My craze for shoes dates back to
my childhood days when the only story book I loved reading was the famous
“Cinderella” fairytale. Oh! How I wish I had been christened Cindy or Ella or
better still Cinderella.
At age eight when one would think
I would naturally be amazed at a pumpkin
turned coach, mice turned white horses and a coachman and all the other magical
evolution in the story, surprisingly, the part I found mesmerizing was the fact that one pair of shoe
could be the symbol of love between a
prince and a poor girl.
There were times I wished on my
wedding day, my future husband would not only slip a ring on my finger but also
a pair of shoes on my feet so that we too, like the prince and Cinderella, would
live “happily ever after”.
I quite remember that at age
thirteen when I started getting ripe and no boy would admire any of my fruits,
I begun losing one pair of my shoes each time I went to school thinking that
one of the handsome and gentle boys in the senior classes would use them to
locate me .But after losing five shoes and being scolded, nearly beaten and
still not even the ugliest boy would trace me with my shoes, I gave up that
act.
That did not kill my love for
shoes, rather, as I increased in age, the height of the heels of my shoes also
increased. So I was not surprised when
in secondary school, my mates
nicknamed me “Miss Koykoy” or
“Lady High Heels” after the lady ghost in the boarding house myth who is
believed to have lost her shoes in an accident and therefore searched girls’ dormitories each night for
her missing shoe , amidst the sound of the other pair.
After school ,my fruits were fully ripe but whenever I went out to church or an event, guys and girls alike had their eyes on the ground not because I
did not grow the “fanta”stic face or a “coke”astic body shape
but my feet always had something new, something spectacular, something
alluring and something glamorous for their eyes to behold.
Among all the guys who admired my feet and
face, it was only Ivan, who was able to guess the password to my heart and this
he did by literary buying a shoe for my mouth. Well, I just mean he bought me a
shoe-shaped cake decorated as the same colours as the shoe I was wearing on that
night I turned 21.
I won’t be surprised if he buys
me a shoe shaped car in the near future but if I should die before that kind of
car is manufactured then, a shoe shaped casket will not be a bad compensation.
I reigned in my mind as the queen
of high heels until my first day in the tertiary institution when I came across
Miss Dee, another high heels fanatic.
The first day I saw her, I got so
jealous that I almost blushed. Believe you me; I just couldn’t fathom how she
got the newest model of the Gucci shoes she was wearing when they were released
just two weeks before that time.But after learning that she was
the women’s commissioner, I came to understand all that Vera, a family friend
who happens to have completed the same school told me about the office of the
women’s commissioner.
Vera told me that if the WOCOM, as it is
sometimes called was to have a symbol of office, it would not be anything else
than high heeled shoes because it was as
though wearing a high heeled shoe was part
of their duties.
She narrated a handing over
ceremony of the school’s SRC executives where some students suggested amidst
cheers that the then WOCOM should handover her shoes since she did not have a
file to hand over. I wonder if the current WOCOM has a file despite the fact
that they are able to work efficiently.
As the days went by, my hatred
for Miss Dee changed as I began nursing the desire to be a WOCOM and before I
could blink, the first semester of the four semester programme I was pursuing
was over and the second semester starred at me with an opportunity to contest
as the new WOCOM.
I started my campaign by hanging
a huge portrait of myself, of course in a high heeled shoe, at the entrance of
the school and on a notice board mounted close to the classroom block. And this
did not attract only students but some lectures and staff as well.
I recall one of my lecturers
always picked on me in class because she did not have a fore sight of my
strategy and as usual some other students, who found favour with her and joy in
pulling my legs, will do nothing but urge her on.
But I must say a few people had
my back, talk of Memuna, a budding writer, Andrea, an Oprah Winfrey fanatic
and, Janet, a social network addict who read my campaign speech and made sure
it, was devoid of grammatical blunder.
Some of the plans I had in mind
were to promulgate a WOCOM constitution and profile, design and host a WOCOM
website, institute capacity building seminars/edutainment programmes for women
on campus, to upgrade the annual akwaaba week celebration to welcome freshmen
and women into our folds and to spearhead the publication of an all ladies
magazine I intended naming “The Real Cse I wrote on a big poster
which I hanged at vantage points.
Whilst I was busily flooding the
school with my campaign materials, my opponent, Hilary Harmony was moving from
lecture halls to lecture halls boasting of her long service in the WOCOM, how
experienced she had become in addressing its issues and turning people against
me. But if you asked me how I saw Hilary, I would simply compare her to a
toothless bulldog that was incapable of being a WOCOM. After all, in all her
many years of experience, she could not boast of wearing even a two inch shoe.
As if being my opponent was not
enough, she was gradually taking Larry Ellis, one of my campaign coordinators
away from me with the promise of making him a leading member of the commission
.I will not blame Larry that much because he was desperate to be where ladies
would be at his beck and call.
Alas the dthe
elections arrived. I was confident of victory because aside the classroom tours
and extravagant posters, my name was everywhere even on the floor leading to
the library and washrooms.
But I still had to commit
everything to GOD so before I left my room, I knelt by my bed and said this
prayer;
Almighty Father who gives me
strength to wear high heels each day
Thank you for removing stumbling
blocks off my way.
Had it not been you who held me
close and tight,
I would have fallen and broken my
legs last night.
Father you know how much I have
spent on this campaign
On posters, banners, gifts, shoes
and the yet –to-be popped champagne
Father part of the money belongs
to some students in my class
So, if you don’t help me win so I
repay them, I will move from grace to grass.
I commit the minds and hearts of
all voters into your mighty hand
Let them see only my f ace and
name as behind the E.C computer they stand
So that mine will be the votes,
the victory and the fame.
This I ask in your son Jesus’
name.
Amen.
After the prayer I stepped out of my room and
to my dismay, it was raining, I almost went to my kneels again to pray for a
clear weather but I stopped because I knew my God had done it already, so I
went back for my umbrella and started my journey to school.
On arrival at school, students
were voting despite the low turnout that might have been caused by the rain.
But rain or no rain, I was sure of victory.
After what seemed like a thousand
years, the time for declaration of the results came. I was beaming with smiles
amidst laughter from my mates. As for Hilary, I could hear in my mind’s ear
that her heart was beating so fast and all she could do was to hold Larry’s
hand tight.
After counting the ballot, the announcer said
“the winner pulled 854 votes as against 414 votes of the runner up”. “The new
women’s commissioner is….” he paused. I straightened my legs ready to give a
world class catwalk to the centre.
“…Miss Hilary Harmonnnnnnnnyy!” He finally uttered.
At that moment I felt like
calling for a recount of the votes because I was so sure of the election had
been rigged but Memuna asked me not to.
As I watched Hilary and Larry hug
themselves and respond to the cheers from the students .I quickly ordered the
removal of all my posters because I couldn’t bear the shame.
For about a week I kept a low
profile: no high heels, because people were looking for a chance to mock me
especially the lecturer who picked on me and worst of them all the students I
had taken their money with a promised to buy them high heeled shoes. Hmmm! That
is a story to be told later.
The hardest part of the defeat
was when I received an invitation to attend the WOCOM cocktail party. I did not
want to go but after reading a post, Janet wrote on my Face-book wall, I changed
my mind. It read;
“No matter how confident your
high heel
Always make you feel,
There'll be a day this same shoe,
May fail and disgrace you.
But your ability to rise up and
move along
Shows that indeed you're strong”
A Strong and courageous femme
To wear, stand and walk in them.
As I looked myself in the mirror
from my head to my toe that wore brand new pair of shoes I bought specially for
the event, I smiled to myself and
whispered;
I, Charlene Macaulay may not have emerged as
the women's commissioner but from this moment onwards, you can call me the
women's commiSHOEner.
****END****
INSPIRED BY DELA(FORMER GIJ WOMEN'S COMMISSIONER) AND ISSUES FROM GJA-GIJ 2012 ELECTIONS
