By Aisha Musa Auyo
My mom and her colleagues were sitting in the famous Faculty of Education train at Bayero University, Kano (BUK), a corridor linking five faculties in the New site before the renovation. A lady walked by, and her ID card fell from her books. They kept calling her attention, but she ignored them. One of them even attempted to run after her while yelling the name they saw on the card, but she cared not to look back. They got annoyed and decided to let her pay for the consequences of her arrogance.
In those days (I don’t know for now), when a student lost a school ID card, they had to bring evidence, such as a police report to get a replacement. If exams are approaching, the student may be given a temporary ID card from the admin before they present the evidence, and a new ID card will be processed for them. This protocol was not an easy one. I’ve gone through it. It was my first time going to the police station.
My mom’s colleagues assumed the girl was doing ‘Yanga’, a typical snobbish attitude of undergraduate ladies. So they planned to throw away the ID card. My mom, being her usual kind person, begged them not to. She collected the card with the intention that she would take it to the lady’s department after work. As she read the name on the card, she identified the surname. We live in the same neighbourhood.
After work, she went to the house and gave them the card, explaining how they kept calling the girl, and she didn’t bother to answer. One of the mothers in the house said, ‘Ai ba za ta amsa ba, tana da matsalar kunne, ba ta ji’. (Meaning she couldn’t answer because she is deaf). Mom was so happy and relieved that she helped and promised to inform her colleagues about the lady’s condition.
If not for our human nature, we are quick to assume a thorough look into the ID card will reveal that the student is from the Department of Special Education. Most of the students in the department are either deaf, blind, or mute, and we are obliged to help them in any way we can. My mom’s colleagues were kind; they could ignore the card when it fell. They attempted to help her. They even called her name and ran after her. What they did wrong is the ‘judging’. They were quick to assume.
But they are only human. We do this all the time—you and I. We are quick to judge and assume. I have been accused of being a snub because I couldn’t recognise some of my relatives, colleagues, or classmates. People did not know that I have been diagnosed with Prosopagnosia, a medico-social disorder characterised by difficulty recognising family members and close friends. (I’ll write extensively on the topic next week, in sha Allah.)
This judging and quick-to-assume syndrome didn’t stop in our offline interaction with others. We brought it online. It’s especially unforgiving if it’s coming from a vendor. I read yesterday a comment from a vendor complaining that she did a voice-over of the price and location of her items, yet some annoying people kept asking her for that information.
The question here is, what if some of those asking her are deaf? What if they don’t understand the language she used? Of the few thousand friends I have on Facebook, some are deaf. About seven of them have reached out to me. Many others have not. We interact with them, and they comment and react, but we don’t know what they’re battling with. You may also have similar people in your contacts or come across them on other social platforms.
Please, let us be less judgemental; it’s God’s responsibility, not ours.
Please, let us have more compassion.
Please, let us have more patience.
Before we assume, let’s learn the fact.
Before we judge, let’s understand why.
Aisha Musa Auyo is a Doctorate researcher in Educational Psychology, a wife, a mother of three, a Home Maker, a caterer and a parenting/ relationship coach.