Shortly after our arrival, we headed straight into one of the slums. Paige’s assistant a local from Nairobi informed me that there were about a half a million people living in this community. Had I not already travelled around a bit, I’m sure I would have been shocked to see (and smell) the living conditions, but the reality is that this is the way that half the human population lives.

From the start, I realized this was different from the experiences I had when I was officially with Off The Mat, this was even more raw. Even more real. Travelling in a group of 25 white women, with full time local guides/drivers, the energy of the group dynamic and the structure of our rigid schedules spoke loudly. But here, its just us and the people. Even Paige who has lived here for 4 years, and is engaged to a local takes extra precautions for safety. Hell…. even the locals themselves do, and usually dont go out after dark, unless they have arranged a driver. It is very common to get jumped or car jacked.

We stood outside a small shack of a building, and even though it looked as if one strong gust of wind could blow it down, it had an essence of playfulness with its light blue paint. As we were waiting outside, I was swarmed with kids. They lines up and pushed their way forward just to touch my hand. The sun was shining bright, the children were laughing and smiling. Moses, Paige’s assistant started leading the crowd with some short and simple yoga movements. I began taking pictures, and just like Uganda, the kids of Kenya are goofy and silly and truly enjoy seeing themselves in a picture. I removed my sunglasses at one point to change a setting on my camera, and at that same moment the sun glittered off my green eyes. The faces before me were beyond interested, so I left my glasses off and spent a little time allowing my sparklers to translate my compassionate connection to each child.

We moved into the small school house, I met some of the well dressed and polite teachers as we moved all the way to the last tiny little room where 30 kids were piled in. This class is under the guidance of Gerry, a young woman who was trained and now works for AYP. Without this opportunity, I doubt she would have work at all. She allows me to teach 1st, and I’m immediately amazed at how responsive the kids are. I have them slithering on the floor like snakes, making hissing sound and arching their backs to become kind cobra. At one point I had them all sit tall, hands in prayer and asked them to close their eyes. And they did. 30 elementary aged kids, sat quietly in meditation. Now, for anyone who has kids or taught kids you know how rare that would be. I sat in the juice of the silence way longer than I was anticipating, because I was truly blown away. I tagged out and Gerry took over, leading this room of small children in Swahili, through a full on power yoga sequence with vinyasas. I’m talking advanced transitions like half moon into triangle. It was crazy. At first I felt a bit silly for having “played yoga” but then again it occurred to me that these children take things seriously. Their lives are serious, so why wouldn’t they approach the practice as such. It was very clear that these kids were hungry for the activity, and were as pliable as play dough, eager to be molded physically and emotionally.

The next day we went to the other side of Nairobi, to yet another slum consisting of small shanti shacks all on top of each other. This was an ongoing class that had a strong group of young men that that taught and practiced here in a community center. I threw my mat down in the middle of the sea of strong dark men. Paige had warned me that this practice was going to kick my butt. We were sweating and breathing and groaning and shaking our way into bliss. The class was led by a man from this neighborhood that wore longer dreads and a chiseled frame. If I met him in the dark on the street no doubt I would have been afraid. But this strong brother named Azi, was a yogi. He kept encouraging us to shine. “Let your hands spread and shine. Let your hearts shine.”, and within minutes I could feel my face beginning to shine with a subtle blend of awe, admiration, gratitude and hope. After class ended, there was an everlasting handstand contest to determine who would get the overpriced professional men’s yoga pants (couldn’t sell that at home, so I put them to good use, and it’s funny because no one here knows or cares about the brand). And as we were heading out another group of young men came into the room and began to warm up. Paige told me that they were a hip hop/ b-boy crew that had won what would be the equivalent of Americas Best Dance Crew back in the states. They said it was cool to watch for a few, and even let me shoot some video. OMG. These boys are bad ass. One after the other performed for us making this private show one of the biggest highlights of my trip. Kept saying “I can’t believe I’m here seeing this.” Beyond Cool.

On our last day with AYP, we had the chance to attend the teachers practice. All of her certified teachers are required to attend the Saturday practice and lectures, and we were invited to teach. Over the past few days Paige had told me about some of the issues this community faced. Two of her teachers were jumped and beaten just the week before. The group had just gone through some drama around the fear and stigma of being accused of having HIV/Aids. I have no clue if any of these people were positive, the reality is that many must be, but frankly it’s none of my business, and being accused of such is no joking matter here. And one of her most influential teachers, a man who is a true leader to this community, is dealing with the aftermath of his 4 year old daughter being raped. Paige told me that he had been filled with rage wanting to bring about his own justice but that the yoga had helped him let go of some of that hate. She also told me that even considering all of the issues these people face, they often pretend that everything is fine, as they’ve been taught not to draw attention things that may bring shame.

I decided to give a lecture on trauma. I began by gathering the group in a circle, getting everyone’s names and then asked them if they understood the word TRAUMA. They did. A fellow named Papa (again a mentor here) translated some of my comments, to ensure everyone was with me. They were. We gave examples of trauma, from physical to emotional, many mirroring the same stuff we deal with in the states, yet others we can’t even fathom. I asked them what the Swahili word for trauma was, and they said there is no word to describe trauma. We discussed the very significance of this, that trauma is usually the things we should not speak about. Yet, when something is not acknowledged and healed it stays in the body and festers. But that the yoga helps us to release the pain from our physical body and creates a safe place for us to explore and heal the emotional content. I lectured on the whole self, how yoga helps us align our bodies with our minds and hearts and from here we can heal our wounds and our full potential can be reached. The energy in the room was palpable. We had dropped into a sacred place where it was easy to share to connect. It’s rare when this happens even within our own comfort groups. Never have I had the pleasure of doing so with people who are so different from me culturally. Even I shared something I’ve never spoken of in public, something that usually brings great shame for me. But not here. Not this time. Perhaps even never again. At the very end of the session, the floor is open to questions and comments, this is a regular part of the AYP curriculum. There were thank yous and acknowledgements all around. They discussed some upcoming events and handled more structural tid bits. Then Azi, (the teacher from the day before) announced that someone in this group has just suffered a trauma. He announced the 5 year old daughter of another man here was just raped (my god, this is the second story like this and I’ve only been here 3 days) and that he needs some money to be able to get his daughter back, so that he can protect and care for her himself. One of the girls that came with me wanted us to pitch in to give him the money. I told her that we can’t just come in and buy people’s problems away and it’s inappropriate to think that we can. This is a community, one that is getting closer every day. And one that has the potential to make change within themselves. The truth is that all of the AYP teachers get their paychecks this same day. If each of them pitches in some change, together they can help this member of their yoga family.

Back at Paige’s house I was supposed to be packing and getting ready for my 35 hour trip back to Fl. But instead I sat on the floor with her entranced by what I had just been a part of. Had I not taught them about trauma, they would not have shared this recent tragedy. The father would not have gotten the support and understanding of his community, and they would not have the opportunity to see that together they can accomplish much more than any single person can do. I feel so blessed to have been able to contribute. Suddenly, my whole life makes sense. Then we discussed the “now what” part of the experience.

AYP, although surviving and cultivating a sustainable structure, could use more funding, plain and simple. They have recently launched a new mentoring program that allows studios or individuals from the west to financially sponsor a teacher in Kenya while cultivating a personal relationship with them and supporting their yoga educational process. With a commitment of $100 a month (tax deductible) and at least one Skype conversation a month, we can continue to be a part of this empowering project. I had told Paige that I wanted to do this, and she asked me if I would mentor Papa. She said that he is the gentleman she had told me about the other day who had healed some of his pain around his daughters rape through yoga. He is truly eager to learn more about yoga and trauma and that my mentoring him , would enable him to mentor so many here. She introduced us officially, and he was thrilled. This relationship guarantees him some much needed income but more so he seems honored to have the opportunity to learn more. Honestly, I’m not sure yet, how I plan on approaching this partnership. But I continue to trust that it will unfold perfectly, as long as we both keep our hearts and minds open to each other.

To learn more about Africa Yoga Project or to become a sponsor or mentor of an AYP teacher go to www.AfricaYogaProject.org.

I sat across from him at a small garden table away from the business of my hotel. Like most Ugandans his voice is soft and faint, I have to lean way in just to hear him. I wonder to myself, if this has to do with the many years of oppression these people have endured, as though they have collectively determined that no one will listen anyway so why waste the energy to speak up. His beautiful large brown eyes, set wide and high upon his sculpted cheekbones are focused and he does not shy away from my gaze, in fact he resonates with austerity. Despite his short life of only 19 years, I know immediately that he is wise and has a great understanding of true life experience.

My 1st question to him was “So, I have been told you are HIV+”. He nods, not losing my eyes at all. I continue, by asking if he was born with the disease, and he responds “yes, but I don’t like blaming anybody”. I followed by asking him how and when he found out that he carried the virus, and he informed me that he had suspected it, although he never wanted to believe that it was true. He had been very sick as a child, and was on medication. All that he was told was that he had a low “platelet” count, and he didn’t know what that meant. For years he would pick up his medications, not fully understanding why, but that when we was nearly 11 years old, one day there was a leaflet with the meds. And he read through it, and realized at that time that he was indeed HIV+. He says he will never forget that moment of shock and he broke down, saying to himself “Oh God, please don’t let it be true”. I tried to remain composed as I processed the fact that this young man before found out about his HIV status, without someone to hold or console him. He had to find out all alone. He went on to say that he kind of put it out of his “child’s mind”, that that was how he was able to console himself. And, that he began to get even more sick because he wasn’t always so committed to taking his meds.

Another year and a half went on like this, until eventually he received confirmation from a doctor. He said that at that time being HIV+ was the worst thing possible in life, although now it has really changed (at least in his perspective). It was only after he completed his final exams for Primary School (Uganda’s version of elementary school) that he and his guardians were to come in together. He informed me that Joseph (from Building Tomorrow, who served us heartfully as our guide the entire trip and who introduced me to Julius) and a nun whom he was very close to were the ones who were present for his verdict. “And, what about your parents?”, I asked “did they die of HIV”. Solemnly he educated me that HIV doesn’t kill, but Aids is what stole them. He went on to explain to me that his parents lived in denial. They refused to believe that they had contracted the disease until it was too late. First his mother got sick, then his father followed shortly behind.

With absolute faith he explained to me that it must have been some sort of accident that brought this virus into the family home. He assured me that his parents were good people, and good parents. He believes fully that they were absolutely faithful to one another, so one of them must have contracted it some other way. From our visit to PACE a subsidy of YouthAids earlier in the week, we were educated about the pressing issue of cross generational sex, infidelity and even the fact that polygamy is legal here were huge contributors to the epidemic. The stigma around the disease here in Uganda is strong enough that many people (his parents included), refuse to get tested or treated. And even the orphaned children left behind hold tightly onto the possibility that that was not the case for their beloved family. Just being seen going to get the necessary medication offers more than enough shame and emotional persecution that denial is the greatest cause of death among it’s victims.

Backtracking his story he explained to me that his parents had arranged for all five of their children to be separated and cared for by various relatives. Julius was to be raised “at least as long as I was still on this earth” he added by this father’s youngest brother, who was still in university. The uncle was unable to take care of him so he was sent to what he was told was a boarding school and that prospect was thrilling as he believed he was going to receive a better education. It wasn’t until he got there that he realized that it was actually an orphanage. He said that time was very tough for him but it was there that he met the sister and Joseph who he considers his guardians. Luckily for Julius, his intellect was apparent and his new family created the means for him to leave the orphanage and be sent to a true boarding school. He explained to me that he is at the best school in Uganda, and is very grateful for that.

Julius now 19, is living a healthy life despite the virus that threatens his future. He explained to me that as long as you take care of yourself you can live a long and happy life. On that note I asked him about girlfriends, he is after all a teenage boy. A quick and resounding “No… I don’t have time for that. I have to stay focused on my studies.” Julius feels responsible to give back. He intends to make something of himself so that he can go back and help the other kids at the orphanage and his siblings, those who perhaps were not as lucky as himself to have gotten a better opportunity.

I wondered about his siblings. How were they and had they test positive as well? He told me about where each of them went, and that he does try to see them when he can, but it is not often. Julius believes he is the only child out of the 5 that is positive. In his mind his mother must have contracted the disease before he was born (but after his older siblings) and that when his younger siblings were born, she did not breast feed them so as to stop the transmission from mother to child. He said it is very difficult, as he has never spoken to them about his status. The stigma is so brutal here, that even with his own flesh and blood he can not openly discuss the matter. I attempted to probe deeper, knowing there are so many unanswered questions, but I honestly didn’t have the courage. Like the yogi that I am , I looked to the lighter side of his situation & asked more about his plans for college.

He was now in his last year of what would be equivalent of high school (more than 60% of all children do not get the chance to even begin that level of schooling) and would be off to university the following year. Pharmaceuticals, that’s what he wants to study. Julius believes that a cure can be found for HIV/Aids. Or that at least a better way to ensure it can no longer be spread. He will dedicate his life towards that goal. Looking directly through me Julius said “This is my destiny.”

I sat for a moment allowing that final statement to resonate, realizing that sitting here before me was the potential for great healing. Julius is an angel. Not only will this man transcend his own obstacles, he is doing it with the intention to serve the world. To heal, both himself and the millions of people affected by HIV/Aids. I don’t think that Julius knows it, but he also saved me. By sharing his story, his life and his heart with me, I am forever changed. Within that single evening I was able to feel the raw truth about why I came here to Africa. To face my own fears and judgements about disease, poverty and humanity and to continue to step off of the safety of my yoga mat, out into the world and to continue to do even the little things that I am capable of doing. He reminded me that although I can not solve all of he problems of the world, I can authentically sit with someone who could not be more different than myself and see a common thread. That when I do even a little a lot can happen. And that when I can honestly look into the eyes of those who I am blessed to serve, I receive more than I could have ever imagine.

The next day was quite different. It was raining! The site was one big mud puddle, but that didn’t stop us. With only a few men from the village and maybe 2-4 mothers rotating in to help, we made some serious progress. You have to realize though that there is no equipment. No machines at all. We spent the day “hoeing” (many jokes throughout the day) and it was hard. We also had to move a ton of filler dirt in wheel barrels across the site. By the time we left were were all COVERED in mud. I feel sorry for our drivers who had to clean our bus, and the hotel staff that had to do the same to the lobby, rooms, and tubs. I always knew that \i was a tough girl. A litttle dirt has never scared me (dont get me wrong though, Im not giving up my luxury sap days) but I truly have never worked so hard. This was the real deal manual labor. The last day there we continued the same work, while many of our group taught the kids yoga, dance and did a bunch of other activities. As much as i’m drawn to the kids, I kept working through the recess…and it felt damn good.

Our outreach work with Off The Mat was officially over. At one of our group sessions we talked about Post Traumatic Service Disorder. How in hell can we possibly be able to process all that we have done and seen on this journey. We cant. I know that I will be forever impacted by what I did and saw while I was here. I have no doubt that it will continue to unfold for many months to come. But, not yet. I still have more travel to come. A few of our peeps had to head straight back including my roomie Sofi (her absence has been my 1st BIG post trauma), and our fearless leaders Seane, and Suzanne. The goodbyes to them and our local guides were one big mushy mess. I cant believe its really over.

The next day the rest of us headed north to our safari. I can not do that experience justice with the limited time and space I have in this entry. But it was incredible. The landscape alone will be burned into my memory forever. We saw a lion, giraffe, lots of monkeys and apes, hippos (including 2 mating….LOL) crocodiles and so much more. We also went to Murchinson Falls (the top by car, and the bottom by boat) which is where the Nile River gets squeezed through a crevice in a large cliff, and crushes down with more power and force than I have ever felt or seen. Absolutely unbelievable.

A very long 2 days of travel by buses, cars and 2 planes, the lingering small group of us made our way through Nairobi all the way to the coast of Kenya at Diani Beach. We are now settled into the most beautiful and peaceful holistic beach retreat center. There are 7 of us, and we have the entire place to ourselves with 2 guards, 2 waiters, a receptionist, a private gourmet vegetarian chef, a therapist (massage & facial) and our own yoga teacher. The yoga hut is a large shaded tiki type pavilion with wood floor. Its open air style allows the ocean breeze to flow through and the entire thing is ocean front. I think I’ve gone to heaven. There is no internet there, so I’m exploring the “town” and am at the internet cafe. We’ll be here for 2 more nights then back to Niobe to spend a few days with Paige and the African Yoga Project.

I’m having an amazing ride here, but I’m still holding you all in my thoughts, prayers and heart.

Day 1, we went to the Acholi Slums. The Acholi tribe was terrorized by the Lords Resistance Army in Northern Uganda for more than 20 years. They are known for coming into villages, destroying everything, stealing the children and killing everyone else. Just imagine one of the most impoverished and under-developed places on earth and then add to that evil that rivals the injustice of the holocaust. The boys are turned into soldiers at around age 8 and force them to do horrific things such as murder their own family members using their own hands or worse yet teeth. The girls are kept to cook, clean and rape for years until they eventually die of HIV. Thousands of Acholi people left their villages and headed south to Kampala where we are staying to seek refuge. A relatively small piece of land was donated for them to settle in. They live in tiny one room shacks built practically on top of each other with no electricity or running water. There are no restrooms, no kitchens, no food, no medicines, no jobs. They do have a spicket of water on ther main street, but the water is not clean, and it needs to be carried a very long distance back to their homes where some have up to 19 people living in the one room. No furniture, no change of clothes, no possessions at all. These people literally left everything and ran for their lives. It has been this way for years now, and most will never get out. Life here is as bad as it can possible get. This is why we have come. Not to solve their problems, but perhaps in some small way to validate their existence.

Before our visit to the slums, two beautiful mothers have come to our hotel to share their stories and help prepare us for what we are about to walk into to. Through the translator we learn that their names are Carmella and Grace. They have obviously cleaned them selves up for our meeting and are truly happy to meet us. Carmella speaks first, her head high and a wide & gracious smile. She expresses her honor and gratitude for this moment, and says repeatedly in english “you are welcome” and I know she means that she is truly happy to have company with us.

She begins her story by saying that her village was raided by the LRA, and her youngest son was taken. Although the pain in clear in her face, she continues by saying that she also lost a daughter who was giving birth and did not survive. Somehow she was able to escape the ravaged place she has always called home and made it hours south to where she is now. She then says that one of her older sons became extremely sick, and they didn’t know what was wrong with him. His entire body was covered with lesions and she and her other two children helped care for him by dressings his wounds. It wasn’t until the other two children also bacme sick did they find out that he had HIV/Aids. I’m not sure how long the process was, but all three of them died of the disease without ever receiving the much-needed medication that we now know can and does save lives! I’m looking at this proud and strong woman in front of me, and it is difficult to tell her age, I would guess maybe the same as my own mother, yet this mother has already seen 5 of her own children die. At some point HIV testing and education started to make its way through these parts of Africa, and Carmella also tested positive. She continued the story by saying that she didn’t know how she contracted it because she had not had sexual partners, and she said they eventually found that she got it because of her close contact with the open sores while she tried to nurse her dying children. That of course may have been the way, but in my mind I know that it is also likely that she contracted it from her husband who is no longer around, and she did not mention him. Another option that I know has taken the lives of many women here is that they have been raped, or even sold themselves in a desperate attempt to feed their families. Luckily for Carmella, the ARV’s (HIV meds) are now being given out free of charge here by the funding of may programs including ours and she is strong and healthy, considering the reality of her daily lives. through her story, we find out she has 19 children she is taking care of. Some are nieces and nephews others are grandchildren. All of them live in a 1 room shack with nothing.

We board the bus to head into Acholi Slums, each of us assigned 2 families (chosen based on their most extreme circumstances) and we are going to personally bring them much needed food, soap, water purifying tablets and a small goodie bag of toys for the kids. When we arrive we are taken into a small brick building with dirt floors, and a series of wooden benches. There are 40 women awaiting us and after we all file in they begin to greet us with a beautiful song. They sing with shining eyes and faces, and we are told that the song itself says that even though times are tough, they keep holding hope that help will come. In response we sing Amazing Grace, as it is the 1st song that comes to mind that we probably all know. The room is warm, not in temperature, but in spirit. And all facings were shining with joy and gratitude. Theirs, as well as ours.

I was paired with my two women, one Jeanette and the other is Betty. For each of these family we have 3 large bundles of food. We load ourselves up and head out through the tiny corridors towards the 1st home. Around corner after corner, deeper and deeper into the maze of identical little cement buildings separated by small streams that I must assume by the smell are used as bathrooms (there is no where else they could possibly be going). Honestly, I should be afraid here. If someone were to hold me captive, it would takes weeks, if ever, to find me. But truly I feel no fear. I am here to help and I trust that they are grateful.

At each of the homes I find the same. Cement floors, no furniture, barely any belongings at all. One home as a mother and 4 children, the other a mother and 9 children. I present them with the small gifts and they humbly invite me into their homes. I have no doubt they have cleaned themselves, their families and their homes up for our visit. The children are beautiful & happy despite their sad reality. It is as if they dont know that kids in other circumstances have more. We spend the afternoon playing with them, the women hugging us many times and showing their gratitude with bright smiles. All in all it is a beautiful day. We fed a whole community of hungry people and through that service I was full.

I am officially all packed up. Two pieces of checked luggage, weighing 50 pounds each, full of donation items and a carry on with every thing that I will own/need during this journey will literally be on my back at about 27 pounds. Yikes.  This is going to be a mission. I’m counting on luggage carts once we arrive in Entebbe.    My biggest concern is that my very last stop on this nearly month long adventure is where a ton of my donation items are heading, so that means I’ll be trekking these bags across continents & oceans to reach Africa… and then all freakin’ over Africa as well.

OK,  now to get back to my preparations.  Follow the  journey here to check in for my daily (or so) updates. And please leave your comments, b/c I’m going to miss you!!! I love you and am overwhelmed by your love & support.