Some people see the world in sharp outlines. For Chinedu*, it’s often a blur, objects not seeming like objects and faces, takes a little longer to recognise. He is 30, and partially visually impaired. Somewhere in between. Not blind. Not fully sighted.
In this interview with Chinedu, JD explores what it means to live in this “in-between zone”, that many rarely talk about.
What was growing up like for you, especially with your sight?
Growing up was interesting. In primary school, teachers thought I was just a stubborn boy who didn’t like copying notes. I couldn’t see the blackboard clearly unless I sat right in front, but even then, it was still fuzzy. You know how Nigerian teachers can be naw. They’d say words like, “Move closer if you can’t see” but no one thought, “Maybe this child’s eyes are different.”
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At home, my mum was the one who noticed. She would ask why I held books too close to my face or squinted at the TV. I don’t know how to explain it to those who can see well, but it’s in-between not seeing clearly and seeing a bit. That was when she took me to see an eye doctor. They said I had low vision, but it wasn’t something glasses could fix entirely.
You have called it being “in between.” What does that mean?
Okay, it’s more like, I’m not blind enough to use a cane, and I’m not sighted enough to live without challenges. Sometimes people don’t believe me when I say I have a visual impairment because they see me walking around fine. Other times, they think I should be able to do everything perfectly just because I’m not totally blind.
For example, I can’t read signboards around. I have to ask people for directions whenever I go out, and sometimes conductors get angry, thinking I’m just wasting their time when I ask about the particular bus-stop I’m at.
Earlier you said glasses couldn’t solve your sight problem. Is there a reason for that?
Yes, people assume once you wear glasses, you’ll see like everyone else. But in my case, it’s not about focus, it’s about damage. My condition affects how light and images are processed by the eye, so glasses can only sharpen things a little, but not restore what’s missing.
Think of it like trying to clean a mirror that’s cracked. You can wipe it, but the cracks remain. That’s what my vision is like.
So what can be done? Are there any solutions?
For now, the main thing is management, not cure. Eye specialists recommend low-vision aids like magnifiers, large-print books, screen readers, or even special glasses with built-in tech.
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But those things are expensive in Nigeria and not always available. I rely on simple hacks like increasing brightness and font sizes on my phone, using audio for studying, or even sitting very close to things.
In other countries, there are advanced surgeries or devices that can help, but they’re not accessible here.
What are some everyday things people take for granted that you find difficult?
Omoo, it’s plenty. When I’m walking in a street and someone calls me and waves, I can’t always tell if they’re waving at me. So, sometimes I wave back and it’s very awkward. Other times, I don’t wave back and people think I’m proud.
Also, crossing roads is very tough, especially within Lagos where drivers don’t respect pedestrians. I can see cars, but I can’t always judge the distance or speed correctly. At night, it’s worse. I don’t like going out alone after dark because street lights are poor.
This must be tough. How do you cope?
Technology is a big help. I increase the font size on my phone. It looks funny to some people because my WhatsApp chats are like two words per line. I also use text-to-speech apps for reading documents or articles. Sometimes I use voice notes instead of typing because it saves stress.
People think living with partial sight means you’re helpless, but tech really helps. I can work, learn, even watch movies, though subtitles can be stressful.
What was education like for you?
Secondary school was hard. I missed out on a lot of things because I couldn’t see the board clearly. Imagine trying to learn mathematics like that. I had to depend on classmates to share notes. Some were kind, others didn’t want to be bothered.
In university, it was even worse. Schools had little thought for accessibility. Lecture halls had no ramps, no microphones, nothing to make life easier. Sometimes, some lecturers assumed I wasn’t serious. But I graduated anyway, and that was a big victory for me.
Work-wise, finding jobs is another challenge. Employers see “visual impairment” and think it means total blindness. But I keep telling people: I can still work. I just need adjustments here and there.
How do people treat you socially?
Friends are mostly supportive, but there are times they forget. Like they will say, “Let’s meet at that junction where there’s so and so,” forgetting I can’t see objects around clearly.
Dating is another thing. Some girls assume I can’t take care of myself, so how will I take care of them? Others are overprotective, like they think I’m fragile.
What keeps you going amidst all of these?
My faith, first of all. Then not taking life so seriously. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. Sometimes I make jokes about my sight before anyone else does, it makes people relax.
If you could say one thing to people who don’t understand your world, what would it be?
Don’t assume. Don’t assume I can see everything. Don’t assume I can see nothing. Ask me. Respect me. That’s all.
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