How do you explain to someone what it’s like to live with a rare disease or a disability — especially when you’ve spent your whole life trying, yet still struggle to find the right words?
There’s a deep disconnect between those who live with a disability and those who don’t — not because people are unkind, but because some things are nearly impossible to truly imagine unless you’ve lived them. In South Africa, this gap in understanding often results in a lack of awareness, poor accessibility, and missed opportunities for genuine inclusion.
According to the World Health Organization, over 1 billion people live with some form of disability — and yet so few spaces are truly accessible. In South Africa, Stats SA reports that a significant percentage of persons with disabilities still face daily barriers to education, employment, and mobility.
I’ve often asked myself:
How do you explain that a wheelchair isn’t just mobility — it’s everything?
How do you convey that without it, you feel stuck, incomplete, and invisible?
It’s Not Just a Chair
Imagine waking up in bed, wanting to do something as simple as make a cup of coffee. For most, it’s a few steps and a matter of minutes. For me — and many others living with disabilities — it’s an ordeal.
If I don’t have access to my wheelchair, I can’t move. I can’t sit up. I can’t drink water. I can’t eat. I can’t reach for my phone or a book.
I literally cannot live without it.
When I’m in my chair, I feel strong, capable, and free. Without it, I feel like I disappear into the walls of the room I’m in.
The Struggle to Explain the Inexplicable
Trying to explain the role of a wheelchair to someone who’s never needed one is like trying to describe colour to someone who’s never seen. It’s not just a support device — it’s a bridge to living. A wheelchair is not a symbol of limitation. It is, ironically, a symbol of possibility.
And yet, I still hear phrases like:
- “You’re so lucky to sit all day.”
- “At least you don’t have to walk anywhere.”
- “I’d love to have wheels to get around quickly.”
Those comments are never meant with malice, but they come from a place of not knowing. And that’s the root of the problem.
Independence Looks Different for Everyone
For me, independence is not about being able to drive myself or travel alone. It’s about having the dignity to get through my day without having to ask for help for every small task.
My wheelchair doesn’t just help me move — it allows me to participate, to contribute, and to live.
Without it, I deteriorate — physically, emotionally, and mentally. The less I move, the more my muscles weaken. It’s a vicious cycle, and one most people never think twice about. That’s why awareness is so important. That’s why we must keep telling our stories — even when the words don’t come easily.
A Call for Awareness and Understanding in South Africa
In our country, accessibility remains a daily battle. Ramps are rare. Elevators are broken. Doors are too narrow. And the worst part? Most people don’t even notice. Because if you’ve never had to rely on a wheelchair to exist, you’ve never had to worry about these things.
We need change. And change starts with awareness.
Organisations like QASA and Inclusive Design SA are doing crucial work to change that, but we need widespread awareness and action to move from inclusion on paper to inclusion in practice.
So, next time you see someone in a wheelchair, try to see more than the chair. See the person. See their strength, their story, and their drive for independence.
My Chair Is My Freedom
I don’t want pity. I don’t want applause.
I just want people to understand.
Because my wheelchair isn’t a burden — it’s my freedom.
And in a world that often sees only the limitations of disability, I choose to celebrate the strength, resilience, and possibilities that come with wheels.
