daddy."

  "Sugar daddy, I suppose," she said mockingly.

  "Wasn't me either," Cliff said, criss-crossing his heart and pointingupward.

  "Huh!" said Isobel again, but she was really in no mood for their usualbanter. "Listen," she said, "what're we accomplishing with all thismasquerade?"

  Cliff had found the French brandy. He poured three stiff ones and handeddrinks to Isobel and Jake.

  He knew he wasn't telling her anything, but he said, "We're a king-sizerumor campaign, that's what we are. We're breaking down institutions thesneaky way." He added reflectively. "A kinder way, though, than some."

  "But this ... what did you call it earlier, Jake?... this Cinderella actI go through perpetually. What good does it do, really? I contact only afew hundreds of people at most. And there are millions here in Malialone."

  "There are other teams, too," Jake said mildly. "Several hundreds of usdoing one thing or another."

  "A drop in the bucket," Isobel said, her piquant sepian face registeringweariness.

  Cliff sipped his brandy, shaking his big head even as he did so. "No,"he said. "It's a king-size rumor campaign and it's amazing how effectivethey can be. Remember the original dirty-rumor campaigns back in theStates? Suppose two laundry firms were competing. One of them, with amanager on the conscience-less side, would hire two or threeprofessional rumor spreaders. They'd go around dropping into bars,barber shops, pool rooms. Sooner or later, they'd get a chance to dropsome line such as _did you hear about them discovering that two lepersworked at the Royal Laundry_? You can imagine the barbers, thebartenders, and such professional gossips, passing on the good word."

  Isobel laughed, but unhappily. "I don't recognize myself in thedescription."

  Cliff said earnestly, "Sure, only few score women in each town you puton your act, really witness the whole thing. But think how they pass iton. Each one of them tells the story of the miracle. A waif comes out ofthe desert. Without property, without a husband or family, withoutkinsfolk. Shy, dirty, unwanted. Then she's offered a good position ifshe'll drop the veil, discard the haik, and attend the new schools. Sooff she goes--everyone thinking to her disaster. Hocus-pocus, six monthslater she returns, obviously prosperous, obviously healthy, obviouslywell adjusted. Fine. The story spreads for miles around. Nothing is sopopular as the Cinderella story, and that's the story you're puttingover. It's a natural."

  "I hope so," Isobel said. "Sometimes I think I'm helping put over agigantic hoax on these people. Promising something that won't bedelivered."

  Jake looked at her unhappily. "I've thought the same thing, sometimes,but what are you going to be with people at this stage ofdevelopment--_subtle_?"

  Isobel dropped it. She held out her glass for more cognac. "I hopethere's something decent to eat in this place. Do you realize w
hat I'vebeen putting into my tummy this past week?"

  Cliff shuddered.

  Isobel patted her abdomen. "At least it keeps my figure in trim."

  "Um-m-m," Jake pretended to leer heavily.

  Isobel chuckled at him in a return to good humor. "Hyena," she accused.

  "Hyena?" Jake said.

  "Sure, there aren't any wolves in these parts," she explained. "How longare we going to be here?"

  The two men looked at each other. Cliff said, "Well, we'd like to finishout the week. Guy named Homer Crawford has been passing around the wordto hold a meeting in Timbuktu the end of this week."

  "Crawford?"

  "Homer Crawford, some kind of sociologist from the University ofMichigan, I understand. He's connected with the Reunited Nations AfricanDevelopment Project, heads one of their cloak and dagger teams."

  Jake grunted. "Sociologist? I also understand that he put in a hitchwith the Marines and spent kind of a shady period of two years fightingwith the FLN in Algeria."

  "On what side?" Cliff said interestedly.

  "Darn if I know."

  Isobel said, "Well, we have nothing to do with the Reunited Nations."

  Cliff shook his large head negatively. "Of course not, but Crawfordseems to think it'd be a good idea if some of us in the field would gettogether and ... well, have sort of a bull session."

  Jake growled, "We don't have much in the way of co-operation on thehigher levels. Everybody seems to head out in all directions on theirown. It can get chaotic. Maybe in the field we could give each other afew pointers. For one, I'd like to find out if any of the rest of thesejokers know anything about that affair with the Cubans over in theSudan."

  "I suppose it can't hurt," Isobel admitted. "In fact, it might be funswapping experiences with some of these characters. Frankly, though, thestories I've heard about the African Development teams aren't any toopalatable. They seem to be a ruthless bunch."

  Jake looked down into his glass. "It's a ruthless country," he murmured.

  * * * * *

  Dolo Anah, as he approached the ten Dogon villages of the Canton deSangha, was first thought to be a small bird in the sky. As he drewnearer, it was decided, instead, that he was a larger creature of theair, perhaps a vulture, though who had ever seen such a vulture? As hedrew nearer still, it was plain that in size he was more nearly anostrich than vulture, but who had ever heard of a flying ostrich, andbesides--

  No! It was a man! But who in all the Dogon had ever witnessed such a_juju_ man? One whose flailing limbs enabled him to fly!

  The ten villages of the Dogon are perched on the rim of the Falaise deBandiagara. The cliffs are over three hundred feet high and the villagesare similar to Mesa Verde of Colorado, and as unaccessible, asimpregnable to attack.

  But hardly impregnable to arrival by helio-hopper.

  When Dolo Anah landed in the tiny square of the village of Ireli, thefirst instinct of Amadijue the village witchman was to send post hasteto summon the Kanaga dancers, but then despair overwhelmed him. Againstpowers such as this, what could prevail? Besides, Amadijue had notarrived at his position of influence and affluence through other thanhis own true abilities. Secretly, he rather doubted the efficacy of eventhe supposedly most potent witchcraft.

  But this!

  Dolo Anah unstrapped himself from the one man helio-hopper's smallbicyclelike seat, folded the two rotors back over the rest of the craft,and then deposited the seventy-five pound vehicle in a corner, betweentwo adobe houses. He knew perfectly well that the local inhabitantswould die a thousand deaths of torture rather than approach, not tospeak of touching it.

  Looking to neither right nor left, walking arrogantly and carrying onlya small bag--undoubtedly housing his _gris gris_, as Amadijue could wellimagine--Dolo Anah headed for the largest house. Since the whole villagewas packed, bug-eyed, into the square watching him there were noinhabitants within.

  He snapped back over his shoulder, "Summon all the headmen of all thevillages, and all of their eldest sons; summon all the Hogons and allthe witchmen. Immediately! I would speak with them and issue orders."

  He was a small man, clad only in a loincloth, and could well have been aDogon himself. Surely he was black as a Dogon, clad as a Dogon, and hespoke the native language which is a tongue little known outside thesemi-desert land of Dogon covered with its sand, rocks, scrub bush andbaobab trees. It is not a land which sees many strangers.

  The headmen gathered with trepidation. All had seen the juju man descendfrom the skies. It had been with considerable relief that most had notedthat he finally sank to earth in the village of Ireli instead of theirown. But now all were summoned. Those among them who were Kanaga dancerswore their masks and costumes, and above all their gris gris charms, butit was a feeble gesture. Such magic as this was unknown. To fly throughthe air _personally_!

  Dolo Anah was seated to one end of the largest room of the largest houseof Ireli when they crowded in to answer his blunt summons. He was seatedcross-legged on the floor and staring at the ground before him.

  The others seemed tongue-tied, both headmen and Hogons, the highlyhonored elders of the Dogon people. So Amadijue as senior witchman tookover the responsibility of addressing this mystery juju come out of theskies.

  "Oh, powerful stranger, how is your health?"

  "Good," Dolo Anah said.

  "How is the health of thy wife?"

  "Good."

  "How is the health of thy children?"

  "Good."

  "How is the health of thy mother?"

  "Good."

  "How is the health of thy father?"

  "Good."

  "How is the health of thy kinswomen?"

  "Good."

  "How is the health of thy kinsmen?"

  "Good."

  To the traditional greeting of the Dogon, Amadijue added hopefully,"Welcome to the villages of Sangha."

  His voice registering nothing beyond the impatience which had marked itfrom the beginning, Dolo Anah repeated the routine.

  "Men of Sangha," he snapped, "how is your health?"

  "Good," they chorused.

  "How is the health of thy wives?"

  "Good!"

  "How is the health of thy children?"

  "Good!"

  "How is the health of thy mothers?"

  "Good!"

  "How is the health of thy fathers?"

  "Good!"

  "How is the health of thy kinswomen?"

  "Good!"

  "How is the health of thy kinsmen?"

  "Good!"

  "I accept thy welcome," Dolo Anah bit out. "And now heed me well for Iam known as Dolo Anah and I have instructions from above for the peopleof the Dogon."

  Sweat glistened on the faces and bodies of the assembled Dogon headmen,their uncharacteristically silent witchmen, the Hogons and the sons ofthe headmen.

  "Speak, oh juju come out of the sky," Amadijue fluttered, but proud ofhis ability to find speech at all when all the others were stricken dumbwith fear.

  * * * * *

  Dolo Anah stared down at the ground before him. The others, their eyesfascinated as though by a cobra preparing to strike its death, focusedon the spot as well.

  Dolo Anah raised a hand very slowly and very gently and a sigh wentthrough his audience. The dirt on the hut floor had stirred. It stirredagain and slowly, ever so slowly, up through the floor emerged a milky,translucent ball. When it had fully emerged, Dolo Anah took it up in hishands and stared at it for a long moment.

  It came to sudden light and a startled gasp flushed over the room, agasp shared by even the witchmen, Amadijue included.

  Dolo Anah looked up at them. "Each of you must come in turn and lookinto the ball," he said.

  Faltering, though all eyes were turned to him, Amadijue led the way. Hiseyes rounded, he stared, and they widened still further. For within,mystery upon mystery, men danced in seeming celebration. It was asthough it was
a funeral party but of dimensions never known before, forthere were scores of Kanaga dancers, and, yes, above all other wonders,some of the dancers were Dogon, without doubt, but others were Mosse andothers were even Tellum!

  Amadijue turned away, shaken, and Dolo Anah spoke sharply, "The rest,one by one."

  They came. The headmen, the Hogons, the witchmen and finally the sons ofthe headmen, and each in turn stared into the ball and saw the tiny menwithin, doing their dance of celebration, Dogon, Mosse and Tellumtogether.

  When all had seen, Dolo Anah placed the ball back on the ground andstared at it and slowly it returned to from whence it came, and DoloAnah gently spread dust over the spot. When the floor was as it hadbeen, he looked up at them, his eyes striking.

  "What did you see?" he spoke sharply to Amadijue.

  There was a tremor in the village witchman's voice. "Oh juju, come outof the sky, I saw a great festival and Dogon danced with their enemiesthe Mosse and the Tellum--and, all seemed happy beyond belief."

  The stranger looked piercingly at the rest. "And what did you see?"

  Some mumbled, "The same. The same," and others, terrified still, couldonly nod.

  "That is the message I have come to give you. You will hold a greatconference with the people of the Tellum and the people of the Mosse andthere will be a great celebration and no longer will there be Dogon,Mosse and Tellum, but all will be one. And there will be trade, andthere will be marriage between the tribes, and no longer will there bethree tribes, but only one people and no longer will the headmen andwitchmen of the tribes resist the coming of the new schools, and all theyoung people will attend."

  Amadijue muttered, "But, great juju come out of the sky, these are ourblood enemies. For longer than the memory of the grandfathers of oureldest Hogon we have carried the blood feud with Tellum and Mosse."

  "No longer," Dolo Anah said flatly.

  Amadijue held shaking hands out in supplication, to this dominating jujucome out of the skies. "But they will not heed us. Tellum and Mosse havehated the Dogon for all time. They will wreak their vengeance on anydelegation come to make such suggestions to them."

  "I fly to see their headmen and witchmen immediately," Dolo Anah bit outdecisively. "They will heed my message." His tone turned dangerous. "Aswill the headmen and witchmen of the Dogon. If any fail to obey themessage from above, their eyes will lose sight, their tongues becomedumb, and their bellies will crawl with worms."

  Amadijue's face went ashen.

  At long last the headman of all the Sangha villages spoke up, his voicetrembling its fear. "But the schools, oh great juju--as all the Dogonhave decided, in tribal conference--the schools are evil for our youth.They teach not the old ways--"

  Dolo Anah cut him short with the chop of a commanding hand. "The oldways are fated to die. Already they die. The new ways are the ways ofthe schools."

  Amazed at his own temerity, the head chief spoke once more. "But, sincethe coming of the French, we have rejected the schools."

  Dolo Anah looked at him in scorn. "These will not be schools of theFrench. They will be the schools of Bantu, Berber, Sudanese and all theother peoples of the land. And when your young people have attended theschools and learned their wisdom they in turn will teach in the schoolsand in all the land there will be wisdom and good life. Now I havespoken and all of you will withdraw save only the sons of the headmen."

  They withdrew, making a point each and every one not to turn their backsto this bringer of disastrous news and leaving only the terror-strickenyoung men behind them.

  * * * * *

  When all were gone save the dozen youngsters, Dolo Anah looked at themcontemplatively. He shrugged finally and said, pointing with his finger,"You, you and you may leave. The others will remain." The three dartedout, glad of the reprieve.

  He looked at the remainder. "Be unafraid," he snapped. "There is noreason to fear me. Your fathers and the Hogons and the so-calledwitchmen, are fools, nothing-men. Fools and cowards, because they areimpressed by foolish tricks."

  He pointed suddenly. "You, there, what is your name?"

  The youth stuttered, "Hinnan."

  "Very well, Hinnan. Did you see me approach by the air?"

  "Yes ... yes ... juju man."

  "Don't call me a juju man. There is no such thing as juju. It isnonsense made by the cunning to fool the stupid, as you will learn whenyou attend the schools."

  Hinnan took courage. "But I saw you fly."

  "Have you never seen the great aircraft of the white men of Europe andAmerica go flying over? Or have none of you witnessed these craftsitting on the ground at Mopti or Niamey. Surely some of you havejourneyed to Mopti."

  "Yes, but they are great craft. And you flew alone and without the greatwings and propellers of the white-man's aircraft."

  Dolo Anah chuckled. "My son, I flew in a helio-hopper as they arecalled. They are the smallest of all aircraft, but they are not magic.They are made in the factories of the lands of Europe and America andafter you have finished school and have found a position for yourself inthe new industries that spread through Africa, then you will be able topurchase one quite cheaply, if you so desire. Others among you mighteven learn to build them, themselves."

  Hinnan and the others gasped.

  Dolo Anah went on. "And observe this." He dug into the ground before himand revealed the crystal ball that had magically appeared before. Heshowed to them the little elevator device beneath it which hemanipulated with a small rubber bulb which pumped air underneath.

  One or two of them ventured a scornful laugh, at the obviousness of thetrick.

  Dolo Anah took up the ball and unscrewed the base. Inside were adelicate arrangement of film on a continuous spool so that the sceneplayed over and over again, and a combination of batteries and bulbs toproject the scene on the ball's surface. He explained, in patientdetail, the workings of the supposed magic ball. Two of the boys hadseen movies on trips to Mopti, the others had heard of them.

  Finally one, highly encouraged now, as were the others, said, "But whydo you show us this and shame us for our foolishness?"

  Dolo Anah nodded encouragement at the teen-ager. "I do not shame you, myson, but your fathers and the Hogons and the so-called witchmen. Forlong ages the Dogon have been led by the oldest members of the tribe,the Hogons. This can be nonsense because in spite of your traditions agedoes not necessarily bring wisdom. In fact, senility as it is called canbring childish nonsense. A people should be governed by the wisest andbest among them, not by tradition, by often silly beliefs handed downfrom one generation to another."

  Hinnan, who was eldest son of the head chief, said, "But why do you tellus this, after shaming our fathers and the old men of the Dogon?"

  For the first time since the elders had left, Dolo Anah's eyes gleamedas before. "Because you will be the leaders of the Dogon tomorrow, mostlike. And it is necessary to learn these great truths. That you attendthe schools and bring to the Dogon tomorrow what they did not haveyesterday, and do not have today."

  "But suppose we tell them of how you have deceived them?" the otherarticulate Dogon lad said.

  Dolo Anah chuckled and shook his head. "They will not believe you, boy.They will be afraid to believe you. And besides, men are almosteverywhere the same. It is difficult for an older man to learn from ayounger one, especially his own son. It is vanity, but it is true." Hismouth twisted in memory. "When I was a lad myself, on the beaches of anisland far from here in the Bahamas, my father beat me on more than oneoccasion, indignant that I should wish to attend the white man'sschools, while he and his father before him had been fishermen. Beneathhis indignation was the fear that one day I would excel him."

  "You are right," Hinnan said uncomfortably, "they would not believe us."Instinctively, the son of the head chief assumed leadership of theothers. "We will keep this secret between us," he said to them.

  Dolo Anah came to his feet, yawned, stretched his legs and began to packhis gadgets into
the small valise he carried. "Good luck, boys," he saidunthinkingly in English.

  As he left the hut, he emerged into a respectfully cleared area aroundthe hut. Without looking left or right he approached his foldedhelio-hopper, made the few adjustments that were needed to make itair-borne, strapped himself into the tiny saddle, flicked the startcontrol and to the accompaniment of a gasp from the entire village ofIreli, took off in a swoop.

  In a matter of moments, he had disappeared to the north in the directionof the Mosse villages.