Photo by PEACHY G. CONCEPCION

"Where are you going tomorrow mom?” my seven-year-old daughter asked me as she watched me fix my camera gear.

“I’m going to the zoo tomorrow to photograph special children who cannot see,” I told her as her eyes widened at my answer.

“Try closing your eyes for a while and walking to your room from here,” I told her. I watched as she closed her eyes and took a few tentative steps, arms outstretched in protection from unseen objects. She stopped and turned to me, eyes open,
“That’s so hard, Mom!”

“Yup, it is!” I answered her, “and yet these kids do that every day of their lives.” Her eyes widened yet again in understanding.
 
“Wow!” was all she said as she walked away from me.

I guess “wow” did say it all.

Our Photography With a Difference workshop with blind children certainly seemed to me like the ultimate ironic situation. As photographers, we train ourselves to look for beauty, look for light, look for the moments we want to capture so that other’s can see what we see. That morning at Manila Zoo, we had beauty all around us. Loveliness was in every child’s smile, in every laugh and every gasp of wonder as they “saw” with their hands. There was light all around but none reflected in their eyes. It was an ever-present reminder that though we could see them, they could not see us.

As a mom, each child reminded me of my own. Maybe that’s why so many of us seemed to be on the verge of tears at one point or another during that morning. As parents (and even non-parents) we knew the obstacles they faced and the hurdles they had obviously overcome. It is the little things we take for granted each day, being able to walk from here to there without bumping anyone, looking out our window and seeing the trees and sky. Seeing our children smile at us. We live in a world of light and they live in the dark. The thought of that darkness is overwhelming and hard to bear for us, almost an impossibility to imagine and yet it is their constant reality. These kids have made a way to live fully and capably. This is a testament to the care and nurturing their parents have given them.

I marveled at their obvious ease with surroundings as their parents guided them through the zoo. It was amazing to watch them stroke each creature. Furry, scaly, slimy and smelly. Their obvious joy and wonder in exploration tugged at my heartstrings. I was awestruck at how fearless they were touching animals that many sighted children would probably run away from. I watched as they stroked a snake up and down, feeling the slithery, slimy skin of the beautiful yellow reptile. It was me, not them who cringed in fear as their hands stroked along the mouth of the snake. Something a sighted child would probably never do. Yet they wanted to “see” everything.

A little boy laid his cheek on the baby crocodile so he could feel it and placed his hand underneath to feel the beating heart. He stayed there a long time, first quietly and then a big smile broke out over his face, he stood up and stroked the back of the crocodile up and down; feeling the length of it. He probably “saw” that crocodile way better than I did.

One little girl walked near a huge statue of a giraffe that towered above us, I watched her father walk her close to it. “Ang taas, anak!” he said to her. To me it was simply there, standing tall as I craned my neck to see it’s full height. To her it remained to be seen. I watched as her hands reached out, first she felt her way up the giraffe’s legs. Then as she lifted her arms as far as they would go, her father picked her up and lifted her as high as he could so she could “see” the underbelly of the giraffe statue with her hands. A big smile broke out on her face and she squealed, “Ang laki!” The same little girl was later lifted onto the back of a miniature pony.  She threw her head back and laughed with undisguised joy. Simple pleasures, tremendous happiness.

When a little boy was brought before Maali the huge gentle elephant, he filled his palms with peanuts and held his arms outstretched in front of him, offering the peanuts to Maali. He smiled with delight as Maali’s trunk came like a natural vacuum cleaner and sucked those peanuts right out of his hands!

Perhaps one of the best moments of the morning was watching the children try out the zipline. They zoomed through the air completely free in that moment. Absolutely no limitations and exactly the same as any other child.

As the morning came to a close, one of the little kids read a letter of thanks to all of us out loud. His nimble fingers glided over the page of his Braille script. In simple words he thanked us for being there. He said that he had enjoyed being with us and hoped that we too had enjoyed being there with all of them. Such an understatement. We had been enthralled by their company and thrilled at the time we spent by their side. It had been a morning of wonder and delight, not just for the children but for each volunteer there that day. We had come with no expectations but had left with hearts full of gratitude for the lessons we had learned from them.

I know that because of them, in the future—when petty little problems arise, or things don’t go as planned and I may get the urge to lament the state of things and complain—I will think back on that morning with those amazing kids who have achieved so much in the face of such adversity. Nothing will ever seem as hard after that.

So many times throughout the morning I found myself simply standing there with a smile on my face, sometimes a little teary-eyed with pride and happiness just watching them instead of shooting photos. I would find myself lost in the moment of their “sight” as I observed how they “saw”. It was a wonderful way to spend a Saturday morning. Learning to see a different way.