Building a “House for Books” in Nyegina, Tanzania

This is Part 2 of a 7 part series on my experiences in Tanzania while volunteering with a U.S. based NGO to build a library and community resource center in the village of Nyegina, near the shores of Lake Victoria. To read other parts of this series, please use the term “Tanzania” in this site’s search function.

I dug deep into my luggage to pull out my work clothes, those I do not mind getting ruined and then leaving behind if need be, due to the dusty environment of the construction site we would endure on our project work days. And today would be our first day on site of the new library.

After a simple breakfast of toast, jam, butter, and some melon, we piled into our van and headed to the dusty crossroads that made up the small village of Nyegina, about a 45 minute drive outside of Musoma. The village is the market town and educational center for the region. While it has its share of schools, it does not have what it takes to turn what is learned in the classroom into a modern and proper education. To address that, Nyegina would also serve as the location for the region’s new library and resource center which we were about to help build.

 

The road from Musoma to Nyegina

Father Leo greeted us at his home located in the center of the village and next to the main road, across from the project work site. A stout and gregarious man, he is one of the leading priests of the diocese that serves the area. He and Dr. Kurt have been friends since their college days in the U.S.  Father Leo would be our main point of contact during our stay in Tanzania.

 

Fr. Leo gives a lecture on the importance of our work

Manual labor under the hot sun was the rule of the day. The work-study students, along with my fellow volunteers and I, formed an assembly line between a large pile of recently delivered rocks and the already dug trenches that were to serve as the library’s footing and foundations. Assisted by local villagers and some of the older school aged children, we hauled bowling ball-sized rocks one by one, from one set of hands to the next, then into the long footing trenches. Skilled labor, hired in part with donations received by Tanzania Development Support, created concrete from an on-site sand pile mixed with bags of cement. Using wheel barrows and five-gallon buckets, they poured the mix into the trenches to fill the spaces between the rocks, making for a very passable and sturdy foundation wall. 

At one point, I was walking adjacent to an older woman with a bright yellow kanga and a purple head wrap. She was speaking Swahili and laughing with her fellow villagers. In her stream of Swahili, I picked out the word "Americani". Upon hearing this word, I quickly turned my head to look at her. Her smile vanished, perhaps thinking for a brief moment that I was upset that they were all talking about me and the others. But her smile quickly reappeared when I flashed a big grin. We kind of connected in a small and unique way at that moment. 

Later, this woman and several of the others joined us in the assembly line. They began to chant and sing to the rhythm of our work. We all laughed as we tried to sing along with them. The nearby school kids giggled at our attempts. 

Throughout the day, little kids, too young to help with the work, sat along the periphery of the site watching us labor under the hot sun. They gathered closer to stare and look on with wonder while we took water breaks in the shade of a nearby tree. As soon as our plastic water bottle was emptied and thrown onto the temporary construction debris pile that had formed, two or three of them would scramble to scoop it up and run off, happy with their new-found treasure. Their numbers increased as word spread that bottles were to be had at the hands of the Americans. A teacher barked out a one word shout and all of the children, which by this time numbered about 25 or so, scampered like mice and ran off to their nearby classroom building.

We sat at folding tables and chairs in the courtyard at Father Leo's house while some of the local women cooked our mid-day meals in large, cast-iron pots over open flames nestled in small divots in the dirt. On most days, other villagers would look on while coming and going to the adjacent outhouse. In the nearby, slop-filled pens, large hogs and their dozens of little piglets would grunt and squeal as they walked by. Despite these unappealing surroundings, we all looked on hungrily, watching the pots as they were suspended high enough over the flames so as to not scorch the rice, beans, chicken, and other delectable foods that were cooking inside.

While finishing our meals, Father Leo or Dr. Kurt would explain the importance of our work and what it would take for the local children to escape the vicious cycle of poverty that afflicts way too many Tanzanians.  On occasion, some of the villagers would attend our mealtime discussions and share with us their experiences.

Many Tanzanian children come from large families with various needs and income concerns. When issues arise, the cultural norms dictate that the girls stay home with their mothers to help cook, gather firewood, and perform various other domestic chores while the boys go to school and the men go to work. Once finished, the girls are then required to walk for miles to retrieve and haul their household’s daily required water from remote communal wells back to their homes (that explained why, while driving into town the day before, we only saw women and girls, not the boys or men, carrying these burdensome loads.)

In these circumstances, a proper education for the girls is often delayed or forgotten. This is especially so if the nearest school or library is miles away. The families feel the hours needed to walk to some far distant school house or library are better used to walk, retrieve, and haul the home’s water and cooking firewood.

The track record for uneducated Tanzanian girls is grim. They often enter marriage at an early age. They are destined to bear many children. They will try to get by in life with little prospects for a job and a decent income. The cycle of poverty, that all too many find themselves trapped in, will continue.

Having a centrally located library and community resource center within close proximity helps change that. If an education becomes more easily accessible, the girls could still perform the household chores that their culture demands without sacrificing their need for a proper education.

Dawn arrives with the usual sore muscles and aching backs caused by the hard labor we were still trying to get accustomed to. But, the required strength and energy was always mustered after recalling the lessons we have been learning from Dr. Kurt and Father Leo on the importance of our work.

This day’s first shift of work again involved the formation of assembly lines. With the help of villagers and some of the older children, we moved sand using left-over and empty cement bags from large piles into the spots that would form the floors of the library.

 

Dr. Kurt lends a hand

As does his wife, Jeanine

Dan, one of my fellow volunteers

One lady in the group was the one that I heard call me the "Americani" while working at the build site the other day. It didn't appear that she recognized me. So much for the connection. I guess we all look alike.

Shift two involved moving large, heavy rocks to spots closer to the foundation walls so that the workmen could then place them into the trenches that served as the footing for these walls.

Shift three - and I am not kidding - involved moving the rocks we just placed near the foundation walls to a spot five feet away. It seems the foreman now thought we needed to get to the sand that was under these rocks for further hauling by our assembly line for use in floor of this library. 

Next to me stood Dustin, a lanky 13 year old who was rather tall for his age. He was still dressed in his school uniform. He politely asked if he could practice his English with me while we passed bags of sand. He seemed unconcerned that the dusty work was dirtying what were at first a crisp, clean white shirt and a pair of blue trousers.

“Why do you Americans want to come here to help us?” he asked in halting English.

“That’s what we like to do,” I replied. “We help those in need. Do you like that we are here?” I asked as I handed him the next bag of sand.

 “Oh, certainly. But what I meant was, why do you want to help us build this house for books?”

House for books?  Ah, I realized. “Do you mean this library?”

“Yes,” he replied. “Why do you want to help us with this library when there are so many other needs in Tanzania?”

I thought for a moment then recalled Dr. Kurt’s and Father Leo’s lessons. “We know that having this library here in Nyegina will help make your and the other’s education more accessible. That’s important, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Our conversation was interrupted by an elderly man who walked with a limp and had an obvious mental disability. All he wanted, we discovered after several minutes, was to take the bags as we emptied them of their sand, and bring them back to the beginning of the line so that they could be refilled again. He simply wanted to do his part and did so for long into the afternoon.  

Dustin asked me about my wife, my kids, my home town, Obama, and other things about living in the US.

“Can I have your work gloves?” he asked unabashedly.

“Um, not now,” I said. “I still need them for the rest of the day and on future days when we come back here to work.”

He wasn't deterred and raised the stakes. “Will you pay my way to the U.S. and sponsor my college education?”

“Wait. What?” I was taken aback and didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, a break was called at that moment, saving me from fumbling with any further and awkward responses.