Departing Australia in January, ignoring the ethics of ‘sustainability’, disregarding the idealogical stance of teaching a man to fish, I would have been happy if just one child, one mother’s life was better for me being here in Zimbabwe. That would define success.
An earlier blog attested to my sense frustration and disappointment realising that the director and staff at Safe Hands were not interested in equalling my efforts, that my goals were in fact MY goals. I soon realised I was not interested in doing all the fishing myself, I did want to teach someone to fish after all. So Safe Hands and I have come to an end of our ‘contract’. The two other private volunteer organisations (PVOs) have eagerly accepted my offer to spend some time with them instead.
The Autism Organisation of Zimbabwe (AOZ) is, as the Director Helen plainly states, ‘not pretty’. What it lacks in prestige and paint is made up in an ambience of love and productivity, volunteers are constantly washing clothes, bedding, preparing food, washing dishes, toileting and bathing children.
My morning commute, now a little further from the leafy northern suburb of Highlands, takes me down the reasonably well paved Samora Michel, Herbert Chitepo and Princes Roads to Harare Drive. Ambling along potholed roads into 65th Avenue Mabelreign, the last gate in the dead end street beacons. I typically open the gate and park under a tree a little after 9 am as children and staff ready for the morning walk. Hats are allocated, shoes donned and the stroll begins. Twenty three students ranging from 5- 35 years in age, supervised by an assortment of staff and volunteers progress down the lane, past Haig Park Primary, by the kiosk selling gum, tomatoes and muriwo, to a predetermined point where all then sit for 15 minutes before dawdling back. Other than Gummi, the young man with Downs, yelling commands at the group, it is a largely silent affair. Well it was until I joined of course. Learning opportunities abound so with the eager Maka (non disabled niece of the director), Seth ( the irresistible engaging 5 year old with echolalia), Chris ( a new boy who like Seth will hopefully move on to mainstream at some point), Tiara (who jargons away and uses sign language irrespective that we don’t understand), and Ryan (who just enjoys the proximity) we explore every leaf, flower, and tree we see, feel and smell. Prickly, smooth, rough, sharp, soft, hard, green, yellow, red, purple, mango tree, apple tree, banana tree. An ndege (plane) passes overhead, we spot a shiri (bird) — and then talk about things that fly. Repetition, routine, regularity and soon some of these children are using the adjectives in the garden back at AOZ. I gently ask Helen the purpose of the walk. Silent, solitary and slow I see little point. Helen is a true leader and soon the staff are meeting over morning tea discussing this amble that eats up at least an hour of the morning, optimal learning time sacrificed for little physical benefit (Africans have so much walking to do for daily existence, a brisk walk for exercise seems anethema). Helen eventually recalled that its true purpose was to get the kids ‘out’ of the organisation grounds. After some reflection a compromise is found, staff will now interact with the kids, there will be no rest break and morning tea is now therapy time (the simple task of expecting eye contact, acknowledgement, an appropriate sign or word before getting food or drink — simple but meaningful additions to the program). I lament to the staff ‘I know it takes more time, but you are doing your speech therapy’. We’ll see if that takes on.
The highlights of the day are plentiful. It begins with a warm hug from Maria who walks to my car and takes my bag, a tradition I must accept, as we wander inside; shona greetings are exchanged with the myriad of volunteers washing clothes and cleaning; there is the gleeful ‘Lisa Lisa’ exclamations from the more able children who rush up, embracing my legs. Then after the walk comes morning tea, where we natter away for half an hour about the state of affairs, love affairs, who had “Zesa” (the Zimbabwe Electricity company) the night before, this morning. From open damnation of the government who ritually dilute the dignity of Zimbabweans, to rumour filled claims that ED (the president) is under house arrest, or the ‘stay away’ (peaceful protest) planned for Friday, I can see the stress on people faces etched deeper every day. Bread $1 in January is now $6, the fuel price hike to $3 litre that triggered protests and a violent army backlash in January is a distant memory as it creeps up to $6. Eight hours of load shedding per day randomly allocated means that Edna, one of the staff, rises at 4.30am, navigating her high density suburb in the cold and dark to source firewood, carry water from the communal well, head home to build the fire, heat water and bath. Breakfast will wait. At 5.45 she and her son walk to seek transport. With ZUPCO bus prices pegged at 50 cents they fill quickly, so Edna waits, and waits till a kombi passes with a price low enough. $1 earlier in the year, now often $5. With an offical rate of RTGS/Bond to US$ is 3:1, Edna earns RTGS$120 per month. Paid in US$, even if she can access current black market rate of 7:1 she optimally would have a mere $280 to last a month, in reality she probably has $120. So at morning tea, when I want to complain that my landlord turned the generator off after an hour, without notice, and I was left with wet hair, I decide to suck it up. And when I see her struggling to keep her eyes open in an afternoon session, I have some compassion.
After morning tea there is a subtle jostle for my time. Helen has been unwell and hands off for a while so some of the procedures of AOZ have become watered down. It appears each staff member works with each child, doing rehab, and in particular ‘speech therapy’. Confusing to me, to the staff, and certainly to the kids. We soon get a list going, a fair allocation of ages and level of disability to each of the rehab staff. A new student on placement from a local University, completing development studies, has decided to volunteer long term and asked to have his own caseload. I provide books to be used as individual files, have Glad seal lock bags to hold relevant flash cards, and model the use of the cheap Bon Marche toys I bought. For some reason the staff persist with using an empty soup tin and stones. Is Maria hoarding the more colourful therapy tools, are they too respectful to come and take? Another ‘wait and see what takes’ moment.
Slowly, day after day, these amazing workers and I assess each student using very very rudimentary Hanen ‘How and Why’ communication points.
“OK, the how — does she use eye contact?”
“Some” — and this is explored till I get a sense of the worker’s meaning.
“Does she use actions to let you know what she wants/needs?”
“No”
But later I am told she will stand up to indicate she needs the loo. Or she grabs my arm in our play to seek help.
“Does she use the traditional thank you gesture (clapping hands) or point?”
And so it goes through the various levels before we then methodically work out ‘why’ she communicates. These patient ladies, and now young man, allow me to delve deeper and deeper until, at times, I see the light bulb go off — they get it, for this child, for now.
Helen, from her sick bed, hears her staff talking differently to the children. Her pride and joy in their efforts buoy me. And over time I see snippets of change myself.
From Maria barking at Malcom ‘Tsenga, tsenga tsenga’ (‘chew, chew, chew’ — he was gobbling food) after I had suggested they tell him what they actually want him to do. When I mirrored her sergeant major approach (we get along famously so I could get away with it) barking back at her ‘chew, chew, chew’ — she burst out laughing. “A little bit of humour could help Maria, don’t you think?’. And this lady full of personality soon created the ‘Tsenga Tsenga Tsenga rumba dance’. Malcom showed a small smile, and began chewing his food. Weeks later he no longer needs the dance!
Edna, working with Blessed, says she does not say anything and has no eye contact. After five minutes working with her and Blessed, joy explodes on Edna’s face as Blessed looks at me with clear intent to request the object I hold and then starts imitating my words. Yes, granted, the toys I use are more motivating but it’s the shift from didactic military teacher mode to therapeutic fun that is the real winner here.
And her work with Philip. Ahh, Philip. He came to AOZ 4 weeks ago. At first glance he looks like a 6 year old, skeletal is the only way to describe him. He is 11. Helen’s first thought is “We must test for HIV”. His mother, mentally ill, has 5 children who live with their uncle, who himself has 5 children. Philip’s disability was identified by a local charity, who also witnessed his treatment at the hands of his aunt and uncle, cousins and siblings….little better than a stray dog. Heartbreaking. So he was sent to live with a foster mother. Funds were given to care for and feed Philip. All I can say is that I’ve seen the ‘pre’ photo, and now. With HIV ruled out it is clear Philip was literally starving. Considered autistic, in reality he is a neglected, starved and probably abused boy whose gaunt holocaust like features are slowly filling out, week by week, at the AOZ. He no longer shys away from touch, he laughs with Maka who tickles and includes him and now tackles his food more slowly, though he is still eyeing off his neighbours plate! Philip’s only sounds are squeals of excitement (which when he sees food escalate to an ear piercing level — it can be a tad irritating so I suggest offering him morning tea first for everyone’s sake). He vocalises himself to sleep and Helen wonders why. It is interrupting the other students (18 of the students sleep over in the 4 bedroom home). “Helen, he is self soothing, Philip has probably never had an adult sooth him to sleep”. Day by day, little by little, he is engaging in the safe world around him more. He has no bowel or bladder control yet. Edna asks me to help identify goals. Where to begin? He has no functional play, no real imitation or turn taking skills. Bubbles perhaps…I’ve made a mix at home so will see if that works. Hmmm. He needs soothing, we need some anticipation happening. Songs and Rhymes. Edna recalls a few Shona nursery rhymes and I drag out my Mother Goose pack (I did come prepared). Philip’s gleeful laughter rewards Edna who, despite exhaustion, shows love and delight in this 11 year old who presents like a 9 month old.
Marylynne struggles with Pangi ‘who needs so much praise’. My reply, “And, the problem is…?” The joy on Pangi’s face who within a week has learnt on/under/in as Marylynne mimics a lightness I don’t think she truly feels. “But he is naughty and stubborn, he doesn’t pay attention”. I am learning that sometimes these descriptions are merely a different use of the English language, but at other times it is clear that the staff do not truly understanding autism or intellectual disability.
Kundi, the student come new rehab guy, studiously writes notes and is grateful for the pen I offer to replace his pencil, “yes you can keep it Kundi, I bought plenty from home”. I pause at that point. These are cheap OfficeWorks pens mum bought me at least 8 years ago from the Clayton store. A little bit of mum here…that’s a nice feeling.
The staff want me to work with every young person. I am challenged. For some of the older students who have only been at AOZ for a couple of years with little to no previous intervention, what I can offer is negligible. “Your goal of ADLs are enough”.
Lunchtime varies, dependant upon ZESA, which like local town water, is erratic. I have a good supply of hand sanitizer as 9 out of 10 days there is no municipal water, and there is no soap in the bathroom. If Zesa cuts out mid morning a fire must be made outside for cooking. I eagerly await the morning cup of tea which reminds me of smoke infused billy tea — nothing better. The cook knows that the days I’m there I prefer sadza to rice. Cooked over the fire, its smooth texture and taste, nothing better ….something that even if I had the muscles and patience to prepare I’d never perfect. Accompanied by muriwo (rape or kovo), nyama (huku — chicken), beans or mazai (eggs) I am eating well. This past week I have tried parts of the chicken never considered before — chicken feet complete with the birds nails in tact, the cleaned and fried intestines, and liver (so much better as pate). After a hefty slice of bread with cheese or avocado from home for morning tea I’m often not that hungry but appreciate the generosity of being offered lunch. The most satisfying part of the meal is the company, so much humour. Helen, Maria, Marylynne, Edna and I are closer in age. Kundi, Portia, Grace (educated volunteers who have no work in a country with officially 90 % unemployment) are younger and discreetly listen to us.
The day goes quickly, punctuated by these social gatherings. But by 3 or 3.30 I am done. Teaching someone, who while interested might struggle with the intricacies of the technique, is hard work. When the previous goals for most children were ‘I want him to talk’ (he is 19 with eye contact and a random gesture), ‘I am teaching him to say vowels’ (he is 10 and can say some words), ‘I am teaching him shapes’ (he is nonverbal, has poor attention and cannot understand simple everyday instructions), ‘I want her to count’ (she is 23 and spends her day stimming), I become a broken record.
“Ok then, so let’s think about HOW she communicates and WHY”
We explore.
“And what do you think she understands?”
We discover she does not understand the name of common everyday objects. So we get back to basics.
Killson (yes the names here are challenging to the uninitiated but I am used to names such as Forget, Anyway, Vengai — hate), is an art student who volunteers. Maria comes to me frustrated and angry. “He doesn’t know what to do”. “Maria he is an art student, not an art teacher. He is not an art therapist. He knows nothing about disability”. Her face lightens, “Ah Lisa, thank you, I understand”, her anger dissipated. And the next day we work together to encourage him to re-think his goals. I suggest that morning tea become a case conference time, one student briefly discussed each day, sharing knowledge of each young person and goals. In this way Killson will learn. For now he will focus on the human body.
Quite a few kids struggle to understand, learn or recall. I get Malcom, who has poor fine motor skills, outside and trace his body in chalk against the wall. Not really sustainable as chalk is an extravagance. But they all get the idea. Let’s bring learning alive.
Maria comes to me, “Lisa Tribute doesn’t know his body parts!” Now Tribute is one of the more able teenagers so I was somewhat surprised. Keeping in mind Maria and I get along well I said, “Are you sure it’s that, or is he bored as batshit?”
Tribute sits with six other teenagers in a hot wooden cabin with cement sheeting roof and one window, clustered around a desk and table. The students vary in capacity considerably. While one student answers, the other 6 are off in their own entertaining world. They do ALOT of waiting here. The behaviour of kids here is amazing. While I go around spouting more modern concepts of behaviour management I am conscious that in general there are NO behaviour problems here!
I feel for poor Tribute. I suggest a version of Simon Says, “Get them out of that room Maria”. I show her what I mean. Most of the group are suddenly motivated to show or learn their understanding of their body parts, moving, having fun and modelling to/learning from each other. To us, it’s not rocket science. But Zim is still largely stuck in a corporal punishment, didactic teaching mode.
With so few resources, limited space, largely unskilled staff, there will be limits on what we can achieve. But I am changing one child’s life. I am teaching some to fish. It’s enough for now.
