Bare Feet

[above: at an OCC distribution]

I’m participating in a day without shoes today.

My going without shoes doesn’t change the fact that thousands of people, without money to purchase shoes, are going without shoes today by no choice of their own. However, the hope is that the collective effort of thousands of North Americans going shoeless for a day will help raise awareness for the impact simple things like shoes can have on a someone’s life.

Last year one day as I was walking down the street near the Grand Mosque, in Yako, my flip-flop broke. The piece that broke was that plastic band that goes between your toes (although you can follow along with the story without that piece of information...). They were getting really worn (the heel nearly had a hole in them) so I wasn’t too surprised to have to bid them farewell.

I knew there was a little shop at the other end of the road that sold flip-flops so I tried to keep walking on the broken sandal for a moment and then, when it wasn't working, decided just to walk barefoot. I laughed about it and kept an eye out for where I was putting my foot but, there was a small part of me that was uncomfortable: the fact is that the road was really dirty and I wasn’t crazy about walking without shoes.

I bought a new pair of flip-flops (1$) and continued on my way home. As I got closer to the orphanage I passed by a group of older women. I bowed to show them respect as we exchanged greetings. One woman beckoned me over, and motioned towards the flip-flops I still had in my hands. I looked at the sandals and then back at her, a little unsure what she wanted. I’d only been carrying them until I could bring them home and figure out what to do with them. She smiled at the flops and motioned for me to give them to her. As I passed them over she took my hand and thanked me profusely. “Pasekei, Pasekei” I said. It’s nothing, it’s nothing. And it was I felt. She was thanking me for what I'd considered garbage.

The next day I passed by her again. I bowed and we greeted each other. My eyes drifted to her feet and I saw the carefully repaired sandals. Limited by my lack of Mooré and her lack of French we smiled at each other, I nodded my head towards her and continued on my way.

As I walked I began to formulate a new definition of what it means to be rich. To be rich is to have things like shoes and to be able to replace them when they break.

[below: at a church soccer match]