Migra's Tale

Sure, hearing or reading about migrants in the media is lovely, but I prefer their individual stories; those told around the fire or at the visa section of the magistrate. Here is one of them.

Migra’s Tale

Once upon a time, a girl called Migra was born in a beautiful but unstable country, ruled by an evil king, who, to stay in power, sucked up every nice thought in his subjects’ minds. The king reigned for a very long time, but even his royal highness was not immortal. One day he died and the streets filled with laughter, but the troubles would not end. Soon the joyful men and women were to find out that the throne was cursed. Every successor to the king was guided by dark powers wanting to harm their proud people. Before long, the land was barren, the waters turbid, and parents were so poor that they could not feed their children. Unemployment drove young people to the dark side and some learned it the hard way not to blink an eye before killing their own mother. The following inexorable terror and plagues suited the sovereigns’ malign interests that were greeted with indifference by the rich neighbours.

Those who could not benefit from the situation were faced with the difficult decision to either leave their once beloved birthplace or be drowned in depression, poverty and death. Migra’s father was ill and could not be moved from his cold bed, so the girl decided to find a cure for him all by herself. One morning, she kissed her parents goodbye without telling them that she had asked a neighbour to join his and his wife’s flight outside the borders. Unfortunately, they had not taken into account that, having never been on foreign soil, they lacked any idea or knowledge about people and places different from their own.

The two adults and the child walked for days through forests and deserts, crossing hills and finally reaching Big Mountain that divided their land from the neighbour in the north. The view that unfolded in front of their eyes at the end of their exhausting journey was breathtaking. A long river embedded in a deep green valley flowed between Big Mountain and high yellowish cliffs with a huge white fortress on top. The woman began to cry, as she realised that their country was left behind and she might never see her family again. Migra, very determined to restore her father’s health, could not allow herself to feel grief or sadness. The man started the descent into the valley, accelerating on the steep side of the mountain when a sharp sound was heard and he plunged like a big bag of chopped wood.

Both the woman and Migra knew that what they had just heard was a gunshot. They rolled on the ground, which they watered with warm salty tears. The woman was frightened and sad, so she decided to turn back and try her luck in another direction.  She kissed the girl goodbye and left her alone on the top of the mountain, facing a fortress with invisible armed people. Lying still on the hard ground, Migra awaited the veil of the night to proceed.  She stared at the starry sky and wondered if her parents had found the letter with her explanations. She missed her mother’s hugs and her father’s warming words, but then she remembered how ill he was and jumped to her feet. She ran as fast as she could, accompanied by falling stars and the noises of the night.

When Migra arrived at the riverbank, short of breath and thirsty, she noticed that there was no bridge to the other side of the dark waters. An avid swimmer, the girl took heart and dove into the unknown. The currents were strong and cold and she could feel fish or other animals brush her legs. She thought of her parents sitting in the cold living room, waiting for her, and tried to lead her tiny body to the opposite bank of the river, but the stream was a powerful force, throwing her back and forth. Suddenly, a shadow emerged from behind the trees, reaching her a long thick tree branch. When Migra felt solid ground, exhaustion and its brother, sleep, got hold of her.

First, the girl heard whispers. Gaining consciousness, she opened her eyes and shuddered. Two bright blue faces with big yellow eyes were staring at her. The bigger face of the two said words she did not understand. She pleaded for help but soon noticed that they did not speak her language. Migra remembered her neighbour’s fate and tears of terror filled her eyes. The smaller face had a softer look and gestured frantically towards her, but the blue people seemed to have a misunderstanding for their voices became squeakier and louder. Migra leant against a tree, confused. She did not know whether she should stay or run for her life.  

To her surprise, a third blue person approached the little group. This one seemed to be a female for she had a thinner face surrounded by long silver hair. Her slightly orange eyes looked at the little girl with curiosity. Migra asked again for help. The blue lady responded in the girl’s tongue with a slight accent. Migra was delighted. She narrated her story to the woman, who turned out to be the mother of the bigger-blue-face man and the grandmother of the smaller-blue-face boy and had learned many foreign languages in the course of her life. The grandmother explained to the girl that the blue people lived in the fortress and accepted only guests from other blue tribes. Her son was against helping the girl, but the grandson seemed more inclined to do something for the young river creature, so they decided to paint her face blue and smuggle her into the fortress.

Unfortunately I do not remember the ending to Migra’s tale. Did the blue people help Migra save her parents to later live in the fortress (maybe happily ever after)? Did she rather continue her journey to a tribe that was more open to the needs of foreigners? Or was it the tragic tale of the girl who was thrown into the river, where she was turned into a water fairy, never being able to belong to either side of the river? What I know is that on very bright summer days, should you be walking near that river, you will hear a soft voice singing:  

Migra’s tale is very old/
But history repeats itself/
If you just do what you are told/
Remember that the future elf/
Might make you her in the next world.

Key visual by young Albanian artist, Klesta Galanxhi, who was so kind to create it especially for this story.