The story of Kummavalo

The decks that came into Saga’s hands did not form a tidy collection. They came from different times, were printed in different countries and were visibly worn from use. Some had arrived with letters, others at the bottom of suitcases, wrapped in cloth or hidden between notebooks.

Their journeys remained visible. Edges had softened in people’s hands, words in several languages had been written on the backs and small marks added to some of the pictures. A few decks were missing a card, while one contained two different versions of the same card — as though someone had repaired the whole with whatever could be found along the way.

When Saga placed the decks side by side, she saw that the differences did not break the tradition. They proved it had lived. Every new country, home and generation had changed the language around the cards, yet people paused over them for the same reason: to give shape to an unclear thought and a difficult question somewhere to be heard.

The decks carried more than cards. They carried the women’s touch, their journeys and their ways of seeing — a small map of a family that had lived on many sides of many borders.