Rosa Varelamigrated person and member of the Canary Islands Migration Secretariat
It was early morning. The waters were calm, as if the ocean, in a rare act of mercy, whispered a promise of hope to those who, clinging to a dream, crossed its vast arms. On the small boat, Marianne felt each wave like a message of life, a warm touch on her burning and broken skin. They had been at sea for days and drinking water had run out the day before. His son was going to be born soon and the world seemed determined to remind him how fragile life is on the edge of an abyss of water and sky.
José, her husband, was next to her. He had worked night after night on that battered ship, giving Maria her own ration of water, trying to cover her with his body when the rain fell or the wind was too cold. Joseph’s eyes were swollen, his body hunched over with fatigue and the weight of despair. However, a spark of determination still shone in his pupils, something that neither hunger, nor fear, nor fatigue had managed to extinguish.
A rumor began to grow among the other passengers. Someone shouted from the bow: “Light! There is light ahead! In the distance, small, fragile stars shone on the shore. The Canary Islands. A flash of solid ground, of promise. Silence fell upon them again. They knew that they were close to winning the battle against death, but that at the same time another battle for life would begin: the uncertainty of trying to convince those who received them that they were as worthy as anyone, of deserving a place in this world.
As the boat approached the shore, Marianne felt a deep pull in her belly, a pain that spread like waves through her body. The arrival of her baby was getting closer and fear invaded her with an intensity that she could not hide. Joseph noticed her distress and took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “Don’t worry, love,” he whispered, “we’ll be safe soon. Our son will be born on dry land. But they both knew that that promise was uncertain, a longing that floated between faith and reality, like a fragile thread that could break at any moment.
The boat made landfall at dawn, when the first rays of sun bathed the coast in a golden light. As she got off, Marianne couldn’t contain the scream of pain that ran through her. The contractions were becoming more intense, and José screamed for help. Nobody knew what to do or where to go. The fear of attracting attention and being immediately returned to their countries of origin made each woman’s scream worry them more.
Guacimara had left early to try to have good fishing. He saw the boat arrive in the middle of the reddish mist of dawn. At first he was afraid and hid behind some rocks. He had seen a lot of news that talked about “those people” and how bad they were doing his country. However, upon hearing a woman’s heart-rending scream, he ran towards it without thinking about anything else. When he arrived, he saw in Marianne’s face what was about to happen.
She was not aware that no one understood her when she shouted for them to help her, but everyone understood her gestures and carried Marianne on a litter to a cleft in a large rock, which could barely be called a cave. There, Guacimara used to temporarily store his fishing materials.
He spread out some clean rags. They placed Marianne on top of them. The woman brought a jug of crystal clear water and gave them a drink.
José looked at her with eyes full of gratitude and fear, without enough words to express what he felt. The place was just a makeshift shelter on the edge of a fishing village. But there, in that small corner of the world, Marianne felt safe, surrounded by the kindness of that unknown woman.
Guacimara remained at her side as Marianne’s cries echoed between the stone walls. Joseph held his wife’s hand, kissing her and whispering words of comfort to her. Hours passed, and finally, with one last cry of effort, the baby was born. A little boy who cried loudly, his voice rising like a song of life in the middle of that unknown land. Marianne took him into her arms, with tears of relief and gratitude.
Joseph approached, trembling, and kissed his son’s forehead. “It’s a miracle,” he murmured. That little life, in the middle of a journey full of fear and pain, was proof that, despite everything, there was hope. The Canarian woman watched the scene in silence, feeling deep compassion for those travelers and remembering that other family that more than two thousand years ago had also sought refuge in unknown lands.
Marianne looked at Guacimara. She pointed to herself and said, “Marianne”; Then she pointed to her husband and said, “Joseph.” Guacimara said his name. Marianne pointed to the child and then to the Canary woman, making him understand that they both wanted her to choose the name of their son, whom she had helped come to life. “Emmanuel, my girl,” said Guacimara with tears in his eyes, “because without a doubt, today God is with us.” Marianne repeated the name as if it were a mantra, a prayer that could protect her little one from all the suffering they had experienced.
As dawn broke, light began to enter the cave, and little Emmanuel was still asleep in his mother’s arms. For José and María, the Canary Islands were no longer simply a destination, they were a promise of peace, a place where they had found a moment of solace and, for a moment, had been seen as more than strangers.
In that moment, all fears, borders and differences vanished. There they were, three people from different worlds connected by the same humanity that beats in each heart. The child rested oblivious to everything, but his arrival had been a symbol of faith in life, a reminder that love and kindness can emerge even in the darkest moments.
And so, in a small cave by the sea, in the middle of a divided world, a child was born. Emmanuel, the symbol that life makes its way, even through the dark jaws of the ocean, and reminds us that God is always with us.
Photography: Getty
