DISABILITIES CHRONICLES

I found myself there again, in the middle of the street, waiting for Mehdi to be done. Passersby slowed their pace, glancing at us out of the corner of their eyes with modesty, sometimes with a kind of palpable shame. Rare were those who mocked us. Of course, they tried to understand what we were doing there, in the middle of the sidewalk, Mehdi sitting, staring blankly, rocking his body back and forth frantically, and me, sitting next to him. I could do nothing but… be with him.

Even during our nighttime walks near the lake, when there weren't many people around, he often found himself seized by panic attacks. The setting sun illuminated our two heads. The sun shone for all of us, and for Mehdi, wrapping him too in its summer rays. Because the sun couldn't care less whether Mehdi was autistic or not. When it was exposed, it was for everyone to enjoy. And the yellow and burnt grasses of La Ramée perhaps made the situation even more surreal for the people passing by. As if we were filmed in some sort of movie scene.

Mehdi was a young adult now, and I continued to accompany him almost every summer evening to the lake. Even when he didn’t ask me to. It wasn’t just about walking and taking him out, like you would take a dog out. This evening stroll had become, over the years, our moment together. A special moment where I no longer had to wash him, dress him, feed him, or explain anything to him. A moment where he and I walked side by side without sometimes exchanging a single word. A moment to enjoy the view, the air, our presence.

No, it wasn’t a movie scene and my life was far from resembling a film since Mehdi was born. Fortunately, I wasn't the only one raising him. I had asked my wife to take care of the child, fully knowing what kind of life awaited me. What kind of life awaited US. Allah had decided it that way. So be it.

- Let’s go Mehdi, we still have 1 km to go before we reach the lake ; if we hurry enough, we will arrive for the sunset ! 

Mehdi had started to smile, and it was often at this sign that I knew he had regained his senses. His smile always had that absent, uninhabited quality about it. Some would even say it was a madman's smile. I knew that smile by heart and was sure that this smile, as mad as it was, knew me too.