June in Lagos was cool and rainy. The sun came out once in a while just long enough for our wet clothes to dry. June was many quiet mornings in the playroom. If anyone ever asked or If I was asked to pick what kind of playroom I like, I would say one that is filled with kids, toys and puzzles sprawled across the floor and my choice of music to go with this would be the discordant tune of their voices would create as they argued about who gets which toy.
Those were the moments I pictured before I became a play therapist with Lluvia health. But the last three Months with the organisation have given me a new kind of playroom to look forward to. One that starts out quiet and then erupts into joy as the kids become more ensconced by the new world around them. The quiet days and the chaos-filled ones make up my #storyfromtheplayroom.
Each day in the playroom is different, and every child brings their own rhythm. Some enter shy and withdrawn, others come in ready to go through our entire collection of toys in 5 minutes before they move on to the next best entertainment they can find within the four walls of the hospital. But all of them, in their own time and way, remind me why I do this work. My why lies in their transformations —from silence to song, from stillness to movement, and from restlessness to stillness.
I met Opeyemi about a month ago. Her mother brought her in to see the doctor, and while they were waiting for the results of the tests they ran, they stopped by the playroom. Opeyemi walked in, looked around, and quietly took a seat. Her mother encouraged her to have fun, and I tried my best to make her feel comfortable enough to play. At the time, I didn’t know much about her. We started slowly, playing with puzzles and gradually moving to role play. We were about 30 minutes in when something seemed to shift, like the scales fell from her eyes. Suddenly, she was bouncing from bean bags to the mat, full of energy. I could barely keep up. By the end of the session, her mom was full of praise. Her daughter looked completely different, visibly happy and enthusiastic.
A few weeks later, I was visiting the ward to speak with parents and children about the playroom when someone stopped me. It was Opeyemi’s mother. We exchanged pleasantries before she said, “Your friend is around.” Then she explained that Opeyemi had gone home and told everyone about the playroom and all the fun she had. Her siblings were so intrigued, they decided to visit and see this “famous playroom” for themselves. One active child can take your breath away, but three? That’s the ultimate reward. To prevent the playroom from descending into chaos, I introduced a reward system: they had to work on a group project before moving to individual games. It worked like magic. When the hour was up, I saw three sad children walking away, promising to return soon.
