Back to the good ol' days of home visits

Last Thursday I went on two home visits – one was for 'W', a 5 y.o. little boy with cerebral palsy, who attends the school where I will be volunteering(school opens this week – can’t wait!) and one for 'J', a 9 y.o. girl with autism who attends a private school, but was requesting some in-home therapy ideas from Fern (the founder of the school where I will be volunteering). I can’t even tell you how good it felt to be using my PT skills both mentally and physically again. The occupational therapist and I walked to 'W'’s home – as it was in the slum, Kangemi, next to the school – and were greeted by his grandmother, his primary caregiver. 'W' greeted me with a huge, warm smile and giggle – I know we are going to be buds. I observed Joshua, the OT, working with 'W' in a very similar manner I would have, and then I assisted him with his therapy. I was quite impressed by the stander/adaptive seating device someone from the community made for 'W', although 'W' didn’t seem to be too big a fan. When the session was over we left 'W' safely lying on the couch, where he was when we arrived. The look of sadness on his face when we said goodbye made my heart drop – I couldn’t help but wonder how much of his day is spent lying on the couch. I am hopeful he will be attending school on a consistent basis, if not Joshua informed me we would be doing home visits for therapy – I was relieved to hear that.

For the second home visit, 'J'’s mother picked us all up at the school and brought us to her home. The main purpose of the visit was for Fern and Joshua to teach 'J'’s mother infant massage techniques as a calming mechanism for her daughter. After an hour or so Fern and Joshua were able to have 'J' cooperate to demonstrate/perform the massage – and I got to learn it, which I was quite enthused about. It is customary for families to feed you while you are in their homes and it is considered impolite if you refuse their offerings. Needless to say, I ate more than I needed to on Thursday – but it was delicious, authentic Kenyan food, how could one resist?

Driving Time

WE GOT A CAR! We are very fortunate that the company Madison is working for had a car going spare – so meet our Toyota station wagon, the Honey Hoo Ride. I haven’t driven it yet (yes, still very hesitant to drive here), but Madison has tooled around in it for the past few days – he is taking it slowly at first, trying to avoid the busy roads, but I give him a lot of credit for his confidence and I am quite impressed by his driving ability. We still chuckle every time he turns on the windshield wipers when trying to turn on the blinker, but it will all come with time. This is a journey after all for all of us. Now we are in the process of hiring a driver for me a few days a week – at least for the days I won’t be taking the matatus. One thing at a time, I know – at least I put it out there, so we will see what transpires.

Yoga comes from the Sanskrit word "yuj" - to yoke or bind - union

I had the fortunate opportunity to attend two of Africa Yoga Project's (AYP) community classes this past week in the slums of Kariobangi and Korogocho – I am having a hard time putting this experience into words, but I can wholeheartedly say it was an amazing, yet humbling experience. I am completely out of my comfort zone in the slums – it is 'bursting' the safe, comfortable bubble I know, but I am embracing every moment with open eyes, letting it absorb and then slowly trying to process it all. As I am invited into peoples’ homes in the slums I am trying to envision what it would be like to live here - a room made of cinder blocks or recycled material large enough to fit a bed separated from the “sitting area” by a hanging sheet, maybe a couch and a small coffee table, all of your cooking and eating supplies piled up in a corner, a curtain for a door, colorful buckets piled high outside the door for laundry and other household chores. Then it makes me think of the difference between what I have and what I really, truly need to live – quite a substantial difference - just one of the thoughts I am trying to process. I feel privileged to be invited into one’s home, I just hope they know I am not coming from a place of judgment nor pity nor an outsider just wanting to look. I think the more I come to visit or to guide yoga classes the more they will see I am here because I want to be here, I am here because it feels like the right place to be, and I am here because we are all human beings who can benefit from the powerful benefits of yoga.

On both days that I went to the community classes, the teacher of the class graciously met me at Sarakasi Dome where the Saturday morning class takes place, where the AYP office is, and where extremely talented dancers and acrobatic teams practice for performances. They took me to the matatu stop (a 10 min walk) and then we took the 30 min or so matatu ride to the slums - they even took me back to the dome after we finished class – thank goodness because I would have had no idea where to get off. I am so grateful for their generous spirit.

Tuesday’s class was at Kariobangi (pictured above). Patrick, the AYP teacher insisted I teach the class – how could I resist. I taught to a combination of mothers, younger girls and a few men. It was challenging at first to figure out the level of class to guide since there were was a range of levels in the class (beginners to advanced) so I had to feel it out and attempted to teach to all. In hindsight, I could have made the class more challenging, but now I know for next time. Everyone had a beautiful practice and what was most inspiring was their breath. Even the 2 y.o. little girls who came to class with their mothers were trying to imitate the poses – I felt myself light up inside when I saw them in Utkatasana (Chair Pose)! It was a true blessing to have the opportunity to guide them and share their energy. After the class a few of us went back to Patrick’s home to hang for a bit and then we went back to the dome.

On Wednesday I went to Korogocho, where I taught in a small community room with walls made of recycled material. Margaret (the teacher) and I took a boda boda (motorcycle) from the outskirts of Korogocho to the class. Don’t worry, I didn’t drive the motorbike – we had a driver and all three of us fit on the bike as he drove at a slow pace through the slum. We spent some time in one of the yoga student’s homes (a 24 y.o. mother who has a beautiful 10 month old baby) since we were early. Six mothers attended the class and Margaret insisted that I teach the class. The women had an amazing, authentic yoga practice. I was especially impressed by the 53 y.o. woman who moved in such a graceful manner. There weren’t any yoga mats available, but that doesn’t stop one from practicing yoga, in reality a mat is just a luxury, right? So we practiced right on the concrete floor. Again, what was so apparent was their connection to their breath (it was so audible) and the awareness of their body – they truly get it. The women loved the yoga class and asked me to come back – how could I refuse their invitation?

I left both classes with thoughts running through my mind comparing the yoga classes I taught and attended at home in luxurious studios to what I witnessed over the past two days. Without passing any judgment all I can say just as music is considered a universal language, so is yoga. Yoga can occur in the most accommodating of conditions and in the least accommodating (of course it’s all relative), but it doesn’t matter where you practice, as long as you have the mindful connection of your body linked with your breath. The transformative power of yoga continues to astound and fulfill me. Prior to AYP, yoga was considered to be only for those with money - now it has become accessible to all socioeconomic classes and only spreading from here. I cannot even begin to imagine how the powerful effects of yoga has helped and changed the lives of the men, women and children here in Kenya.