Following the warm reception of my piece on my two belts, my good friend JA suggested I write about the ageless old shoes. As a supportive friend, he offered some insightful contributions.
His suggestion reminded me of a conversation I had in 1990 with JH, a friend in the UK at the time. I had just arrived and taken up a job cleaning train coaches at night. In our team of six, four were Nigerians. JH and I were older; he was a teacher back in Nigeria, while I was a lawyer. One day, I asked JH if he would ever return to Nigeria. He promised to answer the next day.
The following day, JH brought out a pair of black shoes. The soles were worn and holey, the leather wrinkled and weather-beaten.
“JB,” he began, “these are the shoes I wore into this country. They were my only pair. I repaired them so many times that the local shoemaker refused to fix them anymore and told me to buy a new pair. But I couldn’t afford it. When I obtained my UK visa and came into this country wearing these shoes, I knew I would never go back home. Whenever the thought of returning crosses my mind, I bring out these shoes to remind me of my days in Nigeria. The days when my salary went unpaid for months. The days when, at 29 with two kids, I couldn’t feed my family. The days when I trekked to and from work daily. The days friends deserted me, family meetings went without invitations, and I owed every food vendor in the neighborhood. These shoes remind me of my struggles, journey and not to return to a place where I suffered so much abuse.”
“Wow,” was all I could mutter.
“Yes, my brother,” he continued. “I had to sell everything to come here with my family. Yes, I am a cleaner, but I get paid on time. I have my dignity. These shoes supported me in every way, and they hold a special place in my heart.”
Perhaps, you too, dear reader, have shoes that are ageless, shoes that tell stories about you. As you read, think about your old pairs of shoes, even those you’ve lost or gave to someone, and the place they hold in your history. Some people endured hardship to own a pair, while for others, it came easy. Such is life—different strokes for different folks.
Think about how they accompanied you to seek for financial help or to attend interviews for jobs. You should not forget their contacts with the worst of surfaces, the delicate and pristine places they’ve visited, and the dirty, rough waters they’ve ploughed through. Recall their time in the hands of curious cobblers and shoe shiners, their brief sojourns at airports for a quick shine.
Remember the times you faced rejection or acceptance because of your shoes. Perhaps someone once told you, “I can’t date you because of the state of your shoes.” Did that dejection spur you to succeed?
Think about the shoes that took you to secret places and saw things never to be divulged. The shoes that accompanied you to a lover’s home or to a secret lover’s den, the ones you wore when you betrayed clients, family, friends or country; the ones worn when you took a bribe or received your degree, got employed, or got married. Those shoes. Yes, those ageless shoes! So loyal in good and bad times.
And then you realize you’ve treated them well, as they are windows through which outsiders glimpse your personality.
But these ageless shoes aren’t so innocent. Remember them crushing innocent insects, and you might recall the Yoruba folklore song: “yi ese re si apa kan, ma se te kokoro ni, kokoro ti a ko le da, Oluwa lo le da…” (move your legs to the side, don’t step on those insects, the insects you cannot create, only God can).
For some, ageless shoes were passed down from family or friends as a sign of love. Some remember them as weapons of abuse, regretting their actions, while others remain unremorseful. Ageless shoes have caused happiness for some and sorrow for others. Some have used their shoes to commit crimes including murder, domestic abuse, armed robbery and cause hardship to others, a stark reminder that shoes, like their wearers, can tread dark paths.
Whether you’ve blessed others with your ageless shoes, lost them, or still have them, be thankful for their role in keeping you protected, motivated, and happy. If you’ve ever used your shoes for harm, reflect on those actions and strive to change. For those without shoes but desiring a pair, let that desire motivate you to strive for success, if owning shoes defines success for you.
In many ways, our ageless shoes are mirrors of our lives—reflecting our struggles, challenges, poverty, wealth, perseverance, and success. They have walked with us through every journey, silently supporting us as we face life’s ups and downs. Like our shoes, we age too. Some of us will be cared for, while others may be abandoned, unkept, or abused in our old age, just as ageless shoes are treated differently by different people. If your shoes have tread down dark paths, let them now guide you towards rehabilitation and positive change. Whether worn and weary or shining and new, our shoes remind us that with each step we take, we move closer to our goals, carrying the stories of our past and the hopes of our future. So, treat your shoes well, for they are not just footwear but companions in your journey through life.
NB: Johnson Babalola, a Canada based lawyer, leadership consultant and corporate emcee, is a public affairs analyst.
