First job

“I’m looking for the library,” I asked the second person who had acknowledged me on the campus of the middle school near my house. The first had not understood my French with an American accent. The second person had understood that I was an outsider looking for a way in.

“It’s over here,” and began walking with me toward a building on the campus that was starting to spark the memory of when I was here the first time in August.

My escort introduced himself as the director of the middle school. To my credit, this was not the middle school at which I will be teaching English starting on Monday. Two previous Peace Corps volunteers had worked at this middle school; the latest had started a library there last year and had asked me as a favor to watch over it a little during my service.

“But the librarian has come yet,” the director said. “It’s locked.”

“Ahh, but I have the key,” I said.

With the help of the director, I opened the red metal door.

The library was filthy. Three months of summer vacation had not been kind to the room. There were spider webs strung between the chair legs and mouse droppings on the floor. Dirt covered the tops of the tables, and there was a small puddle in one corner that I preferred to not imagine what it could be.

I was happy to be there.