Category Archives: Stories

māsihkīwin – Wrestling, Wahoo McDaniel

I remember as a boy watching wrestling with my parents, along with nisīmisak – my younger siblings. There was this Hawaiian wrestler named Dean Ho and his buddy Moondog Moretti. Dean was an old man by that time, but he was the main good guy. I must have been 5 years old at the time, it is mostly a blur but the times he won his matches were exciting because we were all cheering for the good guy.

There was another wrestler, but I cannot remember his name. He was an “Indian” wrestler, an Indian or First nations. He would get the beat down but then a drum would start beating in the background and it would give him “power” to get out of the hold. Great times to be a wrestling fan. This was all on a channel from British Columbia called All-Star Wrestling.

As I got older, I noticed another Native wrestler, his name was Wahoo McDaniel. He had a spectacular presence and a “tomahawk chop” that almost broke the sternum of any hapless man to get in the way. In 1986, he had this memorable feud with a Russian wrestler named Nikita Koloff. The feud was called the “tomahawk” vs. the “sickle,” which was a reference to the Russian sickle on the flag. I searched for this match online to no avail, so sad.

They both had their titles on the line, the National Champion, Wahoo and the United States Champion, Nikita. The winner would then amalgamate the titles into one because the company thought there were too many belts on TV, WTBS channel. I personally thought Wahoo should have kept the title because it was cool to have an “Indian” as champion. I could not find a free image of Wahoo, but at the bottom of this blog, there is an embed video of Wahoo vs Ric Flair in a “chop” battle.

I had such high hopes for a Wahoo win, but he was beaten. Wahoo was in the twilight of his long successful career and the so-called, Russian Nightmare, Nikita Koloff, was hotter that a firecracker on the fourth of July. He was being groomed for bigger things and Wahoo was used as a steppingstone, which I am sure he gladly did because even he knew that he had to job to the raising young star.

He wrestled 10 more years until his retirement in 1996. Unfortunately, he died of kidney failure “on April 18, 2002 at the age of 63” (https://wrestlerdeaths.com/wahoo-mcdaniel-death/). He left a great legacy for other Native American wrestlers such as Tatanka, who went on to became one of the most recognizable wrestlers in the 90s.

māsihkīwin – wrestling

omāsihkīw – wrestler

māsihkī – (you) wrestle, as in a command.

 

 

Sources:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wahoo_McDaniel

http://www.adventuresinpoortaste.com/2014/12/05/art-of-gimmickry-the-native-american-wrestler/

 

First Fall of Snow – instam kāmispok

Today we had the first major snowfall in Hall Lake. I woke up to the world covered in snow. I almost posted a picture for my FB friends who do not have a window but that is a joke I overused already, and I don’t want to get banned from Facebook.

I took a few pictures that I will show here, on my website because I love showing my pictures on my website as opposed to just uploading them to FB. It gives me more control over my own content. I like my intellectual property to stay mine, but I have given up many pictures to Facebook. I just need to keep my tech skills sharp in case they are needed again to make a living.

I remember as a boy looking out at the landscape at the trapline and watching the first fall of snow, I would always get a lonely feeling from it. It reminded me of the old Hank Williams song that my uncle Abel used to sing, “At the First Fall of Snow.” I can still hear him singing and walking along the trail to nimosōm’s cabin. My uncle is still alive today and he lives just down the road. I still see him walking from time to time, but he doesn’t sing anymore.

This reminds me that I have some stories I wanted to share about my uncle, but I will have to ask him first. Maybe he has some ideas too about what I can write, thank you for visiting.

Ikosi,

Joe and the Stranger

Joe is walking down the dirt road about 20 KM from his rez. While he is tired and hungry, he has no wife or kids of his own, which means no real worries. Responsibilities are for his foolish friends, not him.

It is a beautiful night, it is more morning, about 2:45AM. The cold autumn wind and misty clouds lightly cover the moon in wisps. He has not seen a vehicle for over an hour and when he did, they were going too fast, probably a drunk driver. Good ol ‘rez boys and girls, he thinks. He looks ahead further and declares, “niwī atāwākān nitahcahk simāk kita takosiniyān itī kāwīkiyān.” – I will sell my soul to get home now.

At 3:00AM, about 100 metres ahead of him, there flashes a light. It was not a big light, it is more of a spark. It fades and as he gets closer, he sees another hitchhiker meeting up with him. He might be from the same rez but Joe realizes that the hiker does look familiar. When he finally meets up with him, the stranger looks all too familiar. He looks exactly like him.

“tānisi cō, tāpwī kayās.” – How are you Joe, it has been a long time. Says, the stranger.

Joe stands fearful of what he is seeing. “awinōma kītha?” – Who are you?

Stranger, “cō, īmowī nihtāwikīn kāki wāpamitān, ikospi kākī nitowithihtamān kitahcahk.” – Joe, I saw you before you were born, since then, I wanted your soul.

Now fearing for his soul, Joe steps ahead, “namwāc kiwī mīthitin kīkway.” – I will not give you anything.

“kiwi asotamātin kīkway cō, māka kita mīthin kitahcahk” – I will offer you something Joe, but you must give me your soul.

Joe shakes his head as he takes a few steps back.

In the middle of the dark road, appears a beautiful brand-new truck, higher than two regular cars and tires as tall as Joe’s chest. Joe looks in awe as the beast of an engine roars like a lion.

Joe is astonished. In all his 30 years, he never had his own vehicle, not even an “Indian” car. He drove before and loved it. If he takes the truck for the mere price of his soul, his friends would envy his masculine prowess even more. He can ride through the rez with his new sexy wheels while they dragged along their rez chicks and rez rats. He could just imagine the looks on their faces, they would be so jealous.

The stranger smiles as he anticipates the answer he craves. Men like Joe are of a rare breed of warrior. A soul, a spirit that strengthens the possessor. However, the prowess sought by Joe would be short lived, as he would surely dive into the depths of despair in short order. The wine, the drugs and fast woman would be easy to come by. Joe would be, in all his glory for the whole rez to see and then the stranger would have the full soul.

Joe explores the vehicle further; he runs his hand over the chrome bed railings. He was always the handsomest, fastest and strongest of his friends. However, they always had something over them, they had wheels and he did not. This truck would put him over the top. He reassured himself that a truck like this will make almost godlike, on the rez.

Joe turns to face the stranger that looks like him, and flash! He sees himself in a drunken stupor, squeezing an alcohol ravaged woman. Flash again! He sees himself fighting another native man as they stumble around like idiots, getting videoed from bystanders on their cell phones, going live on social media. Flash again! Joe sees the stranger standing and waiting for his answer.

The stranger stares at him: “tānihkōma cō?” – What is the matter Joe? Flash again! Joe sees himself inside the crumpled truck, his body halfway out of the windshield: Dead.

Joe stares ahead and in disbelief. Would he really go down that path? Can he trust this stranger that looks like him, to even actually follow through with his gift? Joe opens his mouth and shakily states: “namwāc!” – No!

The stranger glares at Joe, “kihtwām kawāpamatin cō.” – I will see you again Joe. Poof, he disappears.

 

Thank you visiting, please check out our many other stories.

 

mistāpiw namīhtāw – Bigfoot has left tracks

Going through my Facebook feed this morning, I noticed a shared post by Jarome Stpierre and it showed a picture and a video of somebody leaving huge tracks. I was intrigued and decided to share with you what his father has taken footage of.

Seeing tracks like this must be awesome. I can only imagine what the feeling was like to see something like that. After hearing stories about wihtikō (wendigo from other bands) from nimosōm – my grandfather, I would always be on the lookout for strange tracks or any anomaly whatsoever. Unfortunately, I have never seen anything remotely resembling a mystery such as the tracks posted above.

I have seen bears that looked like a humanoid of some kind and realized that it was a bear upon closer inspection. I have even seen a bear from afar on the side of the road and told my son, “Charles, look, that’s a bear over there.” Only for the bear to fly up to the trees because it was a raven. He had a good laugh, as I laughed with a red face (I didn’t tell him I was embarrassed).

My eyes may not be the best proof of anything. I would like to find something as tangible as the tracks from Jerome’s father. Maybe I will go for a walk today and look for something.

mistāpiw namīhtāw – Bigfoot has left tracks

wihtikō

nimosōm

 

nitīm – my dog

nimosōm – my grandfather Charlie Ross

I remember when I was about 10 or 11 years old and nimosōm – my grandfather told me that he used to have a dog team. It was fascinating to hear about the places he travelled with his team. It was places nearby but hearing it as a young boy, it sounded so much more glamorous and seemed to be in faraway places.

It was all well and good when he told me about what he used to do, but he started telling me that he was planning on getting a NEW dog team. I remember being very excited about it and thought I’d be able to see it happen and maybe try it myself the next winter.

He was able to get a big male and a female husky. We were in Pesiw Lake that summer when he acquired the dogs and we moved them to Hall Lake in the early fall. By the next spring, there was pups, many with big feet that nimosōm said, meant that the dogs were going to be big.

I picked out a puppy myself and it turns out nimosōm picked the same one. piyakwan awa kōtinahk, kitīminow awa – we picked the same one, this is our dog. I honestly didn’t know how that was going to work, but nimosōm seemed happy about it and I didn’t ask how it would work if he had to go back to the trapline.

It might have been a week or two later that the situation did not matter. I went for a walk with my friends and near a culvert lay a dead puppy. I was not sure at the time, but it kind of looked like mine. I was upset; however, I hid my feelings from my friends and just went home. I’m glad they didn’t ask why I had to go home, back then; we hid our feelings from each other because only we thought only little kids cried.

Later that evening, it turned out that my puppy had gone missing. A man we called mahkistikwān – big head, had killed and ditched it near the culvert where my friends and I saw it. It was very disheartening for me. I have never had a dog since, not because it was so heartbreaking, but because I decided that maybe it’s too much responsibility.

nimosōm – my grandfather

mahkistikwān – big head

atim – dog

achimosis – puppy (little dog)

nitīm – my dog

kitīm – your dog

Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

Lack of Hope on the Reserve

I was watching the documentary: “Bobby Kennedy for President,” and in it, Bobby declared that he would run for President of the United States. One statement caught my attention: “… young Indians to commit suicide on their reservations because they lacked all hope,” it is a statement that hits close to home for many of our First Nations people.

Lacking all hope is such a terrible feeling. I have felt the wrath of racism in my own hometown of La Ronge and in the town of Prince Albert during the time of the LaChance shooting in 1991. The feeling of lost hope and shame resonates with your whole being. I was fortunate to be able to go back to my community of Hall Lake.

Lack of hope on the reserve is an unfortunate side-effect of alcohol, drugs and gambling. There are other forms of substance abuse prevalent among the youth, such as huffing, or “sniffing,” as it is more commonly known on our reserves up here in Northern Saskatchewan.

We all have our vices as human beings. There are very few people that I know of that are content with little or no way of “loosening up,” as it were. I drank alcohol many times and spend all of my money to get to the last drop of booze I could get. I have pawned off laptops, TVs and guitars just to keep the party going. I have lost things to the pawn shop because I could not afford to take them out when they were due. Sometimes I would pay a fee to keep them there for a couple of weeks more but ultimately, the stuff would end up owned by the pawnshop.

The lack of hope I felt was brought on by depression from the workplace and family matters, these are situations I would rather not reveal at this time. The drinking was a way to cloud reality so I would not have to worry about any responsibilities, including my children. However, money runs out, sleep is needed, and bills need to be paid and feed the family. The hangovers I suffered through were terrible, I would attempt to clean up the apartment and feed my hungry daughter at the same time. I shook and I sweated away the weekend, sometimes I would call in “sick” to avoid going to work smelling like alcohol.

Alcohol use was normalized when I was growing up. It was okay to bring in cases of beer and many friends with which to enjoy the (so called) good times. It was not good for me. I dreaded the late nights when I would have no choice but to stay up and listen to arguing and fighting. Sometimes, I would be woken up to do something for my father or be introduced to one of his friends from work. They would be nice enough and greet me nicely, but I do not think it’s a good way to be introduced.

Many people that do not drink or drink socially are very quick to judge people who drink too much. They do not know what people are going through and why they resort to this type of “loosening up.” I still drink from time to time but not nearly as much and away from my children, so I am far from perfect. I throw in a few bucks in the one arm bandit and I smoke cigarettes when I am having a drink (I quit smoking five times this year). Obviously, I still have work to do with myself, I am trying.

As a teacher now, I am taking a close look at myself, a more critical look at myself. If students see me walking around drunk, it will look very bad to them. To my colleagues, it will appear very unprofessional. It is better to quit drinking outright and be done with it. I do not want any lack of hope, amplified from being hungover and wondering what I had done. I have a whole school year to plan for and I need to work on what I will be teaching tomorrow.

Take care,

Charlie Venne – Grade 5/6 teacher at Sally Ross School

All photographs were taken by me, using various cameras and phones over the years.

News articles:

Robert Kennedy’s Indian Commitment (June 1, 2018) https://tribalcollegejournal.org/robert-kennedys-indian-commitment/

80 Days That Changed America (April 23, 2018) https://www.thenation.com/article/80-days-that-changed-america/

LaChance shooting remembered in Prince Albert (Jan 28, 2011) https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatchewan/lachance-shooting-remembered-in-prince-albert-1.1089247

Sally Ross School – http://llribedu.ca/sally-ross-school/

Fellow LLRIB Member – Russell Mirasty, is the new lieutenant governor of Saskatchewan.

Russell Mirasty will be sworn-in at a ceremony at Government House in Regina on Thursday morning. (Troy Fleece/The Canadian Press)

If you’ve been paying attention to the news, you have heard that a fellow Lac La Ronge Indian Band (LLRIB) member of mine, has become the new lieutenant governor of Saskatchewan, Russel Mirasty. He was appointed by Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau. “‘I was humbled to receive the phone call from the Prime Minister and I was very pleased to accept his request to serve as Her Majesty’s representative in Saskatchewan,’ Mirasty said in a statement”. (https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/saskatchewan/russell-mirasty-new-lieutenant-governor-1.5214813)

I have personally met the lieutenant governor a handful of times and every time, he was the perfect gentlemen. He was very articulate, a well spoken man. He assisted our band with community safety meetings and advised us on ideas that can be utilized by the communities. While I was not involved with the meeting, I was the one who shot the video and took the pictures. The following YouTube video is one that I posted for our LLRIB channel:

He was recently interviewed by our local radio station, MBC Radio, and his fluent Cree was excellent. As I have said, I have met him before but he only spoke English. In the interview, his Cree was very familiar because he spoke as one of us, a La Rongian Cree that is distinct from the other outlaying communities. You would have to be a local to understand but I am sure there are similarities in your communities as well.

While I do not necessarily pay attention to politics, I think this is a good thing for our province. From the comments on the CBC article, many people are in full agreement to this appointment, of the NEW lieutenant governor of Saskatchewan.

Congratulations Russell Mirasty!

CBC Saskatchewan – ‘This is historic’: Indigenous leaders applaud choice of Russell Mirasty as new Sask. Lt.-Gov.

https://www.mbcradio.com/2019/07/sask-has-a-new-lieutenant-governor

The Money I Make – sōniyāw kōsihak

A total of $110 was transferred to my bank account, when I only had $2 to my name.

My website has had ads on since 2012 and from then to October 2018, I made a total of about $10.61, that is it.

From November 2018 until June 21, 2019, I made $104.44 in ads because I started creating and developing more content in stories, Cree translations and memes.

I use the lowest ads setting because I do not want too many intrusive ads on my website. It takes longer to make money and a developer must wait until there is a threshold of $100 before money is transferred to a bank account.

So, this is the first I have ever made a dime on this great website, and it only took seven years, ha ha. I put so much work into my website, but it does not feel like work. It is a privilege for me to be able to provide a bit of entertainment and to share my stories with the fine visitors to my website and followers of my Facebook page.

My work is almost completely independent, no grants or funding of any kind. It is a labour of love and I will continue to keep the website online, as long as I am capable.

ninanāskimon kā ayimihtāyin nitācathohkīwina. Thank you for reading my stories.

Money – sōniyāw

The Money I Make – sōniyāw kōsihak

My money – nisōniyām

Your money – kisōniyām

 

 

 

Nimosōm wihthōwinis nimīthik – My Grandfather gives me a Nickname

From as far as I can remember, nimosōm called me “cīpic,” which is a reference, to a man named David, a man who lived across the lake from my grandfather’s cabin. All the way from seeing him in La Ronge when I was a boy living on 101 reserve, to his cabin in Pesiw Lake and to his new house (at the time) in Hall Lake, he called me “cīpic”.

I remember my parents discussing this when I was a boy and they suggested that it was because nimosōm did not want to say his own name, Charlie. “īkwīmīsiyān nimosōm” – I have the same name as my grandfather.

That was the understanding I got, and I stayed by that explanation since. Whenever he was proud of me for something, he would say, “wahwā cīpic,” or “wahwāy cīpic.” It was a term of endearment that I appreciated and wondered about, as a boy.

During the summer of one of our duck hunting trips, we went up to a mīnistik (an island) with the intention of landing on it and crossing to the other side. We were sneaking up on what had to be at least 200 sīsīpak (ducks) spread out over a sparse wild rice patch.

Before this, he been giving me one .22 “mōsonīy” bullet at a time when we were shooting ducks, and only after he shoot at a group of ducks with a shotgun and some getting injured. We would shoot at them before they would dive in.

When we were done crossing the island, we got to the ground and snuck up to a huge flock. My grandfather slowly brought out his shotgun and BOOM! Many ducks went flying up in all directions as he continued to shoot with his pump-action.

After the blitz of birds, my grandfather started to pick off the injured ducks that were trying to dive in. At this time, he handed me two .22 bullets, he looked at me and said: “wahwā, cīpic ikwa iwī nipahīw sīsīpa” – Wow, Charlie is going to kill a duck now.

I was so happy to get the bullets, I tried so hard to concentrate and make a kill, but I ended up missing. I was sad but the exhilaration of getting not one, but two bullets was great.

cīpic

nimosōm – my grandfather

pīsiw sākahikanihk – Pesiw Lake

wahwā cīpic – Wow Charlie

wahwāy cīpic – Wow Charlie

mōsonīy – bullet

sīsīp – duck

sīsīpak – ducks

wahwā, cīpic ikwa iwī nipahīw sīsīpa” – Wow, Charlie is going to kill a duck now.

īkwīmīsiyān nimosōm – I have the same name as my grandfather

Related pages:

NIMOSŌM – NĪSTĀW AND I, FELL THROUGH THE ICE

BIRDS IN WOODLAND CREE

niwītawīmāwak niwahkōmākinak – I play games with my family

When I was a boy back in the trapine, my siblings and cousins and I, would entertain ourselves without the modern devices we have today. We had many outdoor games like “tag” and others that involved running around and catching or tagging others in teams or individually. We would have slingshot targeting contests with old cans and bottles. We would make our own bows and arrows and shoot at targets or objects.

There were other types of games we called maci-nocikwīsīs –witch, I am sure there are many variations that other communities played. We would have a witch going after the children of a mother. The mother would have all the younger and smaller children lined-up behind her and the witch would try to get around the mother and snatch a child. This would go on until all the kids were snatched, it would get pretty intense towards the end, great times.

Another game we played was indoors, in my parent’s cabin at the trapline. nisīmis ikwa nitawīmāw (my younger sister and female cousin from father’s brother), would play a variation of “house,” my sister would be my sister and my cousin would be my wife. At the time, we called our cousin, pithōthā, Flora, or pithōthā cīn which means Flora Jean, my sister would sometimes call her pokopoy but I don’t know why.

We called the house game, “Isiah.” I would be Isiah and Flora would be my wife. We would start by living together until I decide to burn down the house and my sister would help her get away and to another house, along with luggage and children. Once they moved into a new house, I would come along and find them and burn that house down too. Be aware that we were between 5 and 7 years of age and did not know the how disturbing it would sound the if the story was put on paper or a website, just like I’m doing now.

My family had been living in Bigstone Reserve during the summer months and during that time, we saw a house on fire. It belonged to our auntie Annie and her husband Isiah. We heard a rumour that Isiah had accidently burned the house down and they ended up losing their home. Now in order to add a character element to our house game, we decided that Isiah did it on purpose just to terrorize his family, as in a “bad guy.”

One day, nipāpānān – our dad, told us namowitha ikosi takī isi mītawīk – you kids shouldn’t play like that. We stopped for awhile and pretty much discontinued, until he was gone, and we started up again. It was too much fun to stop. Our dad was right though, it was very disrespectful to our auntie because they lost their home in La Ronge. I’m glad we never told him about the time we were walking on the ice kākī mithōskamik – when it was break-up.

maci-nocikwīsīs – witch

namowitha ikosi takī isi mītawīk – you kids shouldn’t play like that

kākī mithōskamik – when it was break-up

pithōtha cīn – Flora Jean

pokopoy – nickname for Flora from my sister Susan