The Best Small Library in America

A few days ago, I visited ‘the best small library in America 2010′, as selected by vote and inspection by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. It is none other than the Glen Carbon Centennial Library located a few miles away from the Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville. The village of Glen Carbon itself is 19.3km square out of which 0.1km square is water. It has a population of about 12,000 people, was voted by CNNMoney.com in 2009 as the No. 91 on its “Best Places to Live” list, and is located 30 minutes by car across the Mississippi River.

Location

Surrounded by oriental artworks and located in a lush area of the quiet residential area, the library, which is actually quite small, stands formidable; and what strikes first as one makes an entrance is the warm glow of lights, and the aesthetics of the structure. At the entrance is a bronze cast of two little children reading a book. A little further in is a fireplace in front of which are two comfortable sofas and a coffee table. Then there is the warm smile of the members of staff at the help desk who are ready to give all necessary assistance to the visitor. “I am from Nigeria,” I said, in response to her almost curious look. “Nice to have you here,” She responded, and proceeded to attend to my co-visitor who had brought me to check out a few books and movies.

For a small library, the Glen Carbon Centennial is in a class of its own. If we do not wrongly assume that the current state of the art design of its interior is because of the cash prize it got from the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for being the best small library of 2010, it is easy to see why it would be deserving of such recognition. With a warm staff, a conducive environment, organised shelves and a well-stocked store of books, a children’s playground, nice and spacious reading spaces, and a fireplace, it effortlessly lends itself to inspiration expected from such a reading and studying space. The materials in this small building will run into tens of thousands, but there is no one source of verifying such information immediately. There was however a recently published feature of the library in the Library Journal issue of February 2010. Although meant to be purchased for $2.00 at the desk, the woman at the desk made free colour copies for me.

Humble beginnings

The library started in 1975 as The Glen Carbon Reading Center in the “Hex Building”, and is now housed in a 15,000 square foot facility opened in October 2004, located adjacent to the town’s historic covered bridge. The doorway to the children’s area of the library resembles an entrance to a coal mine, with rough-hewn timbers holding up a corrugated tin roof overhanging the door. Lighting fixtures and other accents, such as exposed wood beams and rafters throughout the building incorporate this theme in a state-of-the art facility that includes glassed-in study rooms, a community room, children’s program room, wireless access, teen area and twenty-three patron access computer workstations.

After less than 30 minutes looking through the facilities and the warm services of its workers, it is easy to see why it was voted the best small library (a distinction that comes with $15,000 cash prize) by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. I recommend it any day for anyone who ever finds themselves in Edwardsville, or for writers and researchers looking for where to donate their books, research materials and papers. With a motto of “More than you expect,” the small library has grown in leaps and bounds over the years although the community hasn’t grown much. In the past two years, according to an article in the Library Journal, 2,313 new borrowers have registered, more than 35 percent of the patron total of 6430. Even the door count has risen from 33 percent from 2007. And for a library that runs on only fifteen librarians out of which only five on the management team are full time, it is an impressive feat. The place is open seven days a week for a total of 64 hours.

“Glenn Carbon seems to be doing everything right,” said one of the Best Small Library in America judges. “Glen Carbon has the most going on in every criterion,” said another. “I really tried to keep creativity, replication by other libraries, and innovation foremost. Glen Carbon got the most points,” said a third. The only other libraries in the places surrounding Edwardsville are the Edwardsville Public Library and the Lovejoy Library. The former is one of the oldest libraries in the state (“dedicated” in 1906) located in downtown Edwardsville, while the latter is located on the campus of the Southern Illinois University, Edwardsville, established in 1965, and named after the abolitionist newspaper editor, Elijah Lovejoy, who was shot and killed while defending his press from a pro-slavery mob in Alton, Illinois in 1837.

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First Published on 234NEXT on May 1, 2010. Reprinted here for archival purposes. Pictures can be found here.

A Dogged Return to Base

Ibadan.

It’s been told many times before: a man goes on a journey, and leaves his dogs at home. They scream and wail for many days mourning his absence, and they forget about him. But only for a while. Time and seasons go by and the world changes. They grow old and lose their cute features. Some of them even reproduce all while their master is away. And then one day he returns and they can’t believe their eyes. First they bark at him, then they wait for a little while trying to take it all in, the image of the stranger standing in front of them. Then they fly over him ignoring all need for caution. It’s him. He’s back. He’s back! Whoof, whoof. He’s back.

The smell of dirt of my dogs’ paw prints all over my clothes have not left me now as I write this. They used to be three. Now they are six. They have jumped, and whimpered, and done everything imaginable to me. And now I believe that I’m home, for sure, and I need a good bath. And sleep.

PS: There are a few new discoveries: That my last grandmother is dying and doesn’t recognize me anymore, for one. This, of all things, is going to be harder than I can take.

Adventures in Paris

So I was in France, but only for a few hours as well. No, I didn’t visit the Eiffel Tower. (I at least said “Bonjour” and “Au revoir” to some woman, and she smiled back if only for a second. That should count for something.) Commuting from one part of the Charles De Gaulle airport to another, I couldn’t help but notice a very wide range of African clothings worn by the Africans and non-Africans moving through the airport. It gave a beautiful view of a colourful town. It was the first airport I’d been that had such array of cultural attires. American airports have everyone in jeans, tops and sneakers, or in jackets, ties and boots. No variety. Go to France and see a real multicultural environment. Well, not totally: everyone there spoke French. But in dressing, they all seemed to assert their identity, and I felt a little out of place wearing my SIUE sweat shirt.

Buying at airports have never always been my thing, but I saw a couple of nice “I was in France” t-shirts in the lounge and I tried to buy them. The conversation that ensued went somewhat like this:

Me (approaching the empty counter. It was about 5.40am, French time): Hellooo. Who’s here?

About two people who were already (window) shopping in the open shop looked at me for a brief second, and looked away.

Me: I’d like to buy a few of these. Who’s in charge?

Some young woman then came forward from the corner. She spoke some French that I couldn’t comprehend.

Me: Bonjour.

She speaks some more French.

Me: Erm, sorry. I don’t speak that much French. Do you speak English?

She: Yes.

There is something innately beautiful in a French person speaking the English language. I was mesmerized.

Me: Good. I’d like to take this, and this. How much are they?

She: So-and-so euros.

Me: Euros?

She: Yes.

Me: Do you accept dollars?

She: Yes.

Me: Alright, here is a hundred.

She: Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t have change for this.

Sigh.

She: If you’d go down that hall, you could get it changed.

I was too tired from the previous trip, and I didn’t want to make any more efforts so I said no.

Me: Do you take cards?

She: Yes.

Me: Good. Have this.

She collects it and swipes it on the machine.

She: It doesn’t work.

I gave up. I know I shouldn’t have expected an American card to work in a European country without first having directed it to by the issuing bank. The disappointment from the encounter was not only that I couldn’t buy some fancy French clothes and perfumes as gifts, but that I couldn’t stay long enough to hear much of that French English of hers. Super, I tell you.

From the E to the L

The journey back home started with a short trip to St. Louis in company of a friend, and a Professor from my University who had graciously volunteered to give me a ride. Not having slept at all throughout the previous night, I succumbed to sleep many times before I found myself – quite in time – at the Lambert Airport, again. After removing my shoes and jacket, and after checking in the two big bags that I was permitted to check in, I hopped on the plane to discover that I had got a window-side seat once more.

I’ve never understood this, and right now I know that it’s more than just a mere coincidence that EVERY time I have travelled by plane throughout the last ten months, I got a window-side seat. The flight was booked for me by the Fulbright people so I believe that someone must have delighted in placing me at the best spot for action on flight. I thank him/her. By the time I got on the next plane from NY to France as well, I was on the window-side again, although on a different side of the plane. And needless to say, I slept off before take-off in those two instances. There goes the hope of the Fulbright flight arrangement officer for a detailed report of a plane take-off from St. Louis and New York City. Sorry pal :). I however got a good shot of the landings. I’m thinking of making a Youtube video of them, but don’t bet on seeing them soon. My internet here doesn’t even do well with uploading pictures, so videos are out of it.

I was in New York long enough to have a decent meal of the day in good company of a friend and fellow Fulbright teacher in NY who had agreed to meet me, and then I headed out. No thanks again to the special arrangement of my flight officer, I didn’t have enough time to visit the supposed charming city of lights. Come on, was an eight-hour layover too much to ask for? 🙁 In any case, now you have your wish, I’m now at home thinking of how much fun I could have had visiting Time’s Square, checking out Ground Zero, The Empire State Building and the United Nations’ Building. What about the Statue of Liberty, the Metropolitan Museums and Long Island? Well, you can have your New York City. I’ll keep my Chicago memories.

We at least have Oprah and Obama! Who do you have? And don’t tell me Letterman.

Many Choices

There has always been more than one choice to make on returning to Lagos. When I left from here ten months ago, I was just an obscure citizen wary of many the propects of distance as I made my first journey out of the continent. Now I seem to have acquired a reputation of staring, and talking about the most random, most obscure details of everywhere I go. Nothing has changed about me, I like to believe, except for that little (just appearing) pot belly :D. Maybe I’ve made more friends, or spoken albeit virtually to more people since the last year. I’m still the same, I like to think. But here are choices tugging at my shirt as I contemplate the next first steps.

The Tourist: Looking at Lagos through the prism of a different country has definitely not helped my first days. Even I feel awkward now whipping out my camera while walking on the streets. These are places where I’ve walked many times before, so they are not totally new to me. I have a choice now of blending in totally as peacefully as I can as a returned son of the land, ignoring all inconsistencies visible to the eyes, or keeping up with the traveller spirit that sees all and tells all. This is not an easy choice to immediately make, and I’m sure that the genius  folks who fashioned this travelling exchange programme never considered how hard it might be for one to fit into the new frame of mind of an old society after such a year’s absence. So, I’d just be me then, whatever that is, hoping that someone points out to me when I’m beginning to overstep accepted conventions.

No more culture shock posts, promise :). I’m home after all.