Feet

The tour of the village had been interesting. If it wasn’t so hot, and I wasn’t so tired, and I hadn’t toured a village like this before...maybe I would have really enjoyed the tour. But now, I was just tired. I wanted to sit and relax.


I followed my group to the shade of the big tree and and smiled at the girls sitting near by. When I gestured and asked if I could take a picture they were overjoyed and we were instant friends. We had three words in a shared language but they didn’t seem disturbed by it, I wasn’t either. We hi-fived a lot, shook hands, I’d snap a picture and they would smile. They taught me a new handshake and would giggle everytime I did it with them. It was awesome.

And then they looked down at my feet. They were filthy. Marked by traces of sandal lines, and sweat, after walking all afternoon in the dust my feet had attracted an array of dirty, colourful, lines and dashes. The girls picked up some leaves, and pretended to clean their feet with them. I thought about it, and wondered what my chances were of waking up the next morning with a rash, or swollen feet, because grabbing random leaves just doesn’t seem like something you should do here – or anywhere. And then I wondered if it would hurt that bad, and if letting them help was better.

I took the leaves. And when I started rubbing my feet with the bottom of one, each of the girls grabbed a handful of leaves too. It was funny, I thought, having the kids clean my feet for me. And there was something simply beautiful about it too. Maybe, they didn’t even realize it. Something felt reversed about the girls wanting to wash my feet for me. Maybe because it’s easier to do than to let others do something for you? Whatever it was, somewhere between learning a secret handshake and my clean feet, I decided once again that this place is awesome.