Details

Storyteller: Courtney
Tribe: Bois Forte Band of Ojibwe
Created: 2018
Location: Minneapolis, MN
Transcript: I'm still figuring out where I come from, how I belong and what I have to offer. I am not enrolled in a federally recognized tribe but I say I'm from Bois Forte because that's where my mom is from. There's a possibility I could be from Red Lake, FDL or also belong to a different culture. When a Native person asks me "where are you from?" I get anxiety over answering that question truthfully when I don't even know myself. Maybe I should just start with, "Hi, I'm so and so and I'm just from from Duluth"

What I am certain off is my love for my amazing four year old. He loves singing, dancing, cars, Barbies, the color pink, Ariana Grande and fail cat videos. I could never imagine leaving him or us not being as tight as we are... even though he still tries to grab my chest sometimes (my little Norman Bates was nursed for the first year, so he kinda likes to be mother smothered). 

I was raised by my maternal grandmother since I was about 9 months old but she was really my mom, father and friend all in one. She was everything to me. My mom died in 2014. My mom was the best. So wise, so strong, and her cooking! You know that Smoke Signals movie where Arlene rips her magical frybread in half? And how wise and kind the Grandmother Willow Tree was in Pocahontas? Oh, and even the tough love and say what’s on her mind, Madea kind of vibe? That's pretty much my mom. My mom also had her own son who was technically my uncle. We were raised together and he is my big brother. I also have a younger brother. We both have the same biological mother but different fathers. Both my brothers and I were always pretty tight but when our mom passed everything changed and they got really distant.

My biological mother... So, she had me when she was around 17 and I'm the oldest of four. When she had me her parental gene didn't stick as fast as infant me would have liked. Apparently, she was out of state with little ol’ me, and some new boyfriend. Something happened where she was reported to CPS. I guess I was hospitalized for severe dehydration and I was malnourished, then I was sent back to Duluth to a foster home til my mom took me in as her own. I heard some crazy rumor about some flea infestation in the place where we were staying at and apparently there were some on me when I was hospitalized, but who knows? I flew to Los Angeles to meet my biological mom, her second husband and my two half sisters when I was 18. But that story makes everything much more confusing. And my dad. Well your guess is a good as mine. Lets just start the parent list over. Parents: Lets just say that my non-existent relationship with my parents has a huge effect on me today and my identity.

As far as my cultural upbringing, my mom would speak to us in Ojibwe (not fluently) and tell us stories that her mother told her and we would often go to pow wows. Us kids went to summer camp and we learned more about our culture and language. She would also encourage me to join Pow Wow club at our local community center where I would make regalia and learn to bead for the first time. I remember my mom would talk about her mother’s educational experience and how she would often get slapped on the hands by the nuns for speaking her language. She would talk about how important it is to learn about our culture and how she sometimes would be embarrassed because she can’t teach us more, because she wasn't taught more. Although I don't remember going to ceremonies together, these activities were some of the best moments when I was younger. I would feel so connected and excited every time I was with community and learning more about myself. It was also another way to bond and share what I learned with my mother and family. Then my mom had gotten very sick when I was about 13 and she didn't have the energy to teach us anymore about our culture. She eventually started carrying a rosary and became more spiritual again. About 5 years later, she was on her deathbed and she finally got her Indian Name. During this time nothing was on my mind besides her health, not even education, culture or my identity.

I wasn't raised on a reservation. I just went to the rez for summer camp and for half of 10th grade. I eventually would like to be enrolled somewhere but that process has been a difficult one for a few different reasons. During that struggle of enrollment or feeling the need to be enrolled has sometimes distracted me from taking control of my own identity without proving my Nativeness to anyone. I know my mom has taught me what she could before she got sick, but I also was a part of an active Native community that kept that desire for my culture alive. Now, my brothers don't really care about learning our history and I have a deep desire to know more for myself and my son. 

When I think of any big experiences that my family went through together, I only think of my mom's choice to care for my brother and I, her health going up and down, and her death. I know my brothers and I experienced those years differently. From my perspective, our mom would complain about the boys not doing something right or not taking things seriously. She just needed help around the house or to have one of us run errands because she was on oxygen and it was too hard for her to leave the house. My brothers cared deeply and often worried for our mom, but they had their moments where they tuned out. I would often worry about her health, money, food, our future, my bio parents, my future... What did she do to deserve this? What kind of higher power would do this to a person who took in us "flea ridden kids" in? Should I leave class early to check on her? Will she even eat if she can’t get too close to the pilot light on the stove? Will she blow up? My family called me a "worrywart,” but I had reason to. 

I will probably always struggle to find out where I come from and what I can pass on to those who stick around. I am currently on the journey to find my cultural identity for myself and for my son as he attends Ojibwe immersion school. I love it when he comes home and teaches me new words and phrases that are new to me! I might not have a bunch of cultural wisdom to pass onto my son, but there is something powerful in taking this journey together and the reciprocal teaching and leaning that we bond over.