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Creating a better future for communities through research

Article: "Stories from the Road"

Feb 04, 2008

by Kristen Roderick

In May and June, 2006, Rob Case and Kristen Roderick traveled to Kenya to conduct an evaluation of the Association for the Physically Disabled of Kenya (APDK). They spent three weeks traveling across the country interviewing staff, volunteers, and beneficiaries of the program. The following are excerpts of this trip, based on Kristen's journal entries.

Mukuru Slum, Nairobi: May 28, 2006

We're winding through the busy streets of Nairobi, headed for Mukuru slum. Early 90s American pop music is playing on the radio, and the Jeep windows are tightly closed to seal out the over-powering smell of diesel and dirt coming from the road. We eventually pull into a narrow driveway, horn honking to announce our arrival and allow people to move slowly, slowly out of the way. Children along the roadside spot us and run after our Jeep, shouting "hello, how are you?" Smiling, we wave back at them. We pass through an iron gate and into a school yard, where about 200 children are running and playing, dressed in their school uniforms. We climb out of the Jeep and I'm filled with excitement and joy as dozens of children surround us, daring each other to get closer. A few get close enough and touch Rob's arm, then scream, laugh, and run away.

We meet four APDK staff who bring us into their small office to tell us about the programs and services they provide for children with disabilities who live in the area. The staff, some of whom grew up in the slum themselves, tell us how they locate people with disabilities, gain their trust, and eventually provide them with assistance, support and relief.

With the staff guiding the way, we walk behind the schoolyard to the housing compound, through thousands of small, tin shacks that are stacked wall to wall. As we walk through the narrow alleys, we pass people who are in conversations with their neighbours or cooking over pots of boiling water on an open flame. They stare at us as we go by. The children comment on our passing, yelling "Mzungu, Mzungu!" which I learn is the word for foreigner in Swahili. The only water source is the badly polluted stream that runs through the compound. We see small children playing in it as we walk by.

We finally stop in front of a small home and wait as one of the staff knocks on the door and begins a conversation with someone inside. After a moment, we're invited in and find a place to sit along a bench on the back wall of the home. We're greeted by a woman whose child we can hear crying in the bed behind the curtain just across from us. Seeing how small this woman's home is, I worry about the space and overcrowding her home. The woman reaches behind the curtain and picks up her child. The little boy is 2 years old and has cerebral palsy and epilepsy. He's been a client of APDK for about a year, and since then, he's been getting regular physical therapy by staff who come to their home every week. His mother has been trained to do daily exercises and therapy with him, and now uses a sitting and standing aid to straighten his body and strengthen his muscles. We ask her how APDK services have helped her, and she tells us that she can do housework for the first time since her child was born. She's also a member of a mothers support group, where she is joined by other women whose children also have disabilities. They talk about their stories and experiences of disability. This group is her first relief from the extreme social isolation and ostracization she has experienced as a single mother of a child with a disability. She tells us she finally has hope and no longer feels alone.

Community Visit, Kisumu: June 1, 2006

We just landed in Kisumu, the third largest city in Kenya, located in the west of the country. Nestled between rolling hills and tea plantations, Kisumu sits on Lake Victoria, and the air is hot and humid. Everything is so laid back - completely different than Nairobi. We arrive on Madaraka day, a national holiday, and people are taking it easy. Vendors are all over the streets selling their wares, and much of the town shopkeepers are playing the music of a local musician who recently died; another young, untimely death. They're getting ready for his memorial in the park in the centre of town.

In the afternoon, we drive into a small town with program staff to meet with a community group of beneficiaries and volunteer community health workers. These are self-help groups made up of children and adults with disabilities, parents of children with disabilities, volunteer community health workers and community leaders. The entire group works together to identify the disability needs of the community, raise awareness and bring children and adults with disabilities out of "hiding". Because of the social stigma and misconceptions related to disabilities, many people with disabilities in Kenya are considered a burden on the family, kept in the home, not permitted to go to school, and never receive the social, academic, or financial support they need. These community groups are doing the on-the-ground work for APDK, and challenging social beliefs while providing much-needed supports and services in rural communities.

We arrive in a rural community where about 20 people are waiting for us. Three or four tricycles are parked on the lawn by people who traveled here from 10 or 20 km away. Tricycles are wheelchairs operated by hand pedals, constructed with bike parts to make them more manageable on the rough terrain and repairable in most local bike shops. When our vehicle pulls up to the group, people get up excitedly, start clapping their hands, dance and begin to sing a traditional Swahili song in commemoration of our arrival. Some of the women grab my arm and pull me into the dance. My body is taken over by the movement and energy that surrounds us - it's amazing. Rob and the others laugh and clap along encouragingly. Although the people here are living in some of the worst conditions I've seen, have debilitating disabilities, are sick with malaria, HIV/AIDS or other diseases, and don't have access to clean drinking water, their joy is overwhelming and contagious. I feel more alive than ever.


APDK Branch Visit, Kisii: June 3, 2006

We've just come back from Kisii, a town few hours from Kisumu, traveling the bumpiest road of my life. Kisii is in the highlands, with incredible views overlooking a valley. As with each visit, shortly after we arrive and meet as a group with the staff, we begin staff interviews. While Rob speaks with the micro-finance officer, I interview the 2 social workers. We meet in a small room that overlooks the adjoining clinic where people wait outside in line for physiotherapy, occupational therapy and other treatment for their disabilities. A mother holds her crying child whose feet are bound, waiting for his next treatment for clubfoot.

I begin the interview by asking them what their role is with APDK and what challenges they face in their work. The women tell me how their time is spent managing the impact of disability on the family, and specifically how it relates to family violence. They talk about how the birth of a disabled child can trigger all kinds of problems within the family, such as alcoholism and infidelity among men, abuse of women and children, and the spread of HIV and AIDS. A devastating reality is that girl children with disabilities are at high risk of neglect and sexual abuse. Women may be abandoned by their husbands who "take another wife", and are left to support their children on their own. Polygamy is still practiced in Kenya and not uncommon in these situations.

It occurred to me that I hadn't heard these stories from the other APDK staff and I realized that these social workers are two in only a handful of professional female APDK staff across the country. These women face their own challenges, forging new ground in addressing gender issues within APDK and in Kenya. From where I sat, it seemed that commitment, intuition, and compassion guided their work and helped them find meaningful solutions for their clients. I was amazed at the creative strategies they come up with, and the compassion they have for men, women and children who are all bound tightly in this struggle. As the social workers fall silent at the end of our interview, I hear the child with clubfoot crying just outside, his mother hushing him gently.

En Route to Naivasha, June 8, 2006.

I'm sitting in the back of a Range Rover, driving North from Nairobi. Our evaluation work is complete and we're spending a few more days "on vacation" with Rob's uncle Charles who has owned a construction business in Kenya for about 30 years. We're heading to his home in Naivasha. The further we get from Nairobi, the sadder I feel. I miss the energy, beauty and joy that surrounded me over the last 2 weeks. We stop at a truck stop just outside Nairobi to pick up Charles' cook and long-time employee, who hugs her daughter goodbye on the roadside and climbs into the seat next to me. As we drive above the Rift Valley, Charles talks with Rob about the political context in Kenya and the death toll on the highways. I sit silently in the back seat with the Kenyan woman beside me. We smile at each other occasionally, but there is no language between us. I feel worlds apart.

Maasai Market, Nairobi, June 13, 2006.

Rob and I are spending our last day at the Maasai Market back in Nairobi looking for souvenirs, just hours before our flight back to Canada. I keep scanning through the rows of wood carvings, jewelry, drums and batiks, looking for something I can't seem to find. We befriend a couple of Rastas who give us a good deal for 2 batiks. We buy them some ginger beer and chat a bit before we leave. My bag is full of gifts for friends and family. For myself, I buy a soapstone carving of a woman kneeling, holding a swaddled baby. Her face is strong and peaceful. I'm warned about bringing home soapstone, and how fragile it is. I decide it's worth the risk. In some way, I'm hoping to bring back a piece of what I found here.