When We Were Alone

When I was your age, at home in my community, my friends and I always spoke our language. But at the school I went to, far away from home, they wouldn’t let us speak our words. All the children used their strange words, and we didn’t understand them at all. Our voices blended together like a flock of crows.

“Why did you have to talk in their language?” I asked. “They didn’t like that we spoke our language,” Nókom said. “They wanted us to talk like everybody else”.

But sometimes in the summer, when we were alone, and our teachers weren’t anywhere around the place we were, we would whisper to each other in Cree. We would say all the words we weren’t allowed to say so that we wouldn’t forget them.

And this made us happy.

“Now,” Nókom said, “I always speak my language”

[…]

“When we were your age, at home in our community, being with family was the most important thing. We played with each other, did chores together, and shared everything. But at the school I went to, far away from home, they wouldn’t let us be together.

My brother and I were separated like day and night.

“Why were you and Nókomis separated?” I asked.

“They didn’t like when we were with family”, Nókom said “because when we were together, we thought too much of home”

[…] “We would take off our mitts, and in the crisp, cold air, we would hold hands so we could be with each other.”

And this made us happy.

“Now”, Nókom said as she reached over and held my uncles hand, and mine. “I am always with my family”