I have been home from a debrief in Kenya for almost two week. It is interesting how very little changes in a country, such as Kenya, in the four months since I left. (Yet there is a sadness or really, reality, that I had to come to: I didn't take any photos while I was there.)

Yet despite my extended absence, I find that I am always wearing Kenya on me, at any given time. You see, these shoes carry not only the memories and moments of a time well spent, but also the dust, dirt, clay, sweat, and tears of the these moments in the past. Not only do they show the weathered effects of the natural upon them, but they carry something very substantial from the emotional plane.

It was suggested to me that I should wash them and bring them back to their former look, to have them carry the appearance of clean. Yet that is not something that I can do. I mean it is a simple solution to something equally simplistic. Still, I cannot bring myself to do this, to restore them back to an equally pristine condition. You see, there is something in the natural that is simultaneously occurring deeper within me.

The elements of Tangi Tatu, Nairobi, and the Rift Valley are left, caked and stained upon the soles and lining of these shoes. The red clay is permanently stained upon the outlining, while dust has accumulated upon the canvas. The laces no longer shine with bleached white color, but now shimmer with tannish hue, reminiscent of the foothills of Mount Longonot. 

Despite the look of this footwear, when I put them on and "close my eyes," I am back in Kenya. Yeah, it's nostalgic. And there's a good chance it will be criticized. Still, when I wear them, I can retrace my steps, that I took in September, October, and November.  I can remember the sounds of the dirt popping underfoot, the feel of grass tramped, and kicking up of dust in the IDP as it rises up to my nose. It brings me back to the end of each day, heading back home, realizing that the back of my calves would be covered in dust and dirt that was stirred up by treading. 

You see it would be a shame to clean something that carries such memories with them. Every time I wear them, I am wearing a piece of Kenya. Truth be told, I am wearing the most minuscule, minute facets of Kenya: the dust, dirt, clay, sweat, and tears. Yet these are the pieces that tell magnificent stories and conjure deep-seeded memories.