Volunteering in Kenya: Part 2
Day 3: A Tropical Storm
As I enter Peggy Lucas on day 3, the roads are entirely flooded from a tropical downpour in the night. As I join the playgroup (aged 3-4), I notice that 2 of the boys in the class of 52 are fast asleep at their desks. The teacher gestures to a thin blanket in the corner of the room, and so I carefully lift the sleeping boy onto my shoulder. He does not stir. I gently place him down onto the blanket where he remains in a deep sleep, it seems like nothing would wake him. The second boy is much the same, out cold and the deepest of slumbers, likely unable to sleep in his home from the storm. Both children lay there lifeless, catching up on precious hours of rest that they have been unable to get at home. My heart is breaking.
I am shown into the school kitchen, a small 4x4m room with a tiny window. The chef sweats over a real fire, the room is almost unbearable to stand in. She makes a giant pot of Ugali - a local Kenyan dish made from corn which turns into a stodgy polenta/mash potato like mixture to fill the children’s bellies.
During a discussion with the head teacher she explains to me that most children in this school come from difficult backgrounds, and that most of their parents spend what they have on the children’s school fees. This means that families usually depend on the food the children consume at school, often skipping the evening meal. They are fed porridge in the morning, and ugali for lunch, and I worry about the lack of nutrients or healthy fibres these growing children are getting.
As humans, the way we comprehend and understand is through experience, and it’s impossible not to compare moments like this with my own experience of the school cafeteria. Plates piled high with fresh food, fruit, vegetables, meat, multiple choices at each meal, even desserts. I feel a constant dull ache of guilt deep in my stomach.
Yoga with the Secondary School
In the afternoon, I leave Peggy Lucas to visit New Horizon - the secondary school which has 4 grade years and students ranging between aged 13-18. This school currently has a construction project going on the roof to extend the school and build new classrooms. At present, there is simply an extra floor with barriers around the outside and walls not yet built. With the older children, I’ll be taking their P.E. classes, using this space for yoga. I take one year group each day for 45 mins, with between 40-60 students per day practising together. Needless to say, there are no yoga mats and the children don’t change into sports clothes, so the yoga is tailored to the conditions we have.
I start with a warm up, explaining that yoga is a practise I love to teach as it can help you build strength not only in your body, but also in your mind and heart. I explain the importance of consciously breathing deeply, synchronising breath and movement. As we move through a warrior sequence, the girls having to hoist their skirts to assume each position, the students move from the giggly, self conscious teenagers into a state of focus, hanging on my every word and following each step diligently.
I am in awe of their commitment and energy.
We have some fun with standing balances before finishing on a short breath work practise. It’s a delicate situation, as I know many of these teenagers are living in vulnerable circumstances, and so after the breath work I suggest everyone brings one thing into their mind that makes them smile. Be it a friend, family member, activity that they love, or something else. The class open their eyes with grins from ear to ear, clapping each other and thanking me for coming.
For not the first time this week, I feel fully overwhelmed with the children’s open attitude, genuine presence, and kind souls.
4 girls (in the picture above) after class are giggling in the corner, and shyly looking over at me. As I approach, one braves to say “can I ask you a question?” As I approach, they all take it in turns to hug me, stroke my hair, and ask about where I am from. They ask if I know how they can travel and get to the UK, somewhere they are certain they can create a better quality of life. I discuss with them my country, show them photos of London, as they ooh and aah over pictures of the city. Life is a game of luck, where you are born dictates so much about your circumstances, it’s the roll of a dice where some are lucky, and some are not. Once again, I count my blessings and vow to try to take nothing for granted.
I head back to Peggy Lucas for the afternoon, to teach Year 3. This class consists of 25 children, each one of them a force of life. Full of energy with no off switch, they bounce from chairs, to tables, to swinging from the ceiling and jumping into my arms as I enter the room. I try to calm them down as we start to learn some Spanish. Unsurprisingly, they pick it up quickly and have no embarrassment in shouting out the words I write on the faded, well-used blackboard.
Some time into the lesson, and one of the more quiet girls at the back starts to break down into tears. From seemingly no cause, she is uncontrollably sobbing at her desk, her friends around her looking puzzled as to what is the matter. I excuse myself from the class, lift her up and take her outside. As she clings to me tightly, tears flowing onto my shoulder, she is unable to look me in the eyes. I feel unprepared for the situation, so try to slowly help calm her by deep breathing together. When she eventually stops hyperventilating and regains a regular breathing pattern, I’m have the space to ask what the matter is. She looks up at me and asks “Why did God give me such a bad life?”
Once again, my heart splits in two.
