The irony of new shoes. They hurt. They are not as comfortable as
your worn ones that
non-judgmentally welcome your corned toes. Your poor feet
practically sigh in joy when slipped into this pair that your cobbler frowns
when you return yet again…for another small fix. He knows your shoes. He
remembers the sole he replaced. He knows when you prefer gum over sewing
because your heart would not take the defacing of your precious shoes! He is
resigned to the fact that you will always want same day service, nay, instant
service because surely what does he expect you to wear?!
Shoes are a literal reflection of where we walk and of our life. For
those with a few more choices, they are a reflection of our style, even mood.
Some even go further to sacrifice sensibility for shoes, we can discuss wedding
line-ups another day!
They mark important moments. For some generations, a start in formal
education was the astonishing moment of having shoes for the first time at the
relatively young age of 10, 12 thereabouts. Then there are the DIY middle-borns
whose lives are distinctly marked by handed-down shoes. The fresh officer
proudly receiving their boots to serve, earnestly struggles to do so…until the
cancer of brute power and corruption spreads in their system and those same
boots physically harm innocent civilians. The hopeful graduate endlessly
polishing, the one pair they own, the night before the interview, leaving them
in sight as they barely sleep in nervous excitement at the wondrous opportunity
of employment. Trudging jaded years later in the same pair, which has no choice
but to ‘tarmac’, yet have to stoically represent their desperate owner and be
judged harshly for the inevitable wear and layer of dust. The special
collection, which only the mega-money-maker church can assemble in the usher,
prayer warrior and Praise-n-Worship leader shoes, if we may call them shoes.
Shoes that any respectable cobbler would firmly refuse to fix again. And no
saying can be more apt than ‘if you were in their shoes’…
The news emission on a struggling economy that without fail shows a
sweeping view of citizens walking rapidly in all manner of shoes in varying
stages of tear with the camera rising to capture the resolute expressions of
faithful patriots as they endure yet another benevolent government. The feet of
a straggling line of refugees…the mental image of a semblance of shoes, of
former plastic creations barely held together by odd pieces of string unsure of
reaching the next border safely and intact on the same body. The shiny,
fashionable, imported pairs walking to the press conference, delicately
delivering the compassionate leaders, who are doing their very best (!) to improve the situation of the exploited, unwashed,
dying, shoeless masses.
There is a woman in Somalia
There is a woman in Rwanda
There is a woman in Sudan
There is a woman in the Congo
And she hurts like (and she hurts like, and she hurts like...)
Brand new shoes.
~ Pearls ~ India Arie feat. Dobet Gnahore [Originally by Sade]
