The Library Is Not Just a Place

by Jídé Salawu

Handsome bronze plaques to either side of the wide door identify the Wilbraham District Library, Manchester; in the foreground, shade trees; at the top of the facade a lilac sign proclaims "The Place at Platt Lane"
Image courtesy of the author

I spent part of my spring last year in Manchester in the quiet neighborhood of Burdith Avenue, an extension of Fallowfield, where my partner and I shared a small studio with scarcely enough room for a decent table and chair. I knew I’d need to find room to work comfortably. So I Googled the nearest library, which turned out to be the Wilbraham Community Library, also known as The Place at Platt Lane, some ten minutes’ walk from my house. Past the Asda and a few restaurants, and then across the street. The Place is a red brick building with a damp face that has been washed over with rain and time. You can tell it is many decades old.

There is always something refreshing about visiting a library. As summer approached, it was especially relaxing to know I had a comfortable place to go for a respite from the afternoon heat of my studio room. 

The Place is a community resource center in addition to being a library, offering English classes for non-native speakers and a host of other culture programs. So far as books are concerned, the collection is quite small, with few that piqued my interest. Since I hadn’t brought many books with me to the city, I went to Waterstone’s in Arndale to get NoViolet Bulawayo’s Glory, a book whose Orwellian template mocks Mugabe’s dying grip on Zimbabwe. I started NoViolet’s latest offering at the bookshop, but returned to the library to finish it, partly, I admit, in hopes of the occasional gifts of candies from the librarians.

Having a community library is not a luxury. But it is a privilege that I am grateful for as a migrant, one of the many African academic flâneurs dispersed across the West today. To live in the consciousness of books is what I crave: to have direct access to the latest knowledge and life-changing narratives, to assault ignorance with the best possible weapon. That is not possible in Nigeria.

Community libraries are rarely established in Nigeria, though local governments don’t necessarily stand in the way. But if there is a library, it will rarely be the direct work of the government; instead a book lover or donor who cares about books will, through some combination of generosity and patient work, gather some funding to build a place of gathering for neighbors. The state public libraries are decaying, cockroach-infested, their shelves filled mostly with cobwebs; there are few new titles of Nigerian or African literature available, with budgets at an all-time low. You’ll often find these libraries are still running in analog mode, with their few remaining patrons required to bring their library cards in to be entered manually.

It’s not just that there’s no money for acquiring new Nigerian or African books; Nigerian libraries haven’t the structure or resources to offer writers space for hosting readings. There are few workshops, and few events even to promote reading or literacy. In general the Nigerian public library is an unkempt grave of books. 

In 2022 I went to Ibadan to do archival research on Nigerian book history and book clubs. The National Archive holds an uninspiring collection of old, brown, fragile newspapers monitored by staff. The resources and organization required to digitize these fragile materials, even in the National Archive, are nonexistent. Without a digital catalog properly indexed for searching, the task of archival research rapidly becomes insurmountable. After just a few hours of work at the Archive, I was already fagged out, with little to show for the effort of searching for some needle that might never emerge from these dusty haystacks.

On July 12, 2024, a tweet was posted by Sanusi Dantata (whom I assume to be an estate agent), reading: “Are you ready to own a piece of prime real estate in the heart of Abuja’s bustling Central Business District?” A little research suggested that this “prime real estate” is part of the national library in Abuja, the federal capital of Nigeria, which is apparently available for acquisition by prospective property owners.

There’s no need to rehash the argument that Nigeria has been under elite capture since 1960, when it gained its independence from Britain, nor any need to say that the country is run by an incorrigible herd of corrupt and perverted politicians. All this has long been clear.

How does a nation progress without reading? How does a nation build a commonwealth without books as a form of capital? How can a national library be for sale? Sanusi Dantata’s post is a brazen declaration for mediocrity. 

The library is the knowledge bank of the nation. It should be treated as a sacred ground, properly funded and maintained, and venerated as a wellspring for a prosperous future. Reading culture should be promoted with investment in community libraries across ward and local governments. 

When I arrived in Fallowfield, I counted the number of churches and mosques around, and was surprised to find fewer than five in my neighborhood. In sharp contrast, a typical Nigerian neighborhood may be home to dozens of churches and mosques. Every year the government pumps billions of naira into sending pilgrims to Jerusalem and Saudi Arabia in support of the religions. There is no crime in the public worshiping God in whatever medium that suits them. But there is a great crime committed against the future of a society that does not read.


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