the state of my sole

I'm not sure who's foot this is...do you know Courtney Owen?

"The women in my family take pedicures very seriously" The words of Brooke, my housemate and BFF. She said them to me as she sat at my feet, soaking in a bucket of hot water, a rock in her hand, ready to attack my feet.

In Africa, my feet get very very dirty. That's about as profound as I get this evening.

I wear flip-flops at least 85% of the time so I get thick calluses that get embedded with dirt. Mozambicans shudder at the site of my feet. There's a notion among some young Americans, I think, that it's pretty cool to have dirty feet. It means you're doing something worthwhile, or at least having fun. And it's not just Americans, I once saw a group of white college-aged South Africans that were on a mission trip walking around the bush barefoot and they had impressively dirty feet. And they were some of the coolest people I've ever met.

But it's not cool among most of the Africans I interact with. It has a lot to do with class, if you don't have shoes, you have dirty feet and thus you must be poor. So I don't mind trying to defy those boxes and showing people that even a "rich" white girl doesn't mind having dirty feet.

the feet of some women from Gwenji, houses are far enough apart I don't think they have to worry about cholera

On the other hand, it's got a lot to do with things like worms and diseases. Whenever I consider the sewage systems and the lack of diapers on toddlers as they toddle around the places I walk and then think of cholera. I don't even have to start thinking of the worms. I pretty consistenty scrub my feet with a rock whenver I'm bathing, and as often as possible soak them with anti-bacterial soap. And imitating our Lord of Glory, my BFF and housemate, Brooke did the dirty work for me last night. I drifted off to sleep and I think by the time she finished I could barely get out a thank you. I tried to force myself to stay awake, waiting for a call from Joseph, who is a strong supporter of my pedicures. But I didn't move out of my bed til morning.

While speaking of dirty feet, other day I decided to wear some sharp red high heels to the church. It was the worse than a first grade classroom playing recorders (also known as flutophones). First of all, I never wear high heels because I'm very clumsy. I trip over my own feet wearing anything higher than 3 cm off the ground which is one of the reasons I wear flip-flops 85% of the time. But I felt like looking sharp that day--which could be a whole other blog. My self-confidence in my sharpness withered however as I walked the dusty roads to church, my feet slanting to the ground and kicking up a whirlwind of dust with each step. A true Pig Pen. I was embarrassed and my arches, which are arched like I think an elf's would be, hurt. Then it started to rain and instead of kicking up dust I was kicking up mud. This is what my feet looked like by the time I reached the church. My Menno punishment for leaving my humble position as frumpy missionary, I suppose.


All this to say that I've started paying attention to the state of my sole. And usually I need a rock to get anywhere.