A Litle Focused Sweet Guide

It’s 5 p.m. on a Friday, and I’m heading home from work, tired, but happy, because I’ve officially earned my weekend…given I manage to navigate my wayhome.

At this hour, Berlin is at its absolute best when it comes to traffic and chaos. It’s dark. It’s noisy. And I’m trying to go through a very wide pavement with almost no landmarks I can use to orient myself.

I’m probably walking in fanny zigzags when a woman speaks to me in German. My German is… let’s say baby-level , but it’s enough to understand that she wants to help. I say yes.

Something feels a bit unusual, though. She’s talking more than I’d expect, and her voice sounds like she’s looking downward while speaking. I don’t think much of it. People are different, right? What confuses me more is that she doesn’t take my arm, and she doesn’t offer hers either and i am like did she just go away or what.

A few seconds later, I feel a gentle pull on my trousers. That’s when I realise: it’s a very small kid.

Now it clicks — she had been telling me that her child would hold my hand, if that was okay with me.

For a moment, I wonder if maybe her religion doesn’t allow her to touch a man. Berlin is a multicultural city, and who am I to judge?

I take the kid’s hand.

The woman starts giving careful instructions to The child, this little human, maybe four or five years old — takes the job very seriously . Honestly, when I am walking alone I am less focused and less careful myself and it has to do with my own safety. We reach the subway platform, and they wait with me until my train arrives.

When it does, I thank them and say I can manage from here. The train is crowded, and as I’m trying to find a seat, The woman jumps onto the train, takes my hand, leads me directly to an empty seat and then jumps back out again just before the doors close.

I sit down, smiling, thinking about how kind that interaction was.

And then it hits me. It wasn’t that her religion didn’t allow her to touch me. She wanted her child to learn in real life how to help a blind person properly.

And honestly? That might be one of the most beautiful accessibility lessons I’ve ever experienced. How much better our everyday navigation experience would be if there were more mothers like this one?