Notre Dame Teeth and Mahboula Shoes

When I brush my teeth each morning I think of Notre Dame.  And recently I take the time to mourn the beauty lost by the fire and remember that which Paris has been through in the last years. I can see the flowers set outside the French Embassy in Sofia where I lived in 2015.  They were in memory of those who were lost in the coordinated terrorist attacks in the stadium, restaurant and concert hall.  I recall my visit to the  city not long after and the heightened security and checkpoints. I revisit the changes in the city due to the large numbers of immigrants from Africa, many of which huddle together in family groups on the cold pavements. 

I am not proud of the connection between teeth brushing and Paris. In 2017 I was new to social media and was bravely experimenting with 'selfies'.  We visited Paris for Valentine's Day and I was horrified at the appearance of my teeth in our romantic shots in front of Notre Dame.  I could have been the lighting, or I really needed to see a dentist.  I also really needed to stay out of the photos.  Notre Dame is far more spectacular without my face in front, toothy smile or not.  Just as Paris is breathtaking despite the ugly rise of racism and terrorism.  How could I be so shallow as to worry about my teeth in the midst of such grandeur, history and art?  But my misdirected view has since brought me to the importance of memories that ground us.  We remember we are human, make mistakes, and therefore manage to empathize with others in their darker times.

That is why I love the memory of my Mahboula shoes.  These sandals were chunky, with plastic soles and very comfortable.  I wore them everywhere, often taking them as my only pair of shoes when traveling.  I scandalized my travel companions who wondered why I wasn't wearing sturdy sneakers or stout hiking boots.  My footwear got me up castle steps, down dusty tracks and through endless sight-seeing tours.  Secretly I liked the fact that I stood out less as a tourist, and seemed to fit in more with the locals. This was true in the interior of Brazil where everyone wears flip-flops whatever the weather or job. And in Mahboula, Kuwait, where the workers from all over the world are united in the one fact, they wear sandals. Mahboula is unclean, with unspeakable conditions and resembling a construction site.  Yet everyone strolls around with open toes in the filth, (well, the men do, the women stay inside).  Because I am a woman I wiould never completely fit in, but I was making the effort. I walked in the shoes of those who live there.  

When I left Kuwait to return to the US, I left my Mahboula shoes in Mahboula.  It only seemed fitting.  I wouldn't need them anymore.  But now I am always on the lookout for another pair.  One that reminds me that I am meant to walk with others here on earth.