Ficly

Million Mile Shoes (Zaïre, 1984)

The old man woke me at 5 am. In the light of the petroleum lamp he carried I saw two rats scuttling along the beam above my head. One nearly fell but caught itself—just.

I needed an early start as it was clear that there would be no transport. No vehicle had come through the village in a week. I would have to walk all the way to Beni.

Except that I could barely hobble. My feet were swollen and my boots no longer fit. I had open blisters on my heels.

To my surprise I passed some villagers selling sandals. “Million mile shoes," one said. “You walk forever!”

They were made from old car tyres.

But the relief didn’t last. The rivets opened the skin between my toes. I walked on glass, and still no cars.

Then the track widened and laughing children ran towards me. The day’s goal, at last. And there, in the distance, the snow-tipped caps of the Ruwenzori mountains. The rainmakers—and the border to Uganda.

It took a long time to wear in those shoes, but when I did I could have walked a million miles in them.

View this story's 1 comments.