The majority of the day was filled with classes, but I was treated to a special outing during the evening. I had asked and asked, and now the time was finally here: we were going to the local library. I couldn't wait to bring my books, colored pencils and crayons to donate and interact with the kids there.
I walked down the dirt path past the row of shops to the library building. Previously established by SFS, the community library area consisted of a computer lab, a library building with a couple small book shelves, and seating areas for reading and other work. We were greeted by an older woman who ran the establishment at the entrance. She spoke a bit about the library and thanked us for coming in notably good English. The library was about the size of my room, adorned with colorful child's drawings on the wall. Among them was a crayon depiction of a person with body parts labeled for a little lesson in anatomy, drawings of chickens, cows and other animals with English and Swahili translations, and a smiley/frowny face portrayal of happiness and sadness. A long list of common greetings and verbs with accompanying English and Swahili translations also hung on the wall, and I recognized quite a few of the phrases from my Swahili lessons. The librarian also showed us a stack of other children's drawings which she had saved, beaming the entire time.
Among the books laid bits of the Magic Treehouse series, short novels, coloring books, and even a Chemistry practice booklet. I was impressed with the library's makeshift organizational system---each category (novels, activity books, textbooks, etc). were denoted by a certain color of duct tape on the bindings of the books with a color key taped to the wall. I had carted with me a stack of coloring books which I decorated with zebra duct tape, stamped on the front and back covers with the Rhotia library logo, and placed in the appropriate section on the bookshelf.
Once we had finished organizing our donations, the librarian sincerely thanked us for visiting and asked that we come back. She said that she was not adept at professionally organizing the books, and could use some help re-doing the shelf. "And maybe you can just come back to talk with me," she added. My heart felt full at the comment. We all happily agreed and departed with multiple "asante sanas" and a sincere "badai," or "see you later."
On the way back up to the SFS camp on the well-worn dirt path that had now become of regular usage to me, a little girl who could not have been more than a few years old ran up to me with excitement in her eyes and took my hand. "Mambo! Jina lanko nani?" I asked for her name. She was difficult to understand, but I made out something to the effect of Mikka. We walked home swinging arms up the hill, and I couldn't stop smiling. I hope that she made use of those crayons and coloring books.
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