Back to the Basics: What Is Actually Necessary to Teach a Child to Read?

Outside the new school in Chumvi — a repurposed shipping container transformed into a place of learning, possibility, and hope. A reminder that education is not defined by buildings, but by the children and teachers inside them.

Over the past week, I’ve found myself in and out of schools across Kenya.

Schools without running water. Without electricity. With barely any supplies.

In Nairobi, in communities near Nanyuki, and in places like Jamii School in Kibera,

I watched teachers teach with almost nothing.

No SmartBoards.

No intervention blocks built into master schedules.

No curriculum maps or dashboards.

No debates about which program is “best.”

Just children.

Just teachers.

Just learning.

And as I’ve moved through these schools, I can’t help but think about home.

At home, we argue about which books to read.

Which curriculum to adopt.

Which assessment system to purchase.

How to teach what — and when.

We debate programs. Philosophies. Terminology.

And lately, I’ve been asking myself a hard question:

Is all of it necessary?

Not the work.

Not the science.

Not the urgency.

But the noise.

Because when you strip everything away, when you remove infrastructure, branding, platforms, and competing initiatives, what is actually required to teach a child to read?

Here’s what I’ve come to.

Chumvi children meet Mike, my puppet used to build phonological awareness through sound play, oral language, and connection.

What Is Essential?

1. Oral Language Comes First

Before there are books, there are stories.

Stories passed down from elders.

Songs.

Nursery rhymes.

Word games.

Call-and-response chants.

Oral language is the foundation of literacy — vocabulary, syntax, listening comprehension, narrative structure, and cultural identity.

I have watched children light up during songs and storytelling, no materials required. Language is alive. It connects generations. It carries history.

You do not need a purchased program to build oral language. You need time. Intention. And voice.

2. An Explicit, Systematic Scope and Sequence for the Alphabetic Principle

If there is one thing I know with certainty, from research, from district leadership, from years of building literacy systems, it is this:

Children must be explicitly taught how our alphabetic code works.

They need:

• A clear scope and sequence

• Direct instruction in letter-sound correspondences

• Modeling of blending and segmenting

• Practice reading connected text

It does not require glossy materials. It requires clarity.

A teacher.

A board.

A stick in the dirt if necessary.

Sound → symbol.

Blend → read.

Segment → spell.

Practice → apply.

Systematic. Explicit. Cumulative.

The science does not change because the setting changes.

3. Read-Alouds

Read-alouds build language comprehension long before students can independently decode.

But they also do something more.

They open the world.

When a teacher gathers children closely around a book and reads it with expression, pauses, questions, and discussion, something extraordinary happens.

Children travel.

They learn about people who live differently than they do. They encounter places they may never physically visit. They hear new vocabulary, new ideas, new perspectives. They begin to understand that their story is part of a much larger human story.

In communities where travel is not possible and resources are limited, books become windows. Mirrors. Doors.

Even when books are scarce, the act of reading aloud communicates something powerful:

Your world is bigger than what you see.

Stories connect us.

Knowledge expands us.

You matter.

4. Books

Books matter.

Access matters.

The child who never sees print beyond a chalkboard is at a disadvantage. We cannot romanticize scarcity. Materials do make a difference.

But books alone do not create readers.

Instruction does.

The right books, paired with explicit instruction and rich language experiences, change trajectories.

About the Systems

Back home, we have so much. And I am deeply grateful for that. We have trained specialists. Intervention blocks. Diagnostic assessments. Professional learning communities. Curriculum maps. Coaching cycles.

And I am not saying we do not need those things.

I believe in these systems. I know we need them to prepare our students for the world that awaits them; a world that requires literacy, critical thinking, collaboration, and the ability to navigate complex information.

Structure matters.

Access matters.

Opportunity matters.

But sometimes, the systems create noise.

Meetings about meetings.

Debates about materials.

Red tape woven through well-intended systems.

Energy spent navigating processes instead of strengthening practice.

That noise requires focus. It requires time. It requires emotional bandwidth. And that energy — the mental space spent managing systems — is energy that could be directed toward sharpening instruction, deepening teacher knowledge, or sitting beside a child who needs more practice.

The problem isn’t that we have systems.

The problem is when the systems become louder than the instruction.

So What Really Matters?

Being here has reminded me that when you strip everything back — when the layers fall away, what remains is instruction.

Clear.

Focused.

Intentional.

Maybe it’s time — for all of us — to block out the noise, return to what we know works, and build from there. To shift our gaze back to the child sitting in front of us. The child who needs clear instruction. The child who needs language. The child who needs practice. The child who needs someone to believe they can.

Not the program first.

Not the platform.

Not the politics.

The child.

Back to the basics.

Back to the science.

Back to children.

Back to hope.

Final Thoughts

Children and staff at SIFA School proudly display the beginnings of their first-ever library — made possible through the generosity of Scholastic Books.

This work is about more than instruction. It is about justice. Literacy is not a privilege reserved for children born into well-resourced systems; it is a fundamental human right. We are living in a global literacy crisis, and while the scale of the problem can feel overwhelming, action does not have to be. You do not have to travel to Kenya to make a difference. You can start where you are — by advocating for evidence-based reading instruction in your own schools, by questioning practices that do not serve children, by stepping back from the noise and refocusing on the learner in front of you.

I may not be a citizen of Kenya, but I am a citizen of the human world. And when you have the ability to help — even in small, meaningful ways — you should. When I return home and find myself frustrated by systems, distracted by debates, or pulled into the churn of daily conflict, I will return to these moments. I will remember the children, the songs, the shipping-container classrooms, and the joy. These experiences will help me find my footing again — to recalibrate, to re-center, and to refocus on what matters most.

Literacy is equity.

Literacy is justice.

And the responsibility to protect it belongs to all of us.

For more information on how to help visit: Reading the World

Donations can be made by using the QR code below:

When we know better, we teach better.

See you next Sunday!