‘That boy can see!’ How I found my way after losing my sight.
-
Ibrahim Onafeko Staff writer
My aunt and uncle said it was too dangerous to go out on my own. I’d immigrated to the United States from Nigeria to live with my mother’s brother and his wife in Maryland in 2010, and one year after that, I lost my vision. I learned to get about with a cane and craved getting back on the highway of life.
I heard of a course at a public library on how to use a computer with screen-reading software. I needed the training, and I’d have to travel to the class on my own. My aunt and uncle reluctantly consented.
Why We Wrote This
When our essay writer lost his sight, even his family doubted his ability to succeed. But he found within himself the grit – as well as the humility and patience with himself – to prove them wrong.
I learned to navigate unfamiliar spaces by using my imagination to create mental maps. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t lose my way many times. I’d have to swallow my pride to ask for help. Sometimes I’d go to bed feeling down. But my disdain for staying put was an overriding motivation. Since then, I’ve earned three academic degrees. I defied all the dire prognostications about my safety. Today, I’m a published journalist and audio producer.
Now, marveling at my progress, my uncle exclaims to my aunt, “That boy can see!”
My aunt and uncle said it was much too dangerous for me to go out on my own. I’d immigrated to the United States from Nigeria to live with my mother’s brother and his wife in Maryland in 2010, and one year after that, I lost my vision. I had since learned to get about with a cane, and now I craved getting back on the highway of life, to pursue my dream of being a broadcaster.
No, they told me. I would get lost or robbed. What if I got hit by a car? I must stay in the house.
But I was dogged. I rejected their scenarios and suppositions. I believed I could regain my way if I lost it. I believed that even if I were robbed every day, it would get to the point where either I’d befriend my robbers or they would grow so tired of robbing me that they’d leave me alone. Either way, I would not be stopped. I told my aunt and uncle I would pay close attention, I would listen and be very careful when crossing streets. I believed I would succeed. I was determined to succeed. I nurtured my ardor. I looked for ways to put my resolve into action.
Why We Wrote This
When our essay writer lost his sight, even his family doubted his ability to succeed. But he found within himself the grit – as well as the humility and patience with himself – to prove them wrong.
Then a neighbor told me that a public library in Washington, D.C., was offering a tuition-free course on how to use a computer with screen-reading software designed for blind and visually impaired people. This was an important opportunity for me, as I was not eligible for any government assistance with my rehabilitation. Here was my chance to kill two birds with one stone: I needed the training badly, and it would require me to commute to and from the library on my own. I could practice my getting-about skills on my way to learning critical adaptive technology. My aunt and uncle reluctantly consented.
But how would I chart my course? I knew that the American singer Ray Charles, who was also blind, got around on his own without a cane. If he could do it without a cane, I reasoned, surely I could do it with one. Ray’s secret was to count steps. But I couldn’t seem to do that the way he had. Instead I developed the power of my imagination, capturing the layout of places I visited and taking note of landmarks in my mind.
At first, I would consciously pause to impress the layout of a new space on my mind. The next time I visited that place, I’d conjure the mental map I’d drawn and use that in order to navigate. Today, I do this automatically, creating and memorizing my mental map as I encounter a new landscape. I do it without thinking. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t lose my way many times in the process of acquiring this skill. I’d have to ask a kind stranger to help me reorient myself. I’d have to swallow my pride to ask for help, and reaffirm that it does not matter what others think or say about me.
Still, whenever I lost my way and had to ask for help, it would wear on my pride, my self-esteem. I’d be tempted to entertain doubts. Could I truly succeed in getting around on my own?
Sometimes I’d be so discouraged that I’d contemplate giving up. Perhaps my uncle was right, I’d think. Maybe I should stay home and wait until someone could help me. On those days when I lost my way, I’d go to bed feeling down. And because I didn’t want my uncle to worry about me, I kept that to myself – including the time I had to walk home on my own late at night because the buses had stopped running. But my disdain for staying put and spinning my wheels, and even more so my desire to beat blindness and bounce back, were overriding motivations. That determination was usually enough to get me out of bed the next day and try again. Along the way I learned to be patient with myself and to recognize that asking for help does not diminish me in any way.
Since that time, I’ve pursued my education. I’ve earned three academic degrees, including a master’s, in face-to-face classrooms. That meant catching buses and trains to and from my home or dormitory. I defied all the dire prognostications about my safety and well-being. Today, I’m a published journalist and audio producer.
Yes, I’ve lost my way at times – and found it again. Yes, I have come close to being hit by a car more times than I’m eager to say – and never been hit by one. And when people ask me, “Aren’t you afraid to be out on your own?” the answer to me is clear: I’d rather flirt with danger and find happiness than cling to safety and be miserable.
Now, marveling at my progress, my uncle exclaims to my aunt, “That boy can see!”
