The only sign of work is the gardener, who climbs up the rusted ladder, each step about 2 foot apart, to pick the green grapes that neatly dangle in their protected bunches. A boy, probably in his early teens, pushes a wheelbarrow on the uneven road. He is thin and has a long face, slightly skewed to his right. His gait appears normal, but his speech is limited to “beep, beep” imitating the cars that rush by. The wheelbarrow is full of stones and he runs by using his little language. He has a disability and a job ‘of sorts’. In the two days I have been here, I have not seen him play with the other children in the neighbourhood, but no one seems to bother him.
When I return an hour later, he is still “beeping” but his expression has gone from exuberance to tiredness. A house owner in a yellow shirt opens the door of his yellow house to the boy and his wheelbarrow. The boy struggles, to keep the wheelbarrow straight and drops two of the stones. He is not the only disabled person I notice - there are two more, each limping to their right, one pushing a wheelbarrow of stone and the other cleaning the pavements, each in their own world. It is difficult to know what the acceptance of disability is other cultures, only that in this society, the three have a place in this structure.