Category Archives: education and vision impairment

Design de-sign

I love entering an environment that is so cleverly designed that you feel safe and clearly directed, as if an usher were guiding you. Colours, light and acoustics all play a role in how a foyer or room makes you feel. I am not sure if sighted folk are aware of the subtle influence or whether I have just become more cognisant of these elements as my sight has deteriorated.

Recently I went to an exhibition of the final interior design students at the BHC building in Cape Town. Entering an unfamiliar building is always a bit stressful for me, especially on a bright, sunny day, as my eyes take a while to adjust to the new lighting leaving me totally blind for a few minutes – hence the white cane.

On this day, the well lit entrance eased me into the foyer where I was greeted, not by a butler, but by a wide yellow walkway that immediately surprised me and filled me with joy…. maybe a yellow brick road association. The pathway (if that’s what you call it in an indoor setting) began wide and seemed to gather us up and then, it’s flowing lines swayed us towards the front desk. The colour even continued up the desk creating a sense that it was awaiting our greeting. In theme, it was in fact attended by a very sunny lady welcoming us to enjoy the exhibition. At first I couldn’t work out why I felt so safe in a new space . I love the folk I was with and was celebrating their daughter’s talent (who was named top student the following day….brag, brag), but I don’t think I have ever found an unknown space so low vision friendly. The design of the flooring actually guided us along unconsciously … clever, social engineering. I love it.

This kind of design would be so useful for something like a customer service desk in large retail stores. Many people don’t read actual signs, but look for simple pictorial or visual cues to direct them. I love buildings where the tiles, doors and walls are an indication of where to go. Having only peripheral vision, I am very aware of this, especially in places where there are a lot of people moving in different directions … like auditoriums and bus stations. I feel less stressed when the way to a specific place is marked by the change in tiling or denoted by planter boxes or benches. Airports are my favourite (when they are designed well). Large groups of people form all languages and cultures use non-verbal clues as they find out where to go. I love it when there is a tastefully demarcated corridor from the disembarking shute to the conveyer belts where your luggage gets belched out and then the tiles lead you towards the exit.

There is a particular part of a shopping centre in Cape Town that exhausts me, even on quiet days. The floor is so intricately patterned and the lights so busy, that I detour to avoid it completely. If I was a kid in that space I would play up and have a tantrum from sensory overload. My tolerance for shopping has short-circuited there twice. My family know about it so when we walk past there I just pull down my dark glasses from their almost-permanent perching place on my head, whip out my white cane and hold onto the nearest volunteer tricep until we get to a place where they can see the serenity of the clear line between the floor and the wall.

I know that music and temperature subconsciously affect a person’s behavior, but until recently I had not noticed the impact of the visual cues.

In these modern times I know there are certain standards for buildings being ‘accessible’ for persons with disability. There is wheelchair access, being the most important (cos you have to at least be able to get into the building), but I do think there is a lot more that can be tastefully done for making spaces more friendly for low vision folk. This would also include seniors and those with mental challenges who also like to get around as independently as possible.

I really appreciate thoughtfully decorated public spaces that keep people moving in the right direction or waiting patiently with the least possible stress.

Well done to the designers who have achieved this. Like the interiors, they are not just pretty facades, but clever subliminal experts.

Love, life and a feline fur ball

I never used to like cats… but then I never had the experience of growing up with one. Dogs were easier for me as I am somewhat of a control freak, love to do things my way and loved training our ridge-back to enjoy doing  what I thought was necessary. Dogs love to obey and they cannot hide their joy of being in your presence

Then I met Milly- a little stray kitty who was found on the streets of Langebaan where she had been terrorised by children… We think she was about 10 weeks old when my daughter got her and this little fur ball began to train me!

She loved to be loved and cuddled and fussed over, but unlike a dog, she did not ask for the attention, she just received it as if we were privileged to give it. Stroking her little head ignited a guttural rumble of satisfaction and she revelled in the affection so lavishly bestowed on her.  I never saw such a creature so confidently assured that she was alive to be loved.

One weekend after being out, we arrived home and she was not there to greet us. Eventually we found her on our blood covered bed. She had a huge gash on her hind leg and she hissed with pain when we tried to pick her up. Her back and hips were damaged and her tail was hanging limp. We think she may have been caught by a dog or in the motorised garage door…

To cut a long story short, she had layers of stitches in her leg and was put on medication for a sub located vertebra. We were not sure if the injury would ever heal. She spent the next two weeks hiding under the bed or in my hubby’s cupboard, too sore to come out and very reticent of people.  She still responded to gentle touch and as I lay on the floor talking soothingly to her, she purred like a massy Ferguson tractor.

As a person with a disability, I learned two things. Both of these lessons touched a deep nerve in me and tested what I thought about my life.

1             Our cat was loveable just because she was alive. If she had ended up being disabled, but still able to receive love then her life was still valuable. I am valuable just because I am alive and able to receive and respond to love.
2              It was not her owners fault; no loving pet owner would ever hurt their cat to teach them a lesson. My disability is not the fault of a loving creator – either he does not love or I have a warped belief system. (More about that journey later) Life is full of troubles, but we have been given the spirit to choose how we walk through them.

I was challenged about my thinking about myself and value and love. In short, I was edu-CAT-ed by an injured kitty!

 

 

 

Remember the school nurse?

Every second year in Primary School the department of education had a health official who would come to do a health check on every child to see that we were meeting our developmental milestones. In the junior years the boys and girls were lined up in our underwear to have our turn being prodded and poked. Once it

was on the day that I did not wear a vest …. How embarrassing for me … and I felt so sorry for the boys having their check up in front of the girls.

Eyes and ears were tested regularly which, in itself, was a good thing (when we could keep our tunics on).  The problem for me came in when I learned that I had a retinal degenerative disease in both eyes. My parents got me, and my 2 siblings, the best help from eye specialists, but there was nothing more to be done for us medically.  We just did our best to cope as well as we could in mainstream schooling. The teache

rs were very helpful, my parents kept in communication with the school, but the school nurse was a differen

t lady every time. I got tired of explaining that, “yes” I did know that I was very short-sighted and, “Yes” it was a serious condition. By the time I was in grade 6, I didn’t have the energy to discuss the whole thing from scratch. I quite enjoyed and also pitied the shocked concern from a well-meaning professional. In order to save them the trauma of breaking terrible news to a child and to save a very intense conversation, I just learned the eye chart off by heart. I got the giggles when I had to pretend to read and when she pointed to another place on the chart my friends had to whisper the first letter so that I would know which line to recite.

In hindsight I don’t think this was helpful for accurate statistics for the health or education department

….in fact, a bit short sighted …but fun!  I am however grateful for the schools that accommodated me in what is now called inclusive education.

In Matric many of us went to apply for teaching or nursing because it was a good way to get a study bursary and you were granted a job for 4 years afterwards. We went as a group  to the department of health and li

ned up fully clad with our jars of ‘apple juice’ , said ,”Aaah” and did the ear and eye test with  the same school nurse that had visited us.  Unfortunately, I had forgotten the eye chart, so although I was fit and bright, I was denied access because I was disabled. I wasn’t’ put out about it then and so, with some scrimping and scraping from my parents, a financial windfall and a scholarship, I went on to do my BA Hons. It was only after working part time in a private school for a couple of years  that my headmaster fought, on principle (or should I say principal),  to get the Department to recognise me as a qualified teacher. I was grateful for the justice of his action.

E  F  P  T  O  Z  L  P  E  D  P  E  C  F  D

iSight or iSee

iSight or iSee

 

isightI recently attended a mobility training course to learn how to get around more independently as a visually impaired person. It required that I learned how to use a mobility cane – an extra-long cane with a rotating golf ball at the tip (so you get extra notice when you are about to fall into a cover-stolen manhole) as opposed to a symbol cane, a shorter stick which merely reminds others that you are a person who has full permission to act slightly strangely at times (like using a magnifier to see a till slip or walking past a friend without greeting them).

Shortly after this, a close friend of mine found an iPad that had been dropped in the street.  In her good citizen quest to find the owner she had to make a trip to the iStore in Canal walk. That day I was feeling down about a health issue, and was pondering on how precious life is.  So when the opportunity arose I grabbed the chance to get out, enjoy time with a friend, changed my plans and offered to go along for the drive.

I took along my new cane and was excited to try out my fresh skills in an unfamiliar environment.   I felt really free just walking from the car into the building without putting strain on my always confusing vision.  We found the relevant shop and, bolstered by my new found confidence, I asked her if she was up to a bit of fun. She giggled and said , “Go for it”, so I held onto her elbow, kept my shades on and she led the way to the counter at the back of the store where two attendants were waiting . I asked, “Is this the iStore? “when the chap said yes, I announced politely, “I would like to buy some eyes”.
There was a serious and awkward silence and then we burst out laughing.  The guys then joined in – I think very relieved at not having to make an appropriate response. We eventually got onto our real errand.

I was reminded that life with a disability is not as tragic as a life where you cannot see hope. There is no option to buy ‘iSight’, but there is always an option to choose how ‘iSee’.

P.S.I admire all things Apple and, in my opinion, an iPhone is a brilliantly helpful assistive device for any blind or blindish person… even without using the accessibility functions.

P.P.S. Apologies for any emotional trauma caused to the iStore staff.

 

Change rooms

 

Two Blue Male Figures Lifting And Carrying Away A Tan Couch Whil

Yes, this can mean two things, the action or the place.
This story, kind of includes both meanings – the gym has change rooms and also they decided to change rooms.

I arrived as usual on the top floor of the gym and immediately realised that something was different. It sounded empty and echoed more than usual and the light from the north window, which is my normal landmark, was somehow brighter. I stood still for a while to just calm myself and was slightly annoyed that a change had caught me so off guard. . There were 2 young girls standing close by so I asked them if they could spot a gym instructor. Eventually a guy came to help me and I asked him to please introduce me to the changes.

Seeing my symbol cane, he reached for my wrist to lead me around. I enthusiastically thanked him for his assistance but realised that if I didn’t act quickly, I would be joyfully dragged about by the arm.  I said, “It would be more helpful for me to hold onto your arm and follow you. (Plus he was a gym instructor so the biceps gave a gorgeous grip :))

He was very helpful and I took note of the new position of the equipment stands and memorised the potential hazards. He was very apologetic about their being no mirrors in the stretch area. I insisted that it made no difference to me at all – I just glance at the papered wall and imagine a beautiful, slim young lady looking back at my nearly fifty, well built frame.  Perception can be a whole lot friendlier than actual vision!

With visual impairment, much of your sight  relies on the presumption that everything is in the same place as it was the last time you ‘saw ‘it .  A lot of vision is actually visualisation. For example, a round object above the centre of a doorway is likely to be a clock.
So if you have a family member who is losing vision, it is important to realise the stress of going to a new place or making changes without explain it before hand. Surprises are not generally that fun for a visually impaired person (Understated).

This seemingly insignificant incident reminded me how emotionally securing it is to go to the same place, via the same route so that you can visualize yourself in that environment. I have spent years trying to pretend that I can see perfectly, but it is not helpful in a world where the most constant element is change.

Note to self: keep things as constant as possible and when unexpected changes occur, swallow your pride and ASK FOR HELP … in the way that I need it!

Note to beloved family: the wooden spoons belong on the right hand side of the second drawer!

Young and free or young and disillusioned.?

June 16 Youth DayTwenty years ago, I would never have imagined where my life would be today. I am so grateful, but still have a tomorrow with decisions and relationships and choices that will affect where I am in twenty years time. I believe that eternity is in the hearts of all mankind, but am fascinated by the routes that many people’s lives take …and how they have arrived at this point, with unexpected twists and detours.

When I consider many of the great heroes in the scriptures, they never had a cooking clue where they would land up one day. Like Joseph, the young upstart, with amazing dreams of greatness who found himself falsely accused and abandoned in jail. He must have wanted to just give up as it would have felt so unfair. His relationships with his brothers were destroyed; he was separated from his beloved father and exiled in a strange land. . I know I would have felt like giving up and even scoffed at the stupidity of childhood dreams. And yet, after years of overcoming hardship and being faithful in the tasks he was given, his breakthrough came. In hindsight it was probably the difficult lessons that he learned in those tough times that gave him the tenacity and single-mindedness to accomplish the things that he did as the second in charge of Egypt.

In listening to the memoirs of Nelson Mandela I saw too how his struggles with unfair incarceration and pure injustice, placed him in a position to decide if this hardship would break him or make him. These tough decisions also shaped the strength of character that was required to lead a nation out of hatred into unity.

When I hear the dreams that young  people have and notice the ease with  which they become despondent with the lack of fulfilment of these ideals, , I wonder if we have, in our endeavour  to encourage our children to dream, sold them a cheap and easy message that wont   stress them into greatness.

With increase opportunities for education and the way we have encouraged our young people to dream big, I fear we have failed to mention how tough the road can be. The bigger the dream the steeper the journey can be. If their gifts and skills are more important than their character, they are likely to get disillusioned and disappointed. If we mentor the next generation by telling the stories of our mistakes and failures, injustice and hard times, they may have the courage to risk and fail rather than not risking at all.

Have we really given them the true reflection of what it means to be great?

Work is a privilege, not a right, and it is meant to be hard otherwise there would be no progression and no satisfaction. (We all have work to do … whether we get paid in money or not). In the same vain, if necessity is the mother of invention, then we will not move forward in creative innovations if we have no difficulties and no need.

So I think that, in South Africa at the moment, whilst there is plenty of need, there is also plenty of opportunity for our nation to grow in strength and creativity.

Let’s encourage and support our young people to take the narrow paths, with strong moral conviction, and build meaningfully, not just into themselves, but into our families and communities. Let’s promote spending a bit of time and money on their EQ ( emotional quotient) and not just on their IQ(intellectual quotient).May they be the type of parents they maybe never had, be the teachers they missed out on, be the leaders that they would like to follow and make this the society they have always longed to live in.

I love the quote from Kung Fu Panda where the teacher says to Mo,” the past is history, the future is unknown and today is a gift … that is why it is called the present”. Go next generation! Write a new story for this great country.

 

Bussed or Busted?

My worldview on transport was largely shaped by my cultural upbringing.
I grew up in a privileged, middle class area where it was the norm to go to school, get a matric, go to the army or qualify with a diploma or degree, get a low ranking job at the bottom of the career ladder, get a small salary and then buy your first ‘skadonky’ car (for non south Africans it means a beat up piece of metal with 4 generally round wheels with a generally working engine). Private transport was merely part of a step of growing up and learning responsibility. This is why most of the people I know drive private vehicles. And so, being a vision impaired non-driver, it is only with the help of my very kind friends and family, that I seldom have the need to use public transport. I try to arrange lifts that fit in with where my friends are likely to go.

A few weeks ago I had to give a talk in the middle of Cape Town… which is about 50kms out of the way of where any of my friends would be going. So, I decided to make this an adventure on public transport.

The only person I had to put out of his way was my beloved husband who I dragged out of bed to drop me off at the local bus station.  He is very brave and trusting to let his adrenalin-junkie, partially sighted wife go gadding about on buses and taxis.

Before I began the trip I had planned the route and tried to memorise the route numbers and directions. I always travel with my white cane  as it gives me permission to ask stupid  questions and  I also reminded myself that if God is always with me then I can never be lost on my own.

I want to give a ‘thumbs up’ to various strangers who helped me on the day:

I spent the first hour with other head-bobbers, who were busy with various activities to fake wakefulness, and others who quite blatantly slept.  We all perked up as the bus turned off the N1 into the business district.  I stood up to get off at the next stop, but the bus kept going and so I landed up getting off at the following bus stop.

Luckily I got off with other passengers as I was disorientated. I think it was quite scary for them seeing a woman with a white cane asking for directions.

First thumbs up-   A chap showed me which way to walk towards the connecting bus station and, thanks to Cape Town’s access friendly pedestrian crossings, with beepers on the traffic lights; I managed to get safely across 3 lanes of traffic. As I approached the entrance to the next bus station, where I usually follow the textured paving to the turnstiles, there was a temporary barrier which had been put up for the famous cycle race.

Once more I was disorientated and once more a passer by came to my rescue. My second thumbs up goes to a young girl who could see me acting confused and showed me the way in. (I think she may have thought, ’what is this silly blind person doing travelling on her own?’ I don’t think she would have expected the answer to be, ‘having a whole lot of fun’.)

As I headed on in, I asked a person (who happened to be a security guard) where my bus left from as I had never been on this particular route before. He took me along and put me on the wrong bus. I had studied the route before I left home and so realised that I was not exactly going in the right direction. I asked the passenger next to me and then laughed when I realised I was on the wrong bus. I knew that I was not lost, just temporarily misplaced!

The kind passenger, who gets my third thumbs up, spoke to the driver and then explained to me that I could catch a connecting bus from the next stop. She made sure that I connected with the marshal at the next stop and I happily, and eventually, got to where I needed to be.

Who says commuting into town is boring?

I am so grbus linegrateful for kind passengers and would publicly like to apologise for any emotional damage I may have caused to fellow commuters who may have perceived me as a desperate, friendless, disabled lady…. Meanwhile I was just a VIP (vision impaired person) on a thrilling, independence escapade. I was bussed, not busted!

Mindsets and jelly moulds

jelly mouldI was thinking about this word ‘mindset’ and how wonderfully it describes the foundational thoughts in our lives that bed themselves down and set, like concrete. They determine how we see life and are created and re-enforced by the values, the culture, and the experiences in our environment in which we grow up. I think that education is meant to challenge our mindsets and prod at the possibility that the world could be different to how we perceive it.

Changing our mindsets is much more difficult than changing our minds.

It is very comfortable and securing to do the same thing the same way everyday as it takes away the necessity to make a deliberate choice. Doing routine tasks in a new way can be very taxing and stressful. Some people even get upset or put out when someone sits in their usual seat at their favourite coffee shop or in church. Silly things that don’t have any real importance become a stabilising comfort to us. No wonder it is called ‘set in my ways’.

Changing our minds is like putting different flavours of jelly in a mould, but changing our mindset means we need to identify the mould and choose a more beneficial one.

Related to low vision     

It is for this reason that when a person starts losing their vision progressively, it takes a lot of emotional energy to carry on doing what they have always done, but in a new way. It is especially challenging for older folk as they have done the same things in the same way for so long. It is stressful and sometimes frustrating, but if you change your mindset by breaking up that foundation of understanding how life ought to be, the limitations are removed and each difficulty can be seen as a puzzle waiting to be solved. We need to be flexible in our expectations and open to creative solutions for seemingly insignificant tasks. One example is, trying to put toothpaste on a toothbrush….because that’s what we do twice a day (hopefully). For those who don’t know, you have to hold the brush so close to your face and it is difficult to aim the white paste onto the white bristles without flicking some into your eye. Why not just put the toothpaste straight into your mouth.

I was finding social interactions more and more stressful because my ability to see faces had deteriorated quite substantially over the previous four years and I had been bumping into things and ‘losing ‘ things a little more often than in the past. All my life I had tried to not stand out as being abnormal in any way. In hindsight, I was not doing myself or others any favours. I identified my mindset as: ‘fitting in is a way to look competent’, then I chose to change it to ‘who needs impressing? ‘I needed to address my own needs above what I thought others might think. This meant picking up my white symbol cane. It was difficult at first because I knew that people would respond to me according to their mindset towards a disabled person – avoidance because of lack of experience or fear of me being a beggar, pity and condescension or glorifying me as some sort of saint. I decided to go ahead anyway and if people see me out and about with my cane, identifying me as having vision problems, then maybe that can challenge their mindset as to what a vision impaired person is supposed to do…. and I just call it an on-the-go public awareness campaign. I appreciate my family supporting me in this community education.

I challenge other low vision sufferers to embrace their needs and set yourself free.

Happy setting

Run, run, as fast as you can …

In High School I discovered that I could run! Previously, the furthest and fastest I had ever run was about 300 meters – the distance from the Primary School to my house. That was the day I got to school and realised that my shorty pyjama trousers were sticking out below my school dress. I had to get home and back before the school bell rang. I thought this only happened in nightmares, but it was my first middle distance event.

Anyway, back to high school. My brother, who was a distance runner and my sister, who was a senior then, coaxed me into signing up for an 8km fun run. I did it because I was entering ‘big school’ and wanted to please them. I was the 5th girl home. Their girl friends on the athletics team were so proud of me and I had no choice but to join the cross country team. From then on I loved to run. It was a way to be out in nature, breathe fresh, Johannesburg traffic fumes and detox from my age appropriate teenage moodiness. Also, the faster I ran, the more my blind spots were covered and the more liberated I felt from tasks requiring visual acuity.

By then I knew that I had Macular Degeneration and was also trying to prove to myself , and my parents and teachers, that I could cope well enough to not have to enrol at a boarding school for the visually impaired. I was such a home bird; there was no way I was going to leave home. Denial suited me perfectly as facing loss is very painful and only for the mature (which I was not). Running became my escape …running from pending vision loss and running to cope with stress and running to achieve my own goals so that I would be seen as capable. It all sounds a bit like Forest Gump… “Run Jenny run”. Anyway, it was fun …

…until I was the first to finish the race. I had no one to follow and I could not see where the right chutes were for my age and category. It was embarrassing to sprint to the finish line and break the tape, only to be told that I was at the wrong finisher’s table: “you are not a senior boy”.cross country wide

I don’t know why I did not ask for help. I think my teachers thought I was pulling their leg that I could not see the signs. At least at Provincial level I was never first! There was always a bouncing, pony tail to follow.

Running opened the door for me to appreciate many beautiful parts of our country. There are secret gardens, green belts and forest trails tucked away in the middle of highveld cities and towns. Later I ran for EP (as it was called then) and so got to see beautiful parts of the Eastern Cape countryside – even racing in a team against the Old Apple Express steam train!

Through a particular running event I learned that achievement is very satisfying and gloriously addictive, but is not the key to feeling better about oneself and one’s value in society.

This significant race has been an allegory of my life. It was the final 1500m track event at the top 11 English schools’ meeting. I had won this event at every athletics meeting that season, so was under pressure to perform well and I anticipated breaking the record at this particular event. Those were the days when the good athletes wore spikes, but I never could get the hang of them and so ran barefoot – not quite as fast as Zola Budd! We ran as a team of 5 and each team had their own tactics. I was one of the targets to beat so we had our protective moves. There was a lot of tension and a bit of jostling at the start line, but finally we all got off on a sprint. Our pace setter was out front and I was immediately boxed in by two runners in front of me , two alongside me – one slightly ahead and one slightly behind – and someone on my heels. You get used to this kind of crowding and bumping each other, but I got a deliberate shoulder shove and as I faltered the girl behind me wearing spikes accidently (or maybe not) stepped on the back of my calf and left a long deep bloody scratch down to my heel. As I fell, I bailed out onto the outer lanes so I would not be trampled on. I got up and checked my leg. I was so mad!! By this time the others were out of my sight, I realised that I had not stepped out of the track and so could legally still continue the race. I decided then to finish as best I could. My indignation and sense of injustice and pain kicked me into high speed and I charged after the pack who was about 200m ahead. I cried and ran my guts out. I heard later that the whole school was on their feet cheering me on. It felt great passing the athletes one by one. I was so focussed on catching up to the next girl that I forgot to count the laps and I was relying on the bell ringer to announce the last lap. I only had one girl to pass.

She was about 10 meters in front of me so I paced myself to overtake her at the 300m mark. I didn’t realize that it was the end of the race until the girl in front of me stopped running at the finish line and the track official stepped out to stop me. He was very apologetic that they had forgotten to ring the bell. It was such a crescendo of mixed emotion – disappointment at being denied the chance to break the record, indignation at the injustice of the bell situation and pride at knowing that I had done my absolute best in the situation.Run 2

In my life race (as probably in yours too), I have been boxed in by vision loss, knocked down temporarily by breast cancer and even today, as I write this, I have been elbowed by the confirmation that my peripheral vision is also now affected. It sucks!

There is nothing like disappointment for figuring out what is really important in life. No trophy, medal or accolade can take the place of knowing deep down that you are valuable just because you are created alive and are cherished by a loving God.

I will get up and go on. I have a loving family and supportive friends who are cheering me on and I don’t care where I come in this race. It is a joy just to run it.

At band practise tonight we sang a song from Jesus culture “Your love never fails” and one verse made me think about this blog. Nothing can separate, Even as I run away, Your love never fails, I know I still make mistakes, But your mercies are new for me every day, Your love never fails”(Romans 8.35)

Join me -don’t give up!

… and where the heck is that gingerbread man?

‘On the ball ‘

I tried my hand at tennis when I was 10. I was good at all the individual skills like bouncing a ball on the racket, throwing the ball up for a serve and sprinting around the court, but returning a ball over the net was literally ‘hit and miss’. Not understanding that I had a vision problem, it puzzled me why I could not consistently get the ball onto the racket strings. It was as though my racket had no strings at all! I practiced at home against a wall and my friend across the road taught me a useful ball skills game called sevens that I thought would rectify my frustrations. I played it for hours on end and with little success on the tennis court. Later that summer I broke my arm and was quite relieved that I could not play tennis and I didn’t have to give up by choice.

For 2 years I unconsciously avoided ball sport in favour of gross motor skills and spent a lot of time upside down walking on my hands, climbing up trees, playing in the pool till the sun went down or careering around the suburb on a bicycle with friends. In those days TV only started at 7pm so being active was a good way to avoid homework. I have many fond memories of the antics we got up to (thanks to my friends at Rembrandt Park Primary School)

In standard four I tentatively signed up to play hockey – there were no strings on a hockey stick. I loved it! I played in a forward position so as long as the ball was on my stick close to my feet, or moving into my peripheral vision, I could generally see it and the goalposts were more of a peripheral vision thing anyway so I had an idea where they were. I was a little too successful for my own liking as I landed up being the only standard 4 girl, and not a confident one at that, in a team of standard 5‘s. The following year was much more fun as my friends were also in the team.

hockey

Initially I did not sign up for High School hockey. I was very fit from running (probably next blog) so when I took up hockey again 3 years later, I did well. I could not see the ball on the other side of the field, but by inference, the ‘people shaped smudges’ that moved the quickest was where the ball must be. I ran after anything that was white and moving on a green field. White fantail pigeons and wind swept litter were at risk! By this stage, my team mates would call my name before they passed the ball to me which was really helpful. In my Standard 9 year I made the Nuggets Schools Hockey team and landed up going on tour with strangers who knew nothing about my sight problem. That in itself was scary as I was really afraid of getting separated from the team. I never even went to the bathroom alone. . Oh Shucks, I wish I had been honest with them and myself. It was only when we played an evening game in Durban, on dry, brown grass under yellow floodlights with a yellow ball that I had to tell the coaches that I could not play because I could not see the ball. The coaches were annoyed and I think they felt betrayed that I had not told them about my eyesight problem before. If I had made them aware of this we may have been able to play with a red ball. The following year I did not even sign up for trials as the social stresses and explaining the situation was just too taxing for me.

Somehow, in my matric year, I was picked as captain for the first hockey team, but always had to ask the vice-captain where the opposing captain was so that we could do the coin toss – I couldn’t even see the ‘flipping’ coin!! It was super ridiculous!! How could my pretence have been so far from my reality?

Playing ball sport is still fun for me … especially if the ball is big, bold and moving across my vision! My love for sport was also the impetus for my studies and later employment. I even used the game called “sevens” in teaching ball skills to junior school children.  I have no regrets that I played ball sports, but only that I was not ‘on the ball’ enough about coping with the reality of my fading sight.

So, my message to any VIP’s (visually impaired persons) reading this is: continue to throw yourself into whatever you enjoy, but be open, be honest and unapologetic about letting others into your world. This is better for building trusting relationships and there are no Brownie points for being a lone hero!