When we got there, my father stood on the queue, waiting to get to the door.

I saw the door and it left me wondering why that door was designed in the first place.

I pulled my father’s arms and he looked down at me with a smile and ears reaching down, yearning to hear what my curious mind had sprung up.

I asked him in all innocence, “why do they build these door?”

He smiled and said the doors controlled the crowd and kept criminals out.

I smiled and looked away, tears welling up in my eyes.

I saw people walk in and walk out happily.

I looked at my ‘crime’ again.

It was just a wheelchair and the doors were designed to keep us out.

My father rolled the chair forward, looked at the door and looked at me again.

This time, he could see my tears and understood why I had asked.

He picked me up in his arms and walked through the door.

We stood inside for a while and then he stepped out again.

I asked him why he didn’t do the business that brought us there.

He answered firmly, “I just want you to know you’re not a criminal’. It is more important than any transaction today.”

I smiled at him as he put me back in the wheelchair.

I knew from that day that when people mistreat me, it is a reflection of the limitations of their minds. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m whole and good enough.

We must build our minds to accept everyone and provide equal access to opportunities. We should build doors that will not keep people out and criminalise the wrong people.

These ‘little things’ reveal more about our mentalities than our bad economic decisions.

Diversity and inclusion mean a lot more than nice words in manifestos and campaigns.

#RampUpNigeria #AccessForAll.

Inspired by @blizz112 and @diaryofanaijagirl