So You Want to Build a School Library? Part IV

Welcome to the fourth and final part of So You Want to Build a School Library?. We've gone from inspiration to motivation to preparation -- now it's time to see this library in action. Thanks for sticking around for the ride!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Step 3: The Library in Action

The students can see me coming from a long way off. You could say I stand out a bit. As a result, by the time I reach the library doors, there is already a gaggle of students milling around the entrance, trying to pretend they’re not waiting for me. “Good moooorning madaaaaame,” they greet me as I approach. They hang back as I unlock the padlock and wrench the doors open. I am greeted with a spiderweb and a blast of slightly musty air as light filters into the windowless room. The students press against each other in the doorway until I’ve set my bag down next to my usual desk — for whatever reason, that seems to be the sign that they can come in. Some head straight for the shelves, while others line up to tentatively place books next to my registry book, looking on anxiously as I search for their name in the registry. No matter how many times I’ve told them they can just leave the books, they still insist on hanging about until they have visual confirmation that I’ve marked their book returned. 

“Madame, where are the Physique/Chimie books?” asks one student. (Tout les livres de science sont ici — les livres du physique/chimie sont à coté le Biologie 5e, tu a vu?)   Another calls from across the room, “Madame! Do we have Afrika Ba’a?” (Non, quelqu'un a déjà pris — mais viens ici, je vais ajouter ton nom à une liste des élèves qui  attendent ce livre). I need to label the shelves, but I’ve been promised that new shelves are on the way, so I’m hesitant to label these shelves just yet. Inevitably, the new shelves will arrive the moment the glue has dried on the old ones. 

A pair of former students approach my desk. “Madame,” they begin hesitantly, “Can you help us to translate this into English?” I look over a speech they’ve written in French. The language itself isn’t particularly difficult, and these students are bright. “I tell you what,” I tell them, “I want you to do your best to translate this into English on your own, and then I’ll check it for you. Can you do that?” They look at me like I’ve told them that their puppy died. “But, Madame,” they begin despairingly. I shake my head. “Eh eehh, I don’t have time to translate this whole thing for you. And you can do it on your own! You are both very smart. Look,” I add, “here is a French-English dictionary. You can take it outside if you want.” Their relief is tangible. 

A 5e student is browsing through the science section. She comes across a Big Book of Human Anatomy — a book intended for middle school age students to learn about anatomy and physiology. She flips through the pages, wide-eyed. “Madame,” she says to me, “you find all of this inside one person?” “Yeah, you do!” I say, laughing a little. “Wow!” she says. She skims for a few more seconds, then puts it back and moves on to a different shelf. Five minutes later, she’s back. “Madame, is this really all in one person? Are you sure?” I nod. “Yes ma’am, all of that is inside one person. Incredible, isn’t it?” She doesn’t check it out (choosing instead to check out a storybook), but she revisits the book three more times before the library closes. 

It’s quiet in the afternoon when a 3e student walks in and drops his bag on the floor next to a desk. “I am going to study my exercises,” he tells me — half questioning, half stating his intentions. That’s just fine, I tell him. He settles down with his notebook. A moment later, he looks up. It’s nice here, he says. One cannot get any work done at home — there are always other people running around, it’s loud and there is always other work to do. You can’t study at home. It’s difficult, I agree. But you’re welcome to study here as long as you like. He nods. He has since come to the library every day to work on his homework. He doesn’t speak much, but he stays until closing every day, and every day he promises he will return.

It’s nearly time for me to leave for my class. “The library will be closing in ten minutes,” I announce. “If you want to check out a book, you have five minutes to do so.” A few rush to get in line; the rest assure me they’re only looking. At closing time, I have to shoo my students out. “Madaaaame,” they complain, “Just close the doors and we’ll stay here, and you can open them when you come back!” This would clearly not work, I tell them, because this room has no lights and no windows. Also, just, no. “The books will still be there tomorrow,” I assure them. “But it’s time to go now — I need to get to class, and I’m sure you have class too.” They leave after earnestly promising me they’ll return the next day. 

I leave class two hours later, a little after 3:00. I walk home along the main road that cuts through my village, which means I see a lot of people, and a lot of people see me. There's a flour grinding shop where students often hang out in the afternoons, and today is no exception. However, unlike usual, today there is a huddle of primary school children out front, still wearing their blue and white uniforms from their day at school. I turn my head as I pass to see what they could possibly all be looking at. In the middle of the circle sits a 4e student, head down, bag by his side, a book in his lap.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Library projects, especially building libraries from scratch, are notoriously difficult, in part due to issues of sustainability. For many volunteers, simply building the library itself takes their entire service. The books then sit in the library, untouched, for who knows how long. Building a library, obtaining books, and organising them is one thing; convincing students to use them is an entirely different matter. I was fortunate enough to have a building and books already available to me. I was worried, when I began working, that I would have to launch a huge campaign about literacy, stage elaborate activities and competitions with prizes and other treats, just to get students to step foot into the library. Much to my surprise, that has not been the case. If the library is open, the students will come. Contrary to what many Cameroonians tell me, these students want to read. They want to read stories and textbooks, picture books and magazines. In two weeks, I registered over 80 students — and those were just students who checked books out. More still came to the library just to browse, or to read or study in the library itself. 

Now, just because I don’t need to stage activities and competitions, doesn’t mean I won’t. I have all manner of things planned — reading challenges and research challenges, afternoons where students can come in an draw or paint pictures, a story writing competition, library orientation day, DEAR Day, they’re all on the map. Working in the library feels a bit like cheating — isn’t Peace Corps service supposed to be gruelling and difficult and slightly miserable, but all worth it in the end? It’s like skipping an exercise class and jumping straight to post-workout frozen yogurt. I get paid to do this. Not very much, admittedly, but I get paid to work in a different country, learn a new language or two, and encourage kids to read. And at this moment in time, I cannot think of a single thing I would rather be doing.