A Matter of Shoes

This essay is written by April Kamp-Whittaker about her experiences in Zanzibar.

Perhaps the most fascinating difference between the USA and Usa River and Zanzibar can be found in the flip-flops. In the USA, flip-flops are cool; you can buy them at trendy stores like Abercrombie and Fitch and Old Navy. There, they project a casual flippant air of summer fun and pleasure. In Usa River, they were ubiquitous. In front of every door there was a colorful rainbow of plastic and the streets were filled with shoe music. Everyone was wearing them, in the streets, in the houses.

Being culturally conscious Earlham students wanting to fit in and look cool here and at home, many of us slipped on the comfortable cheap shoes and soon the flip-flop of merry students could be heard coming to school.

Then came Zanzibar. The first thing my family did was set down my bags and show me the toilet with the rainbow striped flip-flops sitting out front. These, it was explained to me, were only for the toilet. This meant that in order to pee, you slipped out of one pair of flip-flops and into a second toilet-only pair, did your business, and changed back.

That night my father rewarded my entry into the family with a pair of my own bright yellow flip-flops emblazoned with cheetahs. The next day my sister took me out visiting. Thinking I had now joined the proud ranks of cool, something I had been trying to do since middle school, I wore my new shoes outside. Apparently no one noticed what I had done and the visits went well until a house filled with young girls. First they grilled me in a mixture of Swahili and English; fielding their questions I felt I had done well, until I slipped on my shiny yellow shoes to leave. Here my estimation of my new found coolness fell. The girls took one look at my cheetahs and burst into laughter. Bemused I smiled back. Gasping through the laughter one girl explained to me that my shoes were "toilet shoes". Never having had such a reaction to my foot wear I left the house ashamed
and a little crest fallen.

I asked my sister about my apparent faux pas. She smiled and explained in Swahili that flip-flops were only for the house and not to be worn out side. I was confused. Why were my shoes okay for Usa River but laughed at here? Were the other cool culturally conscious Earlham students having the same problem? Were they laughed out of houses for their toilet shoes?

The next day I popped the question. Does your family let you out of the house in flip-flops? Everyone said their families didn’t seem to care maybe looked at them a little funny. One student said their brother had said not to and been hurriedly silenced as their family assured them it was fine. Another girl’s sister would give her dress shoes to wear out of the house, but none of them seemed to have problems wearing their flip flops.

Now thoroughly confused, I started to look for flip-flops everywhere. They were taking over my life. I looked for them on the streets, in front of mosques, anywhere they could hide. They were still present, maybe not in the numbers seen in Usa River, but they were still there. The man hawking fish, the boy carting boxes, scattered on the steps of the mosque.

Then one day I forgot. I got ready for school, ate the meal for three my family prepared me, and left for the short ride to school. I stepped proudly from the house, greeted the old women who lounged on the doorstep near by, and headed for the car. I heard a gasp from my sister and then, ” Where are your shoes?" I looked at my sister stupidly and then down at my feet. Yellow beamed back up at me. "Oh, I forgot," I announced cheerfully and skipped back into the house listening to my sister and the women laugh cheerfully, knowing I had brightened their day. When I returned to the house, the rest of my family gave me a confused "What are you doing back?" look. "I forgot my shoes," I explained. They, too, laughed happily and my laughing mother raised her arm for a high five hand slap of mirthful joy.
Perhaps her most endearing gesture is these high fives and happy love slaps. I changed shoes and ran out accompanied by smiled of "Oh, our little mzungu."

That day I asked I asked my teacher about the shoe issue. It was just this simple, he said. Bathroom shoes help keep the house clean and important aspect of Islam. They mean you don’t track things from the bathroom around the house. They are also a status symbol. You would never wear their cheap plastic to work, school, or even really around the town. Flip-flops indicate that you are poor and can't afford better shoes; they say you have a low education. That’s why you only wear them around the house where it doesn't matter.

I went home and talked to my family, finding that they confirmed these views. If you wore flip-flops out of the house, it was to farm or go to the market. However for whites and tourists to wear them is okay because they don’t really understand. However, my family still wouldn't let me leave the house with mine. I was their mzungu*. I represented their family. Somehow this knowledge helped me. I might not be GAP or Abercrombie cool in flip-flops, but apparently I was presenting an air of Earlham quality education in my Chako** sandals. Best yet I was representing my Zanzibar family proudly.

*Mzungu literally means European but it is used as a name for white people. It is descriptive term.

**Chakos are a popular brand of casual sandals available in the USA.

By April Kamp-Whittaker

Sara Penhale and Allan Winkler, Program Co-Leaders
Iringa, Tanzania
October 25, 2003