For the past month I’ve been teaching yoga to more or less the same group of girls at the refugee centre of Fedasil for non-accompanied minors outside Brussels. The majority in this group is from French-speaking Africa, and some are from the Middle East. Some are veiled, some are bareheaded with impressive braided hairdos flooding their shoulders and back. They are sometimes more showing off a mid-riff, unfaced with skin exposure, next to their friends covered in layers upon layers of scarves and long skirts.
These girls are vocal. They understand and speak some English or French. Little by little, the confidence between us has been built. Some girls I worry about, but there are some who I, perhaps wrongly, feel have been given a relatively good hand in the difficult situation that they’re in: They are physically strong, athletic, forthcoming and smart. Some are also very attractive, which can, sometimes, but certainly not always, be a gift.
Today I was told that one of the girls with whom I’d had a good contact over the past weeks, would not come. She wasn’t well. I insisted the personnel tell her that I wanted her there. She did show up, her pale face closed, eyes fixed on the floor, and hidden under her dark thin veil, like a blackbird with a broken wing, she found her mat. Her thin body was hunched, she could barely carry herself and moving the strap with straight arms across the head and behind was a huge challenge.
Depression puts a tonne of extra weight on the body and her tiny frame could not carry the surplus. I had few illusions that an hour of yoga would lessen her burden, but at least she would spend the next 75 minutes in an atmosphere of benevolence and solidarity, moving if only so slightly, rather than staying rolled up on her bed.
As always in these situations when one of the yoga participants is very fragile, I’m moved to invisible tears (which I save for the ride home) by the wisdom of the other children, when they have someone suffering in their midst. No matter if they share a language or not, these teenagers show an empathetic understanding with each other, providing an extra smile, a helping hand, a watchful, warm gaze. At one point the little blackbird just slumped on her mat. I tried to put her in a comfortable position, but she insisted that she wanted to continue to practice with the others.
We balanced, one-legged, which she managed well. Then we moved onto working in pairs, supporting each other across the shoulders as we lifted the leg straight forward and then shifting the leg backwards as the chest lowered down in parallel to the floor, mimicking the shape of the third warrior, still supporting each other, shoulder by shoulder. By now our wing-broken friend was actually smiling as she was pairing up with different girls.
After the active practice, we sat down for a few moments. I didn’t dare venture into a longer meditative practice today, because being alone with yourself when you’re depressed can be like being left in a dark, scary corridor, so we soon shifted into relaxation in a comfortable and secure position of lying
down with the calves resting on a chair. I adjusted the girls and covered their eyes with a little pillow.
At the end, I rang a little signal with two brass discs that I bought in India, and they move back to a seated position, forming the Hridaya mudra, for compassion and heart. Thank you for reading and if you want to share your thoughts on the subject I will be all ears and eyes.
Warmly and from the bottom of my heart,
Emily