Disability is nothing more than a unique ability; meet DFCU’s deaf teller with very a beautiful silence.
I hate the early morning rain. I hate its thunderous clap. I hate the morning routine through its noise and the occasional wink of lightening. I hate the sound that accompanies lightening. I hate running to the taxi stage through the rain. It always dumps my day. It is a terrible thing when the rain pulls you by the ear like a troublesome kid, forces you to sit on its laps and gives you a lecture or two about buying an Umbrella and a raincoat. It makes for me such a bad day. But yet, I loved the sound of rain on my grandmother’s old mabaati house. It was my lullaby.
It is a Friday, the morning rain has left a cold misty wave walking Kampala’s concrete jungle. The city’s inhabitants move like scattered particles – some seeking refuge from the stubborn drizzle, others marching forward with determined strides, soaked in the rain, uninterrupted by the morning’s bad temperament. Kampala is unforgiving, a metropolis that demands constant motion and offers no sanctuary for the idle. I am wet but I keep walking. It’s my act of defiance and anger towards the rain. My final stand before I buy an umbrella.
Across from City Square, Kampala City, the DFCU bank branch stands as a custodian of urban commerce. Its presence is unmistakable, a landmark etched into the city’s ever growing architectural narrative. As I step inside, I realize I am among the first clients to arrive, only two men were there before me. Maybe they woke up earlier or they had already braved the morning’s languid spell.
The bank’s staff move through their early morning ritual with practiced precision, their movements choreographed by mostly years of seeming routine. An overhead loudspeaker orchestrates the client flow, directing each person to their designated station with mechanical efficiency. It says “card number one go to counter six.” or something of the sought. Everyone obeys this strange sound.
Like everyone else in the waiting area, I find refuge in the digital world of my phone. Social media was awash, netizens were mocking the rain with memes. The rain hates mockery and today it was out to make a statement, one could feel it’s’ hot temper. My temporary escape into the digital world from the ambient banking atmosphere is suddenly disrupted.
A gentle wave catches my attention. From one of the discrete spaces, a staff member beckons me forward, her communication silent yet eloquent. Her hands dance – a fluid, intricate language of gestures that speaks volumes without a single audible word.
I meet her at the counter, and she greets me. Her smile is extraordinary – warm, genuine, radiating an instant sense of welcome. Using sign language, she communicates with an elegant grace that transforms what could be a mundane banking interaction into something profoundly human. I attempt to respond, mustering one of my rare smiles, feeling slightly awkward but genuinely moved by her approach. I am a novice to sign language, but I can understand every hand signal. She does it with so much ease and clarity.
Her composure is professional – brown-skinned, calm, with an aura of collected confidence that immediately puts me at ease. Her movements are deliberate, her expressions kind. Through sign Language, she explains there might be a slight network delay, her request for patience delivered with such gentle whisper in sign language that waiting seems less like an inconvenience and more like a shared moment of understanding.
The network flickers to life and she proceeds to attend to me. I watch with admiration. Her hands run through the keyboard. The printer in the corner awakens from its long slumber it spits out a document in slow motion she proceeds to stamp and sign. She then hands me my deposit slip and smiles. Her fingers flutter in a delicate sign language farewell, wishing me a pleasant and prosperous day. I am moved beyond words. Standing there, I place my right hand on my chest – a gesture of deep respect, of recognition. I take a bow to say “gracious” and to acknowledge her extraordinary spirit. She has just demonstrated something that all the words in the world would never so well articulate. That her disability is nothing more than a unique ability, a lens through which to experience and view the world. I take another bow as I walk away from her till. How was it that so much love, hope and inspiration was tied in this one till?
At that moment, I discover that, life often holds our hand and leads us to many places. In these places life makes interactions of us. Each interaction is a whisper, a lesson, some of which are unforgettable, some uplift, some humble, others hurt, others simply- inspire. Leaving a vibrant and sometimes stark emotions – some interactions elevate our spirits, and a few leave us scarred or charred like the rain on me. Few leave an inspiration print. The remarkable truth is that no experience leaves us the same; we are perpetually transformed by the subtle moments that straddle our paths and give a gentle tap on our shoulders. One thing is for sure it never leaves us the same.
I turn back to take a look around this place as I walk out. It’s an amazing place-with amazing people. An amazing corporate culture. The lady at the till had given me so much to hope for. Suddenly I blessed the morning rain that had brought me to this place. No word was spoken yet I had never seen such a professional display of banking eloquence. Maybe it’s the sound of a silence so beautiful. This was not just a financial institution, but a sanctuary of human potential. A place of possibilities. Each corner seems to shout stories of hope, of individuals who refuse to be defined by limitations. The deaf teller has not just processed my transaction; she has touched my charred mood and made my morning. We meet God in many ways. I met God in human form. DFCU’s deaf teller. I’ll find her name. I must!
The Uganda Bureau of Statistics Census Report (UBOS 2016) indicated that 12.4% of the Ugandan population lives with some form of disability implying that approximately 4.5 million Ugandans are persons with disability. I met one, an exceptional one. I know they are many more waiting for an opportunity.
The day stretches before me, suddenly luminous with possibility. No self-help book could do this – educated, inspired, and fundamentally changed. I walked out of its doors onto the noisy Kampala Street. I gestured to a “Boda boda” man to stop. He did, without words I gestured towards Nakasero road. We rode in silence. Upon arrival, I disembarked paid my dues and gave him that nod that says “Thank You, you too have made my day.” He does the same and rides of into Kampala’s chaotic morning. The drizzle still dropping. A good day lay ahead.
