Walking With Walter
9:30 am to 2:30 pm
An applause was made after her last step:
Kubra arrived to the top of Coll de Rumpissa and smiled.
Welcome! A woman cried and hugged her.
A group of people had been waiting for her exactly there:
at the highest place of the cross-border route;
Portbou on the one side,
Banyuls on the other; watching from afar trying to find Kubra, red jersey dressed now visible, now hidden amongst trees and rocks walking backwards, moving forward, facing – while leaving – France, la Côte Vermeille, every rise she’d fought and every step left behind.
During the journey Kubra had had her back to the future, eyes focused on the arid ground under her feet, at present time, flexed knees prepared to cushion each fall caused by the unpleasant path:
A memorial landscape of exile already crossed by too many others; a narrow one made of stumbling blocks and slipping stones, surrounded by wild vineyards, under a heavy sun of midst October.
A silence was made when Kubra had started walking backwards.
Nobody knew for how long she would be slowly climbing obstacles with inflexible persistence.
Anyway, some of them had started to follow her: they had kept pace with her, had noticed the new rythm of time, had trod on her blind footsteps and trusted in them.
Report by: Anna Dot