1 March 2011 - "No! I am Spartacus! And Those Are My Red Shoes."

Some red splotches, some red shoes…go figure.

We took a field trip the other day. To the Athi River Health Clinic (Which as an aside, was the first place to turn us away that night several years ago when Mbini was having her baby). Anyway, we couldn't veryify the measles vaccination for twelve of our kids. So the unpoked dozen queued up gladiator grim behind the truck. "We who about to die..."etc.,etc.

I've seen Spartacus, so my insurrection sensors were pricked.

We embarked, however without bloodshed or riot.

There were at least a couple hundred people lined up waiting to be seen when we drove up. It was scorching hot and I had disturbing visions of our "field trip" becoming a "camping trip."

Eunice and I insinuated our way through the unwell and found a very busy injection nurse. She sent us all to wait near a rusted swing set, and wondrously, within twenty minutes we were summoned to the poking place.

There are no photos of the next segment because a few of our gladiators decided to die with honor and summoned the serpentine strength that lithe-limbed kids worldwide can when faced with certain death or injection and your photographer was fully engaged in the counter struggle. Five also had to get the sudcutaneous TB pop, and owing to a particularly well timed writhe, one needle dislodged at the moment of truth and the tubercular juice sprayed all over my face. After a completely silent moment, one of the nurses handed me a cotton ball and a "good luck" in Swahili.

The perforated regrouped in the truck,

hatching who knows what reprisal.

Lunch was a grim affair.

That night the sleep of the perpetrators was peppered with visions of short Roman broad swords, nets and tri-pointed spears expertly wielded.

But this story doesn’t end with murderous dreams. It switches to separate events and a confluence.

There was a young woman who longed to travel. It was all she thought about. But, unfortunately, she was still completeing her studies on the western edge of North America.

But she was a resourceful and generous soul, and it came to her that if she couldn't launch out for the places that called to her, she could send her red shoes in her place. She remembered a rhino...A Red one. What better place! 10,000 miles and a new life for her favorites. So she kissed her Converse good-bye (on the top, not the bottom)

and handed them over to the man who could make her peripatetic vision real.

He, being of a sensitive nature, arranged transport on the red, One Love, truck.

And sent the shoes to his special inspector and fashion consultant. She infused them with her own love and travel blessings,

and sent them in the One Love mobile to the

special courier. A man of questionable background, but reliable in such matters.

He packed them in his duffle with who knows what else. It's better we don't.

They passed rigorous security inspection,

and the crack team of contaband sniffing dogs, and made it on the plane bound for Kenya.

On the way, they took in Parliment on a lovely London evening.

Bought some bananas in Uganda.

Then landed with Peter, just back from the measles melee.

So the red shoes found the right feet at the right time at the Red Rhino. Now they walk the red soil and remember the young woman with the big heart who had a vision.

“Between saying and doing, many a pair of shoes is worn out.” Iris Murdoch

Thankfully there are exceptions.

David

Comments(9)

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Bob says
March 1, 2011 at 7:31 am

Nothing like an excellent tale told by an excellent teller…Love Bob
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Martin says
March 1, 2011 at 10:07 am

Those faces of the condemned are priceless. Every one of them is whispering through gritted teeth and squinted eyes: “While you sleep, Saunders…”

-Martin

p.s. how exactly do you say good luck in Swahili, again? Was it “tuberculazi hopeni dun getya”?
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dave hakeem says
March 2, 2011 at 3:49 pm

loved the story of the red shoes, especially the “thumbs up”by Peter. Praying for all……across the miles.
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Jeanette Marquez says
March 3, 2011 at 11:05 pm

Excellent! Those shoes should be bronzed once they are retired.
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admin says
March 7, 2011 at 7:53 am

Dear Bob,

If I’m a story teller I learned it from you, with a little Uncle Jim thrown in for good measure. And some tales here darn nea tell themselves.

Lots of love to you and Patti,

David
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admin says
March 7, 2011 at 8:06 am

It’s a good thing the potential conspirators have a healthy fear Cerberus who watches over me as I sleep.

The “good luck” in Kiswahili sounded a lot like “don’t take any calls from the mzungu’s doctor.”

Hacking away,

David
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admin says
March 7, 2011 at 8:09 am

You know what I like, Dave. The fact that those Chuck Taylors Peter is wearing are exactly the same as the ones (minus the red color) we wore when we were going undefeated in CYO ball in the 7th grade at St Gertrude’s. Now that’s staying power.

Your point guard.
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admin says
March 7, 2011 at 8:10 am

Hi Jeanette,

We could maybe dunk “em in a batch of wet concrete…would that work?

David
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Ed Richardson says
March 13, 2011 at 7:48 pm

You guys did it again!! A great story about the ‘RED’ Sneakers and the trip they took. Wow! A long walk through many travel bags, cars, vans buses and on to the RROP.

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1 March 2011 – “No! I am Spartacus! And Those Are My Red Shoes.”

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1 March 2011 – “No! I am Spartacus! And Those Are My Red Shoes.”