It was Mary Slessor's day school.

For a people possessing no written language, no literature, no
knowledge beyond that handed down from father to son, the first step
towards right living, apart from the preaching of the Gospel, is
education. Schools go hand in hand with churches in missionary effort.
Mary began hers before she had the buildings in which to teach, one at
Ekenge and the other at Ifako. The latter was held in the afternoon in
order that she might be back in her yard by sunset. The schoolroom was
the verandah of a house by the wayside; the seats were pieces of
firewood; the equipment an alphabet card hung on one of the posts.

At first the entire population turned out and conned the letters, but
as novelty wore off and the men and women returned to their work the
attendance dropped to thirty. Good progress was made, and ere long the
dark-skinned pupils were spelling out words of one and two syllables.
The lesson ended with a scripture lesson, a short prayer, and the
singing of the sentences she taught. The last was so much enjoyed that
it was often dark before she could get away.

The school at Ekenge was held in the outer yard of the chief's house in
the evening, when all the wives and slaves were at leisure. Men and
women, old and young, bond and free, crowded and hustled into the yard,
amidst much noise and fun. After a lesson on the alphabet and the
multiplication-table she conducted worship. It was a weird scene--the
white woman, slim and slight, standing bareheaded and barefooted beside
a little table on which were a lamp and the Book; in front, squatting
on the ground, the mass of half-naked people as dark as the night,
their shining faces here and there catching the gleam of the light; the
earnest singing that drowned the voices of the forest, and the strange