In primary school, I was so obsessed with wearing glasses. Whether I thought it would make me look cooler, look brilliant or be more brilliant, I don’t know. I just wanted a pair of glasses. My school encouraged parents to get their children routine basic medical check-ups such as eye, dental and hearing assessments. The eye test was a simple test done in the school nurse’s office anyway, one would only get referred to the doctor if they couldn’t pass the test. Much to my annoyance I always passed.
Sometimes, I would go to my mother and pretend something was in my eye. And if indeed something got into my eye (an eyelash, grain of sand) I would exaggerate the discomfort. My mother or any adult around would stretch my eyelids and blow very hard to dislodge the errant hair. I would still scream hoping she would say she needed to take me to see the doctor immediately but that never happened. I heard my uncle say that drinking garri was not good for the eyes so I drank as much garri as possible. I would wait till night to do my homework in a corner of the living room where the lighting was very poor and I sat close to the TV whenever my parents were not there.
One day, we had a new girl join our class. Her name was Ngozi – she was a transfer student. I remember her mother came with her to class on her first day. Ngozi was talkative and friendly and seemed to enjoy her first week. Less than a month later she came to school wearing…a new pair of glasses. Oh, my word!!! I was insanely jealous. What did she do to deserve glasses?! I have been trying to get a pair since forever. I was cold to her that day and she noticed but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to play with her. How dare she? She got to wear glasses, just like that?! I would not be outdone. Friday of that week, I complained bitterly to my mom that my eyes were itchy. I scratched and scratched them till they reddened. This time, she was a bit worried.
She took me to see the doctor the next day, Saturday. On the drive to the hospital, I rehearsed my act. This was my make or break moment, my one chance. I couldn’t miss the opportunity. We got to the hospital, sat at the reception and waited our turn. My thoughts began to wonder. I must leave here with my glasses – I would pick Ngozi’s type. No. Hers were too big. I would pick something smaller, black preferably. Hers were dark brown. I didn’t want it to seem like I was copying her because I wasn’t.
I was so far gone with my thoughts when I felt a slight nudge from my mom and I looked up. The doctor was standing in front of us, I didn’t see him come. ‘Good afternoon’, I greeted him. ‘How are you?’, he replied. He led us to his office. He smiled at me as we sat down. I started scratching my eyes.
He made small talk with my mother while I continued to plot. He was our family doctor – he had known me since I was a year old. I got this, I can pull this off. He turned to me, ‘So how are you?’ Dr. O always preferred to ask his patients directly. I had heard him tell my mom during one of our previous visits that the patient can better explain how he/she felt. I continued to scratch my eyes. I told him my eyes were very itchy. He asked for how long. ‘Since primary 1’, I responded. I was in primary 3. He smiled. He came around to where I sat, stretched my eyelids slightly apart. He had some kind of instrument and he looked through it into my eyes. Could he see my soul? Could he see I was pretending? Is there a pair of smaller sized black framed glasses in my future? He tilted my head to the left and then to the right. ‘Come with me,’. We were headed to the injection room. A wave of panic. Oh no!!!. This was not the plan. Then he turned right and pointed to a wall. Relief. ‘Stand here and read the alphabets’.
It was a cream coloured board with alphabets arranged from top to bottom. Starting with very large fonts at the top and decreasing in size till the last line with tiny lettering. Easy, I thought to myself. I knew my alphabets way back in Nursery school and I had done this before at the school nurse’s office. I read the first line of 2 alphabets. . . then oh no no, it should be difficult this was an eye test not a reading skill test, I quickly reminded myself. Everything depended on this. So I started to mix up the letters. I was saying any alphabet that came to my head except of course the correct one. I stretched my neck and squinted for good measure. I told him I couldn’t see the last line at all, the fonts were too tiny. ‘Ok, that’s good let’s go back to your mother’. I could almost reach out and touch my new glasses. We got to his office and sat down. ‘She has excellent vision. I will give her some eye drops to take care of the redness and swelling. They are not infected and I don’t want them to be’. I could not believe what I was hearing. What did he mean by I had excellent vision?! I did not get any alphabets right except the first two. Then Dr. O turned to me and smiled, ‘Nne, your eyes are bright and sharp, take care of them. You will remember this when you are my age and you will be happy you can see very well I nu go (you hear)?’. I had mixed feelings – here he was dishing advice I would appreciate in about 100years time, looking at me through bespectacled eyes.
I didn’t get my glasses that day nor any day at all for that matter. I went back to school the following Monday and I was back to being friends with Ngozi. By break time I was plotting again – maybe I can convince my mother to switch to Ngozi’s family doctor.
Kech
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