DIGNITY

Along the wave encased esplanade of the State Emporia Complex waits a man. Each day he sets his business against a wall, facing foot traffic from one block to the next. This is a prime position for custom. Just beside is a small mosque, only busy on Friday and a small refreshment stand selling water, chai, drinks, cigarettes and packet chips of many a spicy variety. The mosque abuts a tall tree about to claim its space as it encroaches its growth force along the wall. It offers shade which must be welcome in hotter months. Sleepy dogs are curled mid path catching what little the sun has to offer mid winter. The sun is trying very hard to penetrate the cloud and smog cover whilst a ground breeze robs the heat that does get through.

The business occupies about one and a half metres square. Two heavy plastic dal sacks sit on the green marble pavers that create the esplanade. Atop a reclaimed chair seat offers a little padding.  An old and well used two litre Sprite bottle holds water and rests against a toothless handbroom Indian style reminiscent of witches brooms in fairy tales. Hanging on a wire strung on two rusted nails, hammered into the space between marble wall tiles, a variety of shoe laces hang. A very decorative sticker of Lakshmi, Narayan and Ganesha adorned the wall as do the remnants of past four obviously replaced once no longer resembling the deities. On the sacks are a couple of ragged cloths even the beggars would overlook, though and integral part of the business.

While waiting for custom the owner sits on another sack, in the sun, eyes attuned for an opportunity. He doesn't hawk, like many others, as he is an established entity and has regular as well as passing custom. He is all attention when he recognises business. A merchant from one of the Emporia on lunchbreak. The businessman arises, worn khaki trousers, a thicker jacket, lined with fleece and thongs are the uniform as he takes his seat inside business, removing the thongs and sitting cross legged, back erect. His customer surrenders his shoes and claims the thongs as temporary protection from the dirt of the street. As routine dictates the customer takes his seat, upon the dal sack, vacated by the owner and becomes ensconced in his phone.

The shoes and laces are examined for fault before the process starts. The business proper is an old wooden box maybe forty by thirty centimetres by twenty high. There are several draws in the front and window boxes either side one with stitching thread and bits, the other with creams. The draws hold a variety of coloured polish tins and brushes. Atop the box is a foot rail that doubles as the handle.

First the brown leather shoes are brushed to remove the layer of dirt and dust the sits upon everything and then one shoe at a time polish is applied with the finger and rubbed into the leather, the finger is then wiped onto the rag, and the polish is then spread with the first brush. The shoe is allowed to sit a while layered in polish before brush number two comes into play. Vigorously the shoe is rubbed and a sheen starts to show. Brush three is employed, the cleanest of the three and one that brings the leather back to life. When complete light again reflects off the surface. This is all done with full attention and care. The focus is intense. The task is a vocation and serious. The reward meagre by comparison to the effort expended. Costs would be covered and an honest profit made. There is no haggling, this business man is humble and respected.  Both are satisfied and the thongs are returned. The next customer, a young girl, presents a back pack in need of repair. His day continues.