Butare, Rwanda – Returning to Butare for the second time of the day because of a mis- communication at the bank, a local woman came up to me with a wide grin and asked me in French for my phone number. When I told her I didn’t have a phone yet, she said I must surely have an email address she could take. French must not have been the language of love because I certainly was not going to hand it out, though we had a short chat.
Even after we drove across the street and I stayed in the car, she kept her eye on us.
It seems she had had a good chuckle at the muzungu who was standing outside the truck without any shoes on. Jethro explained to me that, in his day, white people were the only ones to wear shoes in most parts of Africa. Today, most of the Rwandan men I’ve met wear extremely nice and fashionable leather shoes, but there I was, standing in the red clay-covered road without shoes.
I had taken them off because of the heat and my more appropriate footwear is in my suitcase. Of course, I still don’t know where that is.
Even after we drove across the street and I stayed in the car, she kept her eye on us.
It seems she had had a good chuckle at the muzungu who was standing outside the truck without any shoes on. Jethro explained to me that, in his day, white people were the only ones to wear shoes in most parts of Africa. Today, most of the Rwandan men I’ve met wear extremely nice and fashionable leather shoes, but there I was, standing in the red clay-covered road without shoes.
I had taken them off because of the heat and my more appropriate footwear is in my suitcase. Of course, I still don’t know where that is.
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