The Lion That Stole My Shoe

I have been married to Margaret for forty-one years.

In that time, I have learnt several important lessons.

Never tell her that her cooking needs more salt.

Never ask whether she really needs another handbag.

And never, under any circumstances, tell her that you know how to do something when you have only watched it on television.

Unfortunately, I forgot the third rule in Kenya.

We were in the Maasai Mara, enjoying a safari that Margaret had wanted to take for years. She had always loved wildlife documentaries, particularly those featuring lions. She could identify different animals from the shape of their ears and had a better understanding of the natural world than most people I knew.

I, on the other hand, had spent most of my life repairing electrical faults in houses.

My wildlife expertise came from television.

Our guide was called Joseph. He was a patient man who knew the Mara well and had an impressive ability to make everyone feel comfortable.

On our second morning, we encountered a magnificent male lion resting in the grass.

Joseph stopped the vehicle at a safe distance.

“There he is,” he said quietly. “A beautiful male.”

Margaret raised her camera.

I leaned forward.

“Look at the size of him,” I whispered.

Joseph explained that the lion was resting and that we should remain quiet and allow it to behave naturally.

I nodded seriously.

“Of course. You don’t want to disturb a sleeping lion.”

Margaret gave me a look.

“Patrick, please don’t start.”

“What?”

“You always start.”

I decided to remain silent.

For nearly ten minutes, we watched the lion. It lifted its head, yawned and settled down again. The sight was extraordinary.

I took several photographs, although most of mine were of grass.

Eventually, we continued our drive.

That afternoon, back at camp, I was sitting outside our tent when Joseph came by to discuss the following morning’s plans. We talked about the animals we might see and the best time to leave.

I was feeling rather knowledgeable.

“Joseph,” I said, “I have been thinking about that lion.”

“Ah, yes?”

“Suppose a lion were to take a liking to something. Say, a shoe. Would it actually steal it?”

Joseph looked at me.

“A lion would not normally be interested in stealing a shoe, Patrick.”

“Normally?”

He smiled.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

Margaret, who had been reading nearby, lowered her book.

“Patrick, what have you done?”

“Nothing!”

She returned to her book, but I could tell she did not believe me.

That evening, we had dinner at the camp restaurant. It was a lovely night, with the sounds of the bush in the distance and a clear sky overhead.

After dinner, I decided to walk back to our tent.

The camp staff had advised us about moving around the grounds after dark, and we followed their instructions. I had left a pair of old walking shoes outside our tent to dry after the afternoon’s rain.

When I arrived, one shoe was missing.

I stared at the empty patch of ground.

Then I looked under the bench.

Nothing.

I checked behind a nearby chair.

Nothing.

I returned to the restaurant and asked whether anyone had seen my shoe.

A staff member looked thoughtful.

“Perhaps a small animal moved it, sir.”

“A small animal?”

“Yes, sir.”

I considered this.

A monkey, perhaps.

I returned to our tent, found a torch and began searching the immediate area from the safe side of the entrance.

Margaret appeared behind me.

“Patrick, what are you doing?”

“My shoe has disappeared.”

“Your shoe?”

“Yes.”

She looked at the empty space outside the tent.

Then she looked at me.

“Did you leave it outside?”

“Of course.”

“Then perhaps someone has taken it.”

“Who would steal one shoe?”

Margaret folded her arms.

“Someone who only needs one shoe, I suppose.”

I was about to reply when we heard a noise from the darkness beyond the path.

A low rustling sound.

I froze.

Margaret froze.

Then we heard the unmistakable sound of something moving through the grass.

I quietly closed the tent entrance.

“Perhaps,” I whispered, “we should ask Joseph to look in the morning.”

Margaret nodded.

For once, we were in complete agreement.

The following morning, Joseph arrived to collect us for the game drive. I told him about the missing shoe, and he promised to ask the camp staff whether anyone had found it.

We had a wonderful drive. We saw elephants, giraffes and several lions resting in the shade.

At one point, Margaret pointed towards a lion lying beside a bush.

“Patrick, look! Another one!”

I raised my camera.

Then I lowered it.

“Margaret?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think it has my shoe?”

She stared at me.

Then she started laughing.

“Patrick! Lions do not collect shoes!”

“How do you know?”

“Because they are lions!”

Joseph was laughing too.

I tried to defend myself.

“I am merely asking a question.”

“Yes,” Margaret replied. “And that is why I married you. Life would be very dull otherwise.”

Life would be very dull otherwise.

When we returned to camp, a staff member approached us holding something in his hand.

My missing shoe.

I could hardly believe it.

“Where did you find it?” I asked.

“Near the edge of the camp, sir. It appears to have been dragged away.”

“By what?”

The staff member smiled.

“We cannot say for certain, sir. A small animal may have moved it.”

I examined the shoe.

It had several scratches and was covered in dust.

I turned to Joseph.

“Do you think it was a lion?”

Joseph looked at the shoe, then at me.

“Patrick, I think it is best to say that the shoe went on an adventure of its own.”

Margaret burst out laughing.

And that was the end of the matter.

Or so I thought.

That evening, during dinner, another guest asked whether anyone had experienced anything unusual during the trip.

Before I could answer, Margaret raised her hand.

“My husband believes a lion stole his shoe.”

The entire table erupted.

I protested that I had never actually claimed a lion had taken it.

Margaret looked at me.

“You asked whether it had your shoe.”

“That is a question, not an accusation!”

Joseph, who was passing behind us, stopped.

“Patrick,” he said, “if you lose the other shoe, we may have to investigate further.”

I nearly choked on my drink.

To this day, I still have the shoe. I keep it in the garage as a reminder of our trip to Kenya.

Whenever friends visit and ask about it, I tell them the story of the lion that stole my shoe.

Margaret always corrects me.

“The lion did not steal your shoe.”

I smile.

“Perhaps not, darling.”

Then I add, “But it is a very good story.”

And that, I have discovered, is one of the joys of travel.

Sometimes you return home with photographs of magnificent wildlife.

Sometimes you return with a new appreciation for nature.

And sometimes you return with one very battered shoe and a wife who will never allow you to forget it.