Street Feet

The equator passes directly through the middle of Kenya. East African people wear everyday casual footwear, open sandals, slides, or slip-ons. The feet of African men look like the roots of trees, anchors of origination. Half naked feet constantly touching the earth before, during and after the rain, and all day long in the scorching heat.

These “street feet” walk long distances on dusty paths, up steps, across bridges, on paved roadways, and across the grass to sit the shade under Acacia, African Cypress , Eucalyptus and Pine trees. These feet carry heavy loads, children, women and other stuff onto the ten minute ferry ride in Mombasa. These feet carry and push carts with timber, scrap metal, pounds of rice, grains, fruit, vegetables and gallons of water.

Street feet tap rhythms on the ground, while sweaty bodies rock to sounds of keyboards, percussions, kora and guitars. Street feet move to traditional dance steps at celebrations and weddings. Street feet walk for miles and miles.

Women manage to walk in heels and dress shoes across sandy roads, or barefoot on beaches. Mothers carry bags, basins, cannisters and pots filled with food on their heads. Babies strapped and wrapped in cloth on their backs, older children are carried on their hips or run alongside Mama to help her carry another load.

During the Hajj season, Muslims circumambulate seven times around the Kaaba, the Holiest site Masjid al-Haram in Mecca Saudi Arabia. We walked among African giants. It was easier to look down and follow the flow of humans towering above women of average height. All we could see were feet. The taller the man, the larger his big toes. Some big toes were attached to a row of four other large toes. Shorter men had fast moving fat feet, longer feet moved slower. Some feet had soft skin, with strands of hair on top, other feet had trimmed toe nails. The souls of some feet were hardened, ashy, bruised, and dis-colored. Some feet and legs had the same skin tone. There were feet with blackened toenails, indications of disease or injury. Occasionally street feet were covered by leather socks. My Birkenstocks were placed in a locker. The tile floors were cleaned so often, it shined like glass.

When I was younger, my older sisters and I examined the differences and similarities of our feet. Different sizes, thickness and nail polish colors. Our family relationship was confirmed by the shape of our toes, we were close in height, so the length from our knees to our ankles measured the same range. Then we paid attention to our feet since we wore each other’s shoes and because teen life was not exciting enough.

Falling down the steps in the New York City subway, was the cause of fracturing my left foot. The bone protruded from the side, the podiatrist put a cast on it and I was gifted with Birkenstock shoes for comfort. The customized shoes actually relieved my jaw pain. After that I never wore high heel shoes again.

The benefit of my accident, kind strangers carried me to help, and it was the first time I had a foot massage. The pleasure of having someone bathe and rub my feet was erotic. There is a magical connection between hot water, Epsom salt, elevating both feet and the affect it has on the rest of the body. My husband had his toe nails cut by a professional podiatrist, and she was the best. Street Feet are literally our pain center. I am glad I was able to bring your feet to the forefront of your consciousness. As we age, it’s a needed remedy.