“I didn’t know what to say the other day, when your mother was shouting,” says Mthobeli to Zimkhitha.

Ncumisa is walking with them to school. It feels like a victory for Zimkhitha; he can sense it. And Ncumisa – he can sense her excitement too. They’ve persuaded their mother. She has told them she will let Ncumisa go for just one term. If things don’t work out she will have to stay at home again.

Mthobeli focuses on Zimkhitha’s face, trying hard to read her every expression. He’s always had to look closely to see people’s faces, but somehow he’s enjoying this more. Looking at her, listening to her, it’s his favourite thing to do. He can’t cry about what he can’t see. Maybe one day soon, he’ll get so close to her face that he’ll see the exact shades of colour in her eyes. She smiles. That he can see. Yes! Her smile, that’s definitely something he can see.

“Do you think it’s a bad thing if I don’t want us to get separated, if I want us to sit together at break, study together, walk together?” he says.

“No, it’s not. It means you’re … a good friend.”

He hesitates. His heart feels like it’s jumped right up into his throat, preventing words from coming out.

“Let’s go the quad, Mtho, and wait there. She slips her phone out of her track pants and looks at the time. In fifteen minutes, the assembly will start. They’ll welcome us into the new year and wish us good luck.”

She takes her sister’s hand.

*****

“Here she is,” says Amanda, looking at the three women seated in chairs nearby, as Nthabiseng walks into reception.

The three women immediately stand up and, one after the other, shake her hand. “You asked the Department to send support staff – and they listened. Here we are. My name is Nomalizo Dinga. We are here to help you all in the classroom, with those who can’t read or write for themselves, or who need extra help with explaining things, or helping the children get around. And, yes, mna no Doris are sisters. We always work together.”

Nthabiseng is scrambling to find the right words. This was one surprise she didn’t expect when she woke up this morning.

In fact, the only thing she expected was an email from the Department saying that ‘the meeting and all the complaints made in it have been observed and a committee will be appointed to investigate’. The committee would then take its own sweet lovely time to even get back to her about its findings.

Not this. Wow! “I’m so happy you ladies have come to work with us. I promise I will do my best to make you feel at home.”

“When we came here, we weren’t sure how this Nthabiseng person looked or how old she even was,” continues Nomalizo. “We’re not disappointed with what we’ve got. We like you already.”

“I’m surprised to find out we’ll be working with a young person like you,” adds Doris. “I can see why you drove the Department crazy. They don’t like people who make the noise you made, organising community meetings. They know it brings journalists. And we all know that journalists ask questions and start dangerous investigations…”

Nthabiseng doesn’t know whether to laugh, smile or even scream. She’s a picture of excitement. Yes, the Department has a long way to go, but this is the beginning. This will make a difference.

Amanda comes back and disturbs the little gathering of the four women.

“Nthabiseng, I was told to let you know that an order has been put in for some of those machines you said you need, even the Braille textbooks so that the visually impaired can read.”

Mthobeli will be able to read, thinks Nthabiseng and her heart sings.

“They even said they’ll order all outstanding textbooks we’ve been asking for so every child can have one. The Principal was in a good mood this morning. He said he wants to see you after school. Mna I don’t get why everyone is acting like you’re the hero here. The Department is still paying us cents for all this work we do. It’s not just about the kids. We have lives too. Why didn’t you fight for that?”

Nthabiseng turns her back on Amanda. “Ladies, don’t let her spoil our mood. I won’t let her or anyone else make me feel bad today. Yazi, I want you to join me at the assembly in a few minutes from now. I will be reading something Mthobeli, one of my visually impaired students, wrote, then I’ll introduce you. The kid has such a bright future. When you read it, you wouldn’t think it was written by a kid who had to drop out of school last year. It’s a poem called, “’Learning to fly’.”

“This Mthobeli sounds really special. I can’t wait to meet him.”

At the assembly, Nthabiseng is called to the front by the Principal. There’s a hush; they can sense she’s about to share something close to her heart. Mthobeli is standing just behind her.

“This is a piece that was written by Mthobeli,” she says, bringing him to stand next to her. “He wants me to share it with you. He’s too nervous to do it. Mthobeli dropped out last year but he is back. He is an inspiration to me and should be to everyone here.” She looks at him, smiles and continues speaking. “And, he wants me to dedicate it to Zimkhitha.”

The boys in the crowd whistle. Some of them laugh. Mthobeli just smiles. Awkwardly, he just stands there and smiles, content.

Nthabiseng starts reading, the words flowing from the page to her heart and back out through her mouth.

Learning to fly
I’m in this dark room.
I’m scared,
I look around.
All I see is a tiny light.
I don’t see anything else.
I hear voices,
I hear music.
I look around again.
I still don’t see anything else.
The light is glowing brighter,
Brighter and brighter.
I’m starting to hear something.
It’s a voice:
‘Hope, Mthobeli. Never lose hope.’

***

Tell us: Would you like to attend an inclusive school? Why or why not? How do you think you can change attitudes to children and adults with disabilities in your community?