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The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope
The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope
The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope
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The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope

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Now a Netflix Film, Starring and Directed by Chiwetel Ejiofor of 12 Years a Slave

William Kamkwamba was born in Malawi, a country where magic ruled and modern science was mystery. It was also a land withered by drought and hunger. But William had read about windmills, and he dreamed of building one that would bring to his small village a set of luxuries that only 2 percent of Malawians could enjoy: electricity and running water. His neighbors called him misala—crazy—but William refused to let go of his dreams. With a small pile of once-forgotten science textbooks; some scrap metal, tractor parts, and bicycle halves; and an armory of curiosity and determination, he embarked on a daring plan to forge an unlikely contraption and small miracle that would change the lives around him.

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind is a remarkable true story about human inventiveness and its power to overcome crippling adversity. It will inspire anyone who doubts the power of one individual's ability to change his community and better the lives of those around him.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherHarperCollins
Release dateSep 29, 2009
ISBN9780061937699
Author

William Kamkwamba

William Kamkwamba is a New York Times bestselling author and innovator who designs development projects, including safe water delivery and educational access. William tells his journey of how he achieved his dream of bringing electricity, light, and the promise of a better life to his family and his village in his memoir The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope, co-authored with Bryan Mealer. Since its debut, The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind has sold more than 1 million copies and has been translated into nearly twenty languages worldwide. It has been published in two additional editions, a young reader’s version and a children’s book. After graduating from Dartmouth College in Environmental Studies, William began work as a Global Fellow for the design firm IDEO.org. He is an entrepreneur, TED Fellow, and has worked with the WiderNet Project to develop appropriate technologies curriculums focused on bridging the gap between “knowing” and “doing” for young people in Malawi and across the world. William splits his time between the U.S. and Malawi and is currently working full-time with the Moving Windmills Project to bring the Moving Windmills Innovation Center to life in Kasungu, Malawi.

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Rating: 4.2384615384615385 out of 5 stars
4/5

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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It was a well written book that laid the groundwork well for what was to happen, it told William's story very well.

    It was great to see that even though he wasn't given the advantages in life that he had a plan, and although it got sidelined at times, that he persevered.

    It is sad to see that there are places in the world that don't even come close to having the advantages that we do. This was a very though provoking book.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Excellent story about a boy in Africa who overcame great challenges to work towards a better life for him and his family.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Great story and so inspirational- great read for young and old!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    A touching story.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    If you haven't read it yet - DO SO !
    Great true story.
    You need to read it.
    Read in 2010.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    William Kamkwamba is from a small village in Malawi, where very few buildings are wired for electricity, and even those are subject to frequent blackouts. Like most people in Malawi, his family are farmers, but from a young age he was extremely interested in technology, often taking radios apart to see how they worked. Then, when he was in his early teens, the country was stricken by a terrible famine. Unlike many, his family survived, but it took all their resources to do so, which meant his parents could no longer afford the fees charged by secondary schools in Malawi and he had to drop out. Afraid of falling behind if and when he was able to return, William began studying from English-language textbooks he found in his village school's tiny library, which led to him teaching himself the basics of electrical engineering from a physics book. Those books also introduced him to the concept of a windmill, to which his main reaction, essentially, was, "Hey, if I built one of those, I could listen to music on the radio any time I wanted! And maybe even run a water pump to irrigate the fields so we could grow more crops and avoid another famine." So he did, MacGyvering the thing together using homemade tools and parts scavenged from a scrapyard. And it worked.Most supposedly "inspirational" stories strike me as emotionally manipulative and just tend to put me off, but this, this sort of thing, to me is genuinely inspiring. Not only is it a wonderfully impressive example of technological ingenuity and drive, as well as a testament to the power of knowledge and learning, but it's also a demonstration of how people anywhere can help to improve their local communities. And while I read this mainly because I was interested in the story of the windmill, I also found the earlier chapters, describing Kamkwamba's childhood and his experiences of living through the famine, extremely interesting, as they offered me a first-hand look at a place and a culture I was almost entirely unfamiliar with.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This story shows the importance of education. William used his knowledge to solve his town's problems. He could no longer go to school, but he still went to the library to learn. Because of that visit, William discovered how a windmill could bring food back to his people. William also showed the importance of doing what you believe is right regardless of what others think. People in his town thought he was crazy when he was trying to build his windmill. William kept building and people were impressed when he was done. If people work hard they can accomplish great things.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I cried at times, this was so moving. A boy in Malawi, who cannot afford school and whose family is starving to death from famine, teaches himself Physics to the point of allowing himself to build an electricity generating windmill. Over time this brings him attention which brings funding to lift him and his family from poverty and puts him on the road to be among the new generation of African entrepreneurs. Amazing.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    What this book lacks in lyrical prose it makes up for in inspiration and hope. Faced with famine in his native land and having to leave school as his tuition fees can no longer be afforded, our 14 year old author scours the library science books and teaches himself how to build a windmill. The local “junkyard” provides most of the materials required and with the assistance of a cousin and friend he creates the country’ first windmill to provide his family with electricity. What really struck me was his total lack of self pity or the tendency of North Americans to expect government to do for him. He saw a need, had a dream and did it. Of course, it helped that he didn't have a government agency breathing down his neck telling him he couldn't build it because he didn't get a permit. I believe students in the west could benefit greatly from reading this book.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    What a powerful example of the human spirit! William describes both the horror of living through a famine and the persistence and creativity that he displayed in learning how to apply science to making his life better. Reading of the conditions of William's life drove home to me just how fortunate we are to live in America and how it will be people like William that will make the changes needed in his country.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Charming and descriptive book about life in rural Africa, and benefits of a curious and determined boy who brings light to many (literally). I'm rooting for the author, wherever he is now.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    The Premise Much of the first half of the book is the captivating scene setting of day to day life in his village whilst William is a young boy. It then moves to the devastating impact of famine on the village and surrounding area including forcing William to give up his much wanted place at secondary school as the family struggle to survive. At this point William avails himself of a small library attached to the primary school and to all intents and purposes teaches himself physics. As the grip of the famine eases but a shortage of funds means William can not return to school he starts to put his learning into practice building, to the initial bemusement of the village, a large windmill which he uses to bring electric light to his family home. Thoughts Kamkwamba and his co-author Bryan Mealer have written in a simple, straightforward narrative style which felt very authentic given the author was a child when much of the book took place. The descriptions of the famine were all the more heart rendering for this candid approach as he factually explains the consequences for himself, his family and the wider community in terms that leave little to the imagination. He also paints compelling pictures of his village and many of its inhabitants. Harder to achieve but still successful is the scene setting of an environment so different to that which most Western readers will recognise. He explains concepts like the role of the chief and the widespread belief in magic in a way which clarify without ever judging. Whilst I was fascinated by William’s ingenuity and dedication as he starts to try and build his windmill (no drill… no worries. He just makes his own from a hot nail and a cob of corn) I did lose focus through some of the latter part of the book which has pages of details about electricity and physics which are not topics where I have any real knowledge or capability! Despite this I was mentally cheering for him as he succeeded and as educational opportunities opened up for him as a result. An inspiring and powerful story about what commitment and effort can accomplish even in difficult circumstances whilst making a powerful point about the power of literacy (and access to books)
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    My 12 year old nephew suggested this one for me--I thought it would be a nice, straightforward account of a boy who built a windmill ... but it turned out to be one of the more moving experiences I've had reading this year. There's a harrowing longish sequence in the middle involving famine which gives the rest of the book its emotional gravitas.

    It certainly makes me feel privileged to be so blasé about things like the Internet, Starbucks, sandwiches, etc. Malawi is a very different place--more different than I would have thought prior to reading the book. Very much recommended.

    (Note: 5 stars = amazing, wonderful, 4 = very good book, 3 = decent read, 2 = disappointing, 1 = awful, just awful. I'm fairly good at picking for myself so end up with a lot of 4s).
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    An inspiring story. Regretfully, the first half of the book is full of short attention-span stories of the family, history and general life in Malawi. While interesting, this part adds nothing to the story, and perhaps would have made a good second book. However, this book is advertised as the story of the boy who Harnessed the Wind, and that is an excellent story. The young man, about fifteen years old, build a wind turbine to bring electricity to his village in Malawi. He got his information from a public library, where he read a book on science, donated by Americans to his community. Using scrap metal, cast off parts and pieces of broken bicycles, he is able to bring light to his house after dark, and to make some money charging up a few cell phones and other tasks. He gets written up in the Malawi newspapers, and goes on a tour in the US, and finally gets a full scholarship to an university.Called "crazy" by his neighbors who came together to see him fail, he ultimately wins and impresses everyone who meets him. An unusual true story of an unusual young man. The world needs more people like him.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This book shares a very personal story with struggle and circumstances that, despite the odds, are overcome through perseverance and an exceptional hunger for learning. It is a wonderful example of how people can excel beyond what others expect and despite others' lack of faith. But, this boy has also been partly a product of the good nature of those who saw his potential. It is a story that can inspire us to be truly thankful for the seemingly simple things that we enjoy daily (like running water, electricity, and food). It is also a story that should inspire us to reach out to others in need, for that's all it takes sometimes.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I went into this book wanting (and maybe even expecting) to love it. I didn't. I liked it, but was overall disappointed-- maybe more so because I had glimpses of the book I was expecting to read.The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind starts with page after page of anecdotes and description of life in rural Africa, of the people, and of the author's experiences growing up. It wasn't until page 67 that I saw anything related to his eventual windmill building.Most of these stories were interesting in and of themselves, and some of it was necessary to set the scene, but they weren't what I was looking for in this book.It wasn't until 2/3 of the way through that the story I was looking for and expecting really kicks in, and I really enjoyed the final 1/3 of the book. I spent a lot of my reading time thinking about how the story could have been told differently to make it work. I came up with a number of ideas (interweaving the early and later parts of the story, having the book be a series of inter-related short stories, not all of which had a technological theme, adding in a parallel story of one of the other people he met late in the book).What it came down to was that the story I wanted wasn't really enough to fill the book.Except I'm not even sure that was true. In spite of the author's narration, I only felt I had a superficial knowledge of him and how he thought. One example is his school exams. He's obviously a bright guy, and he talks about the time he spends studying for the exams that determine what school he will be allowed to attend. He anxiously awaits the results. They aren't good, and he is assigned to a very low ranking school. I never found out why, and how he felt about this.If you are interested in a stories of the challenges of African life, give this book a shot.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I am glad to have read this book, EXCEPT I really wish it had been made clear that a large portion of this book was about how the author's family and country were affected by a devastating famine. While I think it helped to understand the author's life and dreams, it could be hard for more "sensitive" readers (I have a hard time reading about horrors because they stick in my head). The portions of this book that were about engineering would make great reading for a junior inventors club. I wanted to try some of the things myself! I just wish they had been a bit clearer.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    An inspiring book about a young boy who's family was too poor to afford school, so he checked out books from the library to teach himself. Through books he learned about electricity and eventually built a wind generator for his parent's farm. It makes you aware of how many opportunities and resources we have in the United States that are just taken for granted.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    William Kamkwamba grew up in an African country, Malawi. His family were farmers and relied on the land and weather to be able to eat. When a famine hit the country and many people starved, William’s family made it through, but there was no money to send William to school. He so desperately wanted to go to school and learn. Instead, he went to the library and took out science books, from which he taught himself. He managed to build a windmill to provide his family home with electricity and had ideas for more things he wanted to build to make life better/easier. This started off really slow for me, and I wasn’t hopeful at first. But, about ¼ of the way through (when the famine hit), it really picked up for me, and just seemed to get better and better. The parts that weren’t as interesting to me was when he talked about the superstitions and magic and the hold they sometimes have over the Malawian people. I’m not sure why those parts lost my interest, but they did. Overall, though, I was excited with William when he showed off his windmill to all the people gathered, and was happy for all his successes after.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    The tone of the book makes me feel I am talking with a next-door neighbor—casual and low key. This, despite descriptions of obviously different customs, such as a funeral, meals, and family relations. He boasts about his father’s strength and tells of his life growing up, working in his father’s fields and playing with friends. When famine hits, Kamkwambe doesn’t treat it in a dramatic way but simply relates his observations and experiences: how his hunger makes him feel, how his mother works to get the next day’s food, the sight of people looking to work for food and, later, dying of starvation. All this is additional to the main theme of the book: Kamkwambe’s intense interest in electricity and how, lacking the money for schooling and with poor English skills, he finds a book in the small local library and teaches himself how to wire his family’s house for electricity and build a windmill out of an odd assortment of broken bikes, machines, and cast off trash. This theme is very inspiring and is every home-schooling parent’s dream of what their child could do if unfettered by a restrictive teach-to-the-test educational system. The book ends with Kamkwambe’s belief that , with dedicated work by its citizens, Africa can move into the modern age.This was not rated as a 5 because of a tendency, mid-book, to stray into didactic explanations of how electricity works—of interest, perhaps, only to another fanatic or third world inventor. There was also a duplicate recounting of how tobacco is grown. Since this review is based on an advance reader-s proof, it is possible that an editor has modified these problems before publication.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    This is a really inspiring story of famine and energy, struggles and successes. William Kamkwamba is a Malawian who along with his family suffers under a famine - but is a natural tinkerer and becomes inspired to build a windmill to generate electricity and pump water for irrigation after reading some physics texts in a local village library when he is forced to drop out of school due to poverty. William successfully builds his windmill, becomes famous, and connects with other inventors as a TED Fellow. Really powerful stuff. Ghost written (William admits he doesn't know English well), but well told anyway. Recommended. I heard about this book on The Daily Show and am glad I got it and got around to reading it. Fast read - about half of it in a day or so.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    My two-word opinion on “The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind: Creating Currents of Electricity and Hope” by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer?READ IT.This is a very readable book about a boy (now young man), growing up in drought- and famine-stricken Malawi. William Kamkwamba manages to overcome starvation and being forced to drop out of school because his family no longer can afford it. He figures out how to build a windmill to power his home. This drew much attention, and made news in parts of the world; not just locally. As a result, Bryan Mealer, author of a previous book about war in the Democratic Republic of Congo (”All Things Must Fight to Live”), heard about William and his windmill. To write this book, the two of them would meet together — William would tell stories through an interpreter to Mr. Mealer. This book is so much more than how William came to build his windmill. William shares with us the local beliefs, customs, village and farming life; along with the hardships his family, the villagers and he has had to endure.I was fascinated as soon as I started reading this book, when William shares with us stories about his countrypeople’s beliefs in magic, and the powers of the local witch doctors. William relates an incident that happened when he was about 6 years old — he was given some stolen bubble gum — and he fears that the witch doctor will come and get him. He says:“But then, as if a dark cloud had passed over the sun, I felt the great eye of the wizard watching me through the trees. I’d eaten his juju and now his darkness owned me. that night, the witches would come for me in my bed. They’d take me aboard their planes and force me to fight, leaving me for dead along the magic battlefields. And as my soul drifted alone and forsaken above the clouds, my body would be cold by morning. A fear of death swept over me like a fever”.William also adds what his father thinks of magic: “In a land of poor farmers, there were too many troubles for God and man alone. To compensate for this imbalance, he said, magic existed as a third and powerful force”.By the time William is a teenager, he loves to tinker with things; taking apart radios just to try to figure out how they work. He gets good enough that he repairs radios for people in his village and the surrounding villages. The famine hit Malawi when William became a teenager. His family struggled financially as a result. William tells us how he kept sneaking into school even when his dad didn’t have the fees, but eventually he was caught and told not to come back again until the family could pay. As he says:“…Instead of going home to ask my father for the money, for the next two weeks I tried to go to school for free.I had to calculate my movements carefully…..” We take for granted education here in the United States, don’t we? There are so many children, not just William, who want an education but can’t get it. However, William’s thirst for learning does not end when his school career does. When he is not helping his family out, he goes to the library and reads as much as he can. This is when William realizes he can build his own windmill and creatively uses various items, such as an old bicycle, a tractor fan, and random metal pieces.I was constantly impressed at how resourceful William was and is. Due to the publicity from his windmill, he is currently attending African Leadership Academy, a high school in Johannesburg, South Africa. He hopes that more Africans can be educated, because he feels education is key to self-empowerment and the key to Africa ever reaching success.He says:“I hope this story finds its way to our brothers and sisters out there who are trying to elevate themselves and their communities, but who may feel discouraged by their poor situation. I want them to know they’re not alone. By working together, we can help remove this burden of bad luck from their backs, just as I did, and use it to build a better future”.Now that I’ve read “The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind”, I feel even more convinced that Africa’s future depends not on politicians, but rather, the citizens themselves. Citizens like William Kamkwamba.Again, I strongly recommend reading this book. Yes, it is always inspiring to read about someone “beating the odds” — but this also is a very readable account on the state of one African country, which in turn gives the reader a good idea of the issues facing Africa overall. I think my only complaint is that it isn’t clear when and how Bryan Mealer comes into this book, and how William is the co-author.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is a story about a young boy, William, who sees a problem and works to solve it. Early in the story the reader is introduced to the setting: a small village in Malawi, Africa. William is always dreaming of creative inventions and asking questions about machines and other technologies he sees on a day-to-day basis. Growing up working in the fields, harvest season is vital for the survival of his family and community. As harvest season began, the lack of rain and abundant amount of sun scorched the fields leaving everyone with no food. One day, William found the energy and passion to go to a local library (created by Americans) to see if he could create something to solve the problem: no water. He discovers through his readings that if he can make a pinwheel then it can produce electricity to pump the water they needed. William and a few friends worked together to create a pinwheel and tested it to see if it could create electricity. After some testing, he finds out it is a success and creates more in order to save the harvest and his community.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    How does a 14-year old high school dropout in a small famine-stricken country in south eastern Africa build a windmill? William Kamkwamba tells how he did in The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind, a memoir of a young man who wanted to ensure a better life for his family by using ideas inspired by science books and his own innovation to build them.Kamkwamba’s memoir starts at the beginning, giving a brief history of his parents and grandparents as well as the cultural background of not only his local village but of his native Malawi itself. He then relates the adventures, and misadventures, of his earlier childhood in the relatively stable time before the 2001-02 famine that struck his country. Next comes the hard times of the famine and the struggle his family endured to survive it, but what also forced him to drop out of school. Yet all of this is important in understanding how Kamkwamba was able to construct the windmill that would change his life forever because he explains how not only he, but his family and friends would reuse material to create toys, or hunting traps, or repair other machines.A little over halfway through the book Kamkwamba begins recounting how he got the idea to build the windmill and his motivation behind it. The ingenuity of his reuse of materials found from junkyards to random materials he could all over his village to engineer his first windmill is fascinating, but given the earlier examples from his childhood the reader understands how Kamkwamba was able to use everything he found for the purpose he wanted. But Kamkwamba does not neglect the contributions of his friends and members of his family that helped and supported him throughout his building, even while some in his village though him a madman.Only in the last 30 pages of the book describes Kamkwamba experience from local curiosity to giving a presentation at a TED conference to eventually writing this book along with Bryan Mealer. Both Kamkwamba and Mealer knew that the why and how of building the windmill was the central point of this entire book and that while all the fame that Kamkwamba has gained is interesting, it only happened because of the windmill. The book is Kamkwamba’s, but he would be the first to acknowledge that English is his second language and Mealer’s contribution was to ensure that this book was very readable without losing Kamkwamba’s voice.If I was forced to write a review of this book in ten words or less, I would only needed three: “Just read this”. This book is of a young man who survived trying times that potentially put a limit on his expectations for life and the future, but he found a way to expand not only his own horizons but that of his family and village with an idea and hard work. So just read this book.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Genre: non-fiction (informational)Why it fits this genre: The book contains accurate information.How I would use this book:1. I would use this book to beginning a study with students about wind power, droughts, and water sources.2. The book says that William used the library across the road, "a gift from the Americans", to have access to the information found in books. I could have students focus on this section of the book and ask questions regarding William's success and the role the United States played in impoverished countries.Summary: This book is about a boy named William who lived in the town of Malawi, Africa, an impoverished town. As a child, William worked in the fields with his family and went to school. However, all of this changed when there was a drought that dried the maize field. Due to this, the people of Malawi began to starve and were unable to make money. William had to drop out of school because he could no longer afford it. One day, William went to a library in his town. The books were all in English but William used a dictionary to understand the information in the books. He read about windmills and learned that the can produce electricity and pump water. William thought that if he built his own windmill, he would be able to help out his community. The people in his town thought that he was crazy. However, William's was able to create a windmill that produced electricity and aspired to build one that could soak up the ground and end the famine. Media: oil and cut paper Critique: "The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind" is a good example of an informational book because all of the book is based on the accounts of a first person. For example, the book was written by William Kamkwamba and another author. Therefore, William had a huge influence on the information that is presented in the book.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    The nonfiction book by Malawi author William Kamkwamba about his youth in the small African country where his family farmed maize at the mercy of drought and poverty. William wanted to go to school and learn science but because of the drought and loss of the crop he could not pay the fees. William did not give up but would study from science books from a small library. He used junk to build his first windmill and wired his parents home with electricity that could run small amount of lights. It is an interesting book that looks at a country that makes repurposing a way of life. They recycle junk all the time. Not like life where appliances are built to be thrown away every 6 years if you're lucky to get that much out of it. I can't say that I got into the electricity so much. It just isn't my interest but I was inspired by this young man who never quit trying and his desire to make things better for his country.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    An inspiring story that opened up my awareness to something of what it is like to live in a society primarily dependent on subsistence farming in the 21st century. There is a fascinating juxtaposition of old and new: e.g., many people have cell phones, but not many have electricity, so there are charging stations where you can pay a small fee to recharge your phone. Although the title makes you think it's really all about the windmill, it takes half the book to get there. First we need to get a picture of life in this African family, the desire for education and stability, and the precarious situation that a family is placed in when dependent on weather and government policies. Very interesting, and a joy to get to know this young man.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I found this story of a boy who manages to bring electricity to his family's home in a Malawian village rather uneven. The subject matter was a bit of a mismatch for me, really, since I have no background nor much of an interest in science. When he began describing the details of his experiments with voltage and electricity, I could definitely appreciate and admire the ingenuity, but I still skimmed to get back to the more general topics. I enjoyed the book, though, and feel that it has a lot to offer in terms of the experience of life in Malawi and the horrible reality of famine, in addition to the ability of the human spirit to triumph over seemingly insurmountable odds. Sometimes not knowing any better is the only way to accomplish something.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    William Kamkwamba was born in Malawi, a country where magic ruled and modern science was mystery. It was also a land withered by drought and hunger, and a place where hope and opportunity were hard to find. But William had read about windmills in a book called Using Energy, and he dreamed of building one that would bring electricity and water to his village and change his life and the lives of those around him.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Malawi is a small African country in a constant state of struggle with hunger, drought and political upheaval. Relying on his belief in magic and, ultimately, in the magic that is science, William builds a machine to create “electric wind,” a windmill. His stated purpose is to ease his large family’s suffering by providing a way to produce electricity and pump water but what he really does is create hope. His limited education and his community’s jibes about being crazy are not barriers to accomplishing his purpose. Never shy of confidence, all he needs is a little creativity, some miscellaneous parts and a library book to make his dream come true. It isn’t long before news of his accomplishment spreads outside of his small community and the world comes knocking to help him expand his idea to his whole village. This is his story told in his own words with all the excitement of discovery and renewed hope.William Kamkwamba’s enthusiasm for life is evident not only in his inventions but also in his voice. His confidence, positive attitude and perseverance are obvious in both how he tells his story and in the story itself. He credits his father, his friends and his community for his experiences and positive character traits but it’s his voice that proves his character. It speaks to all of us who struggle with day to day existence. He is a role model for teens and adults. This book is highly recommended for high school libraries as a supplement to curriculum on self motivation, alternative energy, and cultural identity. It is also recommended for addition to public library collections. Grades 9-12+

Book preview

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind - William Kamkwamba

Prologue

THE PREPARATION WAS COMPLETE, so I waited. The muscles in my arms still burned from having worked so hard, but now I was finished. The machinery was bolted and secured. The tower was steady and unmoving under the weight of twisted steel and plastic. Looking at it now, it appeared exactly as it was—something out of a dream.

News of the machine had spread to the villages, and people were starting to arrive. The traders spotted it from their stalls and packed up their things. The truckers left their vehicles along the roads. Everyone walked into the valley, and now gathered in its shadow. I recognized these faces. Some of these people had mocked me for months, and still they whispered, even laughed. More of them were coming. It was time.

Balancing the small reed and wires in my left hand, I used the other to pull myself onto the tower’s first rung. The soft wood groaned under my weight, and the compound fell silent. I continued to climb, slowly and assuredly, until I was facing the machine’s crude frame. Its plastic arms were burned and blackened, its metal bones bolted and welded into place. I paused and studied the flecks of rust and paint, how they appeared against the fields and mountains beyond. Each piece told its own tale of discovery, of being lost and found in a time of hardship and fear. Finally together now, we were all being reborn.

Two wires dangled from the heart of the machine and gently danced in the breeze. I knotted their frayed ends together with the wires that sprouted off the reed, just as I’d always pictured. Down below, the crowd cackled like a gang of birds.

Quiet down, someone said. Let’s see how crazy this boy really is.

A sudden gust muffled the voices below, then picked up into a steady wind. It took hold of my T-shirt and whistled through the tower rungs. Reaching over, I removed a bent piece of wire that locked the machine’s spinning wheel in place. Once released, the wheel and arms began to turn. They spun slowly at first, then faster and faster, until the force of their motion rocked the tower. My knees buckled, but I held on.

Don’t let me down.

I gripped the reed and wires and waited for the miracle. Finally it came, at first a tiny light that flickered from my palm, then a surging magnificent glow. The crowd gasped and shuddered. The children pushed for a better look.

It’s true! someone said.

Yes, said another. The boy has done it.

Chapter One

BEFORE I DISCOVERED THE miracles of science, magic ruled the world.

Magic and its many mysteries were a presence that hovered about constantly, giving me my earliest memory as a boy—the time my father saved me from certain death and became the hero he is today.

I was six years old, playing in the road, when a group of herd boys approached, singing and dancing. This was in Masitala village near the city of Kasungu, where my family lived on a farm. The herd boys worked for a nearby farmer who kept many cows. They explained how they’d been tending their herd that morning and discovered a giant sack in the road. When they opened it up, they found it filled with bubble gum. Can you imagine such a treasure? I can’t tell you how much I loved bubble gum.

Should we give some to this boy? one asked.

I didn’t move or breathe. There were dead leaves in my hair.

"Eh, why not? said another. Just look at him."

One of the boys reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of gumballs, one for every color, and dropped them into my hands. I stuffed them all in my mouth. As the boys left, I felt the sweet juice roll down my chin and soak my shirt.

The following day, I was playing under the mango tree when a trader on a bicycle stopped to chat with my father. He said that while on his way to the market the previous morning, he’d dropped one of his bags. By the time he’d realized what had happened and circled back, someone had taken it. The bag was filled with bubble gum, he said. Some fellow traders had told him about the herd boys passing out gum in the villages, and this made him very angry. For two days he’d been riding his bicycle throughout the district looking for the boys. He then issued a chilling threat.

"I’ve gone to see the sing’anga, and whoever ate that gum will soon be sorry."

The sing’anga was the witch doctor.

I’d swallowed the gum long before. Now the sweet, lingering memory of it soured into poison on my tongue. I began to sweat; my heart was beating fast. Without anyone seeing, I ran into the blue gum grove behind my house, leaned against a tree, and tried to make myself clean. I spit and hocked, shoved my finger into my throat, anything to rid my body of the curse. I came up dry. A bit of saliva colored the leaves at my feet, so I covered them with dirt.

But then, as if a dark cloud had passed over the sun, I felt the great eye of the wizard watching me through the trees. I’d eaten his juju and now his darkness owned me. That night, the witches would come for me in my bed. They’d take me aboard their planes and force me to fight, leaving me for dead along the magic battlefields. And as my soul drifted alone and forsaken above the clouds, my body would be cold by morning. A fear of death swept over me like a fever.

I began crying so hard I couldn’t move my legs. The tears ran hot down my face, and as they did, the smell of poison filled my nose. It was everywhere inside me. I fled the forest as fast as possible, trying to get away from the giant magic eye. I ran all the way home to where my father sat against the house, plucking a pile of maize. I wanted to throw my body under his, so he could protect me from the devil.

It was me, I said, the tears drowning my words. I ate the stolen gum. I don’t want to die, Papa. Don’t let them take me!

My father looked at me for a second, then shook his head.

"It was you, eh?" he said, then kind of smiled.

Didn’t he realize I was done for?

Well, he said, and rose from the chair. His knees popped whenever he stood. My father was a big man. Don’t worry. I’ll find this trader and explain. I’m sure we can work out something.

A black-and-white photo shows young William standing between the legs of his father.

Me as a young boy standing with my father in Masitala village. To me, he was the biggest and strongest man in the world.

Photographs courtesy of Kamkwamba family

That afternoon, my father walked eight kilometers to a place called Masaka where the trader lived. He told the man what had happened, about the herd boys coming by and giving me the stolen gum. Then without question, my father paid the man for his entire bag, which amounted to a full week’s pay.

That evening after supper, my life having been saved, I asked my father about the curse, and if he’d truly believed I was finished. He straightened his face and became very serious.

Oh yes, we were just in time, he said, then started laughing in that way that made me so happy, his big chest heaving and causing the wooden chair to squeal. William, who knows what was in store for you?


MY FATHER WAS STRONG and feared no magic, but he knew all the stories. On nights when there was no moon, we’d light a lamp and gather in our living room. My sisters and I would sit at my father’s feet, and he’d explain the ways of the world, how magic had been with us from the beginning. In a land of poor farmers, there were too many troubles for God and man alone. To compensate for this imbalance, he said, magic existed as a third and powerful force. Magic wasn’t something you could see, like a tree, or a woman carrying water. Instead, it was a force invisible and strong like the wind, or a spider’s web spun across the trail. Magic existed in story, and one of our favorites was of Chief Mwase and the Battle of Kasungu.

In the early nineteenth century, and even today, the Chewa people were the rulers of the central plains. We’d fled there many generations before from the highlands of southern Congo during a time of great war and sickness, and settled where the soil was reddish black and fertile as the days were long.

During this time, just northwest of our village, a ferocious black rhino began wreaking terror across the land. He was bigger than a three-ton lorry, with horns the length of my father’s arms and points as sharp as daggers. Back then, the villagers and animals shared the same watering hole, and the rhino would submerge himself in the shallows and wait. Those visiting the spring were mostly women and young girls like my mother and sisters. As they dipped their pails into the water, the rhino would attack, stabbing and stomping them with its mighty hooves, until there was nothing left but bloody rags. Over a period of months, the feared black rhino had killed over a hundred people.

One afternoon, a young girl from the royal Chewa family was stomped to death at the spring. When the chief heard about this, he became very angry and decided to act. He gathered his elders and warriors to make a plan.

This thing is a real menace, the chief said. How can we get rid of it?

There were many ideas, but none seemed to impress the chief. Finally one of his assistants stood up.

I know this man in Lilongwe, he said. "He’s not a chief, but he owns one of the azungu’s guns, and he’s very good at magic. I’m certain his magical calculations are strong enough to defeat this black rhino."

This man was Mwase Chiphaudzu, whose magic was so superior he was renowned across the kingdom. Mwase was a magic hunter. His very name meant killer grass because he was able to disguise himself as a cluster of reeds in the fields, allowing him to ambush his prey. The chief’s people traveled a hundred kilometers to Lilongwe and summoned Mwase, who agreed to assist his brothers in Kasungu.

One morning, Mwase arrived at the watering hole well before the sun. He stood in the tall grass near the shores and sprinkled magic water over his body and rifle. Both of them vanished, becoming only music in the breeze. Minutes later, the black rhino thundered over the hill and made his way toward the spring. As he plunged his heavy body into the shallows, Mwase crept behind him and put a bullet into his skull. The rhino crumpled dead.

The celebrations began immediately. For three days, villagers from across the district feasted on the meat of the terrible beast that had taken so many lives. During the height of the festivities, the chief took Mwase to the top of the highest hill and looked down where the Chewa ruled. This hill was Mwala wa Nyenje, meaning The Rock of the Edible Flies, named after the cliffs at its summit and the fat delicious flies that lived in its trees.

Standing atop the Rock of the Edible Flies, the chief pointed down to a giant swath of green earth and turned to Mwase.

Because you killed that horrible and most feared beast, I have a prize for you, he said. I hereby grant you power over this side of the mountain and all that’s visible from its peak. Go get your people and make this your home. This is now your rule.

So Mwase returned to Lilongwe and got his family, and before long, he’d established a thriving empire. His farmland produced abundant maize and vegetables that fed the entire region. His people were strong, and his warriors were powerful and feared.

But around this time, a great chaos erupted in the Zulu kingdom of South Africa. The army of the Zulu king, Shaka, began a bloody campaign to conquer the land surrounding his kingdom, and this path of terror and destruction caused millions to flee. One such group was the Ngoni.

The Ngoni people marched north for many months and finally stopped in Chewa territory, where the soil was moist and fertile. But because they were constantly on the move, hunger visited them often. When this happened, they would travel farther north and ask for help from Chief Mwase, who always assisted them with maize and goats. One day, after accepting another of Mwase’s handouts, the Ngoni chiefs sat down and said, How can we always have this kind of food?

Someone replied, Eliminate the Chewa.

The Ngoni were led by Chief Nawambe, whose plan was to capture the Rock of the Edible Flies and all the land visible from its peak. However, the Ngoni did not know how magical Chief Mwase was.

One morning, the Ngoni came up the mountain dressed in animal skins, holding massive shields in one hand and spears in the other. But of course, Chief Mwase’s warriors had spotted them from miles away. By the time the Ngoni reached the hill, the Chewa warriors had disguised themselves as green grass and slayed the intruders with knives and spears. The last man to die was Chief Nawambe. For this reason, the mountain was changed from the Rock of the Edible Flies to Nguru ya Nawambe, which means simply The Deadly Defeat of Nawambe. This same hill now casts a long shadow over the city of Kasungu, just near my village.


THESE STORIES HAD BEEN passed down from generation to generation, with my father having learned them from my grandpa. My father’s father was so old he couldn’t remember when he was born. His skin was so dry and wrinkled, his feet looked like they were chiseled from stone. His overcoat and trousers seemed older than he was, the way they were patched and hung on his body like the bark of an ancient tree. He rolled fat cigars from maize husks and field tobacco, and his eyes were red from kachaso, a maize liquor so strong it left weaker men blind.

Grandpa visited us once or twice a month. Whenever he emerged from the edge of the trees in his long coat and hat, a trail of smoke rising from his lips, it was as if the forest itself had taken legs and walked.

The stories Grandpa told were from a different time and place. When he was young—before the government maize and tobacco estates arrived and cleared most of our trees—the forests were so dense a traveler could lose his sense of time and direction in them. Here the invisible world hovered closer to the ground, mixing with the darkness in the groves. The forest was home to many wild beasts, such as antelope, elephant, and wildebeest, as well as hyenas, lions, and leopards, adding even more to the danger.

When Grandpa was a boy, his grandmother was attacked by a lion. She was working in her fields at the forest’s edge, scaring away some monkeys, when a female lion came upon her. Villagers heard her cries and quickly sounded the drum—not the fast, rhythmic beat for dances or ceremonies, but something slow and serious. They call this emergency beat the musadabwe, meaning, Don’t ask questions, just come! It’s like dialing 911, but instead of police, you’re calling other villagers.

By the time Grandpa and others arrived with their spears and bows and arrows, it was too late. They saw the lion—its body the size of a cow—drag his grandmother into the thorny trees, then toss her body into the bush like a mouse. It then turned and faced its challengers, let out a terrible roar, and disappeared with its kill. The poor woman’s body was never recovered.

Grandpa says that once a lion gets a taste for human blood, it won’t stop until it’s eaten an entire village. So the next morning someone notified the British authorities, who still controlled our country. They sent soldiers into the forest and shot the lion. Its body was then displayed in the village square for all to see.

Not long after, Grandpa was hunting alone in the forest and came upon a man who’d been bitten by a cobra. The snake had been hiding in the trees and struck the man’s head as he passed. His skin quickly turned gray, and minutes later, he was dead. Grandpa alerted the nearest village, who arrived with their witch doctor. The wizard placed one foot atop the dead man’s chest and tossed some medicines into the forest. Seconds later, the moist ground came alive as hundreds of cobra slithered out from the shadows and gathered around the corpse, hypnotized by the spell.

A black-and-white photo shows William’s grandfather holding his handmade bow and arrow while posing for the camera.

Grandpa displaying his handmade bow and arrow, once used to kill lions and wildebeest. People say Grandpa was the greatest hunter in the district.

Photographs courtesy of Bryan Mealer

The wizard crouched on the dead man’s chest and drank a cup of magic porridge, which flowed through his feet and into the lifeless body. The dead man’s fingers began to move, then his hands.

Let me up, he said, then stood and faced the army of serpents.

Together, they checked the fangs of every cobra in attendance, searching for the one that had killed the man. Usually, the wizard would quickly cut off the head of the guilty snake, but this time, the dead man took pity and allowed the cobra to live. For his services, the wizard was paid three British pounds. My grandpa saw this with his own eyes.

When my father was a young man, he often went hunting with his father. Even then, the forest was so dangerous that hunters observed a sacred ritual before their outings. Hunts were usually initiated by one man, the mwini chisokole, or owner of the hunt, who called together all the willing men from the surrounding villages. The owner decided where and when the hunt would take place, and in the event of a kill, he’d receive the choicest portion of the meat, usually the hindquarter. Grandpa was often this person.

On the night before the hunt, the leader wasn’t allowed to sleep with his wife, not even in the same room. The purpose was to keep the man’s focus and attention as sharp as possible, and to guarantee a solid night’s rest. Losing focus made you careless in the forest, and worst of all, left you open to bewitching. That night, sleeping alone at a neighbor’s house, or in a separate hut with his sons, the leader would boil a pot of red maize mixed with certain roots and medicines, which he’d distribute the following morning to each hunter in the party. This was part of the magic, because everyone believed this protected them from danger.

Before setting out, the hunters also instructed their wives to stay indoors until the hunt was over, preferably lying in bed and sleeping. They thought this would cause the animals to sleep as well, allowing the hunters to sneak up on them with ease.


WALKING THROUGH THE FOREST as a boy, I didn’t worry so much about cobras or lions, since most of them had vanished. But other dangers were waiting in the forests that remained, and along the quiet, empty fields where the ghosts of trees seemed to whisper their sadness. Walking there alone, one of my greatest fears was the Gule Wamkulu.

The Gule Wamkulu were a secret gang of dancers. They performed at the chief’s request at funerals and initiation ceremonies, when many Chewa boys become men. The Gule Wamkulu were said to be the spirits of our dead ancestors, resurrected from the afterworld and sent to roam the earth. No longer human, they shared the skin of animals, and their faces resembled the beasts of hell—twisted devil birds and demons howling in fright.

When the Gule Wamkulu performed, you dared to watch only from a distance. Often they appeared from the bush walking on stilts, towering above the crowd and screaming in different tongues. Once, I even saw one of them climb a blue gum pole while upside down, like a spider. And when they danced, one thousand men seemed to inhabit their bodies, each moving in the opposite direction.

When the Gule Wamkulu weren’t performing, they traveled the forests and marshes looking for young boys to take back to the graveyards. What happened to you there, I never wanted to know. It was bad luck to even speak about the Gule Wamkulu. And God help you if you were ever caught doubting them, saying, Look at their hands, they have five fingers like me. These guys are not real. Doing this would surely get you bewitched, and since the Gule Wamkulu answered only to the chief, there’d be no one to defend you. When they appeared in the village, every woman and child dropped what they were doing and ran.

Once when I was very young, a magic dancer appeared in our courtyard, strutting like a cock and hissing like a snake. His head was wrapped in a flour sack with a black hole for a mouth and a long trunk for a nose. My mother and father were in the fields, so my sisters and I ran for the trees, only to watch this passing ghost steal one of our chickens.

(Donkeys are the only creatures not afraid of Gule Wamkulu. If the donkey sees one of these dancers, it will chase them into the bush and kick them with its mighty legs. Don’t ask me why, but the donkey is very brave.)

I tried to be courageous like my friend the donkey whenever I walked through the forest. But witches and wizards never reveal their identity, so you never know where their traps lie waiting. In these places where they practice, their potent magic takes on many shapes. Men with bald heads, twenty feet tall, are said to appear on the roads outside of Ntchisi, a few at first, then dozens all around. Ghost trucks drive the same roads at night, coming on fast with their bright lights flashing and engines revving loud. But as the lights pass by, no truck is attached. No tire marks are left on the road, and if you’re driving a car, your engine will die until morning.

Magic hyenas wander the villages at night, snatching several goats at once in their razor jaws and delivering them to the doorsteps of wizards. Magic lions are sent to kill delinquent debtors, and snakes the size of tractors can lie in wait for you in your fields.

But the dangers for children are even greater. As I mentioned, these wizards command great armies of children to do their witchcraft, and each night they prowl the villages for fresh recruits. They tempt them with delicious meats, saying it’s the only way to heaven. Once the children devour the tasty morsels, it’s revealed as human flesh. By then it’s too late, for once the wizard’s evil is inside your body, it controls you forever.

In addition to casting spells for curses and revenge, the witches often battle one another. This leads to great confusion in the kingdom of the devil, and this strife leaves many dead and injured, which is why children make the perfect soldiers.

The children pile aboard witch planes that prowl the skies at night, capable of traveling to Zambia and London in a single minute. Witch planes can be anything: a wooden basin, a clay pot, a simple hat. Flying about on magic duty, the children are sent to homes of rival wizards to test their powers. If the child is killed in the process, the wizard can determine the weapon of his enemy and develop something stronger. Other nights, the children visit camps of other witches for competition. Here, mystical soccer matches are played on mysterious fields in places I’ve never heard of, where the cursed children use human heads as balls and compete for great cups of flesh.


AFTER ESCAPING THE BUBBLEGUM vendor, I became terribly afraid of being captured, and I tried to think of ways to protect myself. I knew witches and wizards were allergic to money because the presence of cash is like a rival evil. Any contact with money will snap their spell and revert them back to human form—usually naked. For this reason, people often plaster their walls and bed mats with kwacha notes to protect themselves during the night. If they’re suddenly awoken by a naked man trying to escape, their suspicions are correct.

Another way of protecting yourself is to pray your soul clean each night at the foot of your bed, and I’d done that, too. Homes of the prayerful are concealed from witch planes that fly overhead. It’s like passing through a cloud.

Papa, please, some kwacha notes for my walls, I begged my father one afternoon. I can’t sleep at night.

My father knew a lot about witchcraft, but he had no place for magic in his own life. To me, this made him seem even stronger. My parents had raised us to be churchgoing Presbyterians who believed God was the best protection. Once you opened your heart to magic, we were taught, you never knew what else you might let inside. We respected the power of juju, even feared it, but my family always trusted our faith would prevail.

My father was mending a fence around the garden and stopped what he was doing. Let me tell you a story, he said. In 1979 when I was trading, I was riding in the back of a pickup going to Lilongwe to sell dried fish in the market. Several others were with me. The truck suddenly lost control, pitching us all into the air. When we landed, we saw it rolling straight for us. I said at that moment, ‘I’m dying now. This is my time.’ But just before the truck rolled over my body and crushed me like an ant, it skidded to a stop. I could reach out and touch it. Several people were dead in the grass, but I didn’t have a scratch.

He turned to face me, making his point.

After that happened, how can I believe in wizards and charms? A magic man would have tried these things and died. I was saved by the power of God. Respect the wizards, my son, but always remember, with God on your side, they have no power.

I trusted my father, but wondered how his explanation accounted for Rambo and Chuck Norris, who came to the trading center that summer and created a lot of controversy. These men were appearing in films shown in the local theater, which was really just a thatch hut with wooden benches, a small television, and a VCR. For this reason, everyone called it the video show. At night, wonderful and mysterious things began happening in this place, but since I was forbidden to be out after dark, I missed them all. Instead, I relied on the stories I heard from my mates who lived close by and whose parents weren’t so strict. These boys, such as Peter Kamanga, would find me the next day when I arrived.

Last night I watched the best of all movies, Peter said. Rambo jumped from the top of the mountain and was still firing his gun when he landed. Everyone in front of him died and the entire mountain exploded. He clutched a phantom machine gun and sent a burst of deadly rounds into the maize mill.

Oh, I said, when will they ever show these films during the day? I never see anything.

The exploits of Rambo and Delta Force became confusing to some, who’d never imagined men escaping entire armies, while still managing to kill so many people. The night Terminator came to the video show was simply shocking. When Peter found me the next morning, he was still in a state.

William, last night I watched a movie that I still don’t understand, he said. This man was shot left, right, and center, yet he still managed to live. His enemies blew off his arms and legs, even his head, yet his eyes were still alive. I’m telling you, this man must be the greatest wizard who ever lived.

It sounded fantastic. "Do you think these azungu from America have such magic? I asked. I don’t believe it."

"This is what I saw. I’m telling you it’s

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