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164         The Crisis

He sees with the coming of the railway and the spread of the French power the return of the old glory of the French Soudan, a glory of which most of us were ignorant until within recent years scholarly men like M. Dubois and others found in Arab libraries and within the walls of Timbuktu itself the story of the greatness of that dead Soudanese empire.

[[image - drawing of people walking by the post and telegraph office]]
[[caption]] The post and telegraph office at Timbuktu [[caption]]

One of the most interesting parts of his narrative is that in which he gives a description of a school he found in the desert. Here the little dark-faced scholars are taught the stories familiar to children of European civilization, but they are changed to give them an African setting. No patriotic American can fail to recognize the origin of this tale:

"During the feast of Ramadan, the father of Saliou gave him a pretty little knife. Little Saliou was very glad. He went out. He cut everything. He cut the grass. He saw a little lemon tree. Little Saliou cut it with his knife. The father of Saliou saw the dead lemon tree. He said, 'If I knew who cut the little lemon tree I would give him fifty blows with the whip.'

"Little Saliou was afraid. He reflected. He said, 'Father, I cut the little lemon tree. If you strike, strike; if you forgive, forgive.'"

Yes, it is the story of George Washington transferred to the Soudan, on the edge of the Sahara, hundreds of miles from a white settlement. The moral is as poignant as ever, though the setting be a Mohammedan festival, and though the language of little Saliou may possess a tropical exuberance lacking in our own sedate Washington.

There is the story of the sour grapes, too, but as there are no grapes in the Soudan, the fruit is made a pawpaw and the fox, also non-existent in the desert, is a little boy:

"Little Assai sees a large, ripe, yellow pawpaw. The pawpaw tree is high. He climbs a little. He is tired. He comes down. He looks for a stone. He does not see any. He looks for a stick. He does not see any. He raises his head and sees the pawpaw. He says, 'Pawpaws are not good. I do not eat pawpaws. Only pigs eat pawpaws.'" 

Here is another story which points out the evils of exaggeration:

"Opposite the mosque is a great palm tree. A nut falls. A rat hears it. He is afraid. He rushes into the bush. He sees a hare. He says, 'The palm tree by the mosque has fallen.' The hare goes and says to the dog, 'The mosque of Jenne has fallen.' The dog goes. He sees a cow in the bushes. She says, Jenne has fallen.'"

And yet another which indicates the evils of boasting:

"Little Baba goes into the field with a servant. He says, 'The rice holds up its head and is good.' The servant says, 'No, the rice which lowers its head is good. There is something in it. The rice which holds up its head is not good. There is nothing in it.'"

M. Dubois was particularly delighted with the eagerness and intelligence the children showed in telling these stories. The little black hands waved at him madly from the benches, and he says he thought sadly of the children in the rural schools at home, who possessed no "poise" at all before the unaccustomed visitor and promptly forgot all they knew. "How pleasant a vitality, suggestive of a youthful race, reigned here," he reflects.
 
Above all, the visitor was charmed with the way in which the stories were told. There was nothing monotonous; there was not one word used which seemed to have been learned in parrot fashion. When a story teller hesitated his companions fell over each other in their desire to give the missing word. They almost quarreled to initiate the stranger into the mysteries of the

[[image - map of the western Sahara Desert]]
[[caption]] Where the railroad runs [[/caption]]


The Congo Express    165

[[image - photograph of troops entering French Soudan [[/caption]]
[[caption]] Native troops entering a city of the French Soudan

Soudanese La Fontaine and to explain the meaning of a local word. He went away delighted because he believes that "in every race this pride of knowledge among the young is a most valuable sign."

This school has been established at Jenne, an ancient city which played an important part in the empire of the Soudan for thirteen centuries. Monsieur Dubois only regrets that there is not such another school at Timbuktu, which was, in the Middle Ages and before that, the seat of the great universities. The Soudanese proverb says: "Salt comes from the north, gold comes from the south, but the word of God and wisdom and history and beautiful tales, they are found only at Timbuktu." So it would be particularly fitting to have a school established here.
 
He did see, however, in Timbuktu, many evidence of the benefit of French rule. He commented to one of his Soudanese friends on the many signs of trade he saw on every side, and remarked that these seemed to have grown up in the last seventeen years.
 
"The truth is," replied his black friend, "that in the old days we were never safe from attacks by the marauding troops of the desert. Trade was carried on, but every man sought to conceal his prosperity. Bartering was done largely at night and in secret. Of recent years the brigands have been afraid to attack us and we now able to lead a normal life."

It was, of course, the slave trade that disturbed the splendid Soudanese empire. Ever since the white man discovered that the black man's labor could be exploited