Lacey and the African Grandmothers

by Sue Farrell Holler

  Everyone pitched in to help prepare for the celebration.

  I smiled as I cut the carrots and watermelon. Lila sounded as bossy as I had sounded last night. I felt so excited that the African grandmothers were coming that I wasn’t even tired from staying up late. I couldn’t believe they were really coming. I never thought it would turn out like this. I just thought I could raise a little money to help them, and now they would be here, in real life. Mrs. B. told me they had never been to a small place in Canada before. They had been only to big cities like Calgary and Toronto. It would be such an honor to meet them. This was going to be my best day ever.

  I was nearly finished the chopping when Kelvin came in. Even though we were almost related, I still didn’t want to look at him. No matter how nice he was being lately, I was still mad about how he wrecked my flowers and about how he treated Angel. He came close beside me and touched my arm lightly. “Come. Follow me,” he said quietly. When I hesitated, he took my hand gently, like a brother. “I want to show you something,” he said.

  I followed him up the main stairs and outside the church. He led me past the brand new basement windows and the wall that had been freshly painted to cover up the bad words. He led me to the back of the school, where the elders had told the boys how to set up the school’s tepee. There was a flowerpot overflowing with large pink flowers and delicate blue and white ones hanging from the fence, and on the ground near the entrance to the tepee was a clump of sweet grass with its purplish spring flowers. Other native plants, such as pale purple crocuses and clumps of wild chives with ball-like purple flowers were planted around the fence. The plants were even prettier than the ones that he had wrecked. Kelvin didn’t say anything. He just stood there and looked down, showing his respect for me.

  “You? You did this?”

  His black hair fell over his face when he nodded. “I had help,” he said.

  “Kelvin? You?” I asked again, in disbelief. He nodded again. “But how?”

  “The old lady who has that big garden, the one who brings vegetables to Sequoia? I fixed her car the other day. She wanted to give me twenty bucks. I didn’t want any money, but since she had a lot of nice flowers, I asked if I could have a few of them instead. She gave me that big pot full of flowers,” he said, nodding towards the pot hanging on the fence. “This other stuff, me and the guys just dug up and stuck in the dirt. I don’t know if they’ll live, but if they get enough water, maybe they will. They might even come back again next year, too, without planting them over again.” He spoke slowly, and mostly kept his head down and scuffed his shoe back and forth in the grass. He looked embarrassed, rather than proud, of what he’d done.

  I didn’t know what to say. There were so many thoughts in my head. Kelvin had done something good? It couldn’t be. It had to be a trick. He must want something. Then I remembered my grandmother’s voice saying that sometimes thinking with your head makes you mixed up. She had told me to listen to my heart. I also remembered her telling me about the white buffalo calf and how it would bring a time of peace and harmony. Was the legend true?

  Kelvin lifted his head and looked at me. The hair fell from his eyes without that proud flick he liked to do. His eyes weren’t hard and angry – they were as gentle as Angel’s.

  “We have to get along, Lacey. We’re family.”

  But he was my enemy. The one who yelled at my sister and bullied her, the one who pointed his finger at me and told me to stay out of things. Replacing the plants he had destroyed wouldn’t change that. He would still be mean, still be a bully.

  “I know you think I smashed your flowerpots, but I didn’t. The police don’t believe me either. No one believes me – no one except Angel. But I didn’t do it, and that’s the truth,” he said. “Ever since I stole that car, everyone is against me. They finger me every time anything happens. They want to prove I’m just like my father, but I’m not. I’m a different person.”

  “But if you didn’t wreck them, why did you…”

  “I did it for you and for Angel.” He looked down at the ground again. “I wanted to make something pretty, something good.”

  I just stood there looking at the flowers and not really believing that Kelvin could do this.

  “It’s like your dad told me. I have to prove myself, in small ways, then in big ways. Over and over, he said. He said I’d have to keep doing good things, and doing good things until people started believing in me, trusting me.” He scuffed the grass some more. “I’m trying, you know? Because I want to be a good partner for Angel and a good father for Kayden. Sometimes I still get it wrong, but I’m trying to be a better person. Step by step, you know?”

  “But your finger was all black, and you were mad that you failed math…” I looked at his hands, a mix of grease from working at the garage and dirt from planting. Could I have been wrong? Had it been dried grease and not paint on his finger that day?

  “It wasn’t me,” he said. I stood quietly looking at him, and my heart understood.

  “I believe you,” I said, then I put my arms around him and hugged him like a brother. He hugged me back, but just for a second.

  “It’s the white buffalo calf,” I said quietly, letting the words in my mind come out. “It’s just like Kahasi said.”

  Kelvin squinted his eyes at me. “You mean that white buffalo at the zoo?”

  I nodded. “Kahasi told me how it’s a sacred animal,”

  “I know about that. Mrs. B. is getting a bus or a big van to take whoever wants to go to see it. Maybe you could go, too.”

  “Really? There’s a bus going to the zoo?” I wanted to go, but even more, I wanted Kahasi to go. Maybe I could get her on that bus.

  Chapter 19

  Florence and Zubeda

  “They’re here! They’re here!” Trisha called into the church. “Hurry, Lacey. They’re here!”

  I looked up at the hands of the clock. “Eleven o’clock. Right on time,” I murmured. I was inside sewing one last tote bag, while people wandered into the church. I was nearly finished; I just had to sew on some fringe or buttons to dress it up. I stood up, brushed away the bits of thread, and ran my hands over my head to smooth my hair. The pews were filling with people chattering excitedly, as if they were at a wedding. Most of the faces were of people I knew.

  “Lacey! The van is pulling up. Come on!” pleaded Trisha.

  By the time I walked to the back of the church, my heart was drowning out the sounds of children laughing and crying. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach as I watched the shiny black van roll towards the school and stop. The back door opened, and a woman unfolded from the van. My drumming heart pushed me down the steps towards her as another woman and a man got out. Their smiles were as big as the sky.

  The African grandmothers were named Florence and Zubeda.

  The skin of the first woman was as dark as the soil beneath the prairie grasses. I had never seen anyone with skin so dark. I wanted to look more at her, but it would be disrespectful. Instead, I hung my head and looked at her feet.

  “Lacey Little Bird!” the woman said. She put her hand gently under my chin and lifted my face. The inner part of her hand was as pink as a newborn rabbit.

  “It is OK to look at me,” she said in English, “and I want to look at you.” Slowly I lifted my brown eyes to look into her brown eyes “My name is Florence,” she added.

  Florence looked like a bright tropical bird wearing glasses. She had a pink and pale purple scarf twisted around her head, so I couldn’t see her hair. Her dress matched the scarf and had a long pink skirt like the kind Kahasi wears when she wants to be fancy. Her jacket looked like a leopard, and her purse was large and white.

  “I want to say thank you,” she told me. Her hand moved from my chin to the top of my back as she pulled me into a huge hug and squeezed me so tightly that our hearts were together, both beating fast. She held me for a long time like that.

  She spoke in English, but the words sounded somehow different; the
y were slow and careful and correct. She spoke softly, like a Siksika elder, but her words still sounded strange to my ears.

  I could feel my mouth move into a smile that reflected hers, and I knew she could see my crooked teeth, and even the holes where new teeth were still growing. Behind me I could hear the church door opening and the older kids and their children coming out for a look. Florence looked up, and her face glowed with happiness. “We have a welcoming party, I see. It is the same in my village. Everyone wants to take part.”

  She beckoned for the other grandmother to join us, and she pulled me into a tight hug.

  “We are going to have a celebration – to show you about our people,” I said.

  The other African grandmother was named Zubeda. She looked younger, and her straight black hair was dyed with pink streaks on the top. She wore a long, flowing skirt, too, and a red wool jacket. She had a silver camera looped around her wrist.

  “Lacey, will you be inviting our guests in?” asked Mrs. Buchanan.

  I nodded and took Florence’s warm hand and led her up the steps.

  Chapter 20

  The Best Day Ever

  The upstairs of the church was overflowing when we walked in. I don’t know where so many people could have come from. People were sitting in the pews and standing along the sides. I saw many Siksika elders, and also people I didn’t know, who must have been from the city. I waved to my mother and father, who were standing at the back with Angel. Kayden was in her arms and Kelvin was beside her. My brothers were all there, lined up against the wall. I also found Auntie Michelle and Uncle Douglas, but I couldn’t find Kahasi. I didn’t see her anywhere. But then I heard her voice. She was sitting behind me, using her hands to talk to some people I hadn’t seen before. I gave a little wave to Mrs. Martinez, too.

  Although some of the styles were similar, each purse was unique.

  Someone had set up a huge display of purses all across the front of the church, on tables and hanging on the walls in the place where the minister usually stands. Whoever made the display had done a good job; you could see all the different colors and shapes. Two wool blankets were stretched out along the front of the church; they would be gifts for the African grandmothers.

  We asked the grandmothers and the man to sit in the front row of the church. I sat on the left side, where the boys had set up the sewing machine.

  Mrs. B. welcomed everyone, and then she surprised me by saying, “And now, Lacey, could you say a few words?”

  Me? What was I going to say? I walked nervously to the front and took the microphone from her. “Umm,” I said, “I didn’t think it would be this big.” Some people laughed softly, so I laughed a little bit too. I reminded myself that these people were mostly my friends and family.

  “I can’t actually believe this is happening, that it’s all real,” I said. “When I started making purses, I just wanted to try to help a little. I never for one second thought I’d get to meet any African grandmothers.” I said thank you to the grandmothers for coming all the way across the ocean, and to Kahasi for teaching me to sew in the first place, and to my family and the kids from Sequoia who had helped me. Then I said thank you to everyone for coming, and I handed the microphone back to Mrs. B. My hands were shaking, and my legs felt like jelly. I took two steps towards my seat when I remembered something. Mrs. B. looked surprised when I went up and stood beside her again. I whispered, “I have one more thing to say,” so she held the microphone toward me. “I almost forgot. Thanks to everyone who came to my house last night to help. I’m sorry if I was so bossy.” I noticed a lot of heads nodding and people laughing softly.

  A boy from Sequoia played his guitar and sang a song of thanks he had made for the grandmothers. Another boy played a drum while a girl performed a jingle dance, wearing the dress Kahasi and I had sewn together last year. The rows of tiny bells – which were really the tops of olden-days tobacco cans – tinkled grandly with each step she took. Her steps were so light that her feet hardly seemed to touch the floor.

  Other performers wore costumes with bright blue feathers to dance the chicken dance and the grass dance. Then it was time for Florence and Zubeda to speak. They told us about Kenya, their country in Africa, and about the fifty grandchildren with no mothers that they look after.

  “Africa has become a continent of orphans,” Florence said. “We have lost a generation. Already, about thirteen million children in Africa have no parents. It is because of the disease AIDS that the parents are dying. Imagine all of the children in Canada without parents. Now, you can imagine a place without a generation. Now, you can imagine Africa.

  “We are the grandmothers. We bury our children, but there is no time to grieve. No time to cry. We have work to do. We must help our children’s children survive and become strong.

  People from Siksika demonstrated parts of the

  Blackfoot culture by singing and dancing.

  The African grandmothers were given

  wool blankets as a sign of respect.

  “In some of the forty-seven countries south of the Sahara Desert in Africa, half the orphans live in families headed by their grandmothers. We must look after the babies, the little ones, and the teenagers who are left behind.” Florence handed the microphone to Zubeda.

  “It should not be this way,” Zubeda continued. “But we do the best we can do. That is all we can do. We give our thanks to the grandmothers in Canada – to young women like Lacey – who understand our pain and want to help us. We understand hardship and loss, and I think that you understand, too.”

  The Siksika elders and some people from Sequoia did a robing ceremony with Florence and Zubeda, draping each of them with a wool blanket. It’s a Blackfoot tradition that shows honor and acceptance. The blankets show that the grandmothers are held in high esteem. Other people gave them traditional gifts of sage, sweet grass, and feathers. Wrapped in their blankets, Zubeda and Florence sang us a lullaby that they sing to the children without mothers and aunties.

  After the formal part with the singing and dancing, came the best part. It was time for the Siksika grandmothers and the African grandmothers to meet face to face. They gathered each other in their arms and hugged tightly. They hugged as if they would never let go. It was as if they were long-ago sisters who hadn’t seen each other in a long, long time.

  The African grandmothers and the Siksika grandmothers

  exchanged gifts. It was as if they were long-ago sisters.

  I watched Kahasi take Zubeda in her arms. It was the longest hug I had ever seen, and when Kahasi pulled away, she wiped tears from her eyes. Zubeda had tears, too. I don’t know if the tears were of joy or sadness.

  After all the hugging, the grandmothers gathered in a circle to exchange presents. It was funny to watch them like that – black and silver and gray and pink heads together. They chattered like a bunch of ravens arguing over who would go first. It was as if they were talking all at the same time, yet they could all hear and understand each other. Every once in a while one would lift her head, and you would see the big smile lighting up her face.

  I couldn’t see Lila, but even above the sound of the grandmothers, I could hear her. She was talking to everyone and selling purses to the people who had money. Mostly it was people from Strathmore and Calgary who were buying the things I had made. I hoped they had brought a lot of money.

  It was so noisy in the church that I didn’t think anyone would mind if I turned on the sewing machine. As I sewed, I watched the grandmothers with their heads together, making sounds of laughter and little whoops of happiness as they talked. One of the Siksika grandmothers sounded like one of those dolls you squeeze to make it giggle. It was the kind of laughter that makes you smile to yourself even if you don’t know the joke. I felt so full of joy as I sewed. It felt so good to help them in my small way and to have all the grandmothers together.

  Mrs. Martinez came to see me. The brown purse with the fringe was hanging from her shoulder. “Do you see the
one I bought?” I smiled up at her. “You have made some beautiful ones, but this one is my favorite. I love how this fringe moves,” she said.

  Then Zubeda left the group of grandmothers to come visit me. She had the red blanket around her shoulders and a rosary around her neck as if it were a necklace. She gave me a beaded pin of a gray-haired grandmother holding a baby. She pinned it onto my sweater and told me she liked my pink hoop earrings. She said pink was her favorite color, too.

  I knew that the pin was a gift I would keep always, to remember this day. The beads were the same as the ones I used, and the beading seemed to be done the same way Kahasi had taught me. How strange it was, I thought, that African people and Siksika people would bead the same way, though they lived almost a whole world apart. We are different in where we stay, and how we look, but inside, I think we are the same.

  Chapter 21

  Kitamatsinopowa

  After everyone ate as much as they wanted, the Siksika grandmothers, the African grandmothers, and some of the rest of us drove in vans to Blackfoot Crossing. Zubeda held my hand as we walked along the trails by the historical center that’s built into the side of the coulee. We started down the wide trail that leads to the trees and the river.

  “You can see my house from here,” I said, pointing to the right. “If you count, it’s one, two, three, four. You see?”

  “Yes, I see it,” said Zubeda. “It looks like a good house, and very big. You stay warm there even when it is so cold?” She was wearing wool socks inside her sandals, a borrowed winter jacket, and her new blanket. I was wearing jeans, my black shirt with the ruffles at the shoulders, and a sweater. It was a warm spring day with a lot of sunshine.

  The African grandmothers were taken on a tour along the trails

  at the Blackfoot Crossing Historical Centre.

  The African grandmothers said that Siksika reminded