MAR 2025 - The Man in a Wheelchair

I was invited to participate in a conference: Teaching African Literature. The convenor who invited me was a Nigerian writer who’d spoken to my class as part of our discussion of Anthills of the Savanna by Chinua Achebe, also a writer from Nigeria. My paper described the innovative approach I’d used to teach his novel.

I felt a bit daunted as I entered the room to register. Most of the participants were tall, dark, men wearing African garb. I was one of the few white people and almost the only woman. The man who invited me walked over, welcomed me, and introduced me to some of his friends. Laughing, he told them, “She told the class, before my arrival, they had to ask challenging questions or risk getting an F.” He shook his head. “It worked. I was impressed by their questions and had to really think about the answers.”

“It wasn’t difficult,” I said, feeling a little defensive. “My students enjoyed reading your novel as well as Mr. Achebe’s and the questions were genuine.” 

He patted my shoulder and said, “She’s a great teacher. Be sure to hear her presentation.” They nodded and left. He walked me to the room where he would be speaking. I felt nervous, wondering if I’d made the right decision—to talk about my work rather than read the paper I’d written.

When it was time for my event, I went to the room where I was scheduled to speak and discovered I was the last of three speakers, each of whom had 20 minutes. I had practiced enough to know I could talk about my work in the allotted time. I just hoped the audience would find it interesting.

The first and second man each took thirty minutes, reading their papers in monotone voices. I had been watching the clock and realized, with dismay, there was no time for me to talk. I didn’t know what to do, if anything.

The two men began to pack up. People started to leave. Suddenly, a Black man sitting in a wheelchair spoke up. “Folks, the two men before Dr. King took thirty minutes instead of their allotted twenty, leaving no time for her to speak. We owe Dr. King the same respect given to the two men. Please sit down.” 

Much to my astonishment, everyone sat down. The two men on the platform avoided looking at me. As I spoke, the audience listened attentively. Talking, rather than reading, turned out to be a good decision. I glanced at my watch to make sure I didn’t take more than twenty minutes.

When I finished, the audience clapped. The man in the wheelchair looked pleased and said, “Are there any questions for Dr. King?” I thought everyone would leave, but they didn’t. Quite a few asked questions and the session went on for about ten more minutes before the man in the wheelchair spoke. “Thank you so much, Dr. King. May I have a copy of your paper?’

The two men on the platform left as fast as they could. Some people stood around, saying they’d like to talk with me after I talked with Mr. Achebe. “Who?”

The man in the wheelchair was Chinua Achebe, the author of Anthills of the Savannah. Had I known he’d be in the audience I would have been even more nervous than I was. 

Walking over to him I was filled with questions: Did he approve of how I taught his novel? Did he like the way I involved my students using role play to discuss the book? People standing near him made way for me. 

I thanked him for his help and kindness. He complimented me on my innovative teaching method and asked questions about my students’ responses to his novel. Then he muttered, “Those men! Inexcusable behavior.”

The woman sitting next to him, his wife, grinned. “I bet those men think twice before using more than their share of time.”

“I hope so,” I said, “but I doubt it.” We both laughed.

When I gave Mr. Achebe my paper he requested I sign it. I didn’t have to pretend: With gratitude, respect, and admiration.

Have you been rescued in an unexpected way? What was that like?

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MARCH 2025 MONTHLY STORIES