This is what he told me!
Author James B Beard a.k.a. Noodin
Nishnung and I were traveling to see Gordy Wenshiban at
Sheguiandah First Nation on Manitoulin Island in Ontario Canada. We drove most of the
night from The Grand Monadnock in New Hampshire and arrived just before
sunrise. Gordy invited Nishnung to be the chief fire keeper for a traditional
powwow that he was hosting. We were just in time to light the fire. Some of the
Elders were already at the fire area waiting as we entered. I smudged the area
and the people with sage and helped a man named John to prepare the fire for
lighting. Nishnung and Gordy led the ceremony and the fire was lit. My work
would be to help take care of the fire for the next four days.
People began to arrive and would come by the Fire to offer
their prayers in tobacco to the creator and spirit world. Many of them spoke
only Ojibwe as they came by. This place is a traditional community and the
language of the people is still spoken here.
Nishnung knew almost everyone as they came. I had only visited this
community one time before and only knew a few of the people. The other fire
keeper working with me would be John Keon. John and I spent most of the day and
much of the night talking and coming to know each other. We would take turns
resting while keeping the sacred fire.
On the morning of the second day more people began to come
by. Many were from neighboring communities and others were Metis people. The
Metis are a people of French ancestry that came into the Ojibwe tribes as far
back as the 1500s. They were French Portage and trappers who came to live
amongst the Ojibwe people.
At about noon a van pulled up near the fire. A powered wheelchair
was unloaded and an old Man got out of the van and into the chair. All of the
people nearby came up to greet him. Only the Ojibway language was spoken. He
was obviously a very respected elder of the community.
I asked John who that man was. He told me that is Angus and
he is in his 90s. I could tell by the way the people honored him that he was
indeed a highly respected elder. Many of the old elders avoid contact with
light-skinned people from the outside so I kept my distance.
At the grand entry Angus would be the lead elder in the
entry dance. Lead dancers came in first Carrying tribal staffs with Eagle
feathers instead of flags. This is the old way!
I avoided coming near where Angus was for the rest of the
day out of respect for his traditional ways. He must have stayed in one of the
tipis’ during the night.
I was on the fire that night and was thirsty so I went over
to where there was a water spicket to get a drink. It was right at sunrise and
next to the spicket was an electrical outlet. As I was getting my water Angus
came up behind me in his electric wheelchair and plugged it in to the
electrical outlet.
I turned to him and said Boozhoo, (hello). He answered mino
gezheb, (good morning). Aunnii azhinikazug, (who are you?). I answered Noodin
indizhinikaz, My name is wind.
There was a silence for a moment. My Language fluency in
Ojibwe is limited and I did not want to offend him by speaking English.
Angus then spoke to me in English and began to tell me a
story.
“When I was a boy I lived here with my two older brothers,
my younger sister and my mother and father. We followed the old ways. In those
times many of the people we’re becoming Christians. All of the people were told
that they needed to follow the Christian faith of the Catholic long black
robes. Periodically, the Christians would do an inspection of the homes of the
traditional people. They would look to see if the homes were habitable and if
they found anything wrong they would take the children away. One time they came
to my home and took my two older brothers away. Later they came back and they
took my father away. I could not understand. We were happy together.
A year later The long black robes came by again and this
time they took my sister and me. I was about eight years old at that time. They
took us to a big stone building on the mainland they said was a school. I could
not speak English at the time, I only spoke Ojibwe.
We were gathered in a large hall with many other children
from different communities. We were told to take all of our clothing off and to
put it in a pile in front of us. The boys and girls did this together. They then hosed us down and washed
us. Then they lined us up standing there naked and a nun started talking to us
in English. Most of us could not understand
what she was saying. Those that could understand told us that we were only to
talk English and we would be given new clothes and a new name. We would cross
the great hall to a table at the end of the hall and then a nun would hand us
our new clothes. And we were led to another room and a nun cut all of our hair
off. I remember crying and being afraid to say anything. I said miigwich,
(thank you) and the nun swatted at me and said use only English.
The next day they brought all of us out in front of the big
stone building. In front of us laid all the clothing and items that we had
brought along with the hair they had cut off of us. The black long robe started
talking to us and lit the pile on fire as we watched. Then they lined us up and
gave each of us English names.
It was a long time before I could speak English or
understand it. One day they heard me say something in Ojibwe to a friend. The
nun grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into a room. She tied me down on a
table and beat me with a willow stick. She yelled at me and kept me there for a
few days. They did terrible things and I wished I was dead.
One time I was in the schoolyard playing with my friends. I
heard someone call out my name in Ojibwe. The voice came from far away. There
was another brick building on the other side of the field. It was said to hold
the crazy people. It was an insane asylum. I looked in that direction and saw a
man looking through a window that had bars on it. The man was my father. That
was the last time I ever saw him. They said he was crazy because he would not
give up his old ways.
After I left that place I went to Toronto and did odd jobs.
I couldn’t understand Ojibwe anymore. I could only speak English. I drank a lot
so after awhile I couldn’t work. I spent those years living on the street.
Sometimes people would try to get me sober but it never lasted very long. Then
a few years ago I came back here. Gradually I got my language back and stayed
sober.”
While he spoke I didn’t say a word. He looked at me and said
mino giizhigud, (it is a good day). I answered Gegit, (definitely) mino
giizhigud, (it is a good day).
He turned his wheel chair around and went up the path.
“To be centered is to
stand alone together”
Noodin
Behind me, in the photo, is the Grand Monadnock Mountain. It is the most climbed mountain in the Americas with more than 100,000 climbers each year. It is more than that. It is a spiritual gathering place for people. I often refer to her as Mona and she is my friend. Her Native American name is moniadenak and means At Silver Mountain. I live here on this mountain at Monadnock State Park. In the park I am a Park Ranger, Interpreter/story teller, Camp Host and Wilderness Responder. I maintain an area of the park to honor this special place with a ceremonial fire, medicine healing lodge and areas for native and cultural gatherings. These things are done to protect Mona.
