All Stutterers

It is strange to be in a place you know is going to change you. I found myself staying awake

for longer as the week went on.

In the Netherlands, there is a campsite called Erve Aaftink. Every year, a Youth Exchange for

adults who stutter is held here. It’s in a small village, without any stores or much else

around us. Some people were responsible for driving to the nearest town to buy what we

needed.

It felt like we were living in our own bubble. I remember the power going out one evening.

The leader had to call someone who didn't stutter to get help. I felt myself being

transformed back into reality. The bubble burst. I felt nauseous.

At the camp, we turned the stuttering in our heads into a nicer place. We decorated it with

stickers. There were different activities where we could be creative together, make things for

each other, and do things as a group. A lot of people said it felt like being children again in

kindergarten. Phones were mostly put away. We didn’t really have time to use them.

Stuttering was like our secret language. A language only we spoke, and only we could

understand each other through. I had a childish thought that I didn’t want to leave.

Yet stuttering is also something that makes you feel older. As if every word you never said

had piled up on top of the one before it. Suddenly the camp could have been a retirement

home. Surrounded by old people. With all the thoughts that come with stuttering, we could

stretch out many years, or another life. I could have stood side by side with another version

of myself at 23 and wondered how similar we really were.

It was like being in a dream, that place far out in the Netherlands. Because it’s the only place

I have found where time stops. Outside, the world carried on as usual. People were moving

on, getting things done. Here, I could let the words come, let the silence be. I didn’t have to

think about how long anything took. Not about how long I had spent on a word, or how long

the next one was going to take. With all the new space I had in my head, there was nothing.

The program was filled from early morning until late at night. There was always something

waiting for us. There were short breaks in between, but they were just long enough to be too

short to do anything at all. At first, I stayed up to take the time back. Eventually, I stayed up

because I wanted to stretch it out. I wanted to take everything in. I didn‘t want the days to

pass me by. Days spent talking, stuttering, laughing, eating and dancing.

The theme of this year’s Youth Exchange was taking up space. Something I have always had

in the back of my mind, but needed to bring all the way to the front. One time, I took up

space and finished my dinner. Someone walked past and was about to say something to me,

as if they only wanted a short conversation before walking on. I chose to take my time

instead. I made people wait for me a lot and every time, it felt like I was doing something

important. Like drinking a glass of water. A glass of water I just happened to be drinking at

the time.

There was something about seeing people of different ages stutter. Seeing how different

stuttering could look from person to person. Seeing how people had found their own ways

of meeting it. There were many people who were good at taking pauses, holding eye contact, and using their body language. There was one woman there who I thought was good at stuttering, if you can even say that.

I saw a lot of people stutter in a way I found cute. I saw people I found cute stutter. I saw

people laugh at their stuttering, and I laughed at mine too. I saw people do things I find

difficult myself, like stuttering on someone’s name. I had conversations with people who

could relate to things I carry with me, like not wanting to stutter with people I don’t like. I

showed myself in a way I never had before, and experienced being seen in another way. I

was told that I was an inspiration. And I didn’t know how much that meant to me, because I

hadn‘t heard it before.

It was the first time I had been in a room where almost everyone was crying. It was during

the open mic, where we could share our stuttering stories. Stories so personal that they

almost seemed to need an explanation. We understood each other regardless. That is rare.

To have a community like this.

I don’t think it was about feeling normal for the first time. It was more about living your own

life, without letting stuttering make the decisions. Maybe that was why the feeling that

followed me several times, the feeling that my life started again appeared. Maybe it is that

same feeling that finds people, and makes them want to come back.

I experienced stuttering in a strong light that made me dare to go further into my own

stuttering journey. I found a kind of acceptance that is usually found in families. A kind of

love that was light. The experience itself feels like a shift. As if something has been left

behind in my body. I get this feeling that I want to dream about this place, even in the light of day. I just feel something light. Maybe it was hope.

In my stuttering journey I often find myself looking for places where I can stop. Where my

stuttering, which feels heavy, becomes lighter by being around other stutterers. It makes me

dizzy to step out of the pause and back into a world that moves too fast. Someone told me,

“Remember what you felt here.” I feel like I have been given the responsibility of looking after the memories I made here. I think what we shared was unique.

Photos

© Najma Abdi