Braille and Lockdown
María Jesús CAÑAMARES MUÑOZ (Spain)
We have been locked up at home for too
long now as a result of of a pandemic that’s devastating the whole world. We
can’t do the shopping or go to social gatherings or events where we can interact
with others. A few months ago, we didn’t have time to watch television, phone a
relative to ask about their health or play with the kids…now, we have more time
than we need.
Having said this, I find the methods we
use to communicate with others at a distance cold and boring. The synthetic
voices in my computer annoy me. The press and TV bring us more than enough
information and shocking figures about the number of deaths and infection
rates. I can’t stand the WhatsApp messages with videos and photos I can’t see
but have no text and, quite often, the jokes are in bad taste. But how can I
fill these days of forced loneliness? My mind is sombre.
Then suddenly a marvellous genius by the name of Louis Braille, inventor of the tactile reading and writing system of the same name, based on just six dots, a system that has saved so many blind people from illiteracy over the past two hundred years, brings me a ray of light.
“Where are those books you bought as part
of the “A book a month” collection? The ones you stopped reading when you
discovered new technologies. And where are those folders with your most
intimate memories of when you were a child and a teenager?”
Fantastic! Thanks to Louis’ suggestions I have
something to keep me entertained for several weeks. I switched off the TV and
the computer right away, went up into the attic and, in a matter of minutes, I was
in my room with those boxes full of books, folders and memories. I put on a CD
of relaxing music and let it play.
Oh, a letter from Julia, the teacher in
the village. Alphabet in hand, she taught herself braille and sent this letter
to the school where I was studying. It caused me more than a few headaches as I
tried to read it in every direction - vertically, horizontally and
perpendicularly – but it was impossible to decipher. It was written using a
slate and stylus and after a few attempts I reached the conclusion Julia had
written it from left to right, just as sighted people write using a pen. So, I
had to read it the other way round, from right to left. It was tough work but
with a happy ending because I was able to understand what she had written.
And here, in this other compartment, are
my never-ending maths exercises, with the equations and calculations Tomas, my
teacher, set me, the ones I always got wrong! Now I think about what it would
be like to do these exercises on a computer. I’m sure it would be impossible
for me because I’m incapable of working with Excel rows, cells and
columns.
I go on looking through the box with my
fingers and a laugh from my throat echoes around the room. Pepe’s assignment! I
asked him to do it when I had the bright idea of working as a braille monitor
at the ONCE branch office in Cuenca. He had to write five words related to
braille and, when he had finished, he handed it to me: stylus, paper, brailler,
slate and…
“There’s a word missing”, I said with a
smile.
He read the words several times and
insisted everything was correct, but I insisted it wasn’t so he gave me the
piece of paper again to check it.
“There’s one missing. It says “cot” here.
Pepe’s embarrassment and everyone’s laughs
make for a great story. Without meaning to, he had given us one of the funniest
moments of the course, and so I decided to keep that amusing memento.
I go on reading and, at the same time,
listening to the music, which comforts me more and more. Then I realise that
if, instead of reading braille, I had been listening to a voice synthesiser, I
wouldn’t be able to listen to both at the same time, because the sound would
come from the same loudspeaker. Braille and technology are not at odds; they go
together, complement each other and can help a blind person learn more and
better and be more independent. But there are times, like this one I’m telling
you about, when we need to choose one system or another.
What’s this? Ah, it’s my little book of
mysteries and litany of the holy rosary! That’s what I called this manuscript I
wrote with the help of my mother’s dictation. I caress it and take the firm
decision to pray from it every day, after going out onto my balcony to applaud
as hard as I can the health workers who are looking after us and giving their
all to save us from the coronavirus.
I lift the cover of my watch and, on the
braille dial, I see it is five minutes to eight. That’s when I drop everything
and clap my hands enthusiastically for a good long time. I return to my room
and, rosary and book in hand, I pray fervently, asking Louis to intercede with
our father for all the sick people who are suffering, all the relatives who
fear they will pass away, and all the health workers who, at the risk of
becoming infected, work tirelessly to cure us.
I finish my prayers and grab something for
dinner, then I go to bed with a braille book I’ve read a hundred times but will
read a hundred times more. I am completely overcome by a sense of inner peace
and tranquillity I have never felt before. And now, more than ever, I
understand what braille means to me. Thanks to braille, which will always be
there when we most need it, I feel surrounded by friends, teachers, family and
characters from the books I read.
And, little by little, I fall asleep. I
hope my dreams are sweet.
