Indigenough

(written in December) Last night I attended an event with Elder Ruth Christie at the Gwen Fox Art Gallery in Selkirk. I love hearing Ruth’s stories. She is gifted storyteller – both her own and others. She talked about the challenges and bright spots of living on the Lake Winnipeg. She shared about her time working at Lower Fort Garry and the changes that have come over time with Indigenous people. This fall, I was present when she shared the story of Chanie Wenjack and his final days at the unveiling of the mural dedicated to Chanie’s story. She noted his struggles at Residential School and his desire to just go home.

I first heard her speak at St Peters Dynevor Church also known as the Old Stone Church many years ago. There is a haunting but familiar feel to this building. The 2 wood stoves that heat the church were blazing, our drum group had just shared a few songs, candles lit, and the scene was set for some Christmas stories. And Ruth did not disappoint.

She shared memories of her dad making toys, sharpening skates while children were at school, and the moonlit snow that shone the path for playtime with friends and cousins in the wintery evenings. She spoke of Christmastime and shared the tradition in her family where children receive 2 presents at Christmas. There was always one handmade gift from her mom or dad and one that came from the catalogue. She knew that not all children were as fortunate as she was to have a loving home where there was food, warmth, love, and presents.

The story was recounted of a time when she was so excited to receive a toy top, hand painted by her dad as well as a book about a fuzzy wuzzy rabbit complete with fuzzy pages. That year her cousins, who happened to all be the same ages as the children her family, would not be receiving gifts. Her mom came to her and her siblings and asked them to consider which of their 2 gifts they would be willing to give up so that a cousin could enjoy Christmas.

Ruth looked at her gifts and wondered which one to give knowing that the book, complete with fuzzy sections on each page was her prized possession. The top, well, maybe dad could make another one at a different time. Just as she was considering, her mom reminded her that Christmas is about giving the best of us; Ruth decided that her cousin would love the fuzzy wuzzy book the most and gave the book away. A reminder to give the best.

After a few more stories the evening concluded, and I went up to her and thanked her for sharing with us. She looked at Wyatt and said “Stories are important. It will be up to you to carry on storytelling.” I had tears in my eyes thinking that she saw something in my boy that was special. It was one of those moments that reminded me that that part of our culture needed to be handed down.

Sometimes I find in my journey of truth and reconciliation in our own family that some of the truths of this part of our family culture were lost. They were lost, hidden, or too sacred to share. I have to give the benefit of the doubt to my ancestors who felt they couldn’t be who they are. There is still a lot of bias, stereotyping, and stigma attached to what it means to be Indigenous… I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like for them.

I have asked myself many times if I am Indig-enough. I question my intentions about learning, finding truth, using ceremony and yet isn’t that the quest for most humans? Who Am I? Where Am I From? As I’ve received my name, attended events of learning, participated in medicine picking, drumming, sharing circles, I’ve learned patience, to slow down, to listen to words and heart. I find that this path is character refining.

Not long ago I was with a friend-“sister” who has in so many quiet ways shared teachings. I love her and her gentle ways of teaching and reminding. I remember one time when my curiosity was high, she reminded me that the answers I’m seeking will come in the time that they need to come. By coincidence and not by coincidence I recently had the honor of helping her make tobacco ties to be put on Mother Earth or used for prayers. This felt so sacred to me. She looked at me and said, “I want you to know that you belong here.”

In that moment I felt more than enough.

I suppose we all have moments of questioning whether we belong. For me, I’m thankful for those moments of security and belongingness. There’s power in knowing who you are and the humility that comes with that.

Ekosi.

Cousin Kerry