FLYING NORTH FROM BANGKOK TOWARD KATHMANDU, I STARE OUT of the tiny window of the Thai Airlines 777 at a cloudless day. From this height, the coastline of Bangladesh is a place of calm. Yet below struggles a nation short on resources and steeped in challenges. For years, we’ve had requests to work there. I wonder if we will be able to find the funding commitments and the dedicated local employees we need in order to say yes.
Peering out the window helps me put aside the doom and gloom painted in the international newspaper. The stories are a familiar and depressing roll call of the failures of our modern world, circa November 2005. Suicide bombers in Iraq killed 67 people praying at a mosque yesterday. Tensions between the Israelis and the Palestinians seem to be as high as always. Renewed violence between the Tamil Tigers and the government of Sri Lanka is predicted.
Enough! I throw the newspaper onto the empty seat next to me and return to more hopeful thoughts about the problems of the world that I can actually help to solve.
At the airport, Dinesh is planning to greet me. It has been six and a half years since we first met. On that day my father and I scanned the crowd, wondering what a “Dinesh” looked like and hoping we’d be able to pick our e-mail pen pal out of the crowd of topi-topped Nepalis.
It is still difficult to fully grasp how much has changed since that initial meeting. The organization Dinesh and I started is now working in six countries. We’ve grown from two part-timers to a paid staff of 50 and over 1,000 volunteer fund-raisers. Our initial library in Bahundanda has now been joined by more than 2,300 others. This week we will celebrate a major milestone for Room to Read—the donation of our millionth book.
In August of 2005, when I realized that we were getting close to surpassing this watershed number, I e-mailed Dinesh to suggest that we do something special to publicly commemorate and celebrate the achievement of a dream. We had been working nonstop for years, and I felt the need to slow down for a few days and go back to the country where it had all begun so that we could savor the progress we had made. Dinesh started planning the usual frenzied trip full of site visits, meetings with headmasters, and conversations with village governments that wanted our support. We were planning to visit 21 widely scattered rural villages in three frenetic days to see a full slate of Room to Read projects. On my last day in the country, we’d celebrate the millionth book.
Ahead of our plane, amidst broken clouds, the Himalayan range dominates the land, the sky, and the focus of everyone sitting on the right-hand side of the plane. Indeed, half of the left side seems to have migrated over, and three to four people are queued up at each window. It’s rare to hear oohs and aahs on a modern flight, but it happens every day on Thai flight #319 to Kathmandu.
To the east, straddling the border with India, sits Kachenjunga, the world’s third-highest mountain at 26,600 feet. I work my way to the left and can make out Mount Everest, with plumes of snow blowing off the top few thousand feet. The view from the plane is unobstructed for nearly 200 miles of glaciated peaks.
These mountains were what originally brought me to Nepal. Now, it is the children.
A CROWD IS WAITING OUTSIDE OF BAGGAGE CLAIM—AND WHAT A CROWD it is! In America, our busy lives mean that we’ve largely abandoned the custom of picking up friends at the airport. “Catch a cab, grab the Super Shuttle,” we frantically e-mail. “Come straight to the restaurant and we’ll meet there. I may be a few minutes late, so sit tight if you don’t see me right away.”
Here in Nepal, the airport pickup is still taken seriously and is something to witness. Several hundred people await the passengers on the two arriving flights of the afternoon from Bangkok and New Delhi. Spotting Dinesh among the crowd, I startle him with a cry of “Bai!”—Nepali for younger brother. He happily shakes my hand, welcomes me back to Nepal, and in his usual “all-business” mode quickly hustles me through the crowd of porters offering their services.
Once the car is rolling through the chaotic streets of Kathmandu, Dinesh and I begin exchanging news both big and small—my recent speech in Bangkok on corporate social responsibility, the current cease-fire between the Maoist rebels and Nepal’s government, the rumors of a potential coup d’état that are being taken so seriously that Nepal’s king is rumored to be returning early from a foreign holiday, Dinesh’s family, and our dinner plans at my favorite momo (steamed dumpling) restaurant. Then he springs a surprise on me.
“This Friday will be a big day.”
I remind him that I’m well aware of this fact, and that’s why I am here.
He laughs and asks if I’m excited to attend the opening ceremony for the library at which we’ll also mark the millionth-book milestone. I confirm my excitement and he chuckles, a bit sheepishly this time.
“Dinesh, what’s going on? Do you want to let me in on the joke?”
“Actually, we will not open just one library on Friday. We wanted to make the day special. So on Friday between ten a.m. and noon, thirty new libraries across Nepal will have their official opening ceremony.”
I am stunned.
“Thirty?”
“Yes, thirty.”
“As in three. Zero.”
“Yes. Three zero. Tis. Thirty.”
Many times I have found it hard to fully comprehend our growth. Today I am blown away. I am also proud of Dinesh and his team for thinking big. The depressing news from the day’s paper fades from memory as I think about thirty villages across Nepal helping us to celebrate this milestone. As of Friday, they will each have a library full of books and shelves and desks and puzzles and games that will bring a world of opportunities to their children, who would otherwise have so few. I feel blessed to be at the helm of an organization that has so many amazing people, and fortunate to be here to participate in this milestone.
OUR NEPAL TEAM HAS MADE BIG PLANS FOR THE TWO DAYS LEADING UP to the millionth-book celebration on Friday. They are justifiably proud of their work and are anxious to show me as many of the new schools and computer labs as possible. Soon after flying over the mountains that flank Kathmandu Valley to the west, I am traversing them again as we start a kamikaze road trip that will take us to visit 14 schools in just one day.
Our first stop is the Shree Bhagawati Primary School, which is perched on a commanding hilltop overlooking the small plots of farmland that produce the majority of this village’s income. The school has just recently opened and already has 151 students in grades one to five, with girls comprising just over half the school’s enrollment. But I will have to earn the opportunity to see the school; a steep ascent along dirt paths is required.
Fragrant pine trees line the trail and provide much needed shade. The climb sucks the oxygen out of me and makes my calves burn. Yadav, our School Room construction engineer, ten years my junior, tells me the story of the village as I pant like a dog.
The village residents responded to our challenge grant in two ways. First, they successfully petitioned the owners of the riverside “stone-crushing business” to donate the cement. That was only half the battle, as the plant was by the river and the school was over 1,000 vertical feet above it in the hills. So the parents also volunteered their labor to carry the building materials for the hour of steep ascent. I made a mental note to tell the Room to Read donor who had helped sponsor the project that the village she’d adopted was full of parents who were obviously good negotiators with strong backs and legs.
After a brief visit with the headmaster, and a group photo shoot of the students, we begin the descent to the roadside. A chirping noise in Dinesh’s pocket reminds us that we are back in cell phone range. On the other line is Rajeev, the program officer in charge of our library program. Twenty-five more schools have signed on to inaugurate their libraries on Friday and are scrambling to meet this deadline. We are up to 55! Dinesh confidently predicts the number will go higher. I love this team, and their ambition.
As Dinesh simultaneously drives, beeps at Indian lorries, weaves through traffic, and chats on the phone, I grip the door handle with white knuckles. Looking straight down at a steep plunge into the river, I decide that I’d rather look uphill. I notice a large school and ask Dinesh why it looks familiar. Not willing to add one more item to his multitasking list, he tells Rajeev he has to hang up.
Dinesh reminds me that this is the Simle School. We had attended the opening ceremony in the fall of 2003. I propose that we make a surprise inspection. Dinesh comments that the headmaster is not expecting us, and I laugh and say all the better. I often wonder what happens at our schools on the days when I, or the local Room to Read team, are not around, and there is not a ceremony in honor of the foreign visitors. Here lies an opportunity to find out what happens at one of the Room to Read schools on an average day. Do teachers show up? Are the rooms filled with students?
A nightmare scenario plays out in my mind. What if the school is poorly attended? What if the rooms were being used to house chickens in the grade one classroom and goats in grade two? I know that the developing world is littered with projects that had every good intention, but were badly planned and therefore unsustainable.
As we walk into the school’s courtyard, I feel that I’m about to experience a referendum on my life’s work. But it’s immediately apparent that we have nothing to fear. Each classroom appears, even from a distance, to be full of students. An unbroken sea of brown uniforms is in every room. Within minutes, as the lunch period starts, waves of students come streaming out of each room. Soon, we are surrounded by dozens and then hundreds of students who aren’t accustomed to having guests. All of them look happy and healthy and seem to have every bit of self-confidence as they yell, “Hello, sir,” and ham it up for Yadav’s camera.
The headmaster recognizes Dinesh and Yadav and joins our impromptu inspection tour. He tells us proudly that enrollment at the school has increased from 550 students in 2002, to 700 in 2003 (when Room to Read completed the first addition), to over 1,150 today (after Room to Read built a second addition, this time with five new classrooms and a library). Education continued to become more popular as families realized that this was the best hope for their children.
As growth in enrollment increased, so did the need for additional space, and the school had recently completed yet another addition. This time they did not seek Room to Read’s support, but instead lobbied their District Development Committee (the local level of government) into funding the project. They were also upgrading the toilets to ensure an adequate supply of clean running water, and constructing a shrine to the goddess of education.
We were happy to hear that the Simle School had done the last addition without asking for our help. Our goal has always been for our schools to be supported by the community, and therefore be self-sufficient in the long run. This was the dream state, because the school would remain for years to come and would be well taken care of. Meanwhile, we could begin working in other villages that also needed our help.
I congratulated the headmaster on the growth in enrollment and told him how proud I was that Room to Read had played a part. Apologizing for stopping by without notice, I said that we knew he was busy and that I hoped to see him again on my next trip to Nepal. As we walked back to the car, I made a note to call the donors who had funded the Simle School projects and let them know that the school was well run, overflowing with students, and being well looked after by the community.
DINESH’S PHONE RANG AGAIN ON THE WAY TO THE DAY’S FINAL VISIT. I could pick up enough of his Nepali to realize that we were adding libraries as fast as the Simle School was adding students. An NGO partner in the Terai region, along the India border, had moved forward the opening date of 15 new libraries. We had reached 70—and counting!
I was excited for the last stop of the day at the Shree Bageshwori school. It was built by the local community and Room to Read in 2003, with funding provided by 85 Broads, the group of female employees and alums of Goldman Sachs who had helped make Alison Levine’s Everest climb a fund-raiser for Room to Read. In just over two years, enrollment at Bageshwori had increased to over 1,000 students. The Nepal Room to Read team was impressed by the dedication of the teachers and the continued upward trend in enrollment. This year, the school’s request for a computer room was granted in recognition of their progress. I was awarded the fun job—showing up for the opening ceremony as the “chief guest.”
The students proved to us that they were ready to make great use of their new computer lab. They had practiced their PowerPoint skills by making welcome signs. As we entered the courtyard, over 1,000 students greeted us. Most were holding flowers, and at least fifty had laser-printed signs mounted on sticks. The messages read, “Thank you for supporting our school,” and, “Thank you Room to Read for granting support to establish computer lab.”
One adorable sixth-grade girl had a sign reading, “Thank you Room to Read for giving us so much…How to express what I have felt? I simply love you very very much!” The daughter of the school’s English teacher made me a special “Welcome Jhon Wood” sign.
The ceremony had not yet begun and I was already overwhelmed with the emotion and the sheer joy of knowing that one spot on earth is better off today than it was yesterday. Because of the work of so many people in our global network, these students would have the opportunity to learn how computers worked and to connect with the outside world. To these children, we were heroes. I was reminded of why I work the insane hours, jump on flights when I’d prefer to stay home, and abandon the easy temptation to live a “normal” life. The answer lay with these sign-wielding students. I worked for them and needed to stay maniacally focused since there were tens of thousands of other schools just like Bageshwori that needed our assistance.
FRIDAY MORNING, THE DAY OF THE MILLIONTH-BOOK MILESTONE, IS chilly enough to demand a thick fleece. I wake at 7:30 and walk the streets of Kathmandu for an hour. I love the city at this time of day. The air is clean and retains a chill from the night, the sun is benign, the streets are clean, and there is little traffic. Shopkeepers clean their windows and brush their front stoops with tiny doll-like brooms. It must be a never-ending battle to have a clean store in this perpetually dusty city. I exchange “Namaste” with several. In an alley, a stray dog pounces on a bone, chews, drops it, and stares quizzically, as if wondering about the lack of meat. I wish I had brought Milk-Bones with me.
Back at the Kathmandu Guest House, as I await the arrival of Dinesh and Rajeev, I leaf through the local newspapers. A quote from a story about education in Nepal leaps off the page:
In my village as well as in the cities, there were local bars in every nook and corner. Roaming around those places, I formed the habit of drinking and I became a drunkard. If only those places [had been] libraries and bookshops, then today I might have been a different man altogether.
—Manu Brajaki quoted in the
Kathmandu Post, November 15, 2005
I hope Manu finds out about what we are up to today; I think he would approve.
Dinesh and Rajeev arrive, and we order a large pot of milk tea. All smiles, they seem to be just as excited for the day as I am. Dinesh announces that he has been up late answering e-mails from our partner NGOs. I can tell by his bemused countenance that he’s excited to give me an update. I ask. Seven more NGOs had decided to join us in cutting the red ribbon on their new Room to Read–financed libraries today. In fact, some of them had gotten an early start and were opening the libraries even as we sat over breakfast.
Next I ask for the latest count.
One hundred and eleven.
Rajeev interrupts his mobile phone call to correct Dinesh. Another NGO partner had sent a fax to the office this morning announcing the opening of 12 libraries in the Terai region of southern Nepal, along the border with India.
Today, 123 ribbons will be cut! I am in awe. The entire country of Nepal seems to have caught the millionth-book fever. In 19 different districts, ranging from the flat “breadbasket” of the south, to the shadow of the Annapurna range in Pokhara, speeches are being made and libraries are being opened at a frantic clip. I can only imagine the months of work done in advance of this day. School sites had to be identified, challenge grants negotiated, librarians trained, shelves built, and books transported. Today, in honor of the millionth book, everything would come together. The local Room to Read team reminded me of orchestra players who had painstakingly practiced and were now ready to perform a perfect rendition of a symphony.
We are due to attend three opening ceremonies in the Kathmandu Valley, so I quickly pay our bill. As our team walks to the car, I try to visualize the many libraries and communities being impacted by Room to Read on this one day. Assuming that on average 300 children have access to each library, this means that over 36,000 children will now have an opportunity that had not previously existed in their village. I pat Rajeev on the back and tell him that back in the early days, Dinesh and I would have never pictured Room to Read opening this many libraries in our lifetime, let alone in one day.
AN HOUR’S DRIVE FROM OUR GUESTHOUSE, ON THE FAR NORTHEASTERN outskirts of Kathmandu, the 135 students of the Shree Ram Janaki Lower Secondary School are preparing for our arrival. Marigolds are being strung into welcome garlands, and the smallest children are in the forest bordering the school picking small flowers to offer their honored guests.
The rutted road almost swallows Dinesh’s tiny Hyundai (no Land Rovers at our low-overhead organization), so we park alongside a field of grazing goats. As we walk the last hundred yards to the school, we see children scrambling to their assigned places. We are immediately surrounded by teachers offering the warmest welcomes and greetings. As is the custom in Nepal, the students have formed a human corridor. As we walk through, we are given enough flowers to last for several decades’ worth of Valentine’s Days. I try to stop long enough to look each student in the eye and say thank you. Some are outgoing and answer with a perfectly enunciated “You’re welcome, sir,” while others blush and look down at the ground. The youngest students need help from a teacher, who lifts them high enough to place their flower garland around my neck.
We are shown to seats thoughtfully placed in the shade of the school’s roof, beneath a large red banner announcing the opening of the school’s new bilingual library. A small microphone awaits the speakers, incense burns, and in the school’s courtyard students are assembling on rows of long benches.
The headmaster joyfully announces that this is one of the biggest days in the history of the school. In the library lay opportunities for the students to learn about how the world works. They can view maps and photos of far-off lands and oceans, read about their country’s rich history, and begin thinking about whether they’d like to be a doctor or a businessperson or an airline pilot when they finish school. In my mind, I picture my childhood visits to our hometown library, and the kinetic energy those hundreds of books unleashed in my young brain. I hope that this school’s library is one small part of the repayment for the privileges I have enjoyed.
Next, a group of girl students performs a dance expressing their gratitude to the Room to Read team for our support of their school.
Now we have a Room to Read.
We will study every day.
We will learn Nepali and English.
We will speak them perfectly.
Several teachers and a member of the village government then speak. As they talk to the crowd of students and parents about the importance of reading, and their goals for the future growth of the school, my thoughts drift to different parts of Nepal. I imagine floating 100,000 feet above the country and looking down on 123 villages where crowds are assembling to celebrate the opening of their new village library. In the shadows of the Himalayas, in villages perched on the sides of steep, verdant hills, in narrow river valleys, and in dusty districts of Kathmandu, communities are gathering to mark a milestone in their development. The parents know that a vital part of education that they had missed—access to a wide variety of books in several languages—will be available to their children as of today.
I picture over 30,000 children reading books in these new libraries and think back to how modest my original goal in 1998 had been—just one library, in Bahundanda. From that first small step, progress has snowballed, accelerated, and sometimes left me gasping for breath. Given a choice, I would have it no other way.
In my imaginary spaceship, I go even higher above the earth and look down on India, Laos, Sri Lanka, Cambodia, and Vietnam and think about all the other projects the local Room to Read teams have implemented in these countries: 2,300 libraries across six resource-starved nations; over 200 schools; 50 computer and language labs; 1,700 girls on long-term scholarships; a million books.
I am immensely satisfied with how life has worked out. It seems hard to believe that I had ever worried about whether I would find “life after Microsoft.” The company had been a springboard to a new plateau, one on which I was happier than ever with my chosen role in the universe. Through my years at Microsoft, I had been given financial freedom, and a tool kit of management skills that had proved immensely useful while building Room to Read. Rather than seeing a chasm between my old life and my new one, it now seems more of a continuum.
My musings are interrupted by the headmaster. He hands over a pair of scissors to cut the red ribbon stretched across the library’s door. I walk slowly, wishing I could slow down time. I desire to preserve this moment forever.
As I cut the ribbon and the two halves flutter downward, the assembled crowd cheers. I put my arm around Dinesh and we walk into a room full of desks, chairs, posters, and shelves of books in Nepali and English. The walls are painted in bright colors. The beautiful room is a harbinger of a brighter tomorrow for the students at the school, this year and every year into the future.
It is also a small piece in the overall mosaic called Room to Read. Today we paused to celebrate. Tomorrow we will get back to work. Tens of thousands of ribbon cuttings lie ahead. With continued focus, tenacity, passion, and sheer force of will, we’ll keep marching onward and upward. New tiles—a school here, a library there—will be added to the mosaic until we have created a world in which no child lacks access to education.
Millions of kids are waiting for the opportunity that education brings. I hope and pray that we will not keep them waiting much longer.