My kids, meet my library

As I approached my gate at dusk on Sunday I was greeted by the usual sights and sounds: yells of “Amy” and a herd of children skipping and running towards me. The typical questions were asked: whether I had a good weekend, where I was coming from, and if I’d seen Jess (to which one of my favorite gals, Grace, exclaimed “Of course she didn’t see Jess. Jess lives in Kigali and Amy was in Rwamagana for the weekend”. That a girl, Grace). When I asked what they did over the weekend, they all quickly responded that they played and went to church. My follow-up question of if they had studied or read at all was met with blank stares and giggles. This of course, was the response I was expecting, as it provided the perfect opportunity to tell them all about the new library and beg them to visit it. Let’s just say begging wasn’t necessary. At all. As soon as they heard the word “isomero” (library in Kinyarwanda) they started jumping up and down and babbling quickly about kwiga (to study), gusoma (to read) and icyongereza (English). We all agreed they would come to visit on Wednesday, and I locked my gate and retreated into my house to the sounds of their singing and laughing.

Much to my surprise, the next day as I walked to the library after lunch I saw a group of girls who looked surprisingly like my neighborhood kids, walking out of the driveway at the district office. Within two seconds I not only realized they were in fact my girls but they came bounding at me like a pack of antelope. I welcomed them into the library where they scrambled for seats around the large table in the “reading room”. After they had all found a seat, they suddenly became silent and all turned to look at me. It was like they were afraid to touch anything. It was as if they were waiting for me to give them instructions. So I did. “Soma!!” I exclaimed. “Read!!” And pointed them to the two bookshelves brimming with children’s books. They each pulled out a book (or two, or three) and fell back into their chairs, burying their noses into the spines. A couple of the bravest readers came and sat near me, asking if they could read aloud to me. We slowly moved our way through the stories, with me correcting their pronunciation or translating words for them. As the time went on, I listened to the stories coming out of the mouths of the 10 little girls seated all around the room. R.L. Stine’s monsters were scaring a summer camp, Barbie was meeting a deer in the woods, Big Bird was taking photos, Noah was building his ark, and a Kenyan boy named Otoyo was falling out of a tree. I was so proud of their effort, even more proud of how well they read. At one point I began talking to them in Kinyarwanda and Tonya (who has become my personal ten year old translator) scolded me, saying in English “No, at the library we speak English only, Amy!” As a smile spread across my face, a giggle spread across the room.

After every girl had the opportunity to read out loud to me, I announced it was time to go, and glanced around at how disheveled the room was. Yet, within seconds and without me even saying a word the girls went to work cleaning up. They rearranged the chairs and stacked the books into neat piles on the table, before somewhat quietly filing out the door. As I waved goodbye, they animatedly asked me if they could come back again tomorrow, and I’ll never forget how excited they got when I told them they could come back every day.

It was an incredible moment. I finally got to show the kids in my neighborhood where I actually go whenever I tell them I’m going to work. And I got to introduce the first real kids to the library. It was all the more special that these first kids were from my street, my neighborhood, my community. I can’t wait for them to come back. I can’t wait to do health and science lessons with them, and read with them. They are an amazing group of kids, and I’m so thankful that the library is here now, and that I’m able to be a part of it.