Learning How to Sail

There is no Frigate like a Book…

There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human Soul – Emily Dickinson

During all my years as an aid worker, I had my professional job (another day; another kwacha), and I had my amateur (“to love”) side hustles. These side hustles were problems I observed for which simple solutions could be found, and when implemented, left all who participated a little better off and a little happier.

My first side hustle was when I was managing a large project at a small rural college in western Zimbabwe. We employed several hundred local workers from the surrounding villages and we paid them in cash every week. To receive their pay, the men would sign their name on the payroll ledger, or if they could not write, they pressed their thumb on an ink pad and left their thumb print on the line next to their name.

After going through this process for a few months, I observed two things: 1) most of the men could not read or write, and 2) when they left their thumb prints on the ledger, they never looked at me until I handed them their money. I sensed that they felt ashamed of their illiteracy. Here we were at a college, and a large group of people employed by the college could not read or write. We could do something to change things for them.

My wife was finishing an elementary education degree (when she graduated, she was the first white student to ever graduate from the school. Yay, wifey!), so she knew the faculty and students of the education department. When we spitballed the idea of education students volunteering to teach basic literacy, the student response was heartwarming. Within weeks, with the help of their teachers, they developed an adult literacy program along the lines of the government’s model.

After we got buy in from the “supply side” of the equation, I discussed the idea with the men. The program would require an hour per day, several days per week. I would pay them for half of each hour in class and the other half hour was on their own time. They were genuinely enthusiastic about the idea, and so many signed up that we had to run multiple session over a couple of semesters.

One of my favorite employees was Robert, the guy who ran our diesel concrete mixer. He wore the same yellow shirt every day, and had an exotropic eye. In every way, he took pride in his work. He was always the first man to arrive on the job so when the masons started work, mortar or concrete was ready for them. He was the last man to leave because he always cleaned and inspected the mixer to make sure it was ready for the next day. He was also the man who first got me thinking about a literacy program, because each time he collected his pay, the thumb print process clearly embarrassed him. Robert was the first man to enroll in the class.

The classes caused very little disruption to the project. The student teachers were enthusiastic about their work because, in addition to getting real life teaching practice, they got to know the local men who lived very different lives in very humble circumstances. And the men worked hard to master the new skills.

After several months, on a payday, Robert walked up to the table to receive his pay. Instead of rolling his thumb in the ink pad, he took the pen to slowly and carefully write his name for the first time. He immediately looked me in the eye and I saw pride in his face.

Shortly after the first session started, I brought a dozen or so copies of the Bulawayo Chronicle newspaper each time I went to town and distributed them to the men. At first, the few men who were literate read to the other men during tea times and lunch breaks, but gradually, the number of readers increased. It is one thing to teach literacy, but maintaining literacy requires continued practice and something to read.

All the men who wanted to take the class eventually did. When I finally moved on to another country assignment, the men still practiced their tea time reading tradition. It cost only a few hundred dollars for supplies, but a few hundred men in landlocked Zimbabwe learned to sail.