Stories that Touch

On life at the intersections, by Oyèdayọ̀

Hello, 

I’m D-star, and I have decided to write stories that touch.

The only body I have known is this one, in which I carry multiple overlapping and intersecting identities. When I was five years old, I realised how my body moved differently from everyone else's: from my gait when I walked, to my dexterity and speech due to cerebral palsy. In school, my leg braces were seen as a threat to other children's health and I was separated from them. At home, I was taken on numerous trips to mountaintops to pray for new legs. Several pastors blamed my disability on witches or my lack of faith. 

As I grew older, the differences between others and myself became more apparent, thanks to the alienation that came with the awareness of my sexuality. By the time I reached adulthood, it was clear to me that society is made up of two kinds of people: those termed normal and those considered abnormal. And to worsen things, society demands more from those deemed abnormal, the bar set unreachable.

I recently participated in a Living Library event, where I became a ‘book’ to tell my story so far. The main distinction between a living library and a standard library is that in a living library, the books are actual people. My book was titled “Don’t call me inspirational: a queer, disabled woman speaking”. The first chapter, “Ìgè Àdùbí” took my readers to the origins of some of the experiences I’ve had in life, including how mismanagement by hospital staff and hyper-spiritualisation by those around me led to an acquired disability at birth. In the final chapter, “ọ̀rọ̀ tó'ń lọ” (meaning ‘ongoing words’), I felt like I was in front of a podium giving a speech at a coronation. I told readers that my book is not yet done. Newer, braver forms of rebellion consistently show up in my arsenal and, just as a river keeps flowing, my story is ongoing.

Those 30 minutes of speaking and being spoken to at the Living Library launched me into deep realisations about things I had never truly acknowledged before the experience. I was finally talking about the things I feared the most, things that hurt the most, to several people looking at me directly. Amidst the tears from my reader-listeners, the stories were out. I felt like I experienced a subtle freedom in my only body, which blossomed into a hope that my story will evolve over time. When my readers started asking questions, however, I was reminded of how long the road ahead still is. “How can you speak so eloquently?, Have you tried to fix ‘it’? Can you have sex?” Their questions to me at that moment reinforced what I already knew about living in an ableist society. As earnest as they may have been, I was reminded of the desensitisation of non-disabled people from the context in which persons with disabilities have to function.

There are over 1 billion people around the world with a disability. Yet, for most of my life, the only frame of reference I had for defining and understanding what it means to be a person was that of non-disabled individuals. I was treated like an anomaly, often locked out of spaces to avoid inconveniencing people whose identities were deemed ‘normal’. It was only in adulthood that I discovered that disability is not the distinguishing mark of a minority; it is a universal human condition. Disability is an integral aspect of being human that stems from the interaction of several environmental and individualised factors, including but not limited to health conditions. 

Most people will, at some point in their lives, be temporarily or permanently disabled. However, most of these people who are not (yet) disabled fail to see the structural and systematic exclusion/discrimination against the 15% of the world’s population who are currently disabled. Instead, they hold on to the ultimately faulty belief that whispers, “I belong here, and only me and people that look or present like me belong here too.” Meanwhile, disabled people are sub-humanised, believed incapable of making their own choices, seen as deserving a lower quality of life, and deemed unfit to live amongst the general public. All of this continues despite ever-emerging laws and regulations related to access, diversity, and inclusion. My personal experience, some of which I shared with the audience at the Living Library, tells me more than I need to know about this simple and unfortunate fact: people with disabilities experience completely avoidable abuse, neglect, and exploitation because our societies embrace structural exclusion and ableism.

As a result of being born into a world that devalues disabled people, my life has been an exercise in learning to exist in a body that has been told that it’s never good enough. I spent many years bending, shifting, making space, and making room for words, strange looks and more to be thrown at me. Yet, nothing I ever did was enough. I remember a pastor taking me to his house and putting his hands on my head to walk well; the sweatiness, spit, and whips are an indelible mark on my memory. When all of that did not work, he said “you don't have enough faith, something is preventing you from walking well.” It was yet another personal experience of the underlying tenet of ableism: the notion that persons with disabilities should be "fixed," while the world infantilises us. 

Diversity, inclusion, and intersectionality are popular buzzwords across various sectors today. But what does it mean to practise the ideas behind these words? How can we address the structural, social, and procedural realities that usually exclude disabled people? We need to answer these questions thoughtfully and thoroughly across our local contexts: in our homes, schools, places of worship, workplaces, etc. Otherwise, we will only end up reproducing the marginalisation that is so common in spaces that don’t take diversity and inclusion seriously. As the award-winning writer Innocent Ilo put it, “diversity…falls flat when systems that oppress marginalised folks are not dismantled.”

For now, the issues with women, persons with disabilities, queer persons (and those living in the intersections) are ongoing. Once I press publish on this writing, I plan on taking a trip to get yoghurt ice cream, but I will have to wait outside the store while my friend goes in because I won’t be able to get in anyway. This is the current reality, but it is my hope – and my life’s work – to change that. I hope you will do your best to be part of the change too.

Additional reading and resources:

"Words Matter, And It’s Time to Explore the Meaning Of “Ableism” by Andrew Pulrang  

"How to teach children about disability, at every age" by Kristen Parisi

"When Identities Collide — Disability" by Benedicta Oyèdayọ̀ Oyèwọlé

"Ableism is The Bane of My Motherfuckin' Existence" with Stacey Milbern and Patty Berne (video)

"I'm not your inspiration, thank you very much" by Stella Young (video)

"Intersectionality and Disability" ft. Keri Gray (video)

"Cross-movement Collaboration." by The Disability Justice Project (video)