A Woman's Worn Back

I already mentioned that Ben and I spent a day visiting temporary housing, where our job was to communicate with the residents, assess their needs, and perform "tapping touch," a kind of massage. We set out with a team of five-- looking back, this job could have been done well by two people, but one of the principles of volunteerism is to be a "tool" doing tasks determined by other people. (Although at Tono Magokoro, where there is lots of turnover, another principle is that as soon as you are ready (or before), you should move into a position of decision making and responsiblity.)

Most memorable was our visit to an elderly woman living in a small temporary house. We waited for her for about twenty minutes before she arrived. She'd gone out on a short errand, but I could immediately see why it took so long: like many hard-working women her age, her body was bent into the shape of an "L" roated 90 degrees to the right, so she must always walk staring at the ground. It looks intensely uncomfortable, but one must become accustomed to it.

The woman sat on her small bed while one of the female volunteers asked her questions. I was chosen to climb up behind her on the bed and do the "tapping touch" massage. I had been instructed carefully about how to think about my relationship to the person receiving the massage. I was to think of myself as having the honor of giving her a massage, not as a "giver" performing a service. At the time I received the explanation, I thought, "Really. How new-wave." But as I looked at the woman's small, rounded back, I suddenly understood what they were talking about. I thought about how years and years of labor, probably in a fishing family, had slowly pushed this back into position, about the inoxerable process that had rounded it into the tiny shape in front of me. In comparison to this woman, had I ever experienced the weight of the world, or struggled against the forces that mercilessly crush us into an aged shape? What nerve I had, raising my pampered hands incapable of any useful labor and intending to give some kind of comfort to her weathered back! I hesitated with my hands raised, overwhelmed by my own uselessness. But of course, there was no going back. The other volunteers watched me expectantly. So I rubbed my hands together to warm them up (the first step is to simply warm the person's back), then I cupped her shoulders in my hands and began.