| By Dena McMaster - 2004.07.24
Women in bright colored dresses danced alongside the dusty path to the village. In the distance the beat village drum beat loudly. As the dignitaries walked up the path to the village, sweat glistened on their faces from the 100 degree Senegalese sun.
It was Literacy Day when all those who'd learned to read and write would be honored. More than 100 people had come from other villages to celebrate.
The mayor of another village, the prefe and sous prefe walked the path, and the chiefs of surrounding villages followed them. They came to the village square and sat on a variety chairs and benches that had been borrowed for the day.
The drum beat quickened and ladies began a whirling dance. Soon some of the men joined them, dancing and singing to honor their important visitors. Then came time for the demonstration.
The Chief of the village rose, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Painfully he made his way to the blackboard. His gnarled, arthritic hand encircled the piece of chalk.
Slowly, with great effort, he wrote on the board: "Maadi Danfaxa" and returned to his seat.
There was silence for a moment, then the sous prefe rose and began to clap; soon most of the others joined him in a standing ovation for Maadi's effort. At 67 the chief had learned to read and write his own language. Others gave their demonstrations and wrote lengthy phrases, yet all realized that Maadi's accomplishment was the greatest.
Maadi continued to read scripture in the village square most days until his recent death. |
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