I walked about a kilometer and a half
down a narrow dirt road when I came upon a school. After a brief exchange with students who came out to greet me, they invited me into their standard 8 classroom. Their teacher was attending a funeral.
As I entered the classroom--perhaps 12 x 15 feet--20 students stood in respect around their crudely made wooden benches and tables. Their clothes hung shabbily--obviously having been worn by many others before them; and not one pair of shoes on their calloused feet. The blackboard--a wall of rough cement painted black. Between this classroom and the next hung a dilapidated bamboo screen.
The students asked me to tell them about America. Since their English was pretty good, and my Kiswahili at that point almost nonexistent, the exchange began: Is everyone rich in America? Do you have a big house? What kinds of food do you eat? Tell us about the schools in America.
As I entered the classroom--perhaps 12 x 15 feet--20 students stood in respect around their crudely made wooden benches and tables. Their clothes hung shabbily--obviously having been worn by many others before them; and not one pair of shoes on their calloused feet. The blackboard--a wall of rough cement painted black. Between this classroom and the next hung a dilapidated bamboo screen.
The students asked me to tell them about America. Since their English was pretty good, and my Kiswahili at that point almost nonexistent, the exchange began: Is everyone rich in America? Do you have a big house? What kinds of food do you eat? Tell us about the schools in America.
I then suggested it was my turn to find out about them and their school. It was obvious they all came from poor families, yet their parents had to pay for tuition, books, uniforms, and even the rental of the rickety benches and tables at which they sat. Education is a must if you wish to have any opportunity!
Finally I asked about their library. Some were not sure of the word, so I described what I meant. They told me they had no library. Walking back to campus, I knew I must do something!
I began writing letters to friends in the States—teachers sympathetic to the needs of educating children. It would take months to get books shipped, so I wanted to start the project right away. As books arrived, I hauled them to the school weekly--bookmobile style--and with the help of my university students, the children checked them out. The school was delighted! Children learn English in school, so we decided that students from standard 4 could read some of the simplest picture books, and by standard 8 they enjoyed the more mature stories.
Driving there weekly was quite an ordeal. The kilometer and a half seemed endless during the rainy season which left the road nearly impassible. More than once I got stuck only to find eager children ready to push me out of the water. Of course in the process they became covered with mud!
While students enjoyed the opportunity to read books--especially American stories--what surprised me most was the excitement of the teachers. Of the nearly 1000 books collected, about 80 were teachers’ editions. This was a first for the instructors at this school. They were thrilled!
A week before my departure from Kenya, the students and teachers held a grand opening for the library—a room about 9 x 9 with shelves on three sides. Crepe paper ribbon hung across the door with my name in crude letters above it. The headmaster led the ceremony. A number of parents were also in attendance. Students sang songs and humbled me with their praise. And there were gifts—a beaded belt made by a father. A live chicken--the legs tied together, hanging upside down from the seat of a bicycle.
As I cut the ribbon they assured me no other school in this region had such a library. They served food—ugali (a stiff cornmeal), beans, hard boiled eggs, and sukumuwiki (much like swiss chard)—and I knew the sacrifice that families had made to supply this meal. I also realized there was just enough food for myself, the headmaster, and the village elder. What I had done--writing a few letters--was nothing. What they had done--providing the room, a meal and the lovely gifts--what it cost them, far surpassed any act of charity on my part--a gracious, generous people.
For it is in giving that we receive. -- St. Francis of Assisi
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