No access pass

One of my students, Esther, was at my house today, checking out all the cards I have stuck on my wall that people have sent me since I moved here. She flipped through them absentmindedly before asking who had written the loopy cursive on an Easter card.

It was from my grandma. And I told her that.

Her response was an exclamation at the fact that my grandmother knew how to read and write.

I’ve met Esther’s grandmother before. She’s one of my favorite people in the village, and I always stop to talk to her when I see her. What never crossed my mind during these conversations was that this was the only way she knew how to communicate.

What I’ve learned more than anything here, and what I keep learning, is what I see as the norms in my life and see as inherent and natural are not actually universal. Things that I took for granted as given are not available for everyone. Books, toys, pens, food, health, education. These are all things that I have access to on a regular basis, but not everyone finds them as equally accessible.