School Handwashing Stations

I’ve heard that most projects attempted in a volunteer’s first couple months of service fail. Yes, this was in the back of my mind when the enthusiastic visiting engineer took the reins of Dombila’s school sanitation project- wanting to move it quickly so as to finish before his short term assignment expired. I asked all the right questions, I did my assessments, I was assured that the students would maintain their equiptment. So hushing all my reservations, I practically emptied my personal living allowance bank account to allow project coordinators to start work. When my project proposal goes through I will be reimbursed through donations from friends and family in the states. (You!) Yes, I thought this was all happening too quickly, but I held my breath and gave my trust to some enthusiastic people who were really working hard.
Looking back, I’m sure the expenses could have been lowered. One hand washing station might have been plenty, but now we have two, one in a slightly odd location. I think we bought too much cement, and perhaps an extra water barrel wasn’t worth the $16. So I’ll come clean and honest, my first project was not perfect, it was not as carefully planned as it might have been. And against protocal, I went ahead and started with out all the official paper work in. But thanks to your generous contributions, 845 students will have access to clean latrine and wash facilities. Yet unfortunately, if you choose to give, some of your money will be paying for mistakes and overlooks, as it does in most other charity.
But financial flops is not the reason I am worried that this project is not accomplishing what we ultimately want to accomplish. A failure? There’s no telling yet, we’ll wait and see. But today as I sat in a meeting with student leaders of the project and a couple of teachers, I realized how deep of a hole this school is in. I want capacity building, I want the students to take charge of the project, to motivate their peers, to complete chores and put in their two cents (literally) for soap. I wanted them to design lessons and songs for the younger kids. Instead, I was placed in a room where students were a the mercy of an overbearing teacher, too afraid to speak. This teacher, known for whipping fourth graders daily, demonstrated to me that next to a closet, her school is about the absolute worst place to educate a child. And that the development of her community is the least of her priorities.
Sunday, I taught my women’s group how to make soap, which they were very excited about. It’s actually great quality soap and though they are only making about a 25% profit, they decided they like the work and want to begin a little business- see how it works out. (Too perfect, I’m thinking, now the students can buy soap from the women and everybody wins!)
When I suggested this, she shut me down immediately. “Black people’s soap? No. We’re buying carton soap in town” (at about 200% of the price, when most of the students actually prefer the local stuff). “Why doesn’t your project help us buy soap?”
“There needs to be a community controbution for a Peace Corps project to assure that it will be sustainable” (of course, not said so eloquently in Bambara).
She scoffs. These American projects.
“Excuse me, but I’ve put in a lot of work and my friends and family in the U.S. have put in a lot of money so that your students can have clean facilities. The least you can do is organize a soap collection.”
“Oh yeah? How much money?”
I don’t want to just spit out a number in front of her, but I promise to show the budget I’ve been stressing over for weeks. I hate to say that an impoverished school has been spoiled by NGOs, but despite their quest for modernization, they have not learned to solve problems themselves. We’ll buy the more expensive soap, no sorry- you’ll buy the more expensive soap.
And I look in the crowd at students who are genuinely interested in making the project a success- who would be football or music stars, starting clubs and running for student government in the states, but instead are finding an outlet for their motivation and leadership in heading up a latrine cleaning committee.
Maybe it was too early to do a funded project at the school. Maybe I should have started smaller, done weekly lessons at school about fundraising, project organization, and capacity building. Maybe I shouldn’t have let an outsider take so much control. Maybe I should have waited to see if the students could work with what they have already before adding more to the system.
A few weeks later, when the hand washing stations were ready to be installed, I repeatedly went to see the school director. A nice man by most people’s standards, Amadu Mega is in survival mode. Seven years, he told me back when I interviewed him in September, until blessed retirement. And he is counting every day.
“Why don’t we have notebooks so the students can keep track of their weekly chores?” I suggest.
“Oui, oui. Oui, Oui.” dismissingly, is all he says. Not, “Alright, let’s exchange ideas on how to organize them.”
“So how did the money for the soap collection go?”
“Oh, we’ll do it tomorrow… tomorrow…. Tomorrow….”
Hesitantly, I finally gave the go signal, and two large hand washing stations with drainage were assembled in the school yard. The kids were swarming it, messing with the fausets. “Aminata,” Mohamadu (Shaka’s younger brother) said, “we told you not to do this. This is a terrible idea.” The words struck me like a bullet. All I wanted to do was help, and the choas of Dombila’s school had been unleashed all over our precious work.
Where’s the water? The kids wondered. “Well, why don’t you go get some?” And a dozen kids ran to the pump, carrying the new water buckets three by three. A few more of them grabbed brooms, and with all of my encouragement and an audience of their peers, ventured into the forbidden old latrines- the most disgusting places I have encountered in village- and cleaned. They washed, they swept, they drew water. It was a beautiful sight.
And then the man I was looking for finally arrived on the scene. “I’m Derise. The chief of 9th grade. The director said you wanted me to set up some notebooks?” After a half hour with Derise, I was finally able to break through the barriers of the teachers and give the project to the hands of where it belongs. Derise is not only organizing the notebooks, but the soap collection, and is taking his job very seriously. If the women do get seriously organized with soap, we’ll begin to buy from them. That afternoon, each class took a mini field trip outside to the improved latrines and new hand washing stations. Derise instructed how to use them, what the daily chores would be consisted of and why it’s important to be maintained. I stood by feeling quite silly (as always, I am white, right?) but also a bit more hopeful. The project might not be a failure after all. It might not start out perfect, and there will be bumps in the road- late soap collections, broken faucets, I have no doubt. But at least it’s in the right hands- the students. I mounted my bike to ride home- got no thank yous, just the normal kids staring at my high quality bike. I was smiling thinking of the 4th graders who so bravely cleaned up the latrines, but also so nervous about what Monday morning would bring in Dombila’s central school.

I thank you full heartedly for your donations and will surely keep you updated.