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"The frantic euphoria that ensued the goal hypnotised me."

Ade’s story

Ade Adepitan talks candidly to Ian Campbell about growing up in East London, discovering girls, and how coming into contact with the Association of Wheelchair Children became such a “blessing”.

“At 6 months I was diagnosed by the Doctors in Nigeria as having contracted the water born disease Polio.  This affected the left side of my body in varying degrees but the main area that had been weakened by Polio was my left leg, which meant I would need to use a calliper to get around safely. By the age of 5 I was still quite small but very stocky for my age. My earliest memory is of going to school sitting on my dads shoulder.  My dad (only 5’6” himself) insisted on carrying me everywhere and I suspect, that knowing dad he carried me on his shoulders for two reasons. Firstly he was probably worried that the 10 to 15 minute daily walk to school would tire me out for the rest of the day. However he very quickly discovered, just like the teachers at school, often to their cost, that this young man was tireless and had boundless energy.  If I wasn’t at the back of the classroom playing pranks and cracking everyone one up with my own brand of madness then I would be in the playground saving goals and dreaming of playing football for Chelsea. 

And the second reason was that he probably wanted me to feel like the biggest person on the planet.

As he carried me to Credon Primary School deep in the heart of the East End of London, I felt like the biggest person in the world. A direct contradiction to my actual size, but in fact just like the rest of the family. Now, the great thing that I’ve discovered about being in a chair is that nobody can tell how tall you are so I usually get away with telling people, mainly women, that I’m about 6’4” which, I am telling you is great for chat up purposes. My parents had battled “tooth and nail” for about three months with Newham Education Authority and Credon School to get me a place at this school. They were both quite worried, just like any parent would be about their five-year old child’s first day at school, let alone the fact that I had a disability. 

I am pretty sure that the questions running through their minds were;

“How are the other kids going to treat him because he uses a calliper and walks differently?”

“Would he get fair treatment from his teachers?”

People sometimes have a tendency of seeing you as a “slow learner” and as a lot of the classrooms were upstairs with no lifts there were added fears about how I would cope with the access. I know deep down that my parents believed in their hearts they were doing the right thing but those thoughts must have still caused them a certain deal of anxiety. Well they need not have worried themselves…. although I did cry on my first day after my dad had left me, the norm for kids on their first day at infant school I guess.

OK, OK, hands up everyone who cried on their first day at school? If you didn’t then you must have been pretty cold hearted and who knows, you might have grown up to become a lawyer, a policeman or maybe even a bank manager?

I did very well on my first day at school although I didn’t start too brilliantly in the playground. Mainly because, like my parents, I had some niggling doubts running through my mind that also needed answering and these took on a slightly different pretext to those of my parents.  These doubts were, “Why had my mother sent me to school in an outrageous pair of flared chequered pink trousers?” Just like my parents did with the Newham Education Authority, I also battled “tooth and nail” the night before with my mother’s authority over why I had to go to school in the uncoolist trousers ever designed in modern day history.  Boy, did I hate those market traders in Petticoat Lane! Secondly, why had my mother combed my semi-afro into a parting the size of the Blackwell Tunnel? Surely, my mother, my “flesh and blood” was setting me up for the biggest teasing that a five year old could ever get on his first day at school! But my life, my whole world was saved by the magic of sport and one sport in particular took on the mantle of saviour, football!

I remember seeing all the kids after they got bored of asking me questions like “Why do you walk funny?’ ‘What are those metal things sticking out of your leg?’ ‘How come your wearing girls trousers?’ and finally, ‘What’s that bald patch doing on the side of your head?’ They were running off to pick teams, throwing their coats down on the floor next to two walls at either end of the playground to make goal posts.  I watched, as they played frantically, everyone chasing the ball, occasionally ending in a free-for-all of tangled arms and legs as the ball got trapped in a corner.  Then, seeing one kid emerging from the melee and blasting the ball past a goalie who seemed more worried about the pain than the well kicked ball could inflict, than stopping what was going to be a certain goal.   

The frantic euphoria that ensued the goal hypnotised me.  The way that everyone hugged the goal scorer and treated him like a hero brought a big smile to my face.  My immediate thought was ‘I want some of that!’. It only took until the morning play time before I convinced them to let me join their game. The usual lie-up with two captains began and they started picking from a line of us.  Guess what? I got picked last and very reluctantly.  I remember an old mate of mine at the time, Stuart Harvey, saying ‘Put him in goal’, as generally that’s where they stuck the worst players.  No one ever wanted to go in goal!

I think my acceptance with the other kids really came after five minutes when, after another scramble in the corner someone broke loose and was on course for a goal against me.   He blasted the ball and I don’t know if it was out of sheer naivety or just madness but I instinctively threw myself to the right, my good side and with an outstretched arm I just managed to parry the ball away. The ball really stung the palms of my hands and it was hurting like mad.  Then I heard someone shout, “did you see that boy with the bad leg and the funny name, he just saved that shot”.  They were pointing at my leg and as I looked down I could see that during my goal saving heroics, my trouser leg had risen a little to expose my calliper and reveal two iron rods protruding from my upper leg going into either side of the medical boot.  There was loads of whispering and pointing and then two boys broke up the crowd – one of whom was a legend at school for his football skills.  ‘Nice one mate, that was a good save’ he said. The other one, a big guy called Spencer Greenfield was well known as one of the best fighters in the school and he came over to help me up. 

So suddenly, I went from being a “pink trouser wearing, dodgy side parted Afro haired freak” to “schoolboy hero” in one afternoon.  I remember, after the word had got around about my goal keeping skills, a few of the older kids from the play ground also came up to me, and in typical East End style they said, ‘If anyone troubles you mate, about your leg, then just look for me and I’ll sort them out’. They were the hard boys of the school.  Even the girls wanted to know me, mainly to swap fashion tips (because of my trousers) and to say, ‘Ahh, look at little Ade, isn’t he cute?’ But, I guess you’ve got to start somewhere!

Being accepted by the other kids was definitely a big step for me but it wasn’t the only problem I incurred during my years in primary school. Credon School was one of those old buildings that you still see around London today.  Built before the First World War, it had plenty of character and rumours of it being haunted made for great classroom conversation.  Yet, it held many access problems that, to my teachers must have seemed like a real nightmare at first sight.

There were 4 floors and during your time at school you spent a year on each floor.  The first years had all their lessons on the ground floor, the second years on the first floor and so on. Fortunately for me, as I got older and progressed through each year I became stronger.  This was mainly because I used my upper body a lot more and so getting up the stairs became easier as I got older.  I also had some special mates at school and any time they saw me struggling they would carry me up the stairs with me hanging on to their shoulders.  Coming down the stairs was a good laugh as well because I worked out (after practicing at home) how to slide down the banister without falling off.  Although this was strictly forbidden to all pupils, many of my teachers turned a blind eye when they saw me doing it. It was especially beneficial to me as it quickly wore through the material of those beautiful pink chequered trousers!

I also remember in my second year that our school had an annex, a building like a large caravan, built next to one of the playgrounds.  It was used for teacher training courses but that year our headmaster decided it would be used as my classroom so all my lessons except assembly were in this room.  This was awesome as now my class felt that we were really special.  We had a new class separate from everyone else.  We had our own T.V and loads of other equipment, so for one term, class 2B felt a cut above the rest of the school.     

The first ever outing I went on with the school was to newly built Windsor Safari Park.  Now, even though it was probably about 20 years ago, I can still remember it clearly.  Initially getting to go on the trip was very stressful since some of the teachers did not think it would be practical because of some of the long walks.  Two things saved me from the misery of being stuck at home and missing out on all the fun.  The first was a combination of my two mates who protested and volunteered to help me if I got tired, and also a few of the more open-minded teachers who had been on playground duty and seen how active I was.  They knew I could cope and then realised how beneficial this trip could be for my future independence and me.   Secondly, there was the fact that the whole of the school was going on this trip, which meant that all of the teachers would be needed.  If I didn’t go I would miss a day of school and if I were going to miss a day of school then they would have to explain this to my dad.  Anyone who’s met my father knows that they made the right decision.

The whole trip was a success, the only sticky moment came on our journey through a park when a bull rhino mounted another and went to work securing the blood lines for future Safari Park rhino generations right in front of our coach, so we couldn’t pass for at least 30 minutes.  We all went quite and shouted ‘Ughhh’ and I asked for an explanation from my red-faced teachers.  Its only now, looking back, that I think ’30 minutes’…good effort’.

Probably the most memorable moment in primary school came for me in my third year whilst learning to swim.  Swimming had become very frustrating, as most of my class had learnt how to swim in a few months.  I was in the third year and still couldn’t swim.  Being an extremely competitive youngster, especially in all things sporting, I wasn’t very happy.  I even started becoming afraid of the water because of the embarrassment of not being able to swim a width. 

Each week, as someone different went to assembly to collect their badge signifying their achievement, I really, for the first time in my life, began to blame my disability for my misfortune.  One of my teachers could gradually see me become more and more distressed about the situation and she took it upon herself to design a float that I could tie onto my leg.  Although I couldn’t kick, it aided me with buoyancy that had eluded me for many years.

Within months I learned to swim a width and can still remember going up to collect my badge.  It was the first time that I realised that even with a disability, I could still achieve anything I wanted.  With thanks to the help of a very inventive teacher, it is one of my fondest memories.

Primary school went pretty smoothly after an eventful first two years.  However, my final year did bring one drama and that came in the form of a school merger. Now, Credon and Greengate school, which was very close, were brought together and made into one knew school called Southern Road Juniors.  Our merger also meant moving to an new building.  The new school had its plus points: it was situated close to home, so now, it was a very comfortable five-minute walk. I suppose the building of the new school could have been the perfect opportunity to address the old access problem but for me it just bought fewer but newer stairs.  It only had two floors, which was better than Credon, but still no lift.  You could say that this was a start although the fact that our location opposite the four story monster of Credon, was more a result of trying to cut costs than making it more accessible to people with disabilities.

Secondary school. Wow. The only way to describe it is to say it was like a six year roller coaster ride.  You had the initial scary build-up; big school even bigger kids and scary teachers all topped up with the fear of the new things called ‘Homework’.  This was followed by the stomach churning highs lows of first crushes, loop-the-loops of puberty and rounded off by the sheer panic of course work and exams before grinding to a slow halt with ‘A’ levels.

Fortunately for me, by the time I started my life at Lister Community School, I was already an experienced campaigner in both playground and teacher negotiations.  Armed with plenty of funny one-liners from my favourite T.V show ‘Diff’ rent Strokes’ and the back-up of the hardest kids in East London, I had a relatively smooth ride through my first year.

At fourteen, a new period of my life began.  This came after meeting two physios, Owen and Kay, the founding trustees of the charity The Association of Wheelchair Children.

Owen and Kay are both physios based at Elizabeth Fry school in Canning Town.  Their job was to provide, amongst other things, hydrotherapy treatment to wheelchair using children in Newham.  They had heard about me through my hospital, which was Great Ormond Street, but they first spotted me as I raced through the streets with my mates in a Tesco trolley.  This was a popular mode of transport for me over the years since keeping up with my mates had started to take its toll on my body.  I think I had, single headedly, managed to advance calliper technology by years, just by damagijng so many.  Climbing walls with my mates after school and loads of football, as well as getting bigger, meant that I used to return home physically exhausted and in agony with back pain.

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