"I am at your feet"

The road is hot, dust and red clay. The dust burns my feet as the dust invades my bright orange flip-flops. I look down at my feet.

They are small and tan. The burning sun beats down and seems to singe my feet. My Coated in a thick layer of the red dust, they are undeniably filthy. Dark dirt is in my toe nails. The bottoms of my feet are black from mud and the dirt on our house’s floor, despite the fact that it is cleaned daily. My tiny feet are learning how to walk effectively in this dirt-sand-mud-clay mixture. We come to a shaded, dried out river bed, and I pull off my shoes and wade through the massive amount of sand.

Another pair of feet enters my view. These are barefoot, ignoring the singing sand.

The toes are the most noticeable… they are nonexistent. Small stubs indicate that they used to be there, but they have been entirely worn away due to the friction of the dirt over years of 10 mile treks for a jerry-can of water. The dark skin is cracked and beaten. Even without toes, these feet easily and gracefully find their way through the sand, over the hills, and back to this woman’s house—many miles away.

I look up to see an expectant face. Gnarled with age, it still has an shocking beauty. The grey haired old woman looks down at me and smiles. I know what she wants.

“Shikomo” I say quickly. I have just paid my respect to my elder, as is expected when I pass or greet anyone older than I am. Roughly, I have just said “I am at your feet”.

Her face cracks into a deep grin, revealing pearly teeth underneath her chocolate skin. “Marihaba” she replies.

Our exchange consists of “habari”, answered by “nzuri”, “hujambo”  answered by “sijambo”. My Swahili is quickly exhausted, though I pick up a few other words. She smiles at me, says something in beautifully rhythmic Swahili, and we pad on in opposite directions.

This is my every-day reality for 3 amazing months.

Later that night, I will carefully wash my feet in extremely precious water in a basin with my dad, though it takes months of being back in the hyper-clean US before they lose their reddish tint.

I have spent the last 12 years wishing I could go back to that tiny town/village.