Lulyahan Oti

Ok, this title is the name of the shelter in Kyle: lulyahan, or dudyahan, means transforming (comes from the verb "to dye" and implies dying a plume or feather red) and oti is a lodge, place of dwelling. Also, I think I forgot to tell you this, but cangleska, or canhdeska, means hoop, and implies the cangleska wakan (sacred hoop or medicine wheel), a symbol for teaching traditional lifeways.
With my fun facts out of the way, I think I'd better tell you to brace yourself: this will probably be a long one! I've been putting off writing for awhile, and I decided I'd better do it now before this gets any longer. Besides, I've given up on sleeping tonight; that's what the bus rides are for, right?
One of the things I've been noticing at Cangleska is the problems aren't just about being battered: being battered seems to magnify all other difficulties. Raising three kids on no money suddenly becomes raising three kids on no money by yourself under a protection order while putting yourself through a healing program. Caring for a bipolar daughter suddenly becomes trying to get your bipolar daughter to take the meds that make her sick while living in a strange house in a strange town, rubbing the sore spots where the bruises are and aching for someone to listen to you. That kind of thing.
I really love watching and playing with the kids. In general, they are very responsive to my insistence that they share, never hit, pick up after themselves, etc. I teach a few Lakota words to some of them. I see some of the same ones often, so I can get to know them. Some of them have taken awhile to get over their shyness; others latch on immediately. It's rather heart-rending when Haley and Marshall, a little girl and a toddler, who don't know where their mother is because she had to flee the abusive situation, start calling me 'Mom'.
Since I've been working on rummage too, I help fetch clothes for kids who come in with their moms. Often they've had to run with nothing but what they're wearing--maybe just a diaper and a shirt. Haley ran up to me today wearing her new dress; I pulled a new set of clothes on a half-naked Marshall, and because he kept losing the flip-flops he picked out yesterday, a new pair of tennis shoes. His grandma told me he'd never had any before.
One day last week I went to the Rapid City shelter, and got a sense of how things are different off the rez. The women in that shelter are more varied--some rez women, some native urban women, some wasicu women. For the women from the rez, coming to an urban shelter can be complicated. Racism increases dramatically, and legal problems flare up. Sometimes they have an old ticket or fine that was incurred while they were off the rez, but since they live on the rez, it may never have been enforced. So a woman might have a parking ticket from two years ago that she never paid the fine on, and the police now have a warrant for her arrest. Now that she's off the rez, they can use that warrant. So native women walking down the street by the shelter get stopped by police and have their ID's checked. Apparently, cops coming to the shelter to help a battered woman sometimes ask for her ID before doing anything else. Women might go to jail the same night they are battered; if they have kids, the kids go to Social Services, get put in foster homes, and it might take months to get custody. All for a parking ticket.
Last Sunday was the first game day. Now, you might say that if I only ended up with four kids, it couldn't be much of a success. But I'm not sure that a big turnout was what I was looking for.
It was hot and dry again on Sunday, over 100 degrees, I'm sure. I tried to get to the Catholic church by 9:00 to check out their service, but was running late, and missed the whole thing. No Indian time there! Anyway, I introduced myself to some of the people having lunch and told them I'd try to get there another day.
Some of the people whom Mom and I went out to lunch last year were at Sun Star, including Christie's sister Sheryl. The kid's materials you all contributed were a hit, as were Donna D.'s cloth bags (most of them were gone by the end of the day). Then afterward we went to the housing developments to pick up kids. I felt like a criminal encouraging three little boys who don't know me to get in my car! Then one of them wanted to get his sister, so we went to his house, and he came back out with his mom. I felt sure that was the end of that, but all she wanted to know was where they were going and whether I would drop them off! The fact that a mom was comfortable letting her kids go off with this strange wasicu girl is a mark of what kind of a community Kyle is.
By the time I got back, the families who had been there earlier in the morning decided to leave because of the heat. I knocked on Aldo's door, but there was no answer--they may be hiding from Tunkasila, I'm not sure. So I hung out with these four kids for several hours--lemonade, soccer, uno, jenga, coloring--and the fact that there were only four meant nothing to me compared with seeing that they were happy to be there. I did no preaching; it seemed enough to impress on them that church could be a good, fun place. They were, incidentally, some of the most well-behaved and conscientious kids I'd ever met. I took them home about the middle of the afternoon, each with one of Donna's bags carrying a clipboard, some coloring pages or crayons, and a couple pieces of candy. With the older girl, I sent a note to their mom, telling her about the event, where to look for flyers for future events, and about the church.
So what was good for me was that I understand how to approach it, what works, and how to get the word out. There will certainly be more this summer--probably in the next couple of weeks. But more than that, it seemed to somehow help bring an obscure vision into a little sharper focus.
Freda's memorial, the thing that has kept the Apple family so busy for the past month, is this Saturday. I can't be there, though I wish I could, but it seems to be falling into place well. Tunkasila seems more cheerful when I talked to him today that I'd heard him for awhile.
I had a rather new experience today. In Norma's office, I was reading an article I was researching for her. I read a passage aloud to her: an anthropologist from the 60's was going on about repressed anxiety and witchcraft among Ojibwe people. She made a face. So then we were talking about such prejudices and misconceptions: about missionaries, about the Dawes Act, about Richard Pratt, about people who still teach that Lakota people are polytheistic and how they were persecuted for their supposed "idols and gods." Then she said she never understood how it was wrong to pray to the four directions, just because they are beings who aren't God, but it was ok to pray to Jesus.
"Well..." I said.
"I mean, I don't mean anything against you..."
"No, no, it's just that that's a little different because Jesus is God..."
I was about to point out that many Christians do, however, pray to saints, but then she said, looking confused, "There's two?"
I had figured Norma knew enough about Christianity to know what the Trinity is, but it seemed not. And this was knew to me. Not that I hadn't had the opportunity to discuss mysteries of Christianity with non-Christians before, but that it had always been in leisurely intellectual discussion. This was not that kind of conversation: Norma was still working, and we had been flying through subjects pretty quickly. She did not want a speech or lecture, and I did not want to give her one. How then, was I supposed to describe the mystery of the Trinity is a sentence or two without making Christianity sound totally insane? I believe what came out was something to this effect:
"No, it's that we believe God is a multi-personed being, something more complex than us. So there's three persons--the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit."
"See, and we can't have three," she said. "Just one." I smiled and listened to her talk, and agreed heartily when she made the point about praying to saints, and then my ride (Kathy) came. I told Kathy in the car that I was worried I had given Norma the impression that Christians believed in three gods and so made the situation worse. She laughed and said she was sure Norma knew, that she was just testing me. But I do wonder if Kathy was just trying to make me feel better.
(FYI--Lakotas, Dakotas, and Nakotas are monotheistic, and God is called Wakantanka: wakan=holy and tanka=big.)
I think that's about all my stories for now. For Jason's challenge--I think I may have used the word 'Christian' once while talking with Norma today...using a word like 'disciple' instead seemed as though it might have made things more confusing...but that's about all recently.
Oh! I saw some lovely pictures from Pakistan today, and realized I have yet to take any pictures on the rez! You must all think I'm horrible...but little do you know I get along with cameras about as well as I get along with sewing machines! Maybe I'll make Mom take pictures for me next weekend.
Well, as it's 2:30 in the morning and I have to get up tomorrow, I'm not going to proofread this. Hope I haven't rambled too much! You have all been very supportive, and I know you are praying for me, and I want you to know how much I appreciate it. Pidamayayapi ye!
Mitakuye Oyas'in-
Jenny