“Join us for a night in the dark,” the invitation from MTN Rwanda read in part. “...to raise awareness and funds in support of the Rwanda National Union of the Blind.” So, I anticipated some degree of darkness to manifest there – in one way or another. And, so when I headed to Marriott on Wednesday evening, I knew this was likely going to be a special event, designed for a special cause. Yet, nothing could have prepared me for the humbling experience that would unfold. When I first arrived the place was fully lit and all you could imagine likely to happen was someone flicking the lights off for a moment to help us appreciate what visually impaired people go through. How wrong I was! Neither the wording on the invitation nor the informal cocktail-style gathering for something that was meant to be formal dinner could spoil the surprise element. So, questions like, ‘was I probably too late to the party?’ kept popping up in my head as I curiously networked and sipped at it. Suddenly, a cheerful Alain Numa started microphone testing. Then, he talks of black blindfolds. And the room behind. And the white cane. And we were all supposed to be in the mix. Before long he started calling invitees to be ushered into the ‘dark room’, with Ozonnia Ojielo, the United Nations Resident Coordinator in Rwanda, leading the way. One by one, you’d receive your white cane, get blindfolded and then you’d make your way to the other side. And there were enough blindfolds and canes to go round. I was among those at the tail end of the queue. Behind the blindfold, I stared into darkness blankly, blinked once-twice and then just closed my eyes altogether. I felt vulnerable and lonely. Like the world had ground to a halt. This, even with the knowledge that I was not alone, and that it was for just a blink of a moment. Or so I believed. Tactically bent over, I staggered on for a minute or so to what I believe was the entrance (only about six metres away, including negotiating a corner) where I was welcomed by ‘a facilitator’. My ‘facilitator’ asked me to follow his voice as he led me to my seat, blindfolded. He’d warn me whenever we were taking a turn through tables. Honestly, it got me a little nervous. A voice in my head kept telling me ‘everyone is watching, waiting to see you make a fool of yourself.’ There were of course no manholes, no staircase to climb or descend, no random objects strewn about, no trees, no poles, no uneven terrain (all of which define the everyday experience of those who live with visual impairment), and yet the short distance drove me to the edge. At some point, I found myself literally walking like a chameleon, only at a snail’s pace. I even forgot that I had the white cane to give me a sense of direction. Neither was I trusting my guide, who I thought was sighted and was possibly quietly taking pleasure in my little misery. Finally, somehow I manage to make use of the cane again. A table here, a chair there, someone’s leg or two, I do everything I can to keep my distance and avoid trouble with ‘the world of the sighted’. “To your right sir, there is your table,” my ‘facilitator’ says to me. Oh, how liberating that was! Yet, I still nearly find myself in the situation I dreaded when I try to sit without pulling the chair away from the table! “Whew,” I breathe, heavily. It felt like a miracle, an accomplishment. “Everyone, please don’t remove your blindfolds yet,” said Mugisha, our ‘dark room’ emcee I later find to be visually impaired. That’s when I learn that everyone was actually minding their business behind the thick eye masks, and that my supportive ‘facilitator’ is actually visually impaired. How did he confidently guide my steps to my seat, safely? I ask myself. “We want you to use other senses to make up for not being able to see,” Mugisha, who kept navigating through the tables, said. His advice somewhat calmed us down and got us more focused. When the Guest of Honour made her way to the room and greeted us, I knew who she was – so were many others. As I expressionlessly sat there, I could only imagine how difficult it is for someone with visual impairment (90% of those in Rwanda have no white cane to use) to get on with life in a world full of indifferent, self-serving, hawk-eyed people. Still, that was not the most humbling segment of the evening. Too much Isombe, African eggplant...and one notable exception That moment arrived at dinner time. Yes, you had to walk over to the self-service area – blindfolded and with your cane firmly in your hands – and serve yourself. Thankfully, our ‘facilitators’ (all members of Rwanda Union of the Blind) were on hand to lead us through the exercise. Our Guest of Honour – who equally went through the whole experience – would later send us into rib-cracking laughter when she revealed that someone had told her that she had served “too much Isombe” – which she had not intended. And, my neighbour was grumbling behind her blindfold that her meal was literally made of the African eggplant, clearly not one of her favourite foods. Another one told me she had her plate upside down when she started serving. Of course, there are always a few exceptions. My old friend and OB George, who sat across from me at the table and who I believe was not cheating, had his plate virtually clean by the time we were finally allowed to remove our blindfolds. After all, he was one of those Baseniors back at our Lycee de Kigali days! “Trust” is what “Paula Ingabire, the youthful Minister of ICT and Innovation, would later reveal was one of her key learnings from the experience. “Our visually impaired compatriots have trust in us that we can give them the best support possible to cope with the challenges they face every day.” That evening the tables had turned. For two long hours or so, we put our trust in our inspirational and resilient ‘facilitators’, who did not put a foot wrong to make us feel as comfortable as possible. Together, we can make a difference The event wound up with a fundraiser segment during which a few hundreds of white canes were raised. In a country where at least 57,000 people are visually impaired, there is a need to make the white cane a tool accessible by everyone who needs it. We can do much better as a people to help those among us who are unfortunate to live with permanent blindness live as much a comfortable life as possible. Of course, it is unacceptable that there is not a single local store that deals in white canes. “It is a medical tool,” underscored the charismatic, well-spoken Donatile Kanimba, the executive director of Rwanda Union of the Blind, appealing for health insurance cover for the white cane. “You can help make a difference.” It’s a rallying call that resonates with the ‘leave no one behind’ principle, which has long informed the Government of Rwanda’s pro-people policies. Incidentally, ‘leave no one behind’ is also the slogan for MTN Rwanda’s Twese initiative, which should inspire us all to act – each in our own small way – and help normalise use of the white cane. “It’s overwhelming,” said Mapula Bodibe, the chief executive of MTN Rwanda, as she reflected on the blindfolded experience. The evening reinforced the fact that blindness is an overwhelming lifelong experience. Yet, together, we can make it a little more manageable for those who permanently live in the world of darkness. The writer is a journalist with The New Times.
