Here in Ghana, with the other options unavailable, he walks every day. Most of the time I’m around to join him which is good for me, a self-avowed walkaholic.
Yesterday we didn’t get forty yards down the road before encountering two men making bricks and setting them beside the road to harden in the sun. We greeted them and I complimented them on their hard work, eliciting a response from the more outgoing of the two. “I would like to come to Europe” he said following us down the street, sweat dripping from his face. “Here I work too hard for small, small,” he put his hand to his mouth miming food. Pointing to his feet, he brought our attention to the fact that he had no shoes and so had to work barefoot.
I looked down, wondering why I hadn’t noticed this before. I immediately thought of the two pairs of shoes sitting in our closet that James had left behind when he left the country last August. “I have shoes for you!” Rob walked over to the man to compare the size of their feet. “I think he wears a size eleven.” he declared.
Back to the house we went and pulled out the shoes, knocking off the harmattan dust with a stiff brush. We were quite pleased with ourselves after the man gratefully accepted both pair.
This morning Rob returned from an early morning walk with the news, “I saw our friend wearing the shoes we gave him.”