Prince Modupe wrote of his encounter with the written 
word in his West African days:

          The one crowded space in Father Perry’s house was 
     his bookshelves. I gradually came to understand that the 
     marks on the pages were trapped words . Anyone could 
     learn to decipher the symbols and turn the trapped words 
     loose again into speech. The ink of the print trapped the 
     thoughts; they could no more get away than a doomboo  
     could get out of a pit. When the full realization of what 
     this meant flooded over me, I experienced the same thrill 
     and amazement as when I had my first glimpse of the 
     bright lights of Konakry. I shivered with the intensity of 
     my desire to learn to do this wondrous thing myself.

     In striking contrast to the native’s eagerness, there are