#10 Sacred Instructions

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The wind whips angrily as branches release yellow leaves into the raging current. They rush across the sky before falling to the ground, a yellow blanket to cover Mother Earth. A coal oil lamp, its glass lantern black with soot, casts an orange light. A fresh pot of coffee percolates […]

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#8 In the Army Now


An open shoe box with its lid tossed aside and contents scattered over the kitchen table waits. “What’s all this?” I ask. “It’s my army stuff. Come and see it.” Wanbdi encourages. A Princess Patricia Canadian Light Infantry soft badge; a red, white and blue ribbon attached to a silver […]

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# 7 What’s in a Name?


“Where is he?” The smell of morning coffee answers me as I crawl out of bed. Wanbdi sits in his favorite chair reading his newspaper as usual, a large cup beside him. “Good morning. It looks like you’ve been up for a while.” I say. “Why so early?” “Good morning […]

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# 6 Just Let Go!


They say six months in army boot camp, if you can hack it, will turn a boy into a man. This was true for Wanbdi. Years as a farm hand followed by rigorous army training had changed him from the hurt boy who walked away from his childhood home into […]

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# 5 I’m Not Going Back


It should have been the happiest day – but it wasn’t. It was a defining day, the kind that changes the course of one’s life and embeds a memory of hurt, piercing deeply. It was the day Wanbdi ran away from Indian Residential School for the last time. The screen […]

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# 3 The Storm


The wind whips and howls, raging in the night. Even the darkness sneaks in between window frame and blind searching for refuge. Snow drifts grow into snow mountains, hearty and wet. I am afraid. I’ve been through storms before. They can rattle me inside chasing peace out in a flurry. All I […]

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#2 He Knows


  White hair explodes outward in all directions. Black rimmed glasses frame eyes deep and knowing. Dakota features sport a handsome face, sturdy and dignified. Meet Wanbdi Wakita on a Saturday morning. He is a man who makes prayers for people. Yet to me, he is my best friend, my confidant […]

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#1 Why I Write …


The room is dark with only a faint sliver of light sneaking its way under the door. I smell sage burning on the altar in front of me and feel the presence of my relatives sitting on the floor, like me, backs resting against the walls of the small room. To my […]

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