Short Story- A Different World

A Different World:

By: Christine Miskonoodinkwe Smith

 

The gentle breeze wraps around me like a shawl here on the shores of Lake Simcoe.

 

Not a soul in sight.

 

Birds chirp on occasion, and two mallards float by. I am lost in thought.

 

Nothing disturbs me, not even the occasional car that drives by on the road above.

 

I sit with my knees pulled up against my chest, my hands clasped around them. I’m hidden from the road by an expanse of grassy land. I don’t feel the cold rocks on my backside, or take note of the lapping water getting closer to my running shoes. Being on this reserve brings to mind many questions. I not only wonder what it is like on my home reserve of Peguis First Nation, but I wonder about my ancestors, and those who have connections to the lands surrounding Lake Simcoe. I think about my ancestors back on my own homeland and wonder if they are with me and understand the path my life has been taking.

I live a life they could not begin to know. I am an urban Indian. I have never known anything outside of city life. I did not grow up on my reserve-Peguis First Nation. What I knew of reserves was what I read in the newspapers or heard on the news and it was never good. They did not know the sound of car horns honking, hear the incessant ringing of cellphones or have access to the kinds of solitude breaking technology of today. They did not have to escape just to experience silence. There is no way they could have known that the world would become a place where people would lose respect for each other and the lands around them.

I wonder what my ancestors experienced. I want to learn what they knew so I can bring back tradition and culture and speak my language so that I can pass it down to the generations behind me, so that my niece is proud to be First Nations and passes it down to her own children.

Someone once told me that there was a time when Mother Earth was respected, a time when we maintained relations with the whole natural world. It was times when we could step outside and not worry about the toxins or chemicals that were being breathed in. We could just walk and appreciate the silence surrounding us. We didn’t have a cacophony of sound, see garbage lying around, worry about where our water was coming from and if we went for a dip in the lake, we didn’t have to worry about catching a disease or witness algae and other chemicals choking the life out of our teeming rivers, streams and lakes.

You just have to think of Kashechewan First Nation or most recently Attawapiskat First Nation and how infamous they have become in the media due to the problems that plague them- the flooding and the contaminated water, the poverty and shortages in housing.

In 2005 I remember picking up the local native newspaper “The Native Canadian” and reading “Kashechewan faces possible relocation from a land they know and have grown up on, due to flooding and contaminated water” I read about the high unemployment, poverty and the lack of suitable housing.  In my studies at the University of Toronto, I learned the history of First Nations people and their communities. I learned how upheaval has a devastating impact both physically and psychologically, especially in a culture that holds great importance in connection with the land.  Upheaval is all too familiar to many First Nations people.

Sitting on these rocks by the waters of Lake Simcoe, I think about the way of life that used to be and the worldview that has been re-introduced to me by this woman who was my first and second year professor but then became a mentor and a friend- Dr. Cynthia Wesley-Esquimaux. It was Dr. Wesley-Esquimaux who brought me here to her reserve, Georgina Island. It is a place that I can learn from and appreciate. She’s gone out of her way to help me bridge the gap in my mind from city life to reserve life. She has gone out of her way to instill within me a knowledge I thirsted for all my life-to know who I am.

Since first visiting the Island, five year ago now, I’ve learned about family and community. I’ve listened to stories, and heard the importance of having a voice and telling our stories. She has also taught me that a home is a home wherever you make it. It can be wherever you want it to be-whether that is in the city or on the reserve. Your home can be made to reflect the worldview you believe in.

In her home, the past intermingles with the present. It reflects her interest in bridging the gap between Native heritage of the past and the contemporary contributions we make today. It is in the artwork that adorns her walls and the wide range of volumes that is a book lover’s dream to browse. I remember when I stood on that deck, took in what was around me and walked down to the waters not far from her house, how transformed I became.  It is easy to look at the lake and see the changes that have happened in it. Where it once was clear and now it is murky. You cannot help but wonder what the future holds for such a beautiful place, when there is such change happening elsewhere.

It is through such influential First Nations women that I am learning to rebound from negative experiences and awaken a social and cultural resiliency that I never thought was in me before. I have learned much from my visit to Georgina Island. I have learned to scale the wall of personal, community and national resistance by learning to open my eyes and see that within I have a voice that needs to be heard.  It’s time for me to head back to the mainland. I know my ride is waiting. I stand up reluctantly from my perch on those rocks at the edge of the lake. I brush myself off and pull my jacket closed. I have to head back to Toronto, but before I do; I pull out my camera to capture the stillness that surrounds me.

I take out some tobacco and sprinkle it on the waters stretching out before me. I watch the current pull it out into the lake and say Chi miigwetch for what I have learned, and what I have seen. I turn to walk away, but I am not sad. I know that I will be back. The wind dies down but the shawl stays wrapped around my shoulders and I return to my home in the city.