Happy New Year!

Resilience

Written by: Rachel Nielsen, Receptionist, Administration Department

When my father William Komakhuk was 23 years old, he was offered a reindeer herding job by the Lomen’s Company in Nome to herd 3,444 reindeer to the Inuit in Canada and my father accepted. The Inuit’s food supply was sparse, so the Canadian Government requested that Alaska transport reindeer to the Inuit to train them to become reindeer herders so they can become self-sufficient. The initial time to herd the reindeer to Canada was 2 years but the actual time was 5 years. My father described it as a grueling time but he was physically and mentally fit to do this job. He learned to sleep walk while he herded the reindeer. He heard the reindeer noises as he sleep walked. He learned to navigate by the stars, knew when a storm was brewing, how to breed strong reindeer, where the best protective place to reside for the night and build emergency shelters, sew new gear using reindeer skins, utilize and improvise what the land provided and learned to speak English.

In the early spring, the eight herders looked for a place that was sheltered from the wind and rain, abundant water and lichen, easy to spot other game and had proficient vegetation. This special spot was for the pregnant reindeer to conceive their young and wait patiently for the newborns to become strong enough to continue their strenuous journey. He was well aware of all the predators and those who posed a threat to the herders and the reindeer.

Many major and minor incidents happened during this journey. One came to my mind very vividly. As my sleep walking father herded the reindeer, he was awakened by silence. He immediately ran to the front of the reindeer to determine why the reindeer came to a complete stop. He peered into a vast area and at the edge of a cliff, there was a shear drop of 300+ feet. He and the rest of the herders rounded up the deer and redirected them. When they arrived at their destination, most of the herd was bred and born during the trek.

We came from a hardy, persistent ancestry who were the ultimate survivors in one of the most harsh environments on earth. With that said, we as Alaskans have this bred into us and need to tap into this vast arena of adventure, wonder, persistence, strength, wisdom, courage, etc. on a daily basis.

December 17, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Amy Maitland, CITC Social Worker, Educational Services

It was getting close to ten in the evening on a Sunday night. Suddenly, my cell phone rang and I saw it was my mother’s number. My initial thoughts were that she must be calling me for bad news and they were spot on. “I don’t want you to panic but the ambulance is on its way to pick up grandma. She has developed a high fever and her pneumonia doesn’t seem to be getter better.” As she was finishing her sentence, the sirens and flashing lights approached the driveway. I quickly hung up the phone, gathered my thoughts and slipped on my boots and raced to their home to see if I could do to help. When my grandmother is stricken by flu, sickness or disease it rocks our family’s foundation and the jolt of panic and fear quickly spreads to family members in far distances.

The paramedics in their bright yellow garb dashed in and in a flash, my grandmother was on her way to the hospital. All that was left of her presence was the slightly wrinkled bed sheets still warm where she had laid only just moments ago. For the remainder of the evening, anxious family members and the technical equipment closely monitored my grandmother. I assisted her with her blankets and aided her in sipping her apple juice while we waited for a doctor to pop their head in through the curtain….and then I realized something special. All the care and nurturing this wonderful woman had shown her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren in their time of need is now being recycled into this very moment.

My grandmother is the most amazing woman. She cared and loved all her children so deeply as a mother. Now, as mother and daughters, sons and grandsons, we stood together by her bedside showing our honor and gratitude to the woman whose love shaped and developed us into the people and nurturing caregivers we are today.

Grandma Ann is currently a patient in Alaska Native Medical Center’s ICU and I was able to experience how a grandmother’s value of loving of her children can transcend and impact generations.

December 16, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Maggie Okomailuk, CITC Social Worker, Employment & Training Services Department

As I read the Anchorage Daily News this morning there was a small article written by Bill Hess of my cousin Elder Warren Matumeak’s passing. North Slope Iñupiat say goodbye to elder Warren Matumeak; “I had come to Barrow for the funeral of Warren Matumeak, a good man. He was buried yesterday following a funeral that, despite the bitter pain of loss, was truly beautiful and sweet. How could it have been otherwise, given the beautiful and productive life that Warren lived? I set out to walk to the Matumeak home, and soon came upon Max Ahgeak’s umiak frame, where it awaits the spring. Beyond it were two graveyards, a small family one on this side of the middle lagoon and the large community cemetery, where Warren would be buried, on the other.”

I remember as a small child going to the Presbyterian Church with my family where Warren was the choir conductor and they sang Iñupiaq gospel songs that he translated from English. It was also a memorable time when there was a Christmas program as it was done in Iñupiat and Warren did most of the translations from the Bible for the story of the birth of Jesus.

Warren was the leader for the Barrow Native dance group. Warren’s father Paul Matumeak owned the movie theatre in Barrow; where in 1957 the Messenger Feast Dance (Kiviq) was last performed by my 93 year old grandfather Harlan Okomailuk. Warren revived the Messenger Feast Dance after 50 years and it is now performed during Kiviq. The Barrow Dance group always performed at the World Eskimo Indian Olympics (WEIO) and Alaska Federation of Natives (AFN) Conferences. The Presbyterian Church Choir always came to the Native Musicale every year and Warren was the leader of the group.

Warren’s love of his family and Iñupiat people, language, culture and history, subsistence way of life, love of Presbyterian Church and his Iñupiaq values has been instrumental in preserving our way of life. I will miss his great sense of humor where he wrote and sang in Iñupiat about the Barrow people. I have seen Warren’s eye sparkle with love and pride when small children performed Iñupiat dancing.

Warren will be greatly missed by his beloved family and huge extended families of Barrow.

December 15, 2010

(Editor’s note: Special thanks to Ms. Ruth Tong for her special submission for today’s story! – Thank you, Ruth!)

Interdependence

Written by: Ruth Okitkon Tong, Intake Specialist, CITC Child & Family Services Department

Here’s a story about interdependence as told to me by my older brothers and sisters, of the life in Koyuk, a small village on the southeast corner of Seward Peninsula.

My parents had seven children and also took another family, the Pedersons, a mother with four children, to our summer fish and berry camp. We traveled by boat and would stay in white canvas tents all summer. My mother and father took me and my next older brother, Kenny, the two youngest in the family, back to Koyuk with them to buy more “grub” from the village store to supplement the foods from the tundra and the Ungalik River. Mrs. Pederson stayed at camp with all the other children. My oldest brother was in his early teens, and so was the oldest Pederson boy, and the youngest Pederson girl was about three years old.

We got to Koyuk and my parents bought the foods, then we tried to head back to camp. The weather had turned stormy, and they would try every morning to return, but the weather stayed bad for two weeks.

Meanwhile, back in the camp, Mrs. Pederson and the nine children had only fish to eat. They ran out of all the condiments, flour, sugar, etc., even salt. They just ate fish every day, day after day, waiting for Mom and Dad to bring a little variety for the diet. I believe this was late June, before the berries were ripe, but there was plentiful fish. They would already have picked “surra,” the young willow leaves, earlier in the summer, and preserved them in the village for consumption during the wintertime.

The story shows the interdependence of two families, three parents watching over all the children in both families, and also for their dependence on the weather, in a remote village setting in the mid-20^th century.

December 14, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Gail Weinstein, CITC Academic Advocate/Site Manager

Mike did not speak in words. Sometimes he would ‘face talk’ with eyebrows but not much. He came to school every day and we noticed that he responded to Native music. We encouraged him to try the after school program at the Heritage Center and finally he began attending. After some time he was willing and able to join our school based culture club and dance group.

The next year our CITC Native Culture and Assests group prepared to present and perform at a large international conference in Texas. We would deliver a learning session and dancing became a part it. Mike, still a student of few words, was a member of the group, invited to travel.

The conference was huge. The students were amazed by the giant bugs of Texas, the clean cars, and one student so moved, gave away our sole drum to a total stranger who admired it. Finally, on the last day it was our turn for the presentation. Plastic juice bottle serving as drum the students were awe inspiring in their roles. The interactive session created a community of smaller working groups and our audience began asking questions. As the room silenced Mike, tall and proud began to speak! Mike talked of his Native cultural values, he spoke of his family and traditional Native practices, he spoke of subsistence, he spoke of his school, his community and his people. We were amazed to hear his clear voice and filled with joy to witness the expression of love from Mike toward his culture in his own words. He spoke and talked and shared.

It was a new beginning for Mike and the rest of his life.

This was my experience of the power of our youth and what we as educators hold in making connections and directing children by never giving up – no matter what.

One can influence life itself though that determination of a loving spirit.

December 13, 2010

Love of Children

Written by: Adam Knight, CITC Language Arts Teacher, West High School

The mug steamed between my fists. Coffeecoffeecoffee. I lingered over Sunday morning, watching to see who would arrive first - nuthatches to the sunflower seed, a woodpecker to the suet perhaps, or waxwings to the mountain ash. I waited with my phone on the railing beside me, camera running and thought I should use it instead to call my parents across the country while I waited for the sun to make its hesitant appearance for a few hours. Clouds hung overhead. It had warmed up almost enough to snow. I might not see the sun at all, and the front might keep any birds at roost for the day. A flock of waxwings wheeled high overhead trilling their “sreeeeeee sreeeeeee sreeeeeeee,” and the yard went quiet again.

The phone let out a “pop” with a Facebook notice. I pulled open the site to find a note labeled with a name I had to think about just a second too long before, with equal parts honor and trepidation, I placed it with the face of a student from last year. In recent years, on each first day of school I announce to my students that I will not accept their friend requests. I have had a handful make the gesture over the years since the advent of Facebook, but besides being ASD policy, propriety dictates that they go ignored. I looked for a friend request. There was none attached. I went inside to the computer and opened this message. I have changed or removed any names and geographic reference out of respect for the individual.

“Hi Mr. Knight, hopefully this is the right person I am sending this too, but I just wanted to say, Thank you for being my teacher. I really appreciate it. I know I wasn't really able to say a real good bye, on the last day of school. It's been really rough lately, my mom has passed away, my father is in jail, and my brother has left. My father has gone out of jail now tho, and says he will change. I hardly believe it.. I'm currently living at my house with a friend who's been taking care of me. But I've dropped out of High School, cause of my failing grades this year. And now is attending to some downtown class with a guy named Michael. It's different trying to pass is hard, never wanting to go to school. But I wanted to tell you thank you for everything, I know that you being a teacher for our class was hard, coming to school and being treated like s***. ( well that's from my view ). We were able to have some fun days in the class though. But I'm glad I was able to be one of your students, I'm very happy to of had a awesome teacher, who I can talk to. Thank you for everything.

Love,

Me

P.S... I'm not gunna correct anything in this message :P”

When finally I worked together words to reply, I told her I was glad she hadn’t corrected anything. She needs to be heard just as she is. This is a story on the value of children as I experienced it on the morning of Sunday, 2 December 2010.

December 10, 2010

Knowledge of Family Tree

Written by: Amy Fredeen, Chief Financial Officer, Cook Inlet Tribal Council, Inc.

I was 35 years old before I heard the full story of how my mother ended up in a children’s home in Valdez. Before this, I had been familiar with the multitude of extended family members that resulted from her life in the children’s home. As I grew up, my once fuzzy family tree became clearer and more expansive as my mother connected me with those who lived with her in Valdez. I heard snippets of her extended family through the stories of her experiences like living through the 1964 earthquake. These connections and stories created for me ties to her history, and therefore ties to her.

This past summer I sat down with my grandmother, one of mother's foster parents, who launched into the story of my mother's loss and her family's loss and how they were intertwined. The ties that existed between them before their losses solidified into a lasting bridge as they worked through their grief, even while they were apart. With my grandmother's words, came a clarity that helped me understand more about my mother than her words could have communicated alone.

My mother had always impressed upon me through her actions and relationships the idea that family was more than a lineal DNA connection, but were rather the result of ties we build with those around us. I hope I can do the same for my children.