Even before I left for Morocco, my glasses were having the occasional problems. Like it would be raining, I'd come inside, go to dry my glasses, and the right lens would pop out. It would pop back in easily, but, in retrospect, was the kind of thing I should have considered before leaving the country for seven weeks.
Near the end of the first week in Rabat, I was getting ready for bed when the lens came out again. I went to put it back in, but realized I couldn't. The screw that held the frame closed had fallen out. I tried to find it before my head started complaining because only one of my eyes could see well gave up, and found some string to tie the glasses together.
I never found that screw.
On the way to the Casablanca airport, I understood how it must feel to have a contact fall out in the middle of the day. One minute I was quietly reading, the next my right eye looked all blurry. I picked up the lens and glasses, saw that the string tying those had loosened considerably, and redid it. In a moving vehicle, which was a challenge. But I managed to get the glasses fixed before we stopped for gas and a stretching break. (I bought a Hazelnut Kit Kat that I forgot about until we were at Goree Island, by which point it was completely melted. When we got back to Dakar, I stuck it in the fridge, and it soldiifed enough that I ate it. For no longer feeling or looking anything like a Kit Kat, it was still pretty good.)
The lens popped out again while we were in Dakar. (Just the hotel, but still irritating.) Nisrine mentioned that I should find an optometrist. “They're everywhere in Rabat.” I hadn't seen them, but Megan had. “Getting glasses fixed in Rabat,” Megan said. “That sounds like an adventure.”
It was.
Just to confirm that this was, in fact, a thing I needed to do, the lens popped out again while I was at the beach. I couldn't fix it right there (amazingly, I do not bring my knitting to the beach. At least not that beach that day) so I needed to put it back in the very loose frame and hope that it held until I was home and could fix it. So far, the lens was still in perfect shape. I was scared that it would get scratched, or lost, or shattered, which would have made the finding an optometrist much more urgent and much more complicated.
I started paying a bit more attention to places that might fix eyeglasses than I normally do. I could find a lot of places selling sun glasses, and some that sold real ones, but those were outside stalls that didn't look like they'd have the screws or experience to fix them.
Megan came to school on Monday with a clearer idea of where she'd seen optometrist. “So where you would normally turn into the Mdina, you go straight instead. And there are a lot of signs with eyeglasses on it and you can't miss it.” I had no idea what she was talking about. Where I normally turned into the Mdina? Where she normally did? Where Cynthia and Natasha normally did while Megan went a different direction?
On Wednesday, she finally showed it to me. The signs weren't that big or that numerous, and they weren't flashing. (I'm not impressed unless the signs are flashing.) Most importantly, the shop that they pointed to were closed.
That week, I'd started noticing a shop that seemed to claim something about eye glasses on my way to school. However, it also seemed to be never open. Finding an optometrist in Rabat was good. Finding an open one would be even better.
On Thursday, I walked an extra block further from where I normally took a left. (I say “normally.” In truth, I've been edging how far I can go straight before I need to turn further and further by forgetting that I need to take a left, remember a block later, and seeing if the street connects. So far, it always has, but I have a feeling that's not going ot be true for much longer.) And there in front of me were two ovals connected by a small line, with two longer lines out to an angle behind them. And they were blinking.
I didn't want to be late to class, so I made a mental note of the location and decided I'd go back the next day. I would celebrate my independence by being able to see. (Fun story: the next time I walked to the IES center, I would get to the tram tracks, look around, and realize that there were not one, but two eye glass stores behind me. I'm not sure if they were open because by that point it didn't matter, but still. My only defense is that they were always (at least this week) at my back, because I took a different route from the center to my house.)
So on Friday I woke up at the normal time, got breakfast, and went off, hoping that it being Friday would not be enough to make them not open. It wasn't. The lights were still flashing.
I entered, and realized I'd never really thought through what I was going to say. I mean, the problem was pretty obvious. The glasses were held together through yarn. I didn't really need to say anything. So I settled for basic greetings, “le screw,” and pointing. The woman told me to sit down, took my glasses, and disappeared.
I idly wondered what I would do if she never came back. Or if I should have explained that I hadn't bought them here in case she was really confused when she did. Or if the sign across the store was in French or Arabic, because I could no longer tell.
After a bit, she came back with my glasses, cleaned them (she was right in front of me so I could see that part) and handed them back. I thanked her, and continued to sit there, waiting for future direction. When she realized I was still there, she told me there was nothing to pay. So I thanked her again and left.
I could see again! Even better than before, because my glasses had been well-cleaned. (It's hard to even wipe off the lens when you're 90% sure that will make the lens fall out again.) It was a small adventure, but one well worth having. Both for the increased-sight/decreased-worry, and also because now I can claim that I've had eyeglasses fixed in Africa. That's pretty far off the beaten path.
