The Question that Brought Tears of Gratitude

“How did you do that?” she asked, her voice loud with astonishment. I had just narrowly skipped a gutter filled with rainwater, around the second gate of the University of Buea, and she did not understand how I could do that without being able to see.

I listened as if I had not heard, wondering if I should respond. I knew my answer would only lead to more questions, and I was not so willing to start a lecture. The sun was overhead, my forehead was a torrent, and I was running late for classes.

But she repeated her question, rushing to hold me, perhaps to remind me that she was indeed talking to me. I paused, opened my mouth to answer, and rather paused again. Memories of the times I had fallen into the same gutter were recollecting themselves, as if they did not need my permission to be recollected. They were inviting me into a room of the past, where I could properly see my stained self on that first day of school in the university, where I could clearly see the crowd of pitiful spectators and helpers who had gathered around me.

For a moment, tears lined behind my eyes, but they were not tears hatched by sadness. I didn’t want to let them trickle, but they did, anyway. It was only then that I realized, that she had been hugging me tight, apologizing for asking the question.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I began. “I wasn’t crying because you asked this question. I was simply grateful that I hadn’t given up.”

“Given up!” she exclaimed with heightened curiosity.

“Yes. In my first year, I fell here many times. I fell almost everywhere on campus. Finding my way around was too hard, too hard that I considered quitting university.”

And I meant it. That year had been difficult, although there were always friends to lessen the wait of it. From handling the strange environment to walking into classes and being told “you have missed your way” in that voice that is used to ward off nuisances, I faced it all.

But my passion for education, this privilege that I had been denied for so long, kept me going. “I learned to count my steps, to always keep my White-Cane in front of me and be very attentive as I move. And you know, when you’ve done it for so long, certain things become instinctive,” I explained, and she breathed a smiley satisfaction.

As we talked about other things, exchanged contacts and departed, I kept thinking of GIVING UP, or why people give up on themselves. And It saddened me. It cracked me that so many great people would never be great, because they are not willing, are too weak to stay the course of their greatness.

In truth, most great things necessitate the overcoming of roadblocks. They often require you to try and fail, to stop and start again, to play with many experiments. You will have to stumble from failure to failure, with unbroken enthusiasm. Until you realize this, you will always deprive yourself of the things you were born to be, and to have.

It’s okay to sometimes feel discouraged, like I did, in my first year. But if it is your path, if it is what you really want, keep going. Fall as much as is necessary, but always get back up, and keep moving. There will be light, at the end of your course.

Got it?

We’ll meet at the top.