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Behind the wheel: Nicky Abdinor has an adapted car that uses a joystick system, but this technology still isnt available in South Africa.

I was born in East London in 1979. There were no scans in those days, so when I popped out my parents were shocked. After they got over the shock that I was born with disability called Phocomelia/bilateral PFFD, they focused on what I would be able to do, instead of what I couldn’t.

My disability was unique and there was no reason it happened. There was no Google in those days so they went to the library to read about it.

There my folks saw a photo of a girl without arms living in a home in the UK, who looked very similar to me.

When I was 10 months old they arranged to go over with me to meet her.

She was a teenager then and it was very motivating for them to see how she managed and know what I could be capable of.

As a result, I was encouraged to take part in everything my family did. I wasn’t excluded and was never treated differently. In the videos of me as a child you can see that I’m so proud when I’m feeding myself or walking for the first time.

Growing up in a small community in East London made it easier in a way. I went to the same nursery school that everybody else went to. I did beading with my feet, learnt to draw and write with my foot and took part in everything. I hated being left out. I took part in school galas and running races on athletics day, and the teachers would always give me a head start so that I didn’t always come last.

Everybody knew me growing up, and I was quite popular. When I was in Standard 6 (Grade 8) my dad got retrenched and we moved to Saldanha Bay.

Going from a small girls’ school in a small community to a huge co-ed school that was mostly Afrikaans was a massive adjustment for me. Suddenly I was nobody and to everybody else, so different.

At school you don’t want to stand out – you just want to be accepted.

It was hard, but it was a good experience for me, as I grew a lot.

In Standard 9 I met a girl who was new to the school who suffered from depression and panic attacks. We became good friends. It was unbelievable for me to see how depression and anxiety could affect one’s functioning. Because I was always fighting to overcome my physical limitations to be independent, I could relate to her struggle with psychological limitations. I knew then: I wanted to become a psychologist.

I did a Bachelor of Arts at Stellenbosch majoring in psychology and social work. I loved psychology, did my Honours (cum laude), and got into Master’s (clinical psychology). I was fortunate to get in as only eight students were accepted each year. I went to Lentegeur Psychiatric Hospital’s Forensic Unit for my year’s community service.

During this time I got my car, which was important in terms of being able to get to lectures, as well as the different hospitals and community centres.

Over the years, I had kept in touch with the woman I’d met as a baby in England. She’d been driving a car from when she was 18, so I knew that it was possible. But in South Africa nobody was able to adapt a car for me.

Then the woman got a new car and she gave her old one to me. That was in 2001. I had to have changes done to the car to suit my body.

It was hard raising the money – it cost R140 000 just to have the car adjustments made. I was a bursary student and my parents didn’t have any money. My friend suggested I just “write to all the rich people in South Africa and ask them for the money”. So I did that, and raised half of it. A shipping company agreed to pay for the shipping and ended up paying the other 50 percent, too, when I couldn’t raise the balance.

I got my learner’s licence at the Stellenbosch Traffic Department. To begin with I think they just humoured me, as they could see that I didn’t have any arms. But when the car arrived from the UK, I did my K53 test. And I passed first time.

My car uses a joystick system similar to that on a motorised wheelchair. That technology still doesn’t exist in South Africa, but it was designed in England more than 20 years ago.

I’ve wanted to show my car to as many people as possible, especially those who adapt cars. But the feedback was always that this was too advanced for us. Car conversion specialists said they did not want to invest in developing the cars because they would not have buyers as people with disabilities did not have money.

So Nicky’s Drive was born, a non-profit organisation that started a few years ago when my friends started a Facebook group called The Nicky Abdinor Car Project. It took off and we raised more than R100 000 within six months for a new car.

It didn’t feel right raising all this money just to get a car for me. In England they have Motability, a government-subsidised driving disability programme.

I wished that we had Motability in South Africa, which pushed me to start Nicky’s Drive. When I get my new car I can donate my old one to somebody else. And I want people to be able to apply for financial assistance to get their own cars adapted.

Public transport in South Africa is not great if you have a disability, so many people with disabilities can’t work because they don’t have transport.

The focus of my therapy is to help people become their own therapists. I do cognitive behavioural therapy, helping people to focus on their thinking rather than their situation. My disability gives me credibility. Sometimes the biggest gift I can give other people with disabilities is to show them that you can get a job.

I’ve never wanted to exploit the fact that I’ve had a challenge in life by saying: “Look at me, look at what I’ve done.” But I recognise as I’ve got older that you need to tell your story.

I want to change the perceptions of disability. And I can do that; whether it’s by talking to my patients, lecturing to students, or by doing my job and impacting on people that come into my life.

The message I want to send people with disabilities is that there are people who want to help, but you have to show initiative and drive to get that support.

I want to see this joystick technology become available in South Africa, I want to see people being helped and I want to see people on the road for the first time. At the moment I’m the only person in this country driving with a joystick, so I have to be the guinea pig. I literally have to drive this project.

l Justin Nurse is a freelance journalist and founder of Laugh It Off