Confronting our limitations: Amina Slaoui at TEDxCasablanca

Amina Slaoui helps people with disabilities in Morocco regain their dignity and rediscover the joy of living. In this emotional talk, Slaoui, herself paralyzed in an accident in Costa Rica, recounts how she found the strength to overcome her disability.

My husband and I
used to travel every year.

We traveled far and wide.

On our way to Costa Rica
we stopped in Paris.

We were walking on Boulevard Raspail

when we came across

a massive demonstration of the French
Association for Paralyzed Persons.

The streets were full of thousands
of disabled people.

And I remember,
as we crossed the Boulevard,

we found ourselves among
a crowd of people in wheelchairs,

on crutches, with canes,
visually impaired people with guides.

It really was an impressive demonstration.

And I said to Brahim, "Do you see that?
They're all disabled.

It must be awful, living like that."

A few days later, we were in Costa Rica

and, one morning, we decided
to rent bicycles to go for a ride.

We were 8 hours
from the capital, San José.

We rented the bicycles

and I remember that the woman
didn't want to rent them.

But we insisted. At the time,
I was taking a lot of photos.

I had put my cameras at the front
and I was a little off balance.

So we took to the road
and went to the beach.

The weather was wonderful
and I crossed a first little bridge.

I was a little uncomfortable
because my bicycle was a bit big,

but I told myself, it didn't matter;
still, I was a little afraid.

I crossed the first bridge
and came to a second one

and then, I don't know how,

my handlebars turned, and I found myself
riding off the precipice

and I thought to myself, "This is bad."

And, indeed, I fell.

It wasn't very high, but there was
an enormous rock at the bottom

and it hit me right in the back

and I was instantly paralyzed.

This is something you cannot feel
unless you have experienced it

because no one can imagine suddenly losing
the use of their limbs,

not just from their ability to move,
but also from their ability to feel.

So there I was lying under a burning sun,
waiting for Brahim, my husband.

He had seen me fall, but he was laughing,

thinking, "She can't even ride a bike."

He really thought I would get up
and we would be on our way again.

So when he reached me,
I said, "I'm paralyzed."

Amazingly, I knew then that it was serious

and yet in that moment I was struck
by an incredible sense of calm.

But while I was remarkably calm,

he had to deal with all the stress
of finding a truck,

which took me to a small village,
a 4-hour drive away.

I remember that it was a pick-up truck.

I was like this the whole way,
because I couldn't breathe,

I had a collapsed lung.

And in my mind I had to hold on,
I had to get to the hospital.

I never thought I was going to die,
not for a moment:

That was the first border I crossed

because we're all afraid of death,

but not for one minute
during those 8 hours,

from that lost patch of land in Costa Rica
to the hospital in San José,

in positively epic rescue conditions,

as we had to call for a small plane that,
in the end, couldn't land,

then a second, which had to land
in a banana field...

I won't go into the details.

When I made it to the hospital,
my blood pressure was down to 5.

And not for a minute did I think
I was going to die.

I thought, "I have to hold on."

(Applause)

I'm telling you all of this
because the fear of death is a primal fear

and I can assure you, although some of you
may have already experienced it,

that when you are confronted
with this possibility

you are overcome with an inner calm
and gain access to unbelievable resources.

Just unbelievable.

What followed was a rather long
rehabilitation period.

First in the USA, then in France.

Then again, I crossed other borders
which are the borders of pain,

Because being disabled is not just about
being in a wheelchair,

it's everything you can't see.

It's all the neurological pain,

which I remember feeling
some days but not others.

There were days without pain
when I functioned more or less normally.

And there were days when, in the morning,
the pain would start from my little toes

and, by the end of the day, my whole body
would be crippled with pain

to such an extent
that I would tell my doctors,

"You have to do something about the pain
because it's driving me mad!"

But they only gave me antidepressants.

When I found out what they were,
I threw them away,

thinking, "Look, I'll deal with it,

I'll bear the pain if it means
being able to go on living,

because I don't want it
to get a hold on me."

And that's what I did. I kept busy

with my rehabilitation and other things,

and it was long because, at 32,
I was in the prime of my life.

I had everything going for me:

a great job, a husband I adored,
two children.

Everything, and suddenly,
I no longer knew who I was.

Was I still a woman?
Was I still attractive?

What would the rest of my life be like?
Would my husband leave me?

All the questions you would ask yourself
if you became disabled overnight,

and I thought,
"What does the future hold?"

And again, a great calm came over me.

It's amazing, because people often ask me,

"How did you manage?"

And I tell them,
"It's something beyond myself."

It's a strength.

I think we all have within us
hidden abilities and resources

that allow us to react
when faced with difficult situations

and make the right decisions.

So I thought to myself, since I'm here
and my children are still young,

I'm going to put my family on hold
and focus on what I'm doing right now,

and I made a life for myself in France.

My life revolved around
rehabilitation centers, friends, outings,

joys, sorrows, pain, tears, laughs...

And in those 6 months, finally,

as I was living for the moment,
trying to recover

a little of my mobility.

I kept thinking,
"I'm going to do everything I can

to be able to walk again,
and if I do walk again, fine,

but if I don't, I'll just have to cope."

After those 6 months,
I came back to Morocco.

And it still took me another year
to wrap my head around it.

Because at some point you have to let go.

You realize that your motor function
and feeling are not returning,

and you have to accept
that you may never walk again,

that you may no longer
be able to do certain things.

It took me a year
to start doing things again.

It was always hard at first.

The first time I went to the cinema,
the first time I went to the restaurant,

the first time I went swimming,

the first time I saw people
I had always seen while standing

and found myself at waist level.

It was all about thinking,
"Everything is going to be hard at first,

but it will get better."

But what really struck me
was the way people looked at me.

I would say to myself,
"I don't care what people think of me."

I don't want to be seen
as a disabled person,

and even if people do see me that way,

I don't want it to define me.

Only I can turn my weaknesses
into strengths,

and only I can make people
forget my disability.

One thing in particular that struck me,

when I arrived at the train station
the first day,

I shared a room with an 18-year old girl
who was paraplegic, and she told me,

"I can't bear going on the Champs-Elysées

with my boyfriend in a wheelchair.
Everybody looks at us."

It triggered something in my mind.

"I will never be like that.
I'm proud of myself, proud of who I am,

and if my disability makes other people
uncomfortable, it's their problem."

(Applause)

One small victory after another.

I have to say, I received
a tremendous amount of support

not only from my family,

that is, my husband, my parents,
my in-laws, my children, etc.,

but also from an outstanding wave
of solidarity.

While I was in rehabilitation,

I received faxes, and every day
we would get together as a family

and read them, and they were like
waves of energy

that made all the borders vanish,

both physical and psychological.

Because there comes a time
when you can find peace

and can accept your situation
for what it is,

because it is what it is,
and resistance is useless,

and resistance leads to suffering,
and... I've lost my train of thought.

What I mean to say is,
an Indian master once said,

"Pain is inevitable,
suffering is optional."

And I thought,
"What are we really afraid of?"

Are we afraid of pain?
Pain is here, and I can overcome it.

Are we afraid of being paralyzed?
I'm paralyzed and I can overcome that.

And in the end you realize
that the borders

which seemed so narrow in the beginning

have become less and less restrictive.

The important thing
is to expand your comfort zone.

This was an important breakthrough for me.

So I came back to Morocco,
after a 6-month rehab in France.

I was reunited
with my family, my children.

Nothing ever happens by chance.
Somebody told me of an association

that had just been created called
Moroccan Association for the Disabled,

and they told me,

"You should contact them,
they just held a telethon."

I had no TV at the time, this was in 1993.

So I went to see them,
and they were great.

There was 5 of us at the time,
not very many,

and we began to work toward changing
how people saw disability.

We held telethons,

we developed services.

I'll start the slideshow.

So we developed services for the disabled.

Since we are a support association,

we give out canes, crutches, wheelchairs

and this is an important part of our work,

but we also provide people with legal aid,

we help them find jobs,
access training and education.

We are also very involved in sports.

The Association is also concerned
with development and advocacy,

because in today's world
it is not enough to change

how people see disability,
we also have to change the law.

We know that, if we don't have laws
that are properly enforced,

no matter what we do,
we will never be able to move forward.

So in the past 10 years
we have focused our efforts on advocacy,

hoping to steer things
in the right direction.

And we soon realized that the first step
was to improve access to rehabilitation.

It was then that we decided,
thanks to the telethon we had held,

to build Morocco's first
rehabilitation center.

And now I'd like to show you
a 2-minute video

that illustrates everything we've done
with the center.

(Video in English)

Here are Youssef, Salma,
Antja and Khadija.

They are Moroccan,
often from underprivileged backgrounds.

And they're disabled.

A very enterprising woman
put a smile back onto their faces.

And she's disabled as well.

It all began in 1992,

when Amina Slaoui
lost the use of her legs.

But instead of giving up,

she turned her disability
into a positive force

and joined the Moroccan
Association for the Disabled.

AS: "When I joined,
I was fully committed.

I didn't even have to think about it.
It was a need.

It was vital for me. I didn't want
to remain imprisoned by my disability

I didn't want to be a burden

on my husband, my children,
my family, society.

I didn't even have to think about it.
We got together and formed a group

to promote change and show the world
that a person with a disability

is a person like any other,

with problems, worries,
joys and happiness,

who just wants to belong."

Narrator: To give the disabled
a chance to live a normal life.

That's the aim of the association for
the rehabilitation center in Casablanca.

AS: It's a hospital.

The center is open to anyone
with a disability, temporary or permanent.

It can be any kind,
but it's mostly physical disabilities.

People come here with a life project.

They need to rebuild their lives.

We're with them every step of the way,
until they return home.

And, where possible,
we help them find a job.

Narrator: A friendly, modern,
comfortable center

often in striking contrast
with the patient's everyday life.

Amina was raised
in a privileged environment,

yet she's fully aware that,
especially in Morocco,

a disability can mean hardship
for the entire family.

AS: You need a lot of things
when you're disabled,

Things like a wheelchair, canes,
rehabilitation and technical help

like orthopedic devices or prostheses.

And, unfortunately, such things are very,
very expensive.

Narrator: Amina and Association
still have many hurdles to get over:

accessibility to public places,

integration in schools and the workplace.

There's a lot to be done,

but there's no shortage of enthusiasm
in the association to get it done.

AS: I believe our strength comes
from living in the moment,

because when something like this happens,

everything changes.

The accident and everything that followed
made me grow as a person

and changed the people around me,

and I have no regrets.

(Applause)

We're very proud of the center.

We welcome about 200 people a day
in an outpatient capacity.

We have 80 beds and 180 employees.
It is, in fact, a business.

And we're opening a second center
in Casablanca.

That's really fundamental,

that is, rehabilitation
for the purpose of reintegration.

Because without rehabilitation,
there can be no reintegration.

I would like to add that our disabilities
do not define us.

Disabled people are fascinating,
they make people feel uncomfortable.

I've often wondered why.

And I think that, in a way,
it's because we reflect

the fears, weaknesses or flaws of others.

People don't want to identify with someone
who isn't considered normal.

I think that "able" people
have a hidden desire

to build a wall between normal
and non-standard people.

It's precisely this border

that we, the Moroccan Association
for the Disabled,

are trying to tear down.

It's not about the wheelchair.

I consider myself an able person
in a wheelchair.

I can't walk, but I'm just as active,
if not more so,

than most people I know.

It's important that we bring down
this misconception.

I think role models are important

and that's why I talk about myself,
but there's a whole team behind me.

We are united, we complement one another,
we've been a team for about 20 years,

and our purpose is to tell people,

"Unfortunately, it doesn't only happen
to other people.

It can happen to anyone.

And I'm living proof of that,

so please do away with these borders,
lets overcome our limitations."

And my life does not revolve
around my disability.

And something interesting
that I'd like to share

is that we've created another association
called l'Art de vivre,

an association where we offer classes,

workshops in what we call
breathing techniques,

which help people better manage stress.

These are, in fact,
ancient yoga techniques

that have been adapted
to the modern world.

These workshops led us to the prisons,

an experience that had
a profound impact on me,

because we found ourselves
giving breathing lessons

in a center for young
offenders in Casablanca,

and teaching yoga to young people
who spend years in lockup,

and trying to raise
their level of awareness.

I have about a minute left,

so I'll wrap up by saying
that it is important

that we seek growth as people.

We shouldn't wait
for a traumatic event, for suffering,

because even in health,
we have the capacity for growth.

I encourage you to develop that capacity.

Before I go, I have two quotes.

"That which does not kill us
makes us stronger."

That's Nietzsche.

And the second is:

"The man who moves a mountain
begins by carrying away small stones."

Thank you.

(Applause)