A Broken Shoe

Yesterday, I was walking from my morning lesson to the bus stop where I catch the bus to Saigon Children’s Charity, when I tripped on a ridge in the sidewalk and looked down to see that the strap on my sandal had broken. Because of where the strap had broken, it was impossible to continue walking in the shoe. Not sure what to do, I hobbled over to the wall lining the sidewalk and sat down to ponder my options. I had a lot planned for the day. I was planning to stop into my favorite bakery for a delicious red-bean chewy rice donut before catching the bus to UNESCO where I’d planned to drop off my passport for a VISA renewal, and then on to the Saigon Children’s Charity where I would work until catching a bus to my 4:30 lesson and then home for dinner. All of these things required a set of fully functioning shoes.

I thought about catching a xe om home to get new shoes and then to UNESCO, but I had only brought enough money for lunch and a bus and knew that we only had bills at the house that were too large to expect a xe om driver to break. I could take the bus home, but that would require walking to the bus stop ten blocks away. I could buy a new pair of shoes, but again, that would require spending money I didn’t have.

I finally decided to take the bus and brave the streets of Saigon barefoot for the ten blocks it would take to get to the stop for the bus I could take home. I knew that I would draw attention walking barefoot through the cities most upscale district, but I didn’t see what other choice I had. As I got up from my seat at the wall, I immediately drew the attention of the xe om driver who had watched me hobble over with my broken shoe and he began to chuckle. I crossed the street and drew the looks and comments of some people sitting on the corner, but continued to walk along as if it was perfectly normal for me to be walking through the streets with no shoes. As I walked, I began to think about how shoes are such a social construction. Besides their obvious practical value, there is no law or written rule that says we must wear shoes in the street. It amused me that all I had to do to shake things up a bit, was simply take off my shoes.

After navigating two blocks of sidewalks, I found myself stepping over fallen branches and construction tools as the road on either side of the street opened up and filled with construction crews digging holes for underground piping and cutting branches growing into telephone wires. As I navigated my way over the branches and out onto the street, I noticed that I was attracting the attention of crews of construction workers on both sides of the streets. Some of them directed their comments to me, perhaps commenting on my lack of footwear, but as I didn't understand a word, I continued walking. One man then yelled something in my direction, obviously trying to get my attention and I turned toward them to find the whole crew looking my way. I held up my broken shoe and shrugged in what I hoped was an answer to their question and turned to be on my way, but before I could take another step, one of the men ran up to me, took of his dirty, white plastic flip flops and placed them on the ground before me. I looked at the shoes and then up at him and held up my hand shaking it in a Vietnamese gesture of negation and said, "No, I couldn't possibly.." or something similar in English. The man stood his ground and pointed at his shoes intently. Not wanting to insult him and still a bit stunned at this his generosity towards a complete stranger, I slipped on the dirty shoes, thanked him and walked away.

As I rounded the corner, my mind suddenly whirled into action as the shock of the interaction wore off. "I've got to get these shoes back to that guy as soon as I can!" While I had been facing eight more blocks of hot pavement, without his shoes, he was still looking at half a day of hard labor in bare feet. I continued to walk as I formulated a plan and as soon as I decided on a course of action, I looked up to get my bearings, realized I was walking in the wrong direction; I immediately turned right and headed straight to the HSBC building.

Walking into HSBC in my skirt with dirty feet in bright white plastic flip flops, I ignored the strange looks aimed in my direction and went straight to the ATM where I took out 100,000 VND or about $6. I walked out of the bank and up to the nearest xe om driver. I explained to him that I wanted to go to District 5 and then back to Hai Ba Trung, a block from where we were and negotiated a rate of 40,000 VND, a little over two dollars. I positioned myself side-saddle on the back of his bike and we were off.

We made it to my apartment just my leg had settled into what I thought might be a irreversible cramp - riding side-saddle, trying to keep your toes out of oncoming spokes, and maintaining a tight grip on the back bar to keep from sliding off at every stop is not the most comfortable way to ride on a motorbike. I handed the driver his helmet with a "Nam phut (5 minutes)," and hurried over to open our front door. I was up, shoes changed and back down in about three minutes, and we were off again.

On the way to our apartment, I had considered what to buy to give my shoe benefactor as a gift, not wanting to trivialize his generosity with an offering of cash. I decided on a kilo of sweet, bright orange tangerines that he could share with his fellow workers. I had considered buying the fruit at the "rich people's market," across the street from our apartment, dubbed so by my Vietnamese teacher, because the alternative - a detour to my cheap fruit sellers on Dien Bien Phu - would take us out of the way, but luckily, I happened to spot a lone fruit seller on Nguyen Trai just as we rounded the corner to our street. I directed my driver, who I was growing fond of for the grandfatherly way he helped me latch and unlatch the tricky clasp on my helmet, back towards the woman with the tangerines. When he stopped the bike, I leapt off, ran over to the woman, bought one kilo of tangerines and ran back to the bike, where my driver held out his hand to take it to hang on the bike frame as we drove.

When we came around the corner of Hai Ba Trung where I'd expected to see the construction crews, I was surprised to notice that there were construction crews along every block. I looked around me as we drove trying to remember exactly where I'd been when the man gave me his shoes, but everything looked the same. I asked my driver to stop, paid him and sent him on his way, taking to the streets on foot. I walked back to where the construction crew had been, now more sure of myself having retraced my steps, and found the block empty. I turned around to the workers on the other side of the street and saw that one man was working without shoes, but he was much younger than the man I remembered.

I walked over to the man, holding the bright white flip flops and he immediately pointed at the flip flops and then at his feet with a smile. I looked at him without speaking for a moment trying to figure out if he might have given the older man his shoes when he'd given me his or if he were just a man without shoes seeing that I had shoes to give. I stood there, looking around, holding on to the shoes for another few moments before asking, "Anh ay o dau? (Where is he?)" in Vietnamese, thinking that if the man had seen the transaction earlier, he would know who I meant by "he." The man just pointed again to his feet.

Just then two Vietnamese men in ties and construction hats walked over to me and said, in English, "Souvenirs!" pointing at the shoes.

"No," I said. "Not souvenirs. A man gave me these shoes when I walked through here with no shoes and I want to give them back. But I don't know were he is. Do you think he knows him?" pointing at the barefoot man.

The man in the tie said something to the man with no shoes, who shook his head and responded in Vietnamese.

"He doesn't know him. He was just another worker. He is probably gone off somewhere. It is lunch time. Maybe he went home for lunch. Keep the shoes. They are a souvenir."

I sighed, disappointed, but not ready to give up. I thanked them and motioned to the barefoot man that I was going to walk around and look. He nodded and smiled as I turned to walk away.

I walked further down the block, peering intently at the faces of the men as they flung shovels full of dirt from ever deepening holes in the sidewalk. They in turn, peered back at me with amused looks. As I walked, I remembered that my benefactor had on blue coveralls, and narrowed my inquiry to faces above blue coveralls. As I came up on the next block, I noticed that it was covered with tree branches. Then it hit me. Tree branches! I had been stepping over tree branches just before I was given the shoes, so he must have been with the tree crew! Thrilled at my recollection, I crossed the street to where about 20 men in blue coveralls where milling around a big orange vehicle. I held up the white shoes as I peered into the faces hoping that someone would recognize me if I failed to recognize the owner of the shoes. I received a few crazy looks before a man walked up to me and said something in Vietnamese.

I held up the shoes, "Anh ay o dau?"

Again, a response in Vietnamese.

"Anh ay? (Him?)"

He motioned to the next corner.

I thanked him and walked across the street, still clutching the flip flops. I walked up to another group of coverall clad men eating their lunches around the typical child-sized plastic tables of Vietnamese street restaurants. When they saw me they smiled and pointed up in nearby tree. I looked up through the branches of the tree and saw nothing.

I held up the shoes and said again, "Anh ay?"

Again they pointed up into the tree.

I walked around to the other side and positioned myself next to the trunk. Looking up, as the men yelled something in Vietnamese, I saw a familiar face smiling down through the branches.

Thrilled to have found him at last, I grinned as I held the shoes above my head. I saw a nod and a smile. Then I held up the bag of tangerines, for another smile. I then turned to the men on the ground and pantomimed my request that they give the shoes and the tangerines to the man when he came down from the tree and they smiled and nodded their agreement.

Walking around the tree for a better view, I watched as the man in the tree sawed off a branch, waited for his team to clear the street below, and dropped it down on to the pavement. With a clearer view of his face, I watched as he turned down to me and gave me another big smile. With a satisfied smile and a wave, I walked off, with a lighter step, mulling over how kind people can be, to give up what they have, even when they have so little to give.