Growing up in Asmara, the capital of Eritrea, I dreamed what in that day and place seemed like lofty dreams considering the circumstances of my life. I wanted to be a horseman, because horses seemed to typify the Eritrean way of life. My grandmother and I would frequently ride on a horse-drawn carriage hauling sacks of merchandise, mostly produce, from the local market. Sometimes when I opened the front door of my family’s house, I’d come across a horse waiting for its owner to return from somewhere, and I’d climb onto the carriage and begin to gesticulate and vocalize in imitation of the horseman. Once when I did this, the horse began to move with just me on the carriage, with an adult running after us and stopping the carriage as it emerged onto a busy paved road. I could not hear nor see what the horseman really does to instigate the movement of the carriage, but I had picked on some clues from sitting next to him and feeling his body movement and his vibrating voice that give signals to the horse.
But after a while, I started to lose interest in that dream of becoming a horseman, as my mind began to latch onto another childhood dream: learning to write. I had taken notice that my grandparents frequently sat quietly by themselves reading the newspaper. Besides, the children of the house would trot off to school each morning while I sat still or aimlessly wandered around the house, as if I was a perpetual truant who hated school and was moping around in the house until the children came back to the neighborhood in droves. But when I continued to be in this educational morass for years, my dream was beginning to slip away from me. Then one day, I was walking along the side of the dirt road outside the family house when I felt something underneath my right foot. After I bent down to investigate, I found a crumpled piece of paper. I straightened it out, then I held it in front of my face. “How am I supposed to read if I can’t read at all?” I wondered to myself. Pretending to be reading, I began to mumble as though I was reading to myself. Then, I neatly folded it up and tucked that piece of paper into my pocket, something I had noticed my grandfather doing, imagining that one day I’ll actually read it. Acting like my grandfather made me feel like a literate young man. This experience gave me a renewed sense of resolve in realizing my dream. But then, I was awakened by the haunting realization that I was born deaf and blind and as long as I remained this way, there’s no way for me to ever be able to see the written word. But I found solace in reminding myself that dreams do eventually come true. I had never heard of Braille, but I hoped that in the future I’ll somehow learn to read and write among my sighted peer. Somehow. Someday.
About two decades before I came into the world and across the Atlantic Ocean, Martin Luther King, Jr. told the world his own dreams. Dr. King gave his most famous and inspirational “I Have A Dream” address on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, in which he lamented that African Americans have not been granted full equality and dignity as equally valued members of American society. But the turning point of that speech came when he began to articulate his dreams, among them of which is, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” (Martin Luther King, Jr. 1963). In essence, Dr. King dreamed that America will one day be what it has embraced and fought for as the inalienable rights of its citizens since the inception of the republic that’s now the 50 United States of America. This is a dream that has yet to be fully realized, as many people of color, women and people with disabilities continue to contend with.
Fast forward to 2019, my dream has been realized. But it was far beyond what I had once imagined. After spending much of my formative years in Eritrea dreaming dreams, some as fundamental as learning to read and write, something that I had never dreamed of happened in my life as I was on the verge of becoming an adolescent: I became an immigrant whose family, feeling hopeless about my future in Eritrea, brought me to America to flourish alongside my U.S. born siblings. I was introduced to Braille. I could feel the shapes of the English alphabet in the form of plastic letters. Technology, one of the true loves of my life, has and continues to be integral to my personal and professional successes. Having fully adapted to a new country that seemed to embody limitless possibilities because there’s so much that I had never experienced back home, I started dreaming new dreams in a new country a world away from the one I was born in.
But like Dr. King, there remains an unrealized dream, that of full equality for Americans with disabilities. Although I believe that no matter the circumstances in a person’s life, big dreams of any kind can be realized if pursued with genuine dedication and with the belief that only the sky’s the limit. But certain dreams seem to elude us when we face what we consider to be insurmountable obstacles. Such obstacles may involve either deeply entrenched attitudes or the dysfunction of our institutions, particularly the national government. Too often, our politicians over-promise something because they care more about the sweet but fleeting taste of victory, or they prioritize retaining power over solving intractable problems, and this is why we cannot always realize all of our dreams. For me, there’s the dream that one day America will truly embrace and include everyone of its disabled citizens and act accordingly. Because somebody’s grandmother or grandfather could become blind or deaf at any moment because of the effects of aging, and that those who sacrifice their lives to defend America and its values could one day face life-long disability. Until America becomes truly and universally accessible to everyone of its people, including its deafblind citizens, I will keep dreaming.
