Shoes

Shoes

I take my shoes for granted.  When I came to Haiti I brought some work boots, tennis shoes, clogs to go to and from the shower in, some slip on shoes and a pair of rubber boots.  That’s a lot of shoes.

 I use the work boots the most.  Every day I lace up the thick leather boots with heavy rubber soles and go work outside in the dirt and rocks.  They have held up remarkably well and I appreciate them.  After work I slip on my clogs and run to the shower and back.  I like them because they can get wet and not hurt them.  Then I put on my slip on shoes.  They are comfortable and I like them because I can pop them on and off without having to bend over and lace them up.  It is convenient and quick.  I like my shoes.

There are two basic types of national employees here on base.  The full time staff who are fairly well dressed with nice slacks, button up shirts and good shoes.  The workers ‘across the wall’ are only here for the duration of the building expansion project.  There are around fifty or so of them.  Every now and then more are hired depending on the workload for the day.  In the morning there are more than that congregated by the wall next to the project hoping for work.  Every now and then five or so will be hired, the rest go away after an hour or so dejected and not understanding why they weren’t.  Some get angry and as they walk away they scowl and throw their hands in the air as if to say, ‘why not?’ … an internal reference as to why they didn’t get the job.

As I’ve milled around the work area delivering sand, gravel or helping to set up a pad I’ve taken note of the temporary workers; those only here for the duration of the building project.  They stand in stark contrast to the full time staff.  Many wear dungarees that are mis-sized, their shirts are too baggy and their shoes are different.

As mentioned, the staff wear fine shoes; newer sneakers, leather boots or nice work shoes.  I sat next to a temp in devotions this morning who wore what I would call covered slippers; a light weight shoe with tattered cloth covering his bare feet.  Across from me was another man who had sneakers that had no backs to them, the solesflapped with every step he took, and the toe ends were gone.  On site I saw faded clogs with no retainer straps, another with knee high rubber boots, one man had tattered wing tip shoes with no laces, or holes for laces for that matter; the leather with the eye holes was simply missing.  Shoes missing soles, shoes with no toe coverings, shoes with rotted material barely holding bare feet in place, the list and variety of coverings for their feet was endless.  These men work with concrete, heavy blocks, shoveling sand and gravel, carting wheelbarrows of rubble, cement and materials with only the thinnest layer of rubber or protection between the soles of their feet and rocky ground. 

I don’t know how to reconcile the extreme poverty of these people versus my ‘modest’ American lifestyle.  I don’t necessarily feel guilty.  I do feel amazement at how little these hard workers have.  And I do wonder why it is so.

I suppose when I leave for home my bags will be quite a bit lighter.