Stories

Moni'ke walked the foot path to the large tent, smiling as the flap was held open for her. "Peace and comfort to you," she said, eyes beaming. "I am here to collect your stories." Welcomed in with a bow, Moni'ke bowed to each of them also, and took her place in the circle. They were nervous and fidgety. "What is the oldest story you have? Who will tell it?" she asked the group (after she'd tested her signal, found it lacking, and moved to paper). Trying to find the oldest story, they shared things the others didn't know and marveled (eventually settling on one they would like to give her officially). Moni'ke asked them for stories of grace and hardship, love and triumph; she paused when they fell silent, and nudged them when they couldn't decide. "And now," she said leaning into the circle, "I ask you for a miraculous story, one which blesses you in the telling. You must say it out loud from beginning to end and we will end with that - with those words awake in the world, bringing you strength." Their eyes shone as they talked, nodding and laughing, tasting the forgotten flavors of a long ago time and place. "Peace and good fortune to you," Moni'ke said as she bid her farewell and gifted them with bottled water and spices for their rice. Back at the refugee center, she made herself a cup of tea and typed her notes, embedding them into the transition services file protected (so they could never be removed). "This is the thing that tells you who they are," Moni'ke whispered. "This is their life on Earth."