Carol tells us the story of a volunteer at the lending library, who rented a room in one of Granada's barrios during his stay. He would often sit in his plastic lawn chair in the evening on the dirt porch, engrossed in a book. One night a woman stopped to ask, "What version of the Bible are you reading?" That a person would have access to any book other than a Bible was beyond her comprehension.
I understand what she means when she says that the poor people of this country do not see reading as integral to their lives. In 2005 I spent a week in a remote village in the northern mountains of Nicaragua with the director of a Denver non-profit that had supported the community as it built its first two-room school. We brought several duffels full of donated books and school supplies to help celebrate the school's inauguration.
When darkness came the first night, it arrived moonless, in inky blackness since the village had no electricity. After dinner, we decided to bring out a book to read to the children of the village leader, in whose shanty home we would unroll our sleeping bags each night. Flashlight beaming, the kids gathered round to listen to us read. We did what parents and teachers do without thinking in developed countries. We read and paused to let the words sink in, talked about the pictures, asked kids questions, answered their questions when they weren't sure what was going on in the story, laughed and read the stories two, three, four, five times in a row at the children's squealing requests.
In the pitch darkness of the second night, while we were reading, I heard someone laugh from behind where Don Jose, our host, stood. Shining the light in that direction and then around us, I saw a group of parents and kids who had come unannounced to listen and watch. By the end of our visit, we were reading to a crowd every night, showing the pictures in a wide arc, fielding questions. But, the reality of what would happen to the books after we left sunk in over the course of the week. Only a few parents knew how to read themselves. The teacher in the school, when asked to share a book with kids, put her nose in one of the books we brought and mumbled through in a dispassionate monotone, never pausing to show pictures or get the kids engaged. Halfway through, the class of elementary kids was fidgeting, disinterested themselves. It was not that these children and this community did not want to read. It was more a matter of cultural and other long-standing attitudes that made it difficult for them to jump the hurdles to literacy.
In response to that need, a lending library was born. Today Carol is showing us the small, airy, sunlit building into which the library recently moved. The walls are lined with shelves of children's books. Posters of people from all walks of life, all pictured with their nose in a book, adorn the walls. The captions champion the same message. Children read. Parents read. Babies read. Policemen read. It's a message that Puedo Leer now brings to an expanding audience. After starting with a single reading room, their programs now include this lending library, an additional reading room, regular book deliveries to local and rural schools, mobile libraries, teacher training, and a Reading in the Park program. But much remains to be done, Carol says, if she and her colleagues are to fulfill their mission.
Nicaraguans, for a variety of reasons, have little or no history with reading and libraries. Although for young people aged 15-24 the literacy rate is around 85%, for the population as a whole it is only about 55%. Nicaragua is the poorest country in Latin America, and many children do not finish secondary school, since they are needed at home to take on income generating jobs or help with childcare. Their parents also are likely to have little or no formal schooling beyond the 5th grade. And because books are expensive, most poor families own none.
Those statistics are slowly improving, but many visits to schools during my four trips to Nicaragua reinforce the notion that literacy does not necessarily equal a love of reading. Children read and copy what teachers write on blackboards. They read workbooks and complete lessons. Having books in schools and training teachers in how to use them remains a persistent need. Rural schools in particular, but many urban schools as well, have no access to books of any kind beyond government issued workbooks. The concept of a lending library in a school, stocked with books that kids might read for pleasure or that teachers might use to reinforce lessons, is as alien to most as to the lady in the barrio marveling that someone would be reading a book beside the Bible.
Puedo Leer is working to create small school libraries. They have finally accumulated enough titles to be able to stock not only their lending library, but also a portable "bookcase" with 100 books in six local schools and two reading rooms. The portable bookcases, called bibliotecaulas, are storage carts on wheels, that are specially constructed for six rural schools. Evidently they seem to be getting used, as teachers report damage to the wheels from being pushed across uneven ground. Puedo Leer is redesigning the carts and adding smaller bins so that teachers can carry books easily to their classrooms.
To help teachers learn how to use books as a part of their instruction, Carol and Ruth designed a weekday training session that was initially supported by the Ministry of Education. But that support was withdrawn and the sessions had to be moved to Saturdays, when teachers were no longer as eager to attend. Now, thanks to donations, Puedo Leer pays each attendee a small stipend of 100 cordobas (about $4.50) and more are participating in ongoing training. Teachers still, though, are uncomfortable using books in the more informal, intimate style that engages kids, so follow-up with encouragement to change is needed, according to Carol.
Carol further explains Puedo Leer's Reading in the Park program, another way they are promoting better reading habits. A local housemaid whose children are grown became aware of the lending library and volunteered to take a basket of books to the main square on Saturdays to read aloud to whomever was interested. "At first," says Carol, "only a few kids and rarely an adult would venture over to ask a question or to pick up a book and look it over." But now, a few months later, crowds gather in anticipation on Saturday. Cony, the housemaid, now receives a small stipend as a reader and coordinator of the program. Volunteers often join her to read.
"You know the program is a success," Carol admits, "when the occasional book disappears from the reading basket," although even these are almost always returned.
Much ground remains to be covered. But Carol is optimistic, especially with support from local author Garay, and local staff in place, including Cony and Ruth, the librarian who runs the lending library. Seeing a familiar face in charge helps ease people, who might otherwise be uncomfortable with libraries, through the front door for the first time. Plus, putting programs in the hands of Nicaraguans gives them a better chance of becoming a part of community routine.
Puedo Leer continues to dream big. They have plans for more bibliotecaulas in schools and reading rooms in additional communities, as well as for continued training of teachers. To make these dreams come true, they depend on volunteers and the generosity of donors. Learn more about Puedo Leer and how you can support their work:
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