Why do people want to kill me? Why must I have two hands to be appreciated? Why? my lady? Why are all these two legged people walking always staring at me? Must I be disgusted and laughed at by these small children who I have never met? Why does is look like I am a burden? Am I even human? I wish to bury my face under the surface of the earth, and die.
I remember a conversation I had with three of my friends in my room in high school. We spontaneously started talking about how we came to be where we are. Spontaneity led us to understand that one of my friends was supposed to be killed in his childhood.
Let us call him Kofi. He was born in Northern Ghana and during his birth, his mother died. A child born to this reality is believed to be a curse and hence he deserved to be killed before it brings troubles to the community. He was rejected by his father and he was left there alone to the mercy of the myth makers. He was rescued in the night by a sister who worshiped nearby. Now we are sitting here, such a man with a wonderful character deserving of death, absent.
Death is a crime in Ghana but not death from a cultural perspective until the past few weeks.
I remember the first time I met a man who fits partly the dictionary definition of a cripple. Tinges of fear rose in me and all these thoughts occupied my 5 year old mind. Then I disliked the man without even talking to him because he was, as my kindergarten teacher said, abnormal.
I was taught with a cane, occasionally, to repeat that a normal person had two feet, two hands and he/she walks with his legs. When he grows up he is independent from his parents and should get out of the house. There was never an “abnormal” person in my school only outside and I leaned to believe that we are inherently different from them.
Do you know why most of the “abnormal” people are thought to be detestable and dirty by our children and ourselves? It is because we are teaching them this and then go ahead to exercise it. We therefore end up giving ourselves an upward mobility and denying the so called abnormal school and other resources, it is logical. I feel hate.
I feel hate but I do not know who to direct it to. Must I go through all the hustle just to convince you that I am a human being. That I am capable of thinking, breathing, and being clean? Who are you anyway to judge? This language of hate should be crucified, pierced and laid in a heavily guarded tomb. In order for Africa to prosper we have to learn to appreciate each other and desist from discriminating against fellow humans. Rise up and talk about it, at least.
I do not intend to create a perfect world but a world where we are sane. I feel hate mostly because I feel the same about you too and that you made me feel this way.
Send in your stories on same subject at dkdkariuki3@gmail.com
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