Worn Torn Ugly Priceless Sandals
January 21, 2007
I just spent the last week, January 13th through January 19th with one of my griot guides. His name is Alhaji Papa Susso and he hails from The Gambia, West Africa. His compound is the one I live in when I am visiting The Gambia.
The week was very grueling as studying the combination of history, music, and stories simultaneously is a bit of a challenge. Add to this Papa’s personal and performance schedule and you have a “no rest for the weary” scenario.
During one of the days we were seated in the living room talking, Papa was telling me about his recent trip to South Africa for an international poetry festival. He waxed poetically about his previous encounters with Nelson Mandela and how Mandela was a main reason for his being invited to the conference.
As Papa was talking I noticed his sandals were completed worn and torn in various portions of the leather. I was trying to listen to him but my mind started wandering to all the places on this earth those sandals have traveled (France, England, Spain, South America, All over Africa and many, many more locations too numerous to list.)
Papa has never been excessively concerned when it comes to appearances; he is more a content oriented person.
As we were talking I interrupted him, a major error, and blurted out, “Papa would you like a newer pair of sandals?”
He looked at me for a moment, glanced down at the tattered mess covering his feet and smiled. “Do you want these?” he asked.
I smiled back at him, excused myself for a moment and went into my wardrobe closet, returning with a pair of similar but newer sandals.
He tried them on and a wide, very wide smile parted his lips. He handed me the old tattered pair and simply said, “Thank you.”
I placed the shoes in an adjacent room and forgot about them for the rest of Papa’s stay.
A few days after Papa left, my wife was cleaning the room when she found the sandals and approached me inquisitively.
“Whose shoes are these?” She didn’t seem pleased to be holding what looked like a pair of old, beat-up rags.
“Papa left those for me,” I explained.
My wife has learned that eccentricities are a part of the life with me and she rarely, if ever, delves any deeper than her initial inquiries.
She placed the sandals back where they were and I just began smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
Some of you will understand, and some will not. For those of you who do, I hope you’re smiling along with me.
This is one of the reasons that I do what I do.
“Dooni dooni kononi bè nyaga da.”
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