The Smile, the Bus and the Wheelchair

Sometimes, unexpectedly, delight falls into our lives. Staring vacantly into space on the way back from a school this afternoon, all I could think of was lunch and the sweat pouring off my brow.

We cruised up to a bus stop where I saw an old man in a wheelchair–beaming happily at the bus, rolling evenly over the dried palm leaves to claim a seat. The door opened; a couple of students jumped out and the old man waited patiently as the conductor paused and looked at him.

There was an impasse. This man was coming on the bus and there were no two ways about it. The conductor broke into a smile and chuckled – not at the man, merely at the situation; the kind of chuckle that says, “How are we going to do this?” Things were being said in pidgin; too quickly for me to catch and too different from the PNG pidgin I used to know so well. Fingers pointed, arms waved and the front seat passengers shifted. With a heave-and-a-ho (and a boost from a couple of strong young fellas from the front row), the old man swung himself into a seat, directing the conductor to fold-up the wheelchair and put it in front.

I have often heard disabled people cry, “I don’t have a disability; my ability is just different to yours!” or something like it. But let’s face it – in a great many countries, people with different abilities still find it tricky getting up steps, crossing the road and clambering onto buses. Yet this guy had co-opted people to help him and they were happy to do so. There was such brilliant, no-nonsense, camaraderie about the whole business that I couldn’t help but smile. It was all I could do to restrain myself from taking out my camera – only to record the moment – but that was the point, wasn’t it?

These guys barely made a fuss out of the scenario – even though it clearly didn’t happen often – so why should I? Some people can do it shamelessly, some even with élan; step out of the moment and take a picture, but not I.

I’m glad I was able to stay in the background. What a joy simply to be reminded about how lovely people are. I mean, I don’t often think people are awful, but I suppose my preoccupations blind me to goodness. It is a special trick – a different ability – to see goodness all around.