Quarterly Publication of the
National Federation of the Blind of Minnesota, Inc.
100 East 22nd Street
Minneapolis, Minnesota 55404
Voice: (612) 872-9363
Web site: www.nfbmn.org
Tom Scanlan, Editor
Volume LXVII, Number 3, Spring 2003
WE ARE CHANGING
WHAT IT MEANS
TO BE BLIND
She Shares Unique View of the World
Check Your Oil? Service Your Cane?
My Triple Life As Worker, Student, and Federationist
Convention Alert!
Blind? Me? Heaven forbid. Never. How many of us
have emphatically denied our blindness when directly confronted by the
question, "Are you blind?" If we're honest, all of us at some time or
other have denied the truth in an effort to hide from blindness. Why have
we done this? Speaking for myself, you can think privately as you wish, I
grew up in an environment that said you have value in direct proportion to
the amount of eyesight you have. Those with the most vision had the
assignments requiring moving around, doing heavy work, serving as sighted
guide to a person with little or no eyesight; the general attitude was
that blindness was shameful and embarrassing. That is why when I
graduated from high school and became a rehabilitation
client/customer/whatever the acceptable label of the day might be, I
wanted nothing to do with a consumer organization. For many years the
rehab system reinforced my negative feelings toward blindness and joining
an organization of blind people by such comments as "Consumer
organizations believe in social activities only; they have dances and card
parties; the image of a blind man is someone sitting in a rocking chair
with his stereo on one side and his talking book player on the other;
besides, consumer organizations condone begging (this in reference to
white cane drives). Maybe I'm dating myself. All that was enough to turn
me off. And when the day came when I could no longer deny my blindness
and had no support group to measure myself, I stood alone in those dark
days until the day I met the National Federation of the Blind at a
national convention in my home town. My outlook has changed one hundred
percent since then.
As the executive director of a residential training
center serving blind people and as a member of a consumer organization, I
have had occasion to give careful thought to the role the Federation plays
in the rehab process our students are going through. With the Federation
as our guide, we have determined to address attitudes toward blindness as
well as skills in using alternative techniques, building up confidence and
dealing with public attitudes toward blindness and empowering blind people
to take charge of their lives. We have chosen a direction that promotes
the idea that it is respectable to be blind. We encourage our students to
identify with the blind community, while participating fully with the
sighted in the broader community. We hire carefully-selected, competent
blind people to serve as role models for our students; sighted role models
are hired and trained to create a positive real-world environment with
high expectations for students. The Federation serves as a ready resource
for program participants as they work toward resolving blindness-related
issues. Thus, our program presents a different approach from that of
other programs in our geographical area and a definite choice for blind
people searching for a program to meet their particular preference.
Three of the four state agency directors I have dealt
with since joining the Federation thirty-two years ago have openly
supported the organized blind movement in their public statements, in
their personal membership in the organization(s), or in their calling upon
the Federation and other consumer organizations when financial problems
arose and support in the state legislature was needed. Only one, the
current director, refuses to acknowledge the existence of the Federation
and other consumer organizations as viable partners in the operation of
the rehab agency serving blind people. I can also tell you that because
of her attitude, the agency has lost much state funding, its services to
children, a greatly-reduced program for serving seniors, a store, and
several direct-service staff. She believes consumers are an interference,
a barrier, and a bother; they slow down the rehab process or the work of
the professional. She has chosen to go it alone with the legislature, and
blind people of the state have lost considerably in the services available
to them. Some professionals in the field of blindness may agree totally
with her. They are convinced that consumer organizations have absolutely
no place at all in work with the blind; some professionals refuse to
discuss the matter at all. Still others of us contend that the Federation
can and should play a significant role in making rehabilitation
successful. It seems that there really is a controversy about the matter,
and with the limited time available, I will consider only some of the cons
with an emphasis on the positive benefits my experience has demonstrated
to me the Federation brings to students in our program.
When people who are blind come to a residential
training center to learn about blindness, they are filled with fear and
insecurity about their prospects for a meaningful and productive life.
Those of us who give tours or meet with new students can make all kinds of
positive statements to give hope that every dream the new student might
have can be realized with proper use of alternative techniques and
building up of self confidence. But it doesn't take a student long to
figure out that this center is a fairly unique environment; everyone is
positive about blindness; the program emphasizes a "can-do" perspective.
There must be something more that is needed to demonstrate that blind
people are successful out there in the big wide world with good jobs and
successful academic careers. They soon begin to ask about employed blind
people, and we have access to hundreds of blind people locally and across
the country who can attest to the fact that blind people are employed and
living happy and constructive lives out in the community. In the
Federation, we can call upon blind people who are teachers at all levels
from childcare workers to college professors, social service workers in
direct case service work to upper-level managers of entire programs,
customer service workers, computer database administrators to upper-level
computer managers, legislators, lawyers, accountants, musicians, farmers,
mechanics, any job to which a student may aspire. This vast resource of
blind people can attest to the need for basic skills required to do their
particular job. A teacher who is blind must be mobile, literate,
resourceful, independent, and capable of taking charge of all teaching
responsibilities. Most people who are employed must be able to do the
same tasks expected of any other employee in a particular field--make
coffee, operate a copy machine or computer, bring treats in turn,
entertain the boss--anything necessary to fit in with other workers in the
business. Encountering blind role models from throughout the employment
spectrum goes a long way in persuading center students that the skills
they are learning do indeed have great relevance and must be taken
seriously, if students are to achieve success in their chosen careers.
They can realize the value of their current training as a step toward that
longed-for job. Meeting successful blind people gives rehab center
students a means of measuring their own skill levels and setting ultimate
goals for achieving individual success. Role models and a means by which
students can measure themselves are two basic reasons for involving
consumer organizations in the rehab process.
Who can argue with success? At Blindness: Learning in
New Dimensions (BLIND), we have tracked our students after
graduation and have found that within one year of completing
adjustment-to-blindness training, eighty-four percent have found
employment and thirteen percent have been accepted into post- secondary
education programs for a total success rate of ninety-seven percent. This
is in a population with a nationwide unemployment rate of seventy-four
percent. This is the result brought about by our partnership with the
Federation.
When students begin their training program, they are
usually very self-absorbed; they think only of themselves and their
personal needs. The Federation has provided a means by which students can
reach beyond themselves to give support, assistance, or encouragement to
others who are blind. They can identify with a community to which they
can give back. They can enjoy a continual contact with blind people for
mutual support, networking, advocacy and ongoing capacity to make
self-measurements and assessments.
This is where the real meaning of empowerment becomes
worthwhile. Another significant fact we have discovered is that of the
graduates of BLIND who maintain contact with the Federation
following completion of training, ninety-seven percent are successful with
employment and pursuing academic goals. We are convinced that our ongoing
contact with the Federation is a major factor in the success our students
enjoy as they move forward in their lives.
When I asked our students what value they saw in
having a contact with a consumer organization such as the Federation
during their training, they said, "It gave me tangible evidence that there
is a clear and obvious difference between those blind people who need
training and those who are moving on with their lives after a good
training program." "The Federation allowed me to see the philosophy we
talk about being lived. It was living proof that the philosophy does
work." "I used to think I was the only one who had problems because of
blindness; now I know that my problems are typical of the problems
everyone who is blind experiences." "The mentoring is invaluable." "The
Federation helped me to see the light at the end of the tunnel." "Why
would you deprive someone of the benefits they can derive from a consumer
organization?" So, you see, students seem to appreciate having access to
the Federation as they experience training at our center.
Cooperative working relationships between
professionals and consumers can exist, and such relationships can be of
extreme benefit in times of political or financial troubles. With a
strong group of vocal consumers out there, the rehab system need not worry
about funding being cut or viable services being withheld. The political
wrangling between consumers and professionals is harmful and unproductive.
If we as professionals in the field of blindness truly are sincere in our
stated goal of empowering blind people, we must acknowledge the common
bond that blind people have with one another in an organized blind
movement, as well as the many benefits available through a cooperative
relationship with a well- organized, philosophically-sound group of people
ready and willing to act collectively on their behalf. We at
BLIND have found our relationship with the Federation to be
helpful and positive, empowering for our students, and a very worthwhile
factor in our
success as a training program.
(BACK TO TOP)
Sometimes, in the course of the mundane acts of my
day--walking down the street, finding a seat on the bus, using stairs,
opening doors--I feel the constancy and magnitude of the need to educate
the public about the capabilities of blind people. Long ago I came to
accept the ever-present possibility that some ordinary, everyday movement
of mine might prompt an anxious passerby to try to protect me or make
something easier for me. I know that the vast majority of such instances
involve people who want to do something good, and I do my best to deal
with them kindly while maintaining my dignity. But sometimes I wonder
inside if blind people's efforts to educate the larger society are having
any effect at all. Will sighted people ever come to understand any of the
reasons why it might be preferable to let a blind stranger go her way
without extra interference? Not long ago, I got an answer.
One day, as I was walking down a hallway in the
building where I work, a man I didn't know said, "excuse me," as if he
wanted to tell me something. For a moment I thought to hurry on, but he
didn't seem anxious, so I was curious and stopped.
"I know you don't know me, but I've been hoping I'd
see you again."
Before I had time to wonder if he was some kind of
stalker, he continued: "About two weeks ago, I saw you walking down this
same hall. I thought you might be about to bump into something, so I
grabbed your arm. That obviously startled you, because you jumped and
jerked your arm away. As I thought about it later, I realized that I had
invaded your space, and I hoped I'd get a chance to apologize to you
sometime."
I had forgotten the incident, but when he recounted
it, it came back to me: I'd been in a hurry to deliver something to an
upstairs office, and he seemed to come out of nowhere and firmly took hold
of my upper arm. Usually, when things like that happen, I remove my arm
from the person's grasp and politely say something like, "thanks, I'm
okay," but in this case, he had startled me so much that I just yanked my
arm out of his hand and scurried on my way without saying anything at all.
I knew he hadn't meant it this way, but I had indeed felt intruded upon.
Would he have done that to a sighted woman?
But here he was now, weeks later, having thought this
through. Many times I had wished someone would just "get it" without my
having to explain it every time. Now that it had really happened, I hardly
knew how to react, but I did manage to express to him how much I
appreciated his thoughtfulness and that I hoped he wouldn't worry about it
anymore.
The exchange lifted my spirits for the rest of the
day. It also helped me remember that, relatively speaking, sighted people
try to assist blind people unnecessarily far less often than they just go
their way and allow blind people to do the same. Even in airports, where
the sight of someone walking independently with a white cane tends to
cause great anxiety, the people who accost us are outnumbered by the
people who just go on about their own business. This proportion is not a
naturally occurring phenomenon; it is the result of the concerted effort
of thousands of blind people--both individually and
collectively--blanketing the country with good information and teaching
people one at a time. My awareness of all my fellow Federationists working
along with me is one of the most comforting things in my life.
A few days after the apology from the man in the hall,
I was boarding a bus on which there was standing room only. A few people
kept offering me their seats, which I refused with a smile and a "thanks."
But they kept insisting, and after a while, the bus driver said, "She's
already said she'd rather stand, now leave her alone." What a contrast to
the times when the bus driver is the one insisting that someone give up
their seat for me. It felt great to have such an ally!
In no way do I believe that our education work is
done. There are still too many blind people without jobs because of
employers' misconceptions ... too many movies that are informed by and
that perpetuate harmful stereotypes, depicting helpless blind people. But
more and more, blind people are gaining and demonstrating the skills and
confidence they need to live freely in the world. And, in turn, society
is beginning to understand that people who are blind have the same kinds
of dreams and hopes, and deserve the same respect and freedom as everyone
else.
(BACK TO TOP)
(Editor's note: Ecolab observed Disability Awareness
Month in October 2002 with several events and activities to help educate
and spread awareness among its employees at the company's headquarters in
St. Paul. This article was published in the company newsletter. A version
also ran on the company's intranet site, Ecolab Express, and was published
in its nationwide magazine. AnnaLisa Anderson is an active member of the
NFB of Minnesota Metro Chapter.)
AnnaLisa Anderson is an Ecolab customer service
representative. She's a college graduate, belongs to a singing group,
enjoys reading and is a "Star Trek" fan. AnnaLisa is also blind. If you
were to ask her to describe herself, AnnaLisa would probably first tell
you that she is blind. It's part of her identity, just like all the other
traits listed here. But only part of it.
"People make assumptions, but just because I'm blind
doesn't mean I'm helpless," AnnaLisa says. "That's the biggest message
blind people want to get across."
AnnaLisa was born in Grantsburg, Wis., a small town
about 75 miles from St. Paul, where her parents still live. She was born
blind, as a result of an infection called toxoplasmosis that her mother
contracted while she was pregnant with AnnaLisa. The organism was likely
transmitted while her mother was cleaning their cat's litter box or from
gardening. "When the infection attacks, it affects whatever is developing
in the fetus at the time," AnnaLisa explains. "I have a lot of scarring on
my retinas. But I was really lucky - it could have been anything."
AnnaLisa has some light perception, although she
explains that it doesn't mean much. She can see the brightness of light,
but she can't see colors or shadows.
Music is an important part of AnnaLisa's life. She
graduated from Northwestern College in Roseville, Minn., with a degree in
music performance with a vocal emphasis. She's a member of VocalEssence, a
choral group that performs around the Twin Cities. "I learn my music by
ear," she says. "I take a tape recorder with me to rehearsal and record
the more difficult stuff. I also have perfect pitch, which helps a lot
with learning by ear."
Certain parts of her day are unique. Each day at
lunch, she takes her guide dog Megan, a people-oriented chocolate Lab,
outside for a walk. Megan has been guiding for AnnaLisa for 11 years, an
exceptional length of time for a guide dog. "She gets very distracted when
other people are around," AnnaLisa says of Megan. "When she's working you
can talk to her, but don't get close enough to pet her.
"Another thing I run into a lot is people see Megan
and I together and think, 'That dog is taking such good care of her.' That
is the biggest misconception. I have to know what I'm doing. She simply
helps me avoid objects in my way. It's not her job to tell me when it's OK
to cross the street."
Instead, AnnaLisa listens to the traffic to determine
when lights change, and moves when the traffic is moving parallel to her.
"It's really easy," she says.
Other daily activities pose more difficulty, though.
"Finding people to help with things like reading my mail and getting a
ride to the grocery store is sometimes a challenge," AnnaLisa says. "I
can't just jump in my car and go, and that's probably the biggest
frustration for me."
Yet she's independent, and lives with her two cats,
Tips and Schatzi, as well as Megan, in her St. Paul condominium.
"If I were to give advice to people if they were to
run into a blind person on the street - more often than not, they're doing
fine and don't need help. There are times when I get lost and feel like an
idiot, just like anyone would if they got lost. What I really like is when
people ask me for directions. That means that they're more accepting of me
and they know I am a competent person."
(Editor's Note: Several photographs were included
with the article.)
PHOTO 1: (AnnaLisa at her computer) AnnaLisa spends
the majority of her day in Ecolab's Customer Service department fielding
calls. On busy days, representatives can take close to 200 calls in one
shift.
PHOTO 2: The Navigator is a box that plugs into
AnnaLisa's computer and outputs the information on the screen to the
Braille display. Although it only reads a half a line at a time,
AnnaLisa's proficiency allows her to move across the screen quickly.
PHOTO 3: Megan, AnnaLisa's guide dog, sniffs her
custom-painted ceramic dog dish, which she received as a gift from the
Customer Service team during last year's celebration of Customer Service
Week.
I really enjoy living in an area where you experience
the change of seasons, for better or worse. I was born in Kansas, lived
several years in Idaho, a couple of years in Missoura (the way the natives
pronounce the state name), and almost nine years in Minneso-o-o-dah (our
native dialect).
I have always wanted to visit Hawaii with its tropical
climate, delicious fruits, warm beaches, and active volcanoes. Two weeks
visit to escape a harsh Minnesota winter in February would be paradise. I
would not like living there year round. The weather forecasters must only
get their excitement from predicting eruptions or hurricanes.
The winter of 1996 in Minneapolis produced an
abundance of snow. The snow plowers do a fantastic job of clearing the
streets. That year, you could walk down the sidewalk and see barriers of
white and brown three-feet high on both sides. It was January, and the
temperature was in the teens (fortunately above zero) as I went to catch a
bus to work.
This was a carbon-fiber cane, and I had only bought it
a couple of years ago at our National Federation of the Blind (NFB)
convention in Detroit. I am impressed with the sensitivity and
lightweight aspects of the carbon-fiber as opposed to the fiberglass
model. The down side, though, is that carbon-fiber does not have as much
flex as fiberglass. All I could do at this point (not expecting to need a
spare) was to make the best of it until I got to work and found some
strong tape.
I did not have any walking between the next transfers,
and only a half a block to work after the last bus. At that time, my
company, Diversified Pharmaceutical Services (now Express Scripts, Inc.)
was located at 77th and France Avenue South. As I was walking down the
icy sidewalk with my cane limping along, an idea came to me. Across from
work was Bobby & Steve's Auto World. Sometimes I would go in and pick
up a sandwich and snacks for lunch there. Maybe they would have some
strong tape I could buy.
I checked with one of the employees there who had come
from the back service bay. I had asked him to please show me where the
duct tape was located. I explained to him what had happened, and showed
him the broken cane handle. He thought for a moment, then said, "let me
take it into the back and see what I've got."
He disappeared into the back. I couldn't walk too far
without my cane, or 'good eye', as I sometimes call it. I busied myself
looking at the variety of candy bars and nuts as possibilities for a treat
with lunch. Five minutes later he came back.
"Let's see how this works for you," he said.
He had wrapped the handle with part of a radiator hose
at the point where it had been separated from the shaft of my cane. There
were two plastic silver screws that held the tubing. I tried it, and it
was a good hold, just with more flexibility. "This should work for now
until I get another cane," I said. "Thank you so much! How much do I owe
you?" (At the time, I had imagined paying as much for the repair as I
would have paid for a new cane.) He smiled, waved his hand, and said,
"That's OK--no charge." I thanked him again, smiled back, and hurried off
to work. I made it a point to at least buy lunch there the next day at
Bobby and Steve's Auto World. And maybe this free endorsement for Bobby
and Steve's Auto World, located at 78th & France in Bloomington, MN,
helps return the favor of their kindness. I still have that cane. When I
got my replacement cane, there were a couple of state conventions where I
took my cane with the radiator-hose handle. It sure didn't get mixed up
with others' canes at the convention. The drawback for travel with this
cane, though, was that its flexing too far in the cane arc from shoulder
to shoulder gave it a mind of its own. It threw off my cane travel speed
a bit. I still keep it around as a nice and unique souvenir, though.
One of the things I like most about our organization,
the National Federation of the Blind, is that we're a very "take-charge"
kind of people. We're always looking for ways to improve ourselves as an
organization as well as in our individual lives.
I currently work in the human resources department for
a student loan company in St. Paul. Last spring, after some
soul-searching, I decided that this isn't the job I want to have for the
rest of my life, and in order to get where I really want to be in my life,
I need to further my education. I signed up for a class at the Hubert
Humphrey Institute for Public Affairs at the University of Minnesota--with
some fear, but also with a lot of excitement. On my first day of class,
my teacher walked in and said, "Raise your hand if you want to change the
world and make the world a better place." He said, "If you raised your
hand, then you're in the right class." Immediately I knew that I was
making the right decision in my life.
Going back to school has been very challenging but
also very rewarding for me. There are three very important lessons that
I've learned in my months as a full- time employee and a part-time
student.
First is the importance of preparation. This is
important for everyone, but I think it's even more important for blind
people. One of the things I did to prepare for being a successful student
and employee was to meet with my professor about a month in advance. I
wouldn't suggest meeting quite so far in advance for most people, but I
was very nervous, so it worked out well for me. I do, however, recommend
trying to meet with your professors and establishing the fact that you are
the advocate for yourself--they don't need to call the Disability Services
office to find out what to do with you and they should ask
you about it. Make them feel welcome to ask
you.
I educated my professor a little bit about blindness;
he had never had a blind student before in his class. I showed him my
slate and stylus and my BrailleNote, and I told him that these were how I
would do a lot of my reading and writing for class. I also told him I
would be typing my papers and turning them in at the same time as everyone
else. We discussed ways for me to complete my final exam at the end of
the semester. He also gave me a packet of papers that he knew he would be
using during the class for this semester. I had the ability to scan those
and have them ready before the class even started, which has helped me
tremendously. I found out the name of the book and found out that I could
get it through Recording for the Blind and Dyslexic (RFB & D), so I
made sure to order that and have it ready before the class started.
Another way that I've prepared in advance is managing
what I need to do and when I need to do it. For example, I had a ten-page
paper due the day after our state annual convention; but I wanted to be at
the convention all weekend. So I knew that I would have to get this paper
done several weeks before everyone else. Everyone in the class I spoke
with was surprised that I was somewhat ahead of them, but I wanted to be
there so I had to get it done.
I'm also studying for the Graduate Record Examination,
which is a standardized test one takes when applying for graduate school.
I make out flash cards of words and math terminology that I've forgotten,
so I can take advantage of free time that I have before my class or during
my fifteen-minute breaks or when I'm eating lunch with my co-workers.
The third important key to being a successful
full-time employee and student is to keep focused on your goal. Sometimes
it is harder as a blind person to get the things done that one needs to do
to be a successful student and employee. I've had some frustrating
moments. Sometimes I've thought, "It's not fair that I have to spend a
lunch hour or two a week scanning materials that other people can just
read." I had a very frustrating evening one night when we had a field trip
over to St. Paul, and it took me an hour and forty-five minutes to get
home on the bus. On my way home, I wondered if this was really worth it.
After a while I decided that, yes, it is. Even though it is a little
harder sometimes to manage getting our work done as a blind person, what
other option do we have? Are we just going to sit on the sidelines and let
other people pass us by as they chase their goals-- sighted people and
blind people who have a little more gumption than we do? Will we look back
and say, "Well, I didn't get to meet my goals and I'm not doing what could
really make me happy in life because it was a little bit harder for me
sometimes and sometimes the bus took longer ..."? Of course we're not
going to do that; Federationists don't do that.
I thank all of you for the work that you have done.
Without you, and without your work, and without the fact that you decided
to raise your hand and say that you wanted to change the world, I wouldn't
be where I am today, and we wouldn't be working toward our goals in our
lives. Let's not stop our work until every blind person in this country
has the opportunity to follow their dreams and meet their goals.
"Kasondra, how do you know what direction you are
going?" My friend Jenny always has some new question about blindness for
me, but this one startled me. We were socializing with several other women
before a church meeting, and I had just given our friend, Sheila,
directions to a store across town.
"I have many techniques I use. For example, on a
sunny day, I use the position of the sun as a cue to tell me what
direction I am walking in. I also use landmarks, and I pay attention to
where buses are going. I was trained when I went through Blindness:
Learning In New Dimensions (BLIND), Inc." Jenny accepted my
answer because I had told her about
BLIND, Inc. before. She had seen
me give directions before, and she knew that I was usually very accurate.
Another friend, Ann, pressed me further. "How do you know the freeways?"
"Well, I just had to learn where the freeways go and
how to get from one to another. Did you know that I directed Shawn around
town when he moved here before we got married?"
Ann seemed a little surprised, but she listened as I
explained the techniques I used to teach my sighted husband, Shawn, where
things were in the Twin Cities.
Shawn came from a small town in Idaho where everything
is pretty close together. He had lived in a big city before, but
Minneapolis, Minnesota, was a whole new ball of wax. Minneapolis and St.
Paul are two fairly good-sized cities situated just across the river from
each other. That wasn't difficult for Shawn, but the freeway system in
Minnesota can get quite confusing. There are so many freeways, and they
often change direction. Shawn had a map, but he couldn't read it while he
was driving. That's why he relied on me to give him accurate directions.
Shawn never thought it was weird to be getting
directions from a blind person. He expected me to know where I was going
and how to get there. I had given directions to sighted people before,
but most of them were at least familiar with the area. Shawn had never
been to Minnesota, and he had no clue where he was going. I promised him
that I would teach him how to get around town. This turned out to be a
learning experience for both of us.
The first night Shawn was in town, we planned to go to
a restaurant near my home. I was used to getting there by bus, but I
didn't always pay attention when I went there by car. I knew where the
restaurant was, but I was sketchy on some of the details. I asked Shawn to
read the street signs to me, so I could figure out where we were. It is a
lot like a bus driver calling stops and transfer points. We got a little
lost, but we eventually found the restaurant. I realized that some of the
same techniques I used when traveling by bus also worked in a car.
Shawn had a month to learn how to get around town. I
was going out of town for a week, and he needed to know where things
were--like church, his new job and shopping areas. This wasn't too
difficult, but I wanted him to feel confident about where he was going.
We drove around finding the best routes to get to all these places. Of
course, we got lost, but we always found our way out. I wasn't perfect
either. Sometimes I would tell him to make a wrong turn, but we always
got ourselves out of it. Sometimes I forgot that cars can't always go
where buses go, or that some streets are one-way only. We ended up in a
few bus lanes and turned around on a few dead-end roads, but we always
made it out. This helped me learn how to give better directions, and
Shawn learned everything he needed to know to get around while I was gone.
This story may seem backwards, but it is true.
Usually, sighted people are giving us the directions, and they don't often
expect us to know where we are going. Some sighted people don't believe
that blind people can give them directions to go anywhere. We are
helpless and weak to these people. They believe they must take care of us
and help us get on our way. That is why I am thankful for my training at
Blindness: Learning in New Dimensions (BLIND). While I was
there, I learned the travel skills I needed to get around independently.
I learned how to use sound cues, the sun, and landmarks to find my way
around. I also learned to pay attention to where I was going when I was
on a bus. More importantly, I learned that I could travel confidently,
and I was able to give good directions.
My friends may have been amazed that a blind person
could give a sighted person accurate directions. I was able to explain
how I give directions, and they saw that a blind person could do something
so normal. As we do things like this, we change people's perceptions of
what blind people can do. That's what we're good at in the National
Federation of the Blind. As we learn the skills of blindness, we have the
power to change attitudes about blindness. Being able to give directions
is just part of this. So I can say to my friends, "Yes, I do know what
direction I am going, and I can help you as well!"
(Editor's Note: Many of us know Ahmed Chaing as an
active member of the NFB of Minnesota Metro Chapter. We know he speaks
with a foreign accent, and seems a shy, quiet man. We may even know he is
from Sudan, but most of us don't know much about what he went through to
get here and his determination to succeed. Here is his story as published
in the February 2003 Braille Monitor.)
Mal was a tiny Sudanese village of mud-and-straw huts
surrounded by patios of hardened mud. In our hot climate children didn't
wear clothes. In Mal we knew nothing of money, nothing of the government,
nothing of schools or hospitals. If we wanted something, we bartered for
it. We could trade food, goats, knives, or pots, but we didn't have
government currency.
From the time I was small I explored my surroundings
freely. I learned my way over the entire village. I knew all the rocks and
trees, dips and rises as landmarks. There were no cars, no machines of any
kind. No one even had a gun. The men hunted using spears. I remember the
sounds of animals in the bush--the chatter of monkeys, the grunts of
hippos, even the roaring of lions. Sometimes the other boys teased me,
throwing stones at me and dashing away. I would take my time and hunt them
down. When I caught them, I pounded them mercilessly. I won the boys'
respect, and we spent many happy hours playing hide-and-seek or making
figures with the clay we gathered on the banks of the Nile.
Because my mother couldn't walk, she sent me on a lot
of errands. She would often send me to bring water from the river, either
on foot or on a donkey. When I was nine or ten, I started going with the
other boys my age to herd the cattle, goats, and sheep. I recognized my
family's animals by the sound of the bells they wore. If one of our
animals wandered away, the other boys chased it back for me. At harvest
time I used a sharp blade to cut the stalks and helped the other boys
separate the grain from the chaff.
I did my best to make myself useful, but my father was
bitter about my blindness. Sometimes he got drunk and beat me, shouting
that I was a burden to the family. When I was about eight, my father went
away with one of his other wives, leaving me and my mother alone. To keep
the two of us alive, my mother made pottery, which she traded for food.
Mostly we lived on manakala, a grain resembling rice.
One day, when I was ten or eleven, my mother got into
a dispute with a neighbor. They argued over a goat which my mother wanted
to give to her brother as a wedding present. The next morning, when I got
up, I called my mother as usual, but she didn't answer. I searched the hut
and found her lying cold and dead, a cord pulled tight around her neck.
Some of the villagers thought the neighbor murdered her, but to this day I
don't know for sure how my mother died.
After my mother's death I went to live with my aunt,
my mother's sister. This aunt was also one of my father's wives. Little by
little the outside world was reaching toward our village. One of my older
half brothers, Luanj, took a boat north to the city. A year later he came
back with amazing stories of paved streets, cars, and shops. He brought
the first money we had ever seen. He showed me the laway he was wearing, a
long, flowing garment that hung from his shoulders, and I was very
impressed. Luanj urged the whole family to move to the city, where life
wouldn't be so hard.
The world finally crashed in upon the village of Mal
when Sudan erupted into civil war. Soldiers stole our cattle, and gunfire
rumbled across the hills night and day. My father decided to move the
household north to safety. He wanted to leave me behind to die; convinced
I would slow them down in their flight. But my aunt insisted on bringing
me along. At last we set out on foot with everything we could carry,
heading north. Nobody guided me, and of course I had no cane. I had to
keep up with the others as best I could. I didn't dare ask for help, even
when I tripped over rocks or cracked my head on branches. After a day's
journey on foot, we came to a larger village where we all crammed into an
automobile for a jouncing three-day ride along dirt roads to the city of
Rank. Rank stands on the west side of the Nile, and we crossed the river
on a raft.
After a short stay in Rank I moved with my family to
Joda. Rank and Joda were full-scale towns with roads, cars, stores, and an
economy based on money instead of barter. Most of the people spoke Arabic,
a language we didn't know. Town children taunted me and pelted me with
stones because I was blind and didn't wear clothes. Finally some of the
adults intervened and told the children to be kind. I discovered I could
earn a few coins by singing in the streets, and this was a new way for me
to be useful. I gave the money to my aunt to help her buy food.
My life was transformed in Joda when I met Babker, a
Muslim, who ran a local shop. Babker spoke some Shuluk and took a real
interest in me. He taught me the principles of Islam and encouraged me to
convert from my tribal religion. I became a Muslim and changed my name
from Omad to Ahmed. My family was shocked at first, but as time passed
they accepted the change. My new Muslim friends treated me very well, even
giving me my first set of clothes. Soldiers at the nearby military outpost
made me into a sort of unofficial mascot. They were astonished when I
recognized their voices and gave me coins whenever I performed this feat.
I got to know everyone at the post, from the officers to the lowliest
privates.
I was visiting my friend Babker at the shop one day
when a customer described a program he had seen recently on television.
According to this stranger there were blind people in Khartoum, the
capital city, who knew how to read. I got very excited. I plied him with
questions, but the man's information was extremely sketchy. To find out
more, I would have to go to Khartoum myself. For the next year I moved
from town to town, selling candy, mangoes, and cigarettes in the streets.
Wherever I went, I was dreaming of Khartoum, the magical city, where blind
people learned to read. Finally a friend from Joda, a man called Mousa,
told me that he had a house in the capital. If I could get there, I would
have a place to stay. I memorized the address and the directions. But when
I tried to take a bus, I found I didn't have enough money for the fare.
Besides, some drivers didn't want to take a blind passenger traveling
alone, afraid I would get hurt. At last, however, a bus driver let me ride
on the floor, and I was off.
With Mousa's house as home base, I made inquiries
about training for blind people in Khartoum. Eventually I learned of a
school for blind children in the neighboring town of Bhari. I hurried to
the school, eager to enroll, only to be told that I was too old. The
school only accepted children between the ages of seven and ten, and by
this time I was about thirteen. The teachers referred me to another
program, the Blind Union, also in Bhari. The Blind Union was a training
center run by the Dutch. There I learned daily living skills and some
Arabic Braille. I really wanted a more academic program. One of the
teachers told me about a scholarship that enabled blind students to study
in the Mideastern nation of Bahrain. I applied and was accepted into the
program. After what seemed an endless series of delays and complications,
including turmoil caused by the Gulf War, I finally enrolled as a
fourth-grader at the school for the blind in Bahrain in September 1990.
For the next six years I studied in Bahrain, returning
to Sudan when the school closed for its long summer vacations. In 1996 I
completed ninth grade--as far as I could go in that program. Back in
Khartoum I entered a regular high school, where I was the only blind
student. None of my books were in Braille. I was lucky to have good
friends who read to me and put some of my material onto tapes, but it was
a constant struggle. One of my friends from the Blind Union had studied at
a school for the blind in Egypt and told me it had a strong high school
program. In 1998 I scraped together money for a ticket to Alexandria and
tried to enroll at the school. To my dismay the director refused to accept
me because I was not an Egyptian citizen.
After spending a year at
BLIND, Inc., I am in a GED
program to earn a high school diploma. I work part-time for the Bureau of
Collections, and I am second vice president of the Minnesota Association
of Blind Students. In September of 2002 I had the honor of attending a
national leadership seminar at the National Center for the Blind in
Baltimore. I'm still not sure what I want to do with my life. I might like
to be an Arabic-English interpreter. And I would like to find a way to
help blind people in Sudan. Whatever I do, I know my NFB philosophy will
make it possible.
I have been a member of the National Federation of the
Blind for the last three years. Over this time, I have had numerous
friends and individuals question why I would dedicate so much of my time
to a non-profit organization such as this, after all, you don't get paid
for your efforts. My hopes are that this article can serve as an example,
only one of many reasons, for being an active participant in this
organization.
At the age of 40, and after 20 years of being a
productive, tax-paying citizen, I became blind. This seemed like an
almost insurmountable loss at the time, but with a positive attitude, I
felt life wasn't over quite yet, but rather, it had just changed course,
so I tried to remain optimistic. I enrolled in the Idaho Commission for
the Blind school in Boise, Idaho to learn about alternative techniques
that blind people use. I was told that I should be able to perform at a
new job by using these new blindness skills.
One month after completing my training, I met the
National Federation of the Blind. I attended a state convention in
Pocatello, Idaho. I told them my dream of becoming a teacher. You see,
over most of my previous career I sold computers, and developed and taught
computer classes to many of my customers. It was during that time that I
discovered how much I enjoyed teaching. In fact, I remember telling many
of my customers that, if I could ever get a chance to start over, I would
be a teacher. As I have already mentioned, I told this to those at this
state convention.
The people I met at this convention not only
encouraged me with their positive spirit, but also backed it up with
money, in the form of a scholarship. It was exciting for me to find other
blind people that shared the same positive philosophy as I had before my
blindness. I truly wanted to believe them. That summer I attended my
first national convention of the National Federation of the Blind, in
Atlanta, Georgia. Words cannot describe the variety of emotions I felt as
I met the people at this convention. I was greatly encouraged, yet
overwhelmed. I found blind individuals from all walks of life, successful
in a multitude of careers, individuals with goals and a purpose.
I met people just like me, or at least the same age
and in similar circumstances, and receiving scholarships and moving ahead
with their lives in a positive way. I was told that my blindness was not a
limitation and that if I applied myself, and worked hard, I too could be
like these individuals. I entered college that fall with new hope, and
much higher expectations.
I should point out that by this time, I had helped
organize a local chapter in which I served as president, and that I had
recently been elected as 2nd vice president to the NFB of Idaho. In other
words, I was not merely a member but an active member; there is a
difference.
During this national convention, I had the opportunity
to meet many of the most successful blind people of this nation. I
discovered that these were ordinary individuals like me, but with one
unique difference: their attitude. An entire book could probably be
written about what this attitude entails, but suffice it to say, they live
a life of success and true independence that we all strive for as blind
individuals. Most importantly, however, these were people who's opinions
and advice I knew I could trust. They seemed to believe in me, more than
I believed in myself.
Now let us fast forward through the last year of
fund-raising, chapter meetings, state board meetings, college classes,
lobbying Congress in Washington D.C., hosting the NFB of Idaho state
convention in my home town, and other NFB activities too numerous to
mention, to the NFB national convention held in Louisville, Kentucky.
Just like the previous two national conventions I had
attended, new and exciting experiences were aplenty. It seems obvious now
that each national convention that one attends is very unique, and in my
case I come away from them with new ideas, attitudes, friendships, and a
better understanding about our cause and about myself. At this
convention, however, I came away with something even greater: a job offer.
I was approached by Blindness: Learning in New Dimensions
(BLIND) of Minneapolis, Minnesota, which offered me a
position as the Technology Instructor at their training center for the
blind. In other words, teaching computers! For me, this position is a
dream come true, as computers are my forte, and teaching was a career
objective of mine.
Now, why do I tell you all of this? Well, I feel that
it was my own active participation with the National Federation of the
Blind that created this opportunity. I had a choice when I joined the
Federation, to sit on the sidelines and shout the hurrahs, or to become
actively involved. I chose the latter. By doing such, I met and created
friendships with others that are pro-active in "Changing What it Means to
be Blind". These people, in turn, learned about me and my strengths and
experience. More importantly, however, they encouraged and motivated me
by their own attitudes and abilities.
Some might say at this point that, well, you just got
that lucky break, or you just knew the right people at the right time, or
something like that. To this I would respond, yes, I did know the right
people at the right time, but it wasn't luck. I simply played an active
role, as any member of the NFB can and should. I sought out opportunities
within the organization that might be able to utilize the skills that I
possess.
Others might say, well, you had an advantage because
you were a national scholarship winner. This is also somewhat true as I
met a lot of people this way. However, I discovered at my very first
convention that if I simply introduced myself to any of the state
presidents or other leadership within this organization, they were warm,
friendly, and excited to meet new people. What I am trying to say is
this: it takes more than words; it takes action.
So where am I going with all of this? Simply put, by
becoming actively involved within the NFB, seek out opportunities that can
utilize your own God-given talents and abilities and you will create your
own "lucky breaks" in life. These "breaks" may come from within the NFB
or they may not, but active involvement will give you more confidence and
a greater attitude about your own abilities. This change in yourself WILL
be noticed by others, including future employers. For me, these changes
have created "A New Beginning" in my life. I state it that way because I
don't look at my opportunity as a destination, but as a success in my life
that will only create greater opportunities for me to grow and develop as
an individual.
As my good friend, and president of the NFB of Idaho,
Larry Streeter, once told me, "The NFB is not just a philosophy, it is a
way of life." I believe this to be true, and the sooner that every blind
person understands this and believes this, the sooner we can all raise to
the level of success each of us desire. By living this philosophy we can,
and will, "Change What it Means to be Blind."
Exciting times are coming in NFB conventions. Keep
these in mind as you plan your activities throughout the coming year.
The National NFB Convention will be held at the Galt
House Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky from June 28, 2003 through July 4.
This is a whole week of friends, fun, and serious business. It is a
chance to be part of the largest gathering of blind people in the world.
Full details are in the Braille Monitor.
The Annual NFB of Minnesota Convention will be held in
October in the Metro area. Members will receive a letter with details
about a month before the convention.
The Semiannual NFB of Minnesota Convention will be
held in April or May 2004 in Greater Minnesota. Members will receive a
letter with details about a month before the convention.
Les Affaires
By Joyce Scanlan, President
Some People Just Get It
By Jennifer Dunnam
She Shares Unique View of the
World
By Erin Rodgers
Check Your Oil? Service Your
Cane?
By Patrick A. Barrett
My Triple Life As Worker, Student, and
Federationist
By Angela Howard
Giving Directions
By Kasondra L. Payne
From One World into Another
By Ahmed Chaing with Debbie Kent Stein
A New Beginning
By Al Spooner
Convention Alert!