Call me; "The Women's CommiSHOEner"

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