Hurts My Heart

From the 20 - feet container I moved into a sweet little bungalow house on a UN compound. Although it lacks character and much sign of life it has all the basic luxuries of water, electricity, safety and most uncommon in Port-au-Prince, peace and quiet. At first it took time to adjust to being alone again, after night upon night enjoying the communal company of my darling UN Police friends at the container lodge.   Last night a man knocked on the door, his thick physique and stern stare shouted " I am security". I welcomed him into the house, where he might state his business, instead he stood outside and began to reprimand me in a most serious tone for having parked my car in front of the house (oh this is not allowed, all vehicles must be in the parking lot at the edge of the compound, quite a walk from my little abode). Familiar with such circumstances, I calmly began to explain to the big security man that I indeed had permission from the management to park on the premises of my house because I have a physical disability. Well he was confused. Very confused. He looked me up and down, looking for I am not exactly sure what. Standing at the door, without my canes or leg braces, I guess I looked ...what? normal? Just a woman in a pretty short dress? So again, in a soft tone I began to explain that I have permission from the management to park my vehicle in front of my house because I have a disability. And then it sunk it, the regret and pain and pity in his face as he realized I was indeed telling the truth. And indicating the "disabled" laminated sign featured in my kitchen window, for all the outside world to see, that stick figure in a wheelchair....not exactly a good character or me but you get the point. What happened next is what got to me and might (or might not) rub you the wrong way too. The big security man began to apologize; he apologized for my situation, he apologized profusely for not having been informed and therefore for bothering me and then again said he was sorry that I was sick. And on his little pad the big security man took note of the house number and as he wrote he dictated out loud, "sick lady". This is when I realized it was happening again. "I am not sick", I interrupted, " I have a disability, it is ok you can write that". "Oh no" the big security man said, "you are sick". "Please", I explained, "there is nothing wrong with saying I that I have a disability, Please tell your security team 'j'ai un handicap'...".And the big security man insisted, now more uncomfortable and uneasy, just like I had seen in he face of one of my colleagues, one of the drivers, a few months before.

So"sick lady" is what was noted on the paper and I was reminded that in Haiti that to have a disability is shameful, a curse on you or your family for some wrongdoing. And I caught myself for a speed of light-second feeling upset about this interlude. To think that a person with a disability faces such stigma and discrimination. Sadly this is not uncommon or different in so many other countries in the world.

Going back to my first incident in Haiti where I was labeled "sick" rather than "living with a disability...arriving at a school inauguration event, my colleague Ricardo, a driver, was discussing with the security guard at the entrance of the school why he had to park the car so close..."the lady is sick" he stated, '"she needs help getting out of the car". "She is sick" he insisted, as the security guard looked puzzled staring at me, unsure what to do. I reached out to touch Ricardo, touching his arm to softly explain, "just tell him I have a disability, there is nothing wrong with having a disability Ricardo"...and his eyes swelled up with tears as he explained, "Cara, please don't make me say that, it hurts my heart". And I crumbled. How could I be upset with this heartfelt plea, this heartfelt sorrow that he felt for my limited mobility. Little did he know that such an attitude, although not having any spite or cruelty in it, is what creates barriers in society for people living with disabilities. 

And so my journey continues in Haiti and in my life, to try to set an example that breaks barriers and breaks stereotypes. Just because I now live with a disability does not mean that I cannot be just as much of a contributing member of society, or a successful UN professional, or a dignified, independent, graceful woman.  I have the same dreams, the same passions, the same desires and the same goals as I did just a few years ago when I danced so freely, with the ease of a floating feather.  I am the same woman, even if now I do walk slowly...my heart and soul are still the same.