Able-bodied Kristina Chetcuti spends a day in a wheelchair to test how disabled-friendly our public areas are, but finds cultural issues are more worrying than infrastructural ones.

The woman sitting opposite on the bus is staring at me. After studying me for a while, she turns to the passenger next to her, and blurts out: “Jaħasra, she’s still young – life can be so hard.”

She thinks I can’t hear or understand what she’s saying.

Being in a wheelchair automatically makes me deaf and dumb in the eyes of some people.

It was a testing day. Learning how to move in a wheelchair does not take long: pushing forwards, backwards and turning.

But there are also more complex moves: pushing with one hand, negotiating ramps and kerbs.

The restrictions of four wheels quickly become evident: I cannot move and hold things in my hand at the same time and it feels like there are steps everywhere.

By the end of the day, I feel that my world has become slower, and the pace of life around me faster and faster.

People rush next to me in a blur and I can only catch up so much when I’m on wheels.

But high kerbs and blocked pathways are not the hardest part.

By the end of the day, I feel my world has become slower, and the pace of life around me faster and faster

The worst part – and you can never get this unless you’re actually sitting in a wheelchair yourself – is people’s reactions as you push yourself about.

Then there are comments like those of the woman on the bus.

Getting on a bus is relatively straightforward, except you have to wait and wait, one bus after the next, until a modern, ex-Arriva one arrives. The old ones are not equipped for wheelchairs.

The driver puts down the bus ramp and wheels me to the section reserved for wheelchairs. The bus is crowded and people complain: “There’s no space”; “We’re cramped here”; “She should have waited for the next bus.”

When I ask about the fare, the driver politely says I am exempted.

This does not go down well with some, and across the aisle a woman politicises the issue: “Ara veru m’għandhomx għax igergru taħt dal-gvern ta! B’xejn!” (“They really shouldn’t complain, everything is free under this government”).

When things calm down, the two women opposite start discussing my life and what my tragedy could be – as if I’m a painting on a wall.

There is a sharp difference in attitude: while Maltese people pretend not to see me, or else give a forbearing look and turn away, foreigners approach me and ask if I need practical help.

According to disability sociologist Shaun Grech, this is an attitude brought about by culture.

“Some foreigners, in some contexts such as the UK may be more familiar with the disability presence on the road, in buses and so on. In a context like Malta, where the reference for disability is charity or helplessness, the reaction is either pity, indifference or discomfort.”

Indifference is a problem. In Sliema, for example, disabled-friendly public facilities have greatly improved. But cars are usually parked in front of sloped pavements, or potted plants are placed outside shops, blocking the pavement to wheelchairs. It feels like playing a constant battle to defeat obstacles in a computer game.

Disabled parking places are constantly being occupied by everyone apart from blue-badge owners. In one instance I was sitting in my wheelchair in front of one such space, waiting for the photographer to pick me up, when a woman drove in and parked, throwing me a casual “I’m just dropping off my kids” explanation.

Shopping is difficult: almost all shops in Tower Road and Bisazza Street have at least one step.

A wheelchair-using friend says: “Thank God for the internet now. Before, when I had to shop on the high street, I had sales assistants bring me clothes outside on the doorstep because I could never negotiate three or more steps.”

Praying is also impossible in Sliema. The Nazzarenu church has a ramp, but the gradient is approximately 70 degrees.

I try going up, but even with a divine intervention, I risk toppling over, wheelchair and all.

In Rabat most pavements do not have a sloped edge. I have no option but to stay on the road, with cars driving slowly behind me until I reach my destination.

Dr Grech believes that disabled people continue to be invisible as a critical mass in public spaces.

“And hence they do not exist in people’s minds as people living normal lives... they are drivers, customers, business people, students,” he says.

Perhaps politicians would do well to consider taking up a wheelchair every now and then. Part of the problem, says Dr Grech, are the authorities “who do not make provisions, do not monitor and above all do not enforce laws”.

He believes that for disability awareness to be effective there needs to be not only a physical change, but above all a “cultural change”, a change in the mindset.

“But this change will take dramatic education and measures over a span of time, across sectors, ages and locations.

“It will above all take sharp commitment by all. Policies are merely the superficial surface,” he says.

Do’s and don’ts when meeting someone in a wheelchair

• Focus on the person, not on the disability.

• Always ask the person who uses a wheelchair if he or she would like assistance before you jump
in to help. Your help may not be needed or wanted.

• Do not hang or lean on a person’s wheelchair. A wheelchair is part of his or her own personal
space, so don’t lean on it or rock it.

• Speak directly to the person who uses the wheelchair, not to someone who is nearby as if the
wheelchair user did not exist.

• Don’t classify or think of people who use wheelchairs as ‘sick’. Wheelchairs are used to help people
adapt to or compensate for mobility impairments.

*Compiled by Bernard A. Busuttil, awareness raising manager at KNPD.