Hig-heel shoes. [Photo/pininterest.com]
If you ever see me in heels, walking gracefully- probably more gracefully than the Duchess of Cambridge- that is me reaping the fruits of my labor. That is me living a purpose-driven life. That is the daughter of my mother living her one true dream.
Most of my life in-doors are spent practicing my walk in heels. Now, do not insult me just yet because my insanity leaves even my own mother dumbfounded. I cannot count the endless hours I pass dancing to Bony Mwaitege and Rose Muhando’s vigorous songs in heels just to earn stability on those damn things.
I do all that so that when I step out here I do not look as unsure of myself as Murkomen does in court. If only I had similar dedication towards resuscitating my dwindling finances…
Once upon a graduation day, I put on heels. Horrifyingly tall, but sexy heels. The intention was to distract my village from asking why I do not have a guy to introduce to them that day. A plan that succeeded by the way. Being the corrupt Kenyan I am at heart, I want to lie that it was all bliss and fun waltzing around in those obscenely tall shoes.
That I felt sexier than ever. Well, maybe I did feel sexy -just a little bit.(read as a lot) But that feeling lasted for only so long till my village draped those shiny shimmery graduation flowers around my neck. And those flowers…well, they were anything but sexy.
In all truth, those heels combined with my menacingly long neck that my grandfather describes as African, had me feeling like a misplaced, cursed and forsaken giraffe among fallen beings.
Fallen beings who had worked for a fancy piece of paper for 4 years. Yeah, sadness has a shape and a name, and 8-4-4 is it. The only good thing was that most of the other graduates were in heels too. Is there anything more consoling than realizing you are not the only Homo Sapien gully-creeping around on a slow crowded day?
Folks, that day was excruciatingly long. 54 hours on the minimum. Of which I spent every minute worrying that Satan might place a stone on my path to make me topple over. I have not been a saint in my past life and so, an occasional visit from Karma is nothing unusual.
To make matters worse, the distance between my big head and the floor was pretty big. Therefore, if I fell down… there was a chance, a depressingly fat chance, that I’d be able to see my ancestors through a glass wall as they beckon me to the other side.
The worst-case scenario was that I’d fall face flat and lose my front teeth and all children will live thinking I am the famous toothless ogre they read about in their dog-eared storybooks. Or, every other time I smile at a little child they’re going to let out a horribly loud wail and flee in the opposite direction calling for their mama.
But you see, none of that happened that day. All because I live a life of favor. (Listen to me lying to my sorry myself.) In reality, I twisted my left ankle; severally. So much for the rigorous practice. Life is one hilarious b….(thou shalt not curse)
Dear Caananites, listen to these wise words from a not-so-wise lass. When donning those pretty little monsters called heels, you automatically become the Duchess of Githurai. Or whichever estate you come from for that matter. You do not just walk this way that way.
Yaani hivi hivi. You do it with grace and poise because at that elevated stance, you can see how your tomorrow is going to be greater than today. In fact, if you are imaginative enough, you can taste it on your lips.
But we are talking about me here. Me who used to eat groundnuts from under the desk during history lessons. Me who never listens to wise counsel. Me who hails from a small village in the hills.
Me who went ahead, hopped, skipped and jumped throughout that day trying to prove to one and none that I am my village’s diva. (kuku wa shambani) And as the story goes, my leg was in pain for the rest of the month. Terrible, horrendous pain.
The kind you felt when visitors came home and offered you coins for biscuits but your mother sits there like the empress she is giving you her signature evil side-eye that says,’ I dare you to accept that money, little witch of Oz.’ And you, knowing what is best for your buttocks lets your already outstretched, coin-thirsty hand shrink mid-air, but only begrudgingly.
All said and done, ankles twisted, high heels have lifted me from nothing to something. Literally and figuratively. In fact, every time I think of them, one song comes to my mind. ‘I am walking in power. I am walking in miracles. I live a life of a giraffe. I know who I am.’
I have one plea though. Please don’t brand my heels demonic or evil, life has already dealt me with a ruthless hand. Reserve such harsh adjectives for my village neighbor’s black cat. That cat is one unhealthy creature. However, you can use words such as Form 34B or Aromat when describing high heels. They are worthy. They are deserving. And oh, so awesome.
All hail the heel.