Restless and Wandering

I didn't learn my friend’s name until after he died. Almost every day for the first half of my year abroad I would walk past him at his post and he would see me and grin along with kind eyes that rested under the brim of a black hat. Sometimes we would only smile and other times we would exchange a simple “Dobar dan. Kako ste?” but not once did I think to ask his name.

He always kept his station clean. All the man required was a old wooden chair, a few cloths, a metal shoe stand and some polish. In the mornings, business men would make time to visit his chair and chat. The people who talked to him were always cheerful and laughed at jokes I could not hear. The old man was kind to everyone, he gave what little money he made to the Roma kids that asked and he always saved scraps for the stray dogs.

I began to mark the passage of my days by the sight of the shoe shiner. He was there whenever I walked by, no matter what the season. I saw him through the summer sun, the autumn drizzle, and the icy onset of winter. He sat there when the first snow blew it and he was there when it melted away. Locals would later tell me he even worked there every day during the Siege of Sarajevo in the 90s; despite the sniper fire and shellings that overwhelmed the city. When people woke up each morning and saw him, they knew that they had survived to see another day. He was their unceasing beacon of hope in a place that had little. He was always there; and then suddenly he wasn't.

On the third day of his absence, a crowd had gathered around his usual workplace. As I got closer I saw some had tears streaming down their faces and I suddenly understood.

“Oh Cika Mišo” one girl whispered. Cika Mišo means Uncle Misho in Bosnian so I asked the girl.

“Were you family? I’m so sorry.”

“No.” she said and then smiled sadly “That’s what everyone called him.”

It was then I moved closer and saw his empty chair. Someone had placed his picture and a bouquet of roses where he usually sat. His old customers and friends lit candles and placed them by his work stand, there must have been at least a hundred of them. His cloths and polishes were nowhere to be found, but on the metal shoe stand a pair of leather loafers stood at attention waiting to be serviced by the last Shoe Shiner in Sarajevo.