海角大神

(From the Dec. 2, 2008 海角大神 Science Monitor)

Fatima Ndoye has just finished 鈥淟鈥檈nfant noir,鈥� a novel based on the childhood of Guinean author Camara Laye.

She could hardly put it down 鈥� except that she hardly had the chance to pick it up, either.

She has been reading it in borrowed snatches of time when she races across the street from her school to the Pikine Library during her lunch break.

This crude library 鈥� a 15-by-65 foot room in a concrete cultural center 鈥� is a treasure trove for the 14-year-old, who says she tries to read a novel a week here during hour-long visits.

The daughter of a construction worker who earns $10 a day, she can鈥檛 afford the $2 library card nor the two passport-sized photos required to get one, so she reads the books in installments, a little every day.

Fatima, her blue school vest covering jeans and T-shirt, knows every corner of the library: She walks to a shelf that鈥檚 three-quarters full and tells a visitor, 鈥渢hese are the novels.鈥� The shelf below, she says, are books about business.

She wanders a few more steps, and indicates the children鈥檚 section, picking up a picture book and rifling through the pages.

鈥淲hen I was little,鈥� she muses, 鈥淚 liked these books. But now I鈥檓 bigger and I鈥檝e changed. Because you progress. You progress all the time. I鈥檓 14 now, and I read much bigger books.鈥�

鈥� 鈥� 鈥�

This bustling 鈥� even crowded 鈥� lending library, cobbled together with hope, donations, and volunteerism, is evidence of how strong demand is for more libraries in Senegal, which, as one of the world鈥檚 poorest countries, has a 40 percent literacy rate.

The single room off a sandy courtyard in the Leopold Sedar Senghor Cultural Center is the only public library in this city of 2 million.

Poverty aside, Senegal has a rich literary history.

Among its celebrated authors is the country鈥檚 first president and a world-renowned poet and intellectual, Leopold Sedar Senghor, for whom the center was named.

There are many development programs, paid for by the government and international aid organizations, working to teach basic reading skills and to get more children in school.

But the director of the cultural center, Pape Baba Ndiaye, says funding is needed for the next step in the process 鈥� giving people access to books and information.

鈥淭he government says it dedicates 40 percent of the budget for education,鈥� Mr. Ndiaye says. 鈥淚 would like to see more of that 40 percent given to books and public reading.鈥�

Currently his library operates on a tiny fraction of the cultural center鈥檚 budget of less than $40,000 and relies almost entirely on donations from nongovernmental organizations and embassies.

The state is doing what it can, he says. 鈥淭here is a director of libraries, in the Ministry of Culture; there are library networks in the country.鈥�

But he says it just isn鈥檛 enough.

In a culture where stories are traditionally passed on orally, Ndiaye was fortunate to even have a model of a library to follow.

He grew up in Medina, a crowded neighborhood in Senegal鈥檚 capital, Dakar, 鈥渘ot very far from the library network in downtown,鈥� he says.

鈥淓very Wednesday and Thursday evening, we didn鈥檛 have school, so that鈥檚 when we鈥檇 go to the library to read, to discover things. It helped us do our homework better.鈥�

When Pikine鈥檚 current mayor was elected, he pledged to revitalize the library, which had been given space in the 1990s when the cultural center was built, but had long been ignored.

Under Ndiaye鈥檚 direction, it reopened in 2005 with thousands of donated books.

He says the library now has over 10,000 volumes, but a glance around the room suggests the true number is far smaller.

Ndiaye鈥檚 vision is to expand Pikine鈥檚 library into branches, one for each of the city鈥檚 16 districts of sprawling concrete neighborhoods that are gridlocked with colorful minivan-buses, rickety taxis, boys selling newspapers between cars, and women selling peanuts on the sidewalk.

More people live here, in this city on the outskirts of Dakar, than in the capital itself. And more arrive daily from remote villages and even poorer neighboring countries.

鈥淭here are people who want to access books,鈥� Ndiaye says, 鈥渨ho are too far in the interior of Pikine. Sometimes they don鈥檛 have money for the transportation. Sometimes they don鈥檛 have time.鈥�

But he says, there isn鈥檛 any funding, and there aren鈥檛 enough books.

鈥淏ooks are expensive,鈥� he says, 鈥渁nd we need the infrastructure: a building, the management system, personnel.鈥�

鈥淲e鈥檒l do it,鈥� he says, 鈥渓ittle by little.鈥�

鈥� 鈥� 鈥�

The Pikine library鈥檚 newest acquisition is a full set of Larousse encyclopedias in French, donated by the American Embassy.

(Before, the library鈥檚 only encyclopedias, also a donation, were in English, which isn鈥檛 spoken in this former French colony.)

Now students from middle- and high schools can research in the language they learn in.

(But the encyclopedias are 16 years old and don鈥檛 mention the end of South African apartheid.)

On a weekday at lunchtime, it鈥檚 clear that, whatever else may be lacking, demand is high.

Schoolbags pile near the entrance as students stream in. Young girls cluster around picture books, older students sit individually, bent over more weighty tomes.

Bintou Hane, a 19-year-old high school student, traveled more than half an hour by bus to get here on a recent day. She signed up for her first library card.

鈥淚鈥檓 a senior now,鈥� she said. 鈥淛oining the library will help me cultivate myself and improve my vocabulary.鈥�

She handed over the $2 fee and a photocopy of her national identity card, but she had forgotten two ID photos.

The librarian, Moussa Fall, a college student who volunteers here when he鈥檚 not in class, looked at her sternly, but granted her the membership 鈥� if she鈥檇 bring the photos as soon as possible.

Mr. Fall gave Ms. Hane a tour, indicating the books for borrowing and those that are in too high demand to lend out 鈥� like the new encyclopedias and any book by an African author.

鈥淵ou can borrow two books at once, and you can keep them for 15 days,鈥� Fall said, 鈥渂ut then you鈥檒l have to pay $1 for every day it鈥檚 late.鈥�

This day, Hane was only allowed one book, for one week.

She laughed: 鈥淒on鈥檛 you trust me?鈥�

Fall laughed, too. 鈥淥f course we do.鈥� But he wasn鈥檛 kidding. 鈥淲e need to make sure you鈥檙e serious.鈥�

Hane had just enough time to skim the shelves and pick out a book 鈥� 鈥淥n ne Badine pas avec l鈥橝mour鈥� (No trifling with love) by Alfred de Musset; 鈥淚 read a book by him at school,鈥� Hane said.

Then she headed back to school.

鈥� 鈥� 鈥�

When Ngone Niang, one of the volunteer librarians, was a student, she never went to a library.

Pikine鈥檚 library didn鈥檛 exist, and she was too young to venture the hour to the capital on her own.

She now works full time at the library, unpaid.

A former literacy trainer for UNICEF, she鈥檚 been unable to find paid work, a common situation in a country with more than 60 percent unemployment.

Unmarried, she lives with her parents, and says that working at the library 鈥渋s better than sitting in the house all day.鈥�

She recently completed two days of training in cataloging books and online resources at the US Embassy.

鈥淚 knew about Google,鈥� she says, scanning some printouts, 鈥渂ut I never knew how to find photographs of authors and print them.鈥�

There is no Internet connection at the library. Borrowed books are painstakingly logged by hand in an oversized register.

But Ms. Niang says she has Internet access at home and plans to make author exhibits with photos she prints there.

鈥淭his is the beginning,鈥� she says, 鈥渁nd at the beginning everything is harder.
鈥淏ut I have courage.鈥�

Courage, she says, to do a job she thinks is worth doing unpaid in the hope it will one day be funded.