(See Cover)
On the hot. dusty football field just outside Conakry, the graceful, black-skinned Guinea women danced tirelessly, sinuously. Blue silken turbans, spangled with gold, flashed in the blazing sun, as they stomped, glided, clapped their hands and leaped about. The clanking of the xylophones rose to fever pitch, then died away. Three griots (West African minstrels )—one in a leather cape adorned with bits of mirror, another carrying a musket, and the third strumming on a one-string gourd guitar—wailed out a chant in honor of the man who for two solid...
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