Ayaz Bhuta

For his first fourteen years, hospital was a second home for Ayaz Bhuta. Some people, even relatives, said he wasn’t ‘normal’. They were right. Becoming world champion isn’t something ‘normal’ people do. This is the ‘Jonah Lomu of wheelchair rugby’ we’re talking about, a man so special he never has to pay for fried chicken again.

Ayaz Bhuta was clutching his Paralympic gold medal as God Save The Queen boomed out of the sound system at the Yoyogi National Stadium, Tokyo. 

Then, he looked up, pointed his forefingers to the sky, followed by a gesture of prayer. “I was thinking about my mum who passed away in 2011,” he tells Rugby Journal.  “She never got to see me in this sporting environment, playing wheelchair rugby. She never got to see me represent Great Britain. It happened just as I started on this journey.”

Then he also had what he describes as ‘this overwhelming sense of spirituality’.

“Muslims believe in patience and trusting in God’s plan.

“Before sunrise, every morning I always used to make a du ā , which is a prayer, and I would say ‘if a medal is good for me, then let it happen. And if it’s not good for me then I will understand.’

“It just made me think this was God’s plan all along.

“I believe that the gold medal has a higher purpose. I see it as a gift and how can I use his gift to make the world a better place for other people? 

“After all the struggles I’ve been through, I’ve been given a platform and a chance to repay God.”

Whether you’re religious, spiritual, agnostic or atheist, when you realise what those struggles were, not just physically but mentally – the rejections and the knockbacks, even from sections of his own community – then you start to appreciate the emotions behind the moment.

Ayaz was born in 1989 with Robert’s Syndrome, an extremely rare genetic condition that is said to only affect approximately 150 people in the world. 

First recognised in 1919 by American surgeon and physician John Bingham Roberts, it restricts the growth of limbs both before and after birth as well as the development of the cranium. All of which means that Ayaz is the smallest player on the team at 3ft 7in height and around 6st 7lb in weight.

Reaching the pinnacle of his sport has been all the more improbable given it’s the most physical and aggressive Paralympic event. He even acquired a nickname as ‘the Jonah Lomu of wheelchair rugby’.

As a child, having Roberts Syndrome meant the local hospital became a second home. “Yeah, I was thinking about this,” he says, “because I went to a school last week and I said I was in and out of hospital for fourteen years, just having lots of operations. A child asked me a question, he said: ‘How did that feel?’

“When you’re a kid you take everything as it comes. And it was just, well, normal really. 

“All the way through childhood I had major operations on my limbs, my eyes. my legs, you name it. I remember that I used to bawl my eyes out when they took me to the operating theatre. Eventually, I got used to that as well. But I was also determined and strong-willed.”

His parents were there for every appointment and operation. 

As a child, he was able to walk with the aid of orthotics, but Robert’s affects the growth of bones in the arms and legs, and Ayaz would eventually need a wheelchair.

“When I went back to school, I was always made to feel wanted or special,” he says. “That also helped me get through it.”

But he soon realised that’s not always the case when you’re a disabled child.

“In South Asian culture being disabled is seen as bringing shame on the family. Disability is treated as a taboo subject. I remember my parents getting treated a bit differently by other relatives; there would be nasty comments at weddings. 

“You know, things like, ‘your kid is not normal like my kids’. 

“I speak to a lot of people in education, and that still goes on now. 

“Parents worry about their children prospering in life. How are they going to get a job, meet a partner, get married, how will they fit into their community?

“But they’re not as focused on what that child needs at the moment in time. 

“Sometimes I’ll chat to Asian SEN (Special Educational Needs) teachers. 

“They will say that they give advice to a child who takes that on board, then that child goes back home, comes back the next day, and says ‘no, I don’t want to do that’. 

“So, basically, it’s the parents who are putting them off, because they just want to keep that child in the house. They aren’t given the chance to be like other kids. And then all you’re doing is holding that kid back.

“I know that happens in other communities as well. I’ve seen it and experienced it myself where people ignore you or talk over you and don’t give you respect as a person. But it feels like that’s more prominent in the Asian community. 

“Also, I just think there’s absolutely a lack of education about disability and that really needs to improve as well. 

“So, that’s why I want to start doing more visits to faith schools and more community work. And try to bridge that gap in any way that I can.”

Indeed, every four years we celebrate the achievements of Paralympians, but then there are the day-to-day realities of being disabled.

A wholly depressing statistic was published in October. Figures from 39 police forces across England and Wales revealed an increase in disability hate crimes, including a four per cent increase in violent crimes. 

And this was from the period of April 2020 to April 2021, when most of us were indoors during various periods of lockdown.

Thankfully for Ayaz, although when he was growing up in Bolton he was the only disabled child at his primary school, the pupils and teachers always tried to include him in any activities. 

Everything except sport. That was because of health and safety concerns. The ‘strong will’ he talks about came to the fore when he sneaked into a PE lesson to show the teachers that he could take part just like everyone else.

Later, when he moved on to sixth form college, it was an entirely different experience. Ayaz had to start from scratch and make new friends – a daunting experience for any teenager. Being disabled and Asian presented two unique challenges.

Ayaz recalls, “I used to be really outgoing as a kid. I would play cricket and football in the park and would be out in the evenings. But I struggled to make friends at college. I put on weight, I lost my confidence in talking to people, I retreated into my shell.

“But I also felt like I saw the world for what it was.”

From being accepted and included, Ayaz felt like an outsider. Then a teacher suggested trying wheelchair basketball.

“So I joined a club, Bury Blue Devils, and they really helped me out with things like getting taxis to training sessions, because it was about six to seven miles away from home,” says Ayaz. “All the weight dropped off, my confidence came back, I was going around the country playing basketball games.”

But the thing about wheelchair basketball is that it’s a non-contact sport. “I just kept ramming into opponents, I was getting squared up to by people who were twice my size and weight! But I enjoyed the physical aspect and then rugby came calling and they said, ‘you can ram into chairs and do it legally!’

“A rugby scout was watching a game, he spoke to the basketball coach and said there was a player that he was interested in.” 

Within six months Ayaz had been called up into the GB squad to tour Australia and New Zealand in 2011. 

But the experience of going to college had left its mark. Now he’s known as the joker of the team, but initially, Ayaz didn’t want to tell anyone involved with Great Britain Wheelchair Rugby (GBWR) about his background, his culture and his faith. He was worried about being judged before anyone actually got to know him. 

Then, following that tour, he was immediately dropped from the squad. “Wheelchair rugby was seen as too dangerous for me because I was too small and too light.”

At that point, he could have retreated again and turned his back on the sport. 

“The thing was, I just enjoyed playing.”

Two people were crucial in Ayaz learning not only how to use his size to his advantage but also in plotting his return to the national team three years later.

One was Alan Ash, a veteran of five Paralympic Games. As a teenager, Ash had spells with Arsenal, Wolves and West Bromwich Albion before joining the Royal Marines at seventeen. 

A car accident left him with a severed spinal cord. Alan and Ayaz were team-mates at West Coast Crash. “Alan was quite an aggressive player and it was a bit of a baptism of fire to play with him,” explains Ayaz. “But he would tell me where I was going wrong, and I like people who are upfront and who will be straight with me. He’s now my coach at West Coast Crash.  

“I also think I just had the natural ability [for wheelchair rugby] and it’s hard to explain why. It just took me a while to have the confidence, to take on people, learn how to take hits and how to position my chair so I don’t get hit on the sweet spot and fall out.”

The other key figure is GB coach Paul Shaw, who was also previously a coach at West Coast Crash. “He gave me the opportunities to flourish at a higher level. He brought me into the GB development team and then into the national team.”

Even though he had re-established himself within the GBWR squad, it took him several days before he told his family that he had been selected for the Rio Paralympics in 2016. “It took me time to process it, to get my head around it, to understand what it meant.”

Going back to the point about the stigma of disability, the call-up to Rio helped to change perceptions in his wider family and his community.

He describes the experience of competing in Rio as ‘bittersweet’. “Suddenly we were playing in front of thousands of people when you’re used to playing in front of team-mates, friends and family,” he recalls. “Going into the arena for the first time was just incredible. It’s hard to put it into words.”

The team, however, was going through a period of transition. Finishing fifth was no mean feat but, without warning, the financial support that they were expecting for the next four years from UK Sport was withdrawn after the team failed to bring home a medal.

That funding was worth £12,000 a year to Ayaz. “It may not sound like a lot, but it helped me to fund my way through the sport,” he says. “And it’s a very expensive sport. 

“A chair costs £7,000, one wheel costs £350. It’s 77 miles one way to get to training in Sheffield. So, there are fuel costs as well.”

There was also the bigger picture and how this would affect GBWR. “At first, we thought, ‘how will we go forward as a team? How will we get to tournaments? How do we prepare for tournaments and remain competitive?’”

GBWR embarked on a fundraising drive, pulled in new sponsors and started a crowdfunding campaign that meant the team could carry on much the same as before.

But Ayaz still had to support himself. “That’s why I decided to go out and do more school visits outside of training,” he explains. “I really enjoy talking to kids anyway, but also it’s a means to fund my sport and my living.”

On reflection, one could argue it was a blessing in disguise. By the time the team arrived in Tokyo in September 2021, there was this confidence within the squad that may have been lacking five years earlier. 

But if Rio was memorable for the crowds, Tokyo could have been subtitled: ‘The Silence of the Fans’ – a tournament without spectators because of covid restrictions imposed by Japan. “Once you’re in the zone then you just play,” says Ayaz. “You hear cheers between goals but it’s not like football or rugby union where they’re chanting or singing or giving you stick. 

“It would have been nice to have supporters there but what made Tokyo extra special was that the players, your team-mates, were providing that noise and support instead.

“But also I felt we got the balance right between training and matches and being able to unwind. We were six to an apartment, we played games, we always ate together, we drank a lot of Yorkshire Tea. It brought us close together as a unit.” 

Before Tokyo, the players did their coaching sessions and video analysis via Zoom. They would train within their ‘bubbles’, or on their own. Ayaz converted one of his rooms into a gym. “We were really well prepared and I think that showed. Of course, there was pressure,” he admits. “We didn’t want to fail again. We didn’t want to be another team from Great Britain that finished fourth or fifth.

“So back in 2018, we decided to create a canvas that we would live by. We said, ‘what do we want to change about GBWR?’

“Firstly, we wanted to create our own legacy. We wanted to be the first GB team and the first European team to win a medal.

“Then we said, ‘well, why do we just want to win a medal? Why not a gold medal? We put that pressure on ourselves. But I knew we could do it if we just put our game together and got rid of the silly errors.

“There was one game against the USA, in the group stage, where we thought ‘it’s happening again’. We were winning by six and lost by two. 

“We had a serious conversation about that game, we moved on the following day to the Japan game, and they hadn’t been beaten since 2016. We won 55-49 and that really showed what this team is all about. So, we were guaranteed silver and we’d already created our own legacy. 

“When we won the final we repaid the faith placed in us by all the people who donated to our crowdfunding campaign, to all the sponsors, the families who had given the support.”

It is stating the obvious to say that when an athlete wins a Paralympic gold medal it will change their life. They just don’t know how it will change. 

For Ayaz, it meant returning to a surprise street party held in his honour, when relatives, neighbours and old school friends came together to welcome back their local hero.

He’s been given a made-to-measure suit gratis and has been told by his local takeaway that “your money is no good here”. “Free chicken and chips from the takeout, man. I’m living the dream!” he laughs.

And you know you’ve crossed over into the world of celebrity when you get invited on to CBeebies’ Saturday Mash-Up! to eat dry cream crackers while simultaneously answering questions from a day-glo puppet who goes by the name of Stanley.

“Yeah, I did wonder how that would look on TV,” he admits. “But my nephew and nieces loved it so it was worth it.”

Beyond the freebies and CBeebies, Ayaz keeps thinking back to that moment in Tokyo and how he can use his ‘gift from God’ as a platform to help others.

He recently became an ambassador for Charity Right, a Bradford-based organisation that tackles food poverty. He has joined at a time when those struggling to make ends meet are also having to contend with rising inflation and soaring fuel bills. “I’ve worked with a refugee charity called Mercy Mission UK,” explains Ayaz. “They help out refugee kids coming into this country, help them settle, teach them about life in the UK, provide support and put on activities. 

“They also give them advice on how to deal with things like prejudice, racism, Islamophobia. They invited me to a retreat in Leeds, on a farm.

“I told the kids my story, I listened to their stories. 

“I thought it would be cool to show them that anything is possible in this country, that somebody with a disability can break down barriers, change perceptions, and that you can succeed in a different culture.

“The CEO of Mercy Mission told me that he’s affiliated with Charity Right UK and he put my name forward. I like what they’re doing. Their mission is to put an end to hunger around the world. They provide meals to poorer countries, like Ethiopia and Bangladesh. 

“But they do a lot of work around the UK as well and I thought it would be nice to give something back and I would like to share my story with people from the same background as me.

“And this will give me a chance to reach that audience.”

Indeed, Ayaz couldn’t help but notice at the Paralympics the relative absence of other British Asians within Team GB. It’s a group that is disproportionately underrepresented. 

“We’ve had a lot of new players at our club since the Paralympics, I’ve met some children with disabilities from my school visits. I’ve forwarded their details to upper management and said they could be great wheelchair rugby players. 

“And I’ve spoken to parents about how sport has had such a positive impact on my independence and confidence. 

“Any time I see somebody with a child that has a disability, I make an effort to go speak to the child. Or I talk to teachers about the opportunities that are out there and hopefully I can open a few doors for them. 

“Sport has given me so much confidence in life. When I was a teenager it gave me a new lease of life. 

“I just can’t imagine what my life would have been like without it. 

“I would probably still be working behind a desk, just not exploring horizons, I wouldn’t have seen the world. I would have stayed in my own little world, not really doing much or making any sort of difference. 

“I’m just grateful for what sport and what wheelchair rugby has given me.

“Obviously we have to be careful because not everybody can be a Paralympian.

“But, you know, if I can get one person to join a team, take up a sport, or even inspire them to achieve whatever dream they have then that’s the gift of winning a gold medal.”  

Story by Ryan Herman

Pictures by Matthew McQuillan

This extract was taken from issue 16 of Rugby.
To order the print journal, click here.