The New Zealand team came to South Africa with a promise.
They were going to show the South African rugby supporters something.
Well…
Nearly two months later, the quiet little voice from DBSA has a question:
“Um… sirs? What exactly was it you were going to show us?”
Don’t get us wrong. The All Blacks are our greatest rivals for a reason. They are one of the best rugby teams in the world.
And the haka?
Sacred.
Powerful.
An honour.
We know who they are.
But perhaps they don’t quite know who we are.
Hulle weet nie wat ons weet nie.
We know the game
The All Blacks know rugby.
They know pressure. They know discipline. They know how to absorb a hit without losing the plot.
And they know that throwing everything at the opposition in the first twenty minutes doesn’t necessarily win the game.
Sometimes you wait.
Sometimes you conserve.
Sometimes you strike.
They know how to play the game.
So do we.
Just not on a rugby field.
The invisible game
When people see a DeafBlind person at a meeting, at work, travelling or simply participating in the community, they see the outcome.
They don’t necessarily see what came before it.
The planning.
The access arrangements.
The communication.
The energy.
The adaptations.
The recovery.
The decisions about what can be done today — and what has to wait until tomorrow.
That’s the Participation Tax.
Participation can be possible and still cost us considerably more.
So we learn to manage the cost.
We learn the terrain.
We learn when to push.
And we learn when not to.
Because you don’t have to chase every ball.
Sometimes…
you wait and bait.
Hang on… haven’t we seen this before?
This is the funny part.
The All Blacks thought they were going to show South Africa something.
Instead, they may have shown DBSA something rather familiar.
Resilience?
Yes.
Strategy?
Absolutely.
Adaptability?
Every day.
Mental strength?
Please.
The sporting world celebrates these qualities as exceptional.
For many DeafBlind people, they’re simply part of participating in everyday life.
There is no stadium.
No commentator.
No scoreboard.
No trophy.
Just another day of figuring out how to remain part of a world that wasn’t necessarily designed with us in mind.
And doing it anyway.
Strength in Silence
Perhaps that’s why our motto fits this story so beautifully:
Strength in Silence. Vision in Touch.
Strength doesn’t always have to shout.
Sometimes strength is quietly knowing when to wait.
And vision isn’t always about seeing what is in front of you.
Sometimes it is sensing the terrain, reading the situation and knowing when the moment has changed.
Then you move.
Super-human?
Not because we have superpowers.
We don’t.
We get tired. We have limits. We are human.
But sometimes doing something ordinary requires an extraordinary amount of effort.
And most people see only the result.
So when someone says:
“Wow. You’re amazing.”
The quiet DBSA response might be:
“Yes. We know.”
Not because we think we’re better than everyone else.
Because we know what it took to get here.
And that’s why DBSA exists.
Not to tell DeafBlind people to try harder.
But to say:
We know what this costs.
And:
We know it can be done.
So, sirs…
Thank you.
For the haka.
For the rivalry.
For the rugby.
And, apparently, for the lesson.
You didn’t show us that we could be extraordinary.
You showed us that we already are.
We just don’t necessarily have the hand-eye coordination, physical talents or obvious skills that society knows how to put on a scoreboard.
But staying in the game?
Finding another way?
Knowing when to wait?
Knowing when to move?
Oh, we know that game.
Because there is a quiet little voice from DBSA saying:
“Sirs… have you read our blogs?”
You might want to.
Hulle weet nie wat ons weet nie.
But DBSA does.
Strength in Silence. Vision in Touch.
And sometimes the quietest team in the room…
is simply waiting for the right moment.