“No te confíes.” My friend Omar’s mother urges me as we approach a particularly bumpy section of the sidewalk. “Don’t trust yourself.” In another instance, she pulls me to the side to avoid dog poop. What would she say if she found out that I have already stepped in dog poop twice walking the streets on my own?
“No te confíes.” My friend Omar’s mother urges me as we approach a particularly bumpy section of the sidewalk. “Don’t trust yourself.” In another instance, she pulls me to the side to avoid dog poop. What would she say if she found out that I have already stepped in dog poop twice walking the streets on my own?
My adoptive Mexican mother’s exhortation to not trust myself highlights the actions and passing statements from others during the week-long visit to Morelia, Mexico.
None of what I’m encountering in Morelia is above my ability to handle. I have had a lot of experience getting around with my 60-inch straight cane that extends up to my chin. The training that I received during and after high school at a sort of "blind boot camp" taught me skills to negotiate my way around an unfamiliar location. I studied abroad in college and have traveled all over the U.S.
Nevertheless, it’s hard to not absorb the message I often hear from others: be afraid, be very afraid.
That’s not to say that Mexican streets are exactly the same as they are in the United States. In the U.S., city planners take their guidance from structural guidelines, which construction firms must follow. The result is a relatively high level of consistency in the layout of American streets.
Not so in the case of Mexico, where, it seems to this writer, individuals have quite a bit more latitude to decide what they want to put in a public space. Want to add a perpendicular ramp across the sidewalk into your garage? No problem. Want to block the sidewalk with a food cart? Adelante! Wouldn’t it be great to have a random metal cable extending from a wooden pole to the ground? Por supuesto! The result is a highly textured and somewhat unpredictable pedestrian experience.
One would not expect it, but these features not only make the community more interesting, they make it easier to navigate. The characteristic hammer of chef knives against cutting boards with carne asada hissing on grills, and the unusual step up and step downs are auditory and tactile landmarks that alert me to where I am at.
I do not want to be cooped up in the house while the traffic rages, the food carts hammer and sizzle, and the stray dogs roam. For me, the most interesting part of travel, apart from spending time with people, is the way that I absorb the sounds and smells, while threading together public transit routes and keeping track of different streets on the way to a given destination. What happens after I arrive might not be quite as interesting as what has happened on the way (unless there’s tacos, of course).
Visiting Mexico reminds me of the fact that sometimes living a full life as a blind person is a choice that one must make alone while others urge you not to. There are risks. It is a parable of life, where every risk necessarily involves the possibility of failure, and where stepping outside necessitates leaving your shoes on the patio before re-entering your house.
Mexico motivates me to keep going outside into the world. The alternative is staying at home and missing out on the exercise, the fresh air, and the observations that remind me that achieving my goals may sometimes involve going it alone and stepping in dog poop. That’s why I will continue to trust myself.
Justin Harford (he/him/his) is a Program Specialist with the National Clearinghouse on Disability and Exchange, working to increase the participation of people with disabili - ties in international exchange by providing information and resources to individuals with disabilities and international exchange professionals.
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