Yellow House

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.