I laughed as I applied for Mobility International USA's exchange program to Russia to take place during the summer.  My thoughts were, "Hey, what have I got to lose?  It's the price of a stamp, right?  Me in Russia, what a joke." 

Not the most optimistic fellow, eh?  Well, I should tell you a little of my history so that you may be able to empathize a little.

I was born in Brownsville, Brooklyn, one of the most dangerous areas in all of New York.  At age six I moved to Manhattan's Lower East Side, also infamous for its crime and poverty.  Not too many kids from these neighborhoods make it out of the city, much less have the opportunity to hobnob in Moscow's legendary Red Square.  Here's a toast to the God (or Goddess) of Irony, for that is exactly what I found myself doing that summer.

Russia can be an intimidating place for an American.  Add that said American is in a wheelchair and it becomes a bit more frightening.  Add that said American is in a wheelchair and is black and you get a downright scary scenario.  Which is not to say that Russians are racist or anything.  They just have a tendency to stare a lot.  And believe me, a black man in a wheelchair is not something your average Russian sees too often.  In fact, I'm sure for some I was their first and most likely, last.

Once I got past the stares, I found it was all smooth sailing.  I don't care what your nationality may be, when you get down to it we are all endowed with similar characteristics.  We all like to laugh, we all enjoy a good cup of coffee (or tea) and we are all terribly curious about how other people live their lives.  How do you spend your days?  Are you married?  What causes you to get out of bed every morning?  Have you ever met Michael Jordan?  These are the questions that plague our souls and, regardless of what our language may be, we will strive to have them answered. 

This aspect of the trip — the utter unimportance of differing languages — was one of the most startling for me.  Ask anyone traveling to a country where they do not speak the language and they will tell you this is what concerns them most: the inability to communicate.  It horrified me at times.  And let me tell you, Russian is no walk in the park.  It's more comparable to a climb up Mount Everest on the iciest of days.  There are no cognates or words that sound even remotely similar to English terms.  Sure, we all know "dosvedonya" is goodbye, but hey, that comes at the end of the conversation.  And Cyrillic, the Russian alphabet?  Au-ai-ai, it may as well be Martian.

But you know what?  I managed.  I managed just fine.  The human desire to communicate is so strong that whenever I encountered someone, if we were sincerely interested in communicating, we found a way.  Maybe we drew pictures, maybe we pantomimed, maybe we acted out lavish production numbers, but we did it and we did it successfully.  Most of the time.

At the time I was on staff at a children's theatre company in New York.  I work with kids a lot.  It is one of my favorite things to do.  So it was only natural that in Russia I often found myself in the presence of children.  And we had a blast.  On a week-long trip to Siberia I became particularly close to a group of children living in our area and every day we would hang together.  Sometimes we would sing songs, other times play chess, other times just goof around.  All we needed was our basic desire to enjoy one another's company.  The rest simply fell into place.

And it was the same with adults.  While living with a homestay family, I found that I did not often need my little pocket dictionary as we were all an animated bunch who enjoyed using signs and gestures more than searching for the right terminology.

I've been to Russia twice with Mobility International USA, once as a participant and once as a co-leader, and each time I found it to be an extremely rewarding experience — a most valuable learning tool that was humorous and enlightening.

Mexico was equally enjoyable, though I must say it was far less intimidating as I have some good knowledge of the Spanish language, having grown up around Spanish-speaking people.  That is not to say that it was any less challenging.  I just went in with more confidence, which is natural since I’d been on two exchanges already.

All of the same qualities were there: the sincere curiosity, the joy of learning about a new culture, the excitement of making new friends.  I was absolutely elated to find that the difference between a park in Moscow, Russia and a park in San Luis Potosi, Mexico was basically about thirty degrees in temperature (San Luis being the warmer, in case you wonder).

Yes, our group was stared at.  One of the great things about a MIUSA exchange is that people with disabilities are taken places where the natives are not accustomed to seeing them, thus the ability to shock and impress is much greater and the overall effect much more profound.

In Mexico, I met numerous people with disabilities and learned about a variety of organizations there.  I participated in a disability-rights march and played a major role in building a facility that would someday be a housing project for people with disabilities.  I also hung out on beaches, ate at picnics and took part in some great outdoor parties.  My time there — despite a few nagging stomach aches — was precious and unforgettable.  And once again, when it was all over, everyone involved felt that they had somehow grown from the experience — that in some way each was a stronger, more well-rounded person for having been a part of it.  That they had touched and been touched.

And it is in this realization that the true essence of Mobility International lies.  Every exchange is about challenging one's self to be the best one can be, and in doing so, changing an attitude.  That change need not be grand or monumental.  Often, the most effective change starts with the simple planting of a seed.  Mobility International USA exchanges nurture that gardener within every one of us.