Creativity

A time I had to think creatively was about three years ago, when I was volunteering for a small library in a district on the edge of Tashkent. The library had a decent collection of children’s books, but almost nobody used them; the building was tucked away in a side street, and most local families didn’t even know it existed. We had essentially no budget for advertising, so the usual solutions — posters, social media ads — weren’t really an option. Instead of trying to bring children to the library, we decided to take the library to the children. We borrowed an old wooden cart from a market trader, painted it bright colours, filled it with books, and on Saturday mornings we wheeled it to the busiest local spot: the playground next to the bazaar. Volunteers read stories aloud, and children could borrow books on the spot by writing their names in a notebook — no paperwork or membership cards. We also asked children to draw pictures of their favourite stories, which we then displayed in the library window, so that families would come to see their child’s artwork. Within three months, library visits had more than tripled, and several parents started volunteering themselves. I felt immensely satisfied, partly because the solution cost almost nothing, but mostly because it reversed our assumptions. We had seen the problem as a lack of advertising, when actually it was a lack of visibility and trust. That reframing, I think, was the truly creative part, and it’s a lesson I’ve tried to apply in my working life since.

Muammo → cheklov (pul yo‘q) → teskari yechim → natija (raqam) → saboq: muammoni qayta ramkalash.