The other day i went to a neighborhood- and in this neighborhood of housing block flats there once stood a school building right in the center of it. By the time I was there, it was no longer a spanking new one, and neither was it one of those popular schools in the regular sense of the word.
Still, a school building IS a school building, and a building as such can be a real school for those that learn within it, learn about it, and learn from it.
It was a real school. Every weekday at a certain hour the students turned up at the main entrance, ferried by parents or fetched by school buses. There were regular school hours, there were regular lessons and classes with teachers. There were lunch hour and time allocated for physical activities and there were administrative staff and school authorities in the compound.
This was a place that instituted learning through books and learning aids. This was a place where students were taught the joy of interaction and were encouraged to interact. This was a place where they got music. and they got movement. This was a place that belonged entirely to them, a place that was their world Mondays to Fridays from this hour to that hour.
Still, a school building IS a school building, and a building as such can be a real school for those that learn within it, learn about it, and learn from it.
It was a real school. Every weekday at a certain hour the students turned up at the main entrance, ferried by parents or fetched by school buses. There were regular school hours, there were regular lessons and classes with teachers. There were lunch hour and time allocated for physical activities and there were administrative staff and school authorities in the compound.
This was a place that instituted learning through books and learning aids. This was a place where students were taught the joy of interaction and were encouraged to interact. This was a place where they got music. and they got movement. This was a place that belonged entirely to them, a place that was their world Mondays to Fridays from this hour to that hour.
And there were also the occasional outsider(s) in the school.
In this school there was a girl who liked books and with every outsider that came to interact with her, she would lead them to the class library and flip through the picture books- at super speed. If you wanted to know whether she knew what she was reading, you'd have to throw away the grammatical exactions- basically, the ands and the fors- and arrow straight for the keywords. And she'd tell you the story- in the way she saw it... in the way she understood it.
In this school too there was a girl who had the firmest of grips on your offered forearm when you walked alongside her and who brushed her strong white teeth with gusty delight.
This was a school with boys and girls and tweens who screamed with delight at nearly everything and whom you were supposed to listen carefully to distinguish what it were they were saying.
This was a school with those who, when music came on, sat swaying to the rhythm whilst their classmates sprang up from their seats and did a little happy jiggle.
And then one day they were told they had to move.
And then it would not turn out to be the only time.
And then it would not turn out to be the only time.
The years of special needs education have passed by, and today, far from silent are they, for they have appeared in the limelight a few times. Once, proudly marching in a contingent on national TV, once, proudly performing at a fund-raising event in a downtown park, and yet... yet... this limelight, was it what they asked to be thrust into?
There have been many an opinion. Opinions abound when things like that happen, and certainly, to and fro it has gone, from people directly involved, from people indirectly involved, from people who were there, from people who were not there; all of them, giving their two cents' worth, some saying that this was done right, others disagreeing with them, saying that they're wrong, and so on and so forth.
But no one actually asked them what they thought of it.
I'm referring to the stars of the performance themselves. What of them? Let's take this as it happened: A well-rehearsed performance- one that with all their hearts and soul they performed (for that is the only way they exist). Now, take their performance, interrupt it with an agenda from someone else's, whoever it might be, and there, let's leave the agenda of the performers in complete ruins, whom have now been called by organisers as a 'group of teenagers and young adults with Down's Syndrome and other intellectual challenges..."
Now that's ironic.
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| fruits of the earth |
There have been many an opinion. Opinions abound when things like that happen, and certainly, to and fro it has gone, from people directly involved, from people indirectly involved, from people who were there, from people who were not there; all of them, giving their two cents' worth, some saying that this was done right, others disagreeing with them, saying that they're wrong, and so on and so forth.
But no one actually asked them what they thought of it.
I'm referring to the stars of the performance themselves. What of them? Let's take this as it happened: A well-rehearsed performance- one that with all their hearts and soul they performed (for that is the only way they exist). Now, take their performance, interrupt it with an agenda from someone else's, whoever it might be, and there, let's leave the agenda of the performers in complete ruins, whom have now been called by organisers as a 'group of teenagers and young adults with Down's Syndrome and other intellectual challenges..."
Now that's ironic.
If they were teenagers and young adults, then they'd be able to have a voice. They'd be able to express their disappointment and their disheartenment at their rudely-interrupted performance which they trained so d*** hard for.
But their Voices I have not heard.
And if they were children in terms of intellect to which they cannot speak for themselves but need our voices to speak on their behalf, then should we not accept them as such, respect their efforts and provide them the protection and restitution all children so need?
In that case, then, why the interruption, when agenda or no agenda, we should all have been celebrating the moment together with them?
UNICEF does state that children with disabilities should be allowed to speak for themselves and express their thoughts and feelings. but today we hear their silence still. All we know is that they were obviously afraid but what they were truly afraid of we can merely venture a guess. What they actually felt when their performance was disrupted we can only speculate, which then begets the question...
We the society, how do we perceive thee, the special needs person?
We the society, how do we perceive thee, the person with disabilities in the mental and physical facets?
And do we protect you even whilst we try to protect ourselves?
I was one of the many occasional visitor(s) that passed through the gates of COH all those years ago. At fourteen, I entered their gates as a volunteer. At fifteen, I moved on. At eighteen, I went back, for a very short while. I wished I'd stayed a bit longer. Maybe then I might have still gotten to see her, and ask about her.
The school building is no more now. In its place there stands a grassy hill, but I remember the two girls, the teachers, and some of the students. And as not knowing where they are now, there's just this I can say:
*how have you, my dear? how have you grown?
thirteen when i knew you.
eighteen when i knew you.
late i am, i know, but still i would love to know.
to see the world from your eyes.
to hear the world from your ears.
to feel the world from your hearts.
and if i may so be,
to be a guest into the inner world that you so enthusiastically try to share.
for champions you are.
warriors too you are.
in a world where confusion exists abound, more resilient you are (what do i know?) i should think.
and please, I would love to hear
not your silence. but your art.*