Lacey and the African Grandmothers (14 page)

Other performers wore costumes with bright blue feathers to dance the chicken dance and the grass dance. Then it was time for Florence and Zubeda to speak. They told us about Kenya, their country in Africa, and about the fifty grandchildren with no mothers that they look after.

“Africa has become a continent of orphans,” Florence said. “We have lost a generation. Already, about thirteen million children in Africa have no parents. It is because of the disease AIDS that the parents are dying. Imagine all of the children in Canada without parents. Now, you can imagine a place without a generation. Now, you can imagine Africa.

“We are the grandmothers. We bury our children, but there is no time to grieve. No time to cry. We have work to do. We must help our children's children survive and become strong.

People from Siksika demonstrated parts of the
Blackfoot culture by singing and dancing.

The African grandmothers were given
wool blankets as a sign of respect.

“In some of the forty-seven countries south of the Sahara Desert in Africa, half the orphans live in families headed by their grandmothers. We must look after the babies, the little ones, and the teenagers who are left behind.” Florence handed the microphone to Zubeda.

“It should not be this way,” Zubeda continued. “But we do the best we can do. That is all we can do. We give our thanks to the grandmothers in Canada – to young women like Lacey – who understand our pain and want to help us. We understand hardship and loss, and I think that you understand, too.”

The Siksika elders and some people from Sequoia did a robing ceremony with Florence and Zubeda, draping each of them with a wool blanket. It's a Blackfoot tradition that shows honor and acceptance. The blankets show that the grandmothers are held in high esteem. Other people gave them traditional gifts of sage, sweet grass, and feathers. Wrapped in their blankets, Zubeda and Florence sang us a lullaby that they sing to the children without mothers and aunties.

After the formal part with the singing and dancing, came the best part. It was time for the Siksika grandmothers and the African grandmothers to meet face to face. They gathered each other in their arms and hugged tightly. They hugged as if they would never let go. It was as if they were long-ago sisters who hadn't seen each other in a long, long time.

The African grandmothers and the Siksika grandmothers
exchanged gifts. It was as if they were long-ago sisters.

I watched Kahasi take Zubeda in her arms. It was the longest hug I had ever seen, and when Kahasi pulled away, she wiped tears from her eyes. Zubeda had tears, too. I don't know if the tears were of joy or sadness.

After all the hugging, the grandmothers gathered in a circle to exchange presents. It was funny to watch them like that – black and silver and gray and pink heads together. They chattered like a bunch of ravens arguing over who would go first. It was as if they were talking all at the same time, yet they could all hear and understand each other. Every once in a while one would lift her head, and you would see the big smile lighting up her face.

I couldn't see Lila, but even above the sound of the grandmothers, I could hear her. She was talking to everyone and selling purses to the people who had money. Mostly it was people from Strathmore and Calgary who were buying the things I had made. I hoped they had brought a lot of money.

It was so noisy in the church that I didn't think anyone would mind if I turned on the sewing machine. As I sewed, I watched the grandmothers with their heads together, making sounds of laughter and little whoops of happiness as they talked. One of the Siksika grandmothers sounded like one of those dolls you squeeze to make it giggle. It was the kind of laughter that makes you smile to yourself even if you don't know the joke. I felt so full of joy as I sewed. It felt so good to help them in my small way and to have all the grandmothers together.

Mrs. Martinez came to see me. The brown purse with the fringe was hanging from her shoulder. “Do you see the one I bought?” I smiled up at her. “You have made some beautiful ones, but this one is my favorite. I love how this fringe moves,” she said.

Then Zubeda left the group of grandmothers to come visit me. She had the red blanket around her shoulders and a rosary around her neck as if it were a necklace. She gave me a beaded pin of a gray-haired grandmother holding a baby. She pinned it onto my sweater and told me she liked my pink hoop earrings. She said pink was her favorite color, too.

I knew that the pin was a gift I would keep always, to remember this day. The beads were the same as the ones I used, and the beading seemed to be done the same way Kahasi had taught me. How strange it was, I thought, that African people and Siksika people would bead the same way, though they lived almost a whole world apart. We are different in where we stay, and how we look, but inside, I think we are the same.

Chapter 21
Kitamatsinopowa

A
fter everyone ate as much as they wanted, the Siksika grandmothers, the African grandmothers, and some of the rest of us drove in vans to Blackfoot Crossing. Zubeda held my hand as we walked along the trails by the historical center that's built into the side of the coulee. We started down the wide trail that leads to the trees and the river.

“You can see my house from here,” I said, pointing to the right. “If you count, it's one, two, three, four. You see?”

“Yes, I see it,” said Zubeda. “It looks like a good house, and very big. You stay warm there even when it is so cold?” She was wearing wool socks inside her sandals, a borrowed winter jacket, and her new blanket. I was wearing jeans, my black shirt with the ruffles at the shoulders, and a sweater. It was a warm spring day with a lot of sunshine.

The African grandmothers were taken on a tour along the trails
at the Blackfoot Crossing Historical Centre.

The African grandmothers said that Siksika reminded
them of their home in Kenya, except that Siksika didn't
have any noisy monkeys.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “It keeps us very warm – even in the winter, when the wind blows and there is snow.”

She looked all around and smiled her ray-of-sunshine smile. “I have never seen snow,” she said, then paused. “It is just like Kenya here – the hills, the trees.” She pulled her blanket closer around the winter jacket and gazed at the land. “It is like being at home again. Even your people are the same as my people. It is the same, all of it, except for the cold. I have never been so cold before.”

I didn't know that Alberta looked like Africa. I wondered how it would be to have an elephant come out from the trees. Or a monkey.

Zubeda stopped walking abruptly and looked into my eyes. Her voice was almost a whisper as she spoke. “Something is wrong. Ah, I know what is different. It's too quiet.”

“It's quiet here because we are a long way from the city. The city is very noisy.”

“No, no,” she said. “The animals. The monkeys. I can't hear the monkeys. Why are they so silent?”

“We don't have monkeys here. It's too cold for them. We keep our monkeys in the zoo.”

Her mouth fell open, and she looked frightened at the idea of keeping monkeys in the zoo. “It's better for them there,” I added quickly. “They couldn't live here. It's too cold, and the trees probably don't have the right kind of food.”

Lisa Jo pointed out her house in South Camp.

Zubeda shook her head slowly in disbelief. “My, my. What a waste of perfectly good trees. You should have monkeys. I think they would like these trees.” She laughed. “Maybe you could give them blankets and big socks to stay warm.”