The sun was low in the sky when Chika knelt by the road, polishing a pair of dusty shoes. The man wearing them tapped his foot, waiting. Chika’s small hands moved quickly. He needed a little more money before dark.
Chika was only eleven, but he worked hard every Sunday after church in the busy Ogbete market. He was saving to buy something he had never owned his own pair of shoes.
His bare feet were rough and scarred from sharp stones. He was used to the pain. His late mother’s words stayed in his mind: “Kindness, Chika, is what brings blessings.”
That evening, after counting his few bills and coins, a woman in a blue Ankara wrapper stopped in front of him. Her blouse was neat, but her shoes were scratched. She looked at him quietly for a moment.
“Boy,” she asked, “aren’t your feet cold?”
Chika looked down at his dusty toes. “I’m fine, ma,” he said. “Would you like a polish?”
She hesitated, then sat on his small stool. Chika polished her shoes carefully until they shone. When he finished, she gave him a bill that was much more than he charged.
He blinked. “Ma, this is too much.”
Her eyes softened. “No, Chika. It isn’t enough.” She walked away without another word.
Chika was lying on a thin mat next to his younger sister, Ada, that night. He clutched the five-pound note to his chest and pictured himself going into the church with polished black shoes. He under his breath said a little thank you prayer and then shut his eyes.
The following Sunday, Chika was up with the lark. The bells of St. Mark’s Church could be heard all over the town. He went through his ablution, ironed his worn-out shirt, and grabbed his shoeshine box.
Ada rubbed her sleepy eyes. “Will you buy them today?”
“Not yet,” he said with a smile. “I need a little more.”
The ground at the market was drenched with rain. His feet were covered in mud and he felt cold, yet he didn't stop from smiling at the customers. He was polite to everyone and, in addition, he helped carrying a heavy basket for an old man.
After a while, a bunch of boys were walking by. Their shoes looked spotless and new. One of the boys stopped, pointed and said: "Look Barefoot Chika is polishing shoes that he can't afford."
The others laughed. Chika felt the sting but said nothing. He picked up his box and walked away, humming a hymn to steady himself.
On the next Sunday, Chika got very frustrated and decided to do something after the church service. He went to a little store which was near the market. There were bright shoes all over the shelves.
The seller an old woman with a gentle look in her eyes, smiled. "What is it that you want, Chika?"
He chose a plain pair of black leather shoes to point at. She looked at his money, agreed and took them off for him in the brown paper.
Chika held the package tightly. He could already picture himself wearing them next week. Ada would be so happy.
When he got out, he heard some crying in a soft voice. He looked back and saw a little boy sitting on the street. The kid’s shirt had a big hole and his feet which were not covered were dirty with mud.
Chika got down to the boy’s level. “What is the matter?”
The boy wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Mother of mine is ill. I was given some money to buy medicine for her, but I lost it. I can’t go back home.”
Chika felt pain in his heart. He looked at the pair of shoes in his hand then at the boy’s face that was wet with tears.
He didn’t hesitate and went into the shop with the shoes in his hand. “Please remove my shoes from your store,” he told the manager. “I want the money.”
She looked surprised. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. She gave him the bills, and Chika pressed them into the boy’s hands. “Go. Your mother needs you.”
The boy stared at him. “But… your shoes?”
Chika smiled faintly. “Shoes can wait. Mothers can’t.”
The boy was reluctant, after that he went away with the money in his hands running down the road. The shopkeeper stared at Chika. "You threw away your own work," he said. He lifted one shoulder. "My mom told me that kindness is the source of blessings." The following Sunday, Chika was at St. Mark's once more. He was shoeing without shoes. They were cold, but he felt a light in his heart.
When church ended, the woman in the blue wrapper stopped in front of him. She glanced at his feet. “Chika,” she asked, “why don’t you have shoes yet?”
He told her about the little boy and the lost money. His voice was calm, without regret.
She didn’t speak at first. Then she took his hand and led him to her shop. Inside, rows of shoes lined the walls. She picked up a pair black leather, sturdy, his size.
“Try these,” she said.
Chika shook his head. “Ma, I don’t have the money ”
“I’m not selling them,” she said firmly. “I’m giving them. You reminded me that kindness matters more than what we own.”
He slipped on the shoes. They fit perfectly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
She smiled. “No, Chika. Thank you for showing me what kindness looks like.”
News of Chika’s choice spread through the small town. People who had once ignored him began to greet him kindly. Some even slipped coins into his hand without asking for a polish.
That afternoon, Chika walked home in his new shoes. Ada gasped when she saw him. “You got them!”
He nodded but looked thoughtful. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But that’s not the real gift.”
Ada tilted her head. “Then what is?”
Chika smiled. “Knowing that a small kindness can change someone’s world.”
Years passed. Chika grew into a respected man. He became a teacher who often gave shoes to children who came to school barefoot. Sometimes, on Sundays, he still polished shoes for free outside St. Mark’s.
He often told the story of the Sunday he gave up his dream for someone else. He would say, “Blessings don’t always come in shiny packages. Sometimes they come through small choices to help someone else.”
And every time he tied the laces of his shoes, he remembered the little boy, the woman in blue, and his mother’s gentle words about kindness.
