When silence speaks a language of its own

“When I was 8 years old, one day I became unconscious. My mom rushed me to the hospital. I was in a coma for several days. My parents thought I was dead. But the doctor said I wasn't dead. I had meningitis, and I was given the Pfizer injection. After that I, felt better, but then I lost my hearing.”

Sani Muhammad Jimada was among the hundreds of children affected by the Pfizer’s controversial, unapproved clinical trial of their antibiotic during a bacterial meningitis epidemic in Kano, Nigeria.

Unexpected encounter

I met Sani at Addis Ababa Bole International Airport in Ethiopia. I was looking for a way to fill the six hours of a long layover.

He was waiting to catch the same flight to Accra, to attend the same conference I was going to. We had been speaking via Telegram, and I went to locate him. He told me I'd find him in front of the boarding gate, 4 hours ahead of our flight. When I went there to meet him, he pointed his fingers at his ears to indicate that he can’t hear or speak either. Trying to mask my surprise by hugging him, we got to talking through basic gestures.

I learned that the reason why he was sitting by the boarding gate so long before the next flight was because he cannot hear the flight announcements, so staying near the monitors allowed him to keep up with any flight changes. I assured him that I would update him.

We were sitting beside each other; there was 1 foot between us, but we had to use Telegram to communicate. Because I couldn’t understand his sign language and he couldn’t hear or understand what I was saying.

I wasn't sure why Sani was going to the conference, which is for the people who work to preserve and document language. At that time, I didn’t know much about sign language. I didn’t have an idea that sign languages have their own rich culture, and there can be a lot of things to do with sign language, and those also need to be preserved.

We went to the hotel together after departing from Accra. Sani became friends with everyone there. He had a speech-to-text app installed on his mobile, which he used to understand what was happening around him. Though it wasn’t accurate, it gave him the chance to connect to everyone. We also learned some basic sign language from him to communicate. Although he was trying his best to communicate with everyone, he was still struggling, as his interpreter wasn’t there yet. He wasn't able to join me when I went sightseeing.

Sani had a normal childhood like everyone else. He was born in Kano State in Nigeria, which is in the northern or northwest part of Nigeria. He used to hear the notes of the world until he contracted meningitis like thousands of others living in the African meningitis belt. He was given the antibiotic called Trovan (trovafloxacin) by Pfizer as part of an illegal clinical trial without authorization from the Nigerian government or consent from the children's parents.

He lost his hearing, and his life started differently. "When I became deaf, my parents didn't abandon me,” Sani said. He was admitted into a special school there, and he learned sign language. “When I was a hearing person, I didn't think there was a deaf person in the world until I became deaf. I didn't know that there was something called sign language,” said Sani.

Though his school was for deaf people, it wasn’t that inclusive. Some of the teachers were deaf, and others were able-bodied, and the students had to learn on their own.

After high school, Sani was admitted to Ahmadu Bello University, where he studied computer science. The university was only for hearing people. At first, they didn’t want to admit Sani because he was deaf. He had to give an entrance exam to prove himself. Even after getting in, things didn't get easier. There wasn’t any arrangement for deaf people. But Sani was able to adapt. In fact, he adapted so well, that the university authorities established a disability department to assist deaf people.

After his graduation, the government gave Sani an automatic scholarship to continue his education. He went on to pursue integrated sign studies at another university in Nigeria. After completing his education, Sani became a teacher, teaching computers at some of the deaf schools in his state.

Rediscovering a mother tongue

Before the deafness, his mother tongue was the Hausa language. But after becoming deaf, he first learned ASL (American Sign Language) in school. They also had their own local sign language, HSL (Hausa Sign Language). Like other young deaf Hausa people, Sani did not want to use Hausa Sign Language because he felt that people might think that his signing was too local.

Sometimes he questioned himself, "Why would I feel shy using my own language? If I don't use my mother tongue, it means that the time will come when there will be no Hausa Sign Language in the world. The language will vanish, and how are we going to tell our generation about our special language?”

Unlike ASL, which is just words, Hausa Sign Language is very rich in culture. It has different signs that are not anywhere close to any other sign language in the world. In HSL, before signing any word, there is always a story behind it. So Sani thought if HSL didn't have enough users, there would be a time when it would totally disappear from the world.

In 2002, a woman from Germany named Constanze Schamaling came to Nigeria to learn the Hausa language, and she made a dictionary of the Hausa language. She then worked with HSL and later wrote a book on HSL.

Seeing Constanze travel all the way from Germany to learn and document a language that was not her own made Sani think "If a white woman finds the Hausa language interesting and travels all the way to document this language, why should I be shy of my own language?" That is what prompted Sani to change his mind and focus on Hausa Sign Language.

He started to explore the language and was stunned by its diversity and richness. Then he started thinking about how he could spread the word and make people aware. Noticing that people these days spend more time on social media and read less, he started making videos on social media in Hausa Sign Language.

As he has expertise in ICT, he uses that skill. He regularly makes awareness videos, podcast-style conversation videos in HSL, comparing other sign languages with HSL and other types of videos. Through his journey, he was supported and funded by Wikitongue, which provided him with the tools needed for his project.

The barriers that remain

Sani is now more successful than some able-bodied people. This does not mean his struggles are over. One of the biggest challenges is the lack of interpreters. He has to face barriers everywhere, including hospitals, banks, airports, govt offices, etc.

One day Sani went to the hospital with his wife, who is also a deaf person. “I tried to explain to the hospital staff that we were deaf and that my wife was sick, but the doctor’s behaviour and attitude were unacceptable.

Fortunately, I had a phone with internet, so I downloaded an app to help me communicate. My wife’s condition was getting worse, and I rushed to speak to one of the doctors. I tried writing down what I wanted to say, but they did not even have time to read it. I told them, ‘Please, just speak. I have an app that will translate for me.’”

Sani could see that the doctor was kind of irritated. His app was already translating, so he could see exactly what the doctor was saying. He drew the doctor's attention to what he was saying about his wife. The medics changed their attitude out of embarrassment when they realized Sani could understand what they were saying. Sani pointed out this was his experience as someone who is educated. How about deaf people who are not educated, who do not have smartphones? Their experience could be much worse.

Not Everyone Is as Lucky

“I count myself among the lucky people that my parents really loved me,” Sani says. “A lot of deaf people don't really have love from their own family.” So he tries to advocate for the deaf community. He regularly talks with the parents about how they should treat their children.

Sani never thought about this life. He didn’t give his consent to be the lab rat of some multi-billionaire company.

He was just passing his days happily like others. Now he misses his former life. He misses the sound of Adhan. He misses the Quran recitation by Imam during prayer. “What I miss most is the call to prayer. Sometimes, even when the Imam is praying, when he is reading the Quran, the sound of that reading, I really loved it.”

A more inclusive world

He dreams that one day Hausa sign language will be one of the recognized languages so that its speakers don’t have to face the communication barriers. He loves his language. “Let's not hide it. Let's not let our mother tongue vanish from the face of the earth because the more you speak your mother tongue, the more life you put in it and the more it goes,” Sani says.

He has achieved a lot in his relatively short life, but it came through a lot of struggle. He doesn’t want others to face the discrimination he faced. “Anyone can become a person with disability at any time. So let's make sure that we love one another so that we can all live in a peaceful world.”

When I bid my final goodbye at Accra Airport, I gave Sani a hug, which was all I could do for him. As I got ready to board the plane home, it was with a wish that the world would become kinder to people like Sani.