A time in the life of a
Yellow House Speech Therapist
By David Rochus
It does not work nicely
unless there is a child or parent seen or talked to.
Its remoteness is one thing, but the naivety of its people about
speech, language, and communication difficulties makes it an undeniably a fresh
ground to break. Yes, I'm talking about Western Kenya.
I am one of those early risers who seem to forget too quickly the
sweetness in that last morning snooze; by about six am I'm up, 50 minutes
after, I am good to go! This has nothing to do with my bed or home, situated in
a safe haven which I love calling 'The Compound'. Enclosed by a fence of both
chain link and vegetation with one way in and out secured 'geti mbili' as the
locals branded it, which literally means “two gates” in Swahili and which
simply means that I don't have to tell a pikipiki (motor bike used for public
transportation like a taxi) rider hired from Majengo (a 3 minute ride to my
house in Vihiga) where the house is.
The compound comprises of eight houses including the mother of all, a
tiled mansion. Of the advice doctors give, there is one thing I try to keep to
each morning: get a good breakfast and this usually means a bowl of oatmeal
with nuts, a pinch of cinnamon, the occasional banana and sometimes even
ginger. Fair enough for a guy who wants nothing to do with cooking and eating,
I’m still working on food preparation skills though.
Normally work begins at 9 am at the Vihiga Education Assessment
Resource Centre (EARC) where I asses children who otherwise come in for school
placement or via community referrals. The ones specifically referred to me usually
come by way of the volunteer community workers, schools or Vihiga District
Hospital Occupational Therapists. It is
here that all my administration work is done usually in between schedules or on
Fridays.
Not all days with the EARC are the same. Some days feel like expeditions
between a school or a home to see a child, distances which stretch out to other
districts like Hamisi. Other days are spent in hospital working along side
others or doing trainings.
My work varies and it spreads
out nicely to cover almost all areas that a Speech Therapist is trained in, not
to mention those you may have dreaded. Monday is set to work with schools, working
with teachers and it is then that I may schedule another day of follow up; most
of the times a Thursday later that same week when I will see specific children
for individualised therapy. This is only if time permits. Often times, things
come up at the EARC and those activities need to be slotted into the week's
programme making those return mid week visits impossible.
If I'm talking about a normal Monday, once started, time flashes by
like a 'shooting star'. It's ended in planning for the next busy day - Tuesday,
code named 'CP Clinic' but actually we see all children regardless of their
underlying conditions. The nice thing about this day is, we get to having a
multidisciplinary team or as close to it as seen in Western Kenya. On the team
there are always two Speech Therapists (myself included; both courtesy of
Yellow House), an Occupational Therapist (again courtesy of Yellow House), an
assessment teacher, and of course a parent - on a few occasions, we are
honoured with the company of a father but normally it's a mother or
grandmother. We also plan for a cup of uji (porridge) for the children and here
I extend an invitation to you who is reading this just for one purpose which I
present as a challenge; I dare you to come on a Tuesday and finish a full cup
of the uji! I've never been able to even do a quarter! Hint: citrus.
I'll admit my work comes in an all-in-one package. In it I get to
work the mental faculties - really work them! Both in the clinical aspects of
my job, and in learning Swahili. My physical capabilities are not left out
including balancing on a speedy pikipiki (motor bike) while on very rocky,
steep inner roads, and bravely supporting the weight of a well sized, adult
woman by the knee ends in a matatu (public service van/taxi) carrying 26
passengers instead of the licensed 14.
The seasons also have their take on influencing how I work! When the
rains start, they impose a kind of curfew on when my day should end and the
extent of my work travels especially because I use a pikipiki or walk. Some
roads become uncomfortably slippery and impassable being boggy with mud. At the
end of the day, I meet up with a colleague to catch up on the frowns and smiles
of that day; once in a while we have a drink in Guji, our local bar or have a
chat with the friends generated over the time.
In my routine I work, meet, and mix with a variety of people many of
whom are amazing and courteous; from District Education Officers (DEO) and
their under staff, hospital heads, brave parents struggling to fend for their
loved ones to children to whom, simply, disability just won't take their
brilliant smiles away. It is the impact, (tiny or huge), that I have witnessed
in giving an undisturbed and unrushed minute to a child who has been ignored
for years that the opening line to this article was inspired "It does not work nicely unless there
is a child or parent seen or talked to".
Here service becomes less of a duty and more of a sweet passion that
changes ones perspective of life and livelihood for the rest of their life.
