The Gift is in the Making

by Leanne Simpson

  © 2013 by Leanne Simpson

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  EPUB ISBN: 978-1-55379-571-1

  PDF ISBN: 978-1-55379-381-6

  Print ISBN: 978-1-55379-376-2

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Simpson, Leanne, 1971-, author

  The gift is in the making : Anishinaabeg stories / retold by Leanne Simpson ; illustrations by Amanda Strong.

  “This collection is a retelling of previously published, traditional Nishnaabeg stories, with the exception of ‘Good neighbours’”.

  Includes bibliographical references.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  Includes some words in Nishnaabemowin.

  ISBN 978-1-55379-376-2 (pbk.).-- ISBN 978-1-55379-381-6 (pdf)

  I. Strong, Amanda, 1984-, illustrator II. Title.

  III. Title: Anishinaabeg stories.

  PS8637.I4865G54 2013 jC813’.6 C2013-902719-X

  C2013-902720-3

  100 – 318 McDermot Ave.

  Winnipeg, MB Canada R3A 0A2

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  Toll-free fax: 1-866-734-8477

  Toll-free: 1-800-667-9673

  To all the Nishnaabeg families that keep lighting the Seventh Fire, each time it gets blown out, and to ndaankoobjignag.

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  1 Our Treaty with the Hoof Nation

  2 The Baagaataa’awa Game that Changed Everything

  3 All our Relations

  4 A Gift from a Very Smart Little Green Frog

  5 She Knew Exactly What To Do

  6 Zhingwaak Gets a Little Snippy

  7 Please Be Careful When You’re Getting Smart

  8 It’s You Who Makes the Name Powerful

  9 Good Neighbours

  10 Want

  11 Zhigaag’s Powerful Medicine

  12 The Place of Muddy Water

  13 It’s a Very Good Thing to Be Yourself

  14 Honouring Ojiig in the Night Sky

  15 Gwiiwzens Makes a Lovely Discovery

  16 The Star People Are Always Watching

  17 Zhiishiib Makes Everybody Lunch

  18 Makwa, the Great Faster

  19 She Had a Beautiful, Speckled Design

  20 The Rock on Miskwaadesi’s Back

  21 The Gift Is in the Making

  Acknowledgments

  Further Reading

  INTRODUCTION

  KIPIMOOJIKEWIN: THE THINGS WE CARRY WITH US

  When my children were born, I wanted to bathe them in the oral traditions of the Nishnaabeg so they would grow up grounded in their own sense of being and take their space in a world often intent on erasing Indigenous peoples. I wanted the beauty of Nishnaabeg culture to protect them from the harshness that is so often our reality. I wanted to wrap them in a blanket of stories they could carry with them through their lives and pass on to their own children and grandchildren. I wanted these stories to be part of their inheritance, their kipimoojikewin, the things we carry with us. So, in the same way that the many generations of Nishnaabeg parents who have come before me have done, I started telling them stories. At first, they were funny narratives about our family. These grew into teachings about creation and origin, then became stories about how to live a good life, and finally became narratives of resistance and resurgence. But, soon, I ran out of stories, and I began actively seeking them out from Elders, from other storytellers, and from written sources. After a few years, my children were telling these stories back to me; it was clear that they were noticing the concepts and the narratives in the landscape and in the fabric of their lives.

  Pretty soon, two Nishnaabeg women in my community noticed what I was doing, and they asked me to tell these stories to larger groups of people. At first I was terrified, never having considered myself a storyteller. They laughed, saying, “But you’re always telling stories; just tell some of those.” Then, an Elder in our community reminded me—as our Elders so often do—“If you don’t take this on, who will?”

  The stories in The Gift Is in the Making began as part of a larger, oral, body of work, first told to my children over the last decade and then over the course of a year to a small group of families in an Nishnaabemowin language nest in Peterborough, Ontario, called Wii-Kendiming Nishinaabemowin Saswaansing, The Art of Learning the Language in the Little Nest. As a collective, we were looking for a fun and gentle way to connect our children to our land and waters, our language and oral literature. Over the year, language teacher Vera Bell translated the stories back into Nishnaabemowin as I told them in English; in my mind this is the very best way to hear our stories—that is, orally and in the language. Because of this, my original intent was to write down only the skeletons of these narratives, which families could use as reminders for telling them in their own way at home, because I believe the very best way to tell these stories is orally. I am hopeful that this book can be used as a tool to regenerate our culture and our nation.

  At a most basic level, the stories in this collection teach both individuals and collectives how to promote, nurture, and maintain good relationships, how to function within a community, how to relate to the land, how to make collective decisions, and how to be a good person—that is, by being true to our traditions. They do so in a way that doesn’t feel like learning. On a deeper, conceptual, level, they teach about Nishnaabeg political culture, governance and diplomacy, decision making and leadership. They carry within them our political traditions and our most deeply held collective values. Nishnaabeg systems of governance begin at home with stories like the ones in this book, and it is the responsibility of storytellers to plant them, like seeds, inside the minds and hearts of our children, with the hope that, under the right conditions, the stories grow and flourish as the next generation carries them through their lives, and then passes the seeds along to the next.

  Storytelling within Nishnaabeg traditions is a wonderful way of teaching and inspiring not only children but also people of all ages. Young children listen in a very literal way. Adolescents begin to make deeper connections. Adults notice conceptual meanings and are able to integrate the teachings into the breadth of their experience. This is the brilliance of our traditions—our stories are seeds, encoding multiple meanings that grow and change with the passage of time. They are a dynamic, engaging conversation that requires personal engagement and refection and that our people embody and carry with them th
roughout their lives. They are meant to provide comfort, meaning, and a sense of belonging within our families and communities.

  As Nishnaabeg, we are taught to see ourselves as part of these narratives, and it is the responsibility of each generation to tell these stories in a way that is relevant and meaningful to the way we live. It is my hope that The Gift Is in the Making resonates with our current lives and experience while celebrating diversity, gentleness, and humour, and that it encourages interconnection and interdependence among us. My aim in presenting the versions of these ancient narratives in The Gift Is in the Making is to liberate a few of them from the colonial contexts in which they are too often documented—in which we see the marginalization and subjugation of female characters and spirits, a focus on hierarchy and authoritarian power, and an overly moral and judgmental tone, for example.

  The way I have chosen to retell these stories—that is, in the context of Nishnaabeg storytelling traditions—means that I use repetition, abstraction, metaphor, and multi-dimensionality to communicate meaning. I encourage all readers of this collection to seek and cherish the diversity of understandings and interpretations of these stories and to find their own personal meanings within them. These are the gentlest of stories, told in the kindest of ways, and I have chosen them for their simple narrative arcs, but readers should not assume that all Nishnaabeg stories are like this; we have stories that are extremely complex and that go into very challenging places. The body of Nishnaabeg oral literature is vast and dynamic, and The Gift Is in the Making opens just a very small window into our oral literature. It is but one link in a long chain of oral and written work, work that is collectively owned by the Nishnaabeg. To acknowledge this, a portion of the royalties from The Gift Is in the Making will be donated to Nishnaabemowin regeneration projects.

  STORYTELLING TRADITIONS AMONGST THE NISHNAABEG

  There are many different storytelling traditions amongst the Nishnaabeg, and there are many different ways to interpret them. I have been taught that certain stories, the Aadsookaanag (Aadizookaanag), sacred stories, are to be told only during the winter months. There are many reasons for this tradition, some practical and some spiritual. Wintertime in Nishnaabeg territory is cold, dark, and long. In the past, storytelling was a wonderful way of keeping spirits up during times of hardship. And limiting the telling of the Aadsookaanag to the wintertime also challenged storytellers to stretch and expand during the spring, summer, and fall, when storytellers told the Dbaajimowinan, personal narratives, histories, experiences, and stories about animals. This is what keeps our personal and family histories and narratives alive.

  The interpretation of these traditions varies from community to community and from individual to individual. Some storytellers tell stories when opportunities arise regardless of the season; others hold a certain set of stories for telling only once the snow is on the ground or when certain constellations appear in the November sky; and still others engage in ceremony when they deviate from certain restrictions.

  There are many good reasons to carry these traditions forward. In my own practice, I look forward to telling certain stories in the wintertime when my family is sometimes stuck inside for long periods of time, although within the context of my own family, I have made exceptions. I’ve learned to seek out other kinds of stories to tell in the other parts of the year. In the part of Nishnaabeg territory I come from, the Elders caution against telling Nanabush (also known as Nanabozhoo or Wenabozhoo) stories outside of winter, or some even saying the name “Nanabush” outside of winter, and I continue to honour their teachings in my oral practice. I want to be careful that I always tell these stories in a good way. The wintertime is a good time to do this because the spirits are farther away from the earth and there is less chance of embarrassing any of beings that guide me through my life. I encourage readers to respect the different interpretations of these traditions and to find out the storytelling traditions in their territory. Developing respectful relationships with Elders and storytellers directly is the best way to honour these traditions.

  Finally, when writing this, I always imagined my audience to be Nishnaabeg kids because they are both the inspiration and motivation for this project. I also see ways non-Nishnaabeg children can draw important messages and thoughts from these stories too. For other, older Nishnaabeg readers, I hope they enjoy these stories and seek out opportunities to hear other versions orally and in Nishnaabemowin so that we may collectively regenerate our relationship to the land, our oral traditions and our language. I also encourage non-Native readers to seek out the histories and perspectives of the Indigenous Peoples’ territory they call home and work towards becoming a decolonizing influence where they live.

  A NOTE ON GENDER

  Gzhwe Mnidoo—the great unknown, the Creator, life force, essence, the one who loves us completely and unconditionally—has no gender association within Nishnaabemowin. Too often, in English the gender of Gzhwe Mnidoo is assumed and written to be male. In keeping with Nishnaabemowin and the teachings I carry, I have not assigned a male gender to Gzhwe Mnidoo in this collection.

  Similarly, Tomson Highway writes in the introduction of Kiss of the Fur Queen (Toronto: Anchor Canada, 1995) that Nanabush within the Cree and Ojibwe languages also does not have a gender association. He writes, “[Nanabush] is theoretically neither exclusively male nor exclusively female, or is both simultaneously” (p. i). Some people know Nanabush to be a male spirit. Others believe Nanabush travels freely among all genders. I think everyone can agree that, as a master transformer, Nanabush can and does appear in a variety of different forms in our stories—forms representing all kinds of humans, animals, plants, and even elements. This becomes one of the problems with telling the stories in English where there are (only) two gendered pronouns, him and her—an issue that simply does not exist when these stories are told within Nishnaabemowin. In order to emphasize this transformative quality of Nanabush, I use both he/him and she/her. The Nanabush inside of me believes it is important to play with colonial gender, sexuality, and racial constructions, and I think it is important to re-imagine Nanabush in all of these beautiful forms and not just the young, able-bodied male so often presented to us.

  A NOTE ON LANGUAGE

  This book is sprinkled with Nishnaabemowin so that children and very new language learners will begin to recognize our words. It is meant only to spark an interest in our language, not to teach the language. It is my hope that, when readers become more proficient in Nishnaabemowin, they will move onto stories told in the language by The Ojibwe Cultural Foundation, Anton Treuer or Basil Johnston (see the Further Reading section at the end of this book). In Mississauga, or Michi Saagiig Nishnaabeg territory, our way of speaking drops some of the syllables our northern and western relatives pronounce. I love this diversity. I’ve written the words how I hear them in the place where I live. I have used the Fiero system of writing.

  This collection is a retelling of previously published, traditional Nishnaabeg stories with the exception of “Good Neighbours,” which I wrote to teach my own children about resistance and the importance of standing up for the land.

  1

  OUR TREATY WITH THE HOOF NATION

  In a time long ago, all the Waawaashkeshiwag, Moozoog, and Adikwag, the deer, moose, and caribou, suddenly disappeared from Kina Gchi Nishnaabeg-ogaming.

  Well, maybe it wasn’t so suddenly. At first, nobody noticed. The relatives of the Hoof Clan had to be very patient. But, after a while, people were starting to notice some changes.

  In fall, dagwaagin, hunters, came back with no meat.

  When snow blanketed the earth, the people didn’t even see a single track in the snow—for the whole bboon!

  By ziigwan, the people were getting worried. No one had seen a deer for nearly a year. No one had seen a moose for nearly a year, and no one could even remember the last time they saw a caribou.

  The people got worried. Were the Waawaashkeshiwag lost? Were the Moozoog sick and un
able to get out of bed? Had the Adikwag been kidnapped by aliens? Is this all a game of hide-and-go-seek gone wrong?

  The Nishnaabeg wished they had been paying better attention. They wished they had been taking better care of their relatives.

  The people started feeling sad and guilty and worried—and hungry. And do you know what happens when you’re feeling sad and guilty and worried and hungry? That sad and guilty and worried and hungry mixes altogether and stews and grows and Grows

  And then that sad and guilty and worried and hungry turns into something different.

  Those Amikwag get a little slappy with their tails.

  The Jijaakwag start to get a little bossy.

  The Migiziwag start to get nippy.

  Those Makwag get even more growly than usual.

  Those Zhigaagwag get a little careless with their medicine, spraying it all over.

  And then everything starts to go in the wrong direction.

  So, those Nishinaabeg decided to do something before everything got all lost. They got up before the sun one morning, lit a sacred fire. They prayed, sang, and offered their semaa.

  After a long discussion, where everyone spoke what was in their hearts, the people decided to send their fastest runners out in the four directions to find those hoofed ones.

  Those runners ran for four days. Ziigwan was the first to come back. She hadn’t seen so much as a tuft of hair. Then Niibin arrived, exhausted, and reported the same. When Dagwaagin came back, he reported that he’d seen no evidence of deer, moose, or caribou either.

  Finally, Bboon returned. He was exhausted and said, “When I was in the very north part of our land, I saw one young deer. She explained to me that her relatives had left our territory forever because they felt disrespected.”

  The Nishnaabeg were silent. They felt sad and lost. They thought about how they had been wasting the meat of the Hoof Clan. They thought about how they hadn’t been sharing with all their community members. They thought about how they’d killed deer even when they didn’t need them.