Feeling up a pregnant mannequin in the dark was not what I expected from my venture to the Sci-Bono Centre on a Tuesday afternoon — but then again, what was I expecting from an exhibition in complete darkness guided by a blind person?
“Don’t panic!” the eight participants in our group were told by our blind guide as we entered the first room in the Dialogue in the Dark exhibition, which opened at the Sci-Bono Discovery Centre in Newtown, Johannesburg, last week.
Which is exactly what I begin to do. With only a long cane and our guide’s voice to tell me where I am walking I feel insecure and vulnerable, worrying that a tree or a dog is going to jump out and bite me in the dark. Who knows what these arty-farty people are going to throw at me?
But then our guide, 32-year-old Hanif Kruger, blind from birth, reminds me that physically I am safe. And that I have ears and hands and a nose. Use them, he says.
The concept of the exhibition is the brainchild of German journalist Andreas Heinecke who devised it in 1988 as a way of challenging mainstream perceptions of sight, blindness and the so-called “disabled”.
Focus on what you have
Small groups of participants are guided through specially constructed, totally darkened rooms designed to represent daily life scenarios such as a park, market place and restaurant. Participants are led by a blind guide and are forced to interact using their other senses.
“Don’t focus on what you don’t have, focus on what you do have,” Hanif says as he dexterously rescues a rogue participant going in the wrong direction.
The exhibition has been presented in more than 30 countries, at 60 sites and in about 110 cities, throughout Europe, Asia, the Middle East and the United States. So far, more than six million visitors have experienced Dialogue in the Dark worldwide, and about 6 000 blind candidates have found employment through it.
As I enter the first dark room and am plunged into black nothingness, I think: “This can’t be it, can it? Where are the little aisle lights like they have on airplanes?” I grip my cane tighter as if it were the security bar on a rollercoaster ride and tentatively reach out for the cashmere jersey belonging to the woman in front of me — I need to know I am not alone.
“How do you feel?” Hanif asks. Answers such as “insecure”, “nervous”, “anxious” ring through the room, which could be a snow leopard’s lair for all we know.
“Where do you think you are?” Hanif asks, and suddenly I am forced to pay attention to the dog barks, wind and tree smells around me that a few seconds ago were mere distractions to my figuring out where my next footfall would safely land.
The importance of human touch
Hanif, the sighted one in this exercise, encourages us to explore our surroundings, saying that we can apply this activity to life’s challenges.
“Move more to the left,” he says quietly to the women next to him. “How does he know where we all are?” I wonder. Ask him when you go, I tell myself.
“Come towards the right of my voice,” Hanif beckons and I hear the tap-tap-tap of the canes as we move like nervous sheep towards our beacon of light.
As the group progresses through the rooms, I get to know my fellow participants. Only a few minutes ago I knew only their names and what they looked like, and I had already placed them in the social boxes I have for people. Hippy, foreigner, bimbo.
Now I am getting to know them by the perfume they are wearing (and their breath), the texture of their clothes, their accents and their personalities. Some are more confident, exclaiming wildly that they’ve “found the bench, I’m sitting on it!” — reminding me of a child celebrating finding the Easter egg among the azaleas.
One woman keeps apologising shyly every time she bumps into one of us and vice versa. Others laugh hysterically, while another asks the same questions twice: “Must I go down the step now? Now?”
Ten minutes into the experience my personal space bubble is zero and I am welcoming people bumping into me. It means I am not alone. It becomes clear how important human touch is and the need to feel like we are still part of the madding crowd.
‘What’s your dog’s name’
Throughout our 45-minute journey Hanif eloquently guides us through the dark, tempting us to feel the objects around us and smell the air. I keep forgetting that he is blind and am reminded that I have never interacted with a blind person for more than a few minutes and have only asked questions like, “What is your dog’s name?”
By the end of the journey I am listening and feeling with all my might, except it’s not a chore. I can confidently say that I am comfortable in this dark bubble and as we are introduced to the first sliver of light it surprisingly comes as an invasion.
I don’t want to go out into the light again. I’m good at this. I want more. I want to see what else I can actually do if something so seemingly vital is taken away from me.
In the goodbye room we huddle around Hanif, asking him questions about his past and patting his guide dog Orli, who he says he trusts to guide him around the world more than any human being.
One of the participants, Kyla Davis, exclaims how amazed she is at “how much I could see”.
As I leave, I touch Hanif’s shoulder. He didn’t see the hand I extended for a handshake. I’m amazed that for a second I forgot that he wouldn’t see my hand. It might have been because he’d just finished telling me about his wife, his IT company, and how he commutes every day from Pretoria to Johannesburg — for the seventh time in an hour I’d forgotten he was blind.
Sci-Bono is the largest science centre in Southern Africa, according to its website. It opened in 2004 as an initiative of the Gauteng education department and the private sector, and supports education in maths, science and technology to improve public engagement with these disciplines and to promote career awareness in these areas. For more information on the Dialogue in the Dark exhibition, call 011 639 8400.