I promised myself that if I were given a space to advocate from, I wouldn’t be defined by flashy speeches nor protests on Harris Promenade, but rather, by giving the microphone to voices from the community who are never heard. Sharing the stories integral to many of us, yet never told. In this column, I intend to do exactly that.
Meet Donnavon. When he was 5, his brother, this writer, was born with Glaucoma. In the media, the spotlight is mainly on the parents who, doubtlessly, do admirable work caring for blind and visually impaired children, but what about the brothers? The sisters? They were only kids with hopes and dreams about what they were going to do with their siblings; alas, their dreams were shattered due to circumstances out of their control. Donnavon talked about growing up with me, and from this point, I will present his words.
I mostly remember that day, but it’s fuzzy. It was a cold, rainy day, and our mother came home with you wrapped up, holding on with all her life. First thing that hit me was how you looked like me, and I very clearly remember feeling… warm, if that makes sense. Proud, even. We were going to do everything together. The next thing I noticed was the colour of your eyes. They looked kinda blue? Gray? Aside from the colour was their look. Like a fogged-up window.
Months later, I was at Grandmommy’s. Our parents came to pick me up. We bought food and then went home. But I vividly remember thinking there was a heaviness in the car ride. You were sleeping, but the radio was off, Daddy looked tense, and Mah looked… unsettled. When we got home, they waited for me to finish eating, bathe and let me watch cartoons. I liked Dexter’s Lab back then. Without warning, Daddy took off the TV, and Mah said in a voice that, thinking about it again, seems unnatural in how much she managed mixing up so many conflicting emotions, “Donny, we need to have a talk”.
I heard what they were saying, and I don’t think I was a dotish child, so I understood the implications. But it was exactly that understanding that put me in problems. I was alone up to that point, and I looked forward to playing sports with you, but that was out for now. Fortunately, Mah dropped a lifeline at the end:
“Plenty damage already happen to the nerves, but he could still see a little bit.”
Great! At least there were things we could do, but it’ll take lots of trial and error.
Living with you, I realised fast that I had to work within your means. I couldn’t make you work around me; instead, I had to figure out how you functioned, saw and understood the world, then adapt things for you. I think that helped me out now in a lot of ways. We had to rely on our imagination more. Our yard served as all kinds of locations. Antarctica, Chicago, Namik, you name it. I couldn’t stick fight with you, unfortunately, so we had to exercise our brains more than we would’ve otherwise. People didn’t bully you growing up. I think the other children grew up with you, and they learnt and gained an understanding.
It still surprises me how… dumb people are about this. Young and old, understanding that you could see a little or be functional at all is a big ask. I just.. give up, and eventually, they observe you, become amazed, then figure it out themselves.
I’d like to carry you out to places now that we’re adults, but my main concerns are your mobility and I know loud noises discombobulate you and also make it hard for us to communicate. People are also inconsiderate, for example, walking without any care for anybody else, blocking up walkways and so on. That’s something that has, and will keep, annoying me.
If you weren’t blind, I think I’d keep the morals I have. Upbringing plays a bigger factor. I don’t help blind people cross the road just because my brother’s that way. But I think growing up with you gave me a different perspective. I talked about the imagination thing, but I think the main takeaway was learning to work with people within their means. That doesn’t mean forcing limits on them; you’re very capable, but there are some things that would normally be impossible for you, but can be adapted. In other words, don’t dumb things down for people, but be realistic.
If some 5-year-old is out there now with a new blind sibling, what would I tell them? I’ve said this plenty of times already, but “Work within their means”, and love them just as if they weren’t blind.
This column is supplied in conjunction with the T&T Blind Welfare Association.
Headquarters: 118 Duke Street, Port-of-Spain, Trinidad
Email: ttbwa1914@gmail.com
Phone: (868) 624-4675
WhatsApp: (868) 395-3086
