This morning Dr. Scholten and her husband, Paul, picked me up around 8:30AM. I was so happy to see a familiar face. As soon as she saw my gnarly leg, she asked what happened. I said, “first motorcycle ride.” She looked at me with that certain mischievous smile that she has and said, “you know…I may not look like it, but I used to ride a motorcycle. This is what your leg will look like in 30 years.” Then she proceeded to show me all her scars from riding—dirtbikes, sportscars, bikes. I adore her. So much. Once laughs were exchanged she went maternal on me (which I appreciated J) and gauzed my leg up.
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After that, we headed to Higher Grounds, a local coffee shop that’s like the Bongo Java of Pine Ridge (for all you Nashville folk). After that, she showed me the basics of the town. 1
st stop: Pine Ridge Hospital— a new facility that is a “one-stop-shop” for dental care, mental health, and hospital treatment. Then, we stopped by Suanne Big Crow Boys and Girls Club, which also has a health clinic. Apparently this facility is packed right now because the new hospital is inundated with so many patients. The Club was funded by the Clinton Administration and named after Suanne, a famous Lakota athlete, for her positive anti-drug/alcohol outreach to the kids here on the res. Sadly, like most places here, the facility struggles to maintain itself. People get things started with good intention and soon the Pine Ridge population finds it difficult to maintain on the day-to-day. Once we were finished here, things got super real and we went to White Clay, Nebraska—basically, its where people go to get drunk off the res. On the way there, Lorraina pointed out that the huge lights installed on the side of the road were done so because so many people were killed drunk walking/driving back to the res. When we arrived, it was a strip of shops on either side for about 2 miles and that was the entire town. I would say about ¾ of the stores there sold booze of some sort. It made me ill to see this place; it felt like the town’s sole purpose was to feed these people’s addictions. It was 9AM and there were already people passed out from drinking on the side of the road. After this, we went to the OST Health Administration—from my understanding, this is where I will be based for the time being. This was the old hospital they used before the new one was recently built. To be frank, the place is a complete shit hole. I mean that to give a reflection of the reality of the circumstances, not to complain. There is asbestos all over the ceiling, mold, walls peeling, lights flickering on and off; I could go on and on. The place is fixing to be demolished, if that gives you an idea of the condition it is in. Anyway, once we got to the meeting, I met a couple of important members of Sweetgrass: Richard Iron Cloud, the case manager and Eileen, community outreach coordinator…there were also two lieutenants that were somehow affiliated with mental health. They were there to assess the progress of the meeting and serve as the voice of the Feds, if you will. The other 30+ army crew that they came with were at the other hospital. The topic of discussion was reviewing a ppt which would be used for presentation at various schools in the surrounding area to train education professionals how to recognize signs of suicidal tendency, prevent bullying, etc. I’m so glad I will be certified to do school social work; I think the classes will prove to be very useful. While there, I heard several horror stories of suicide attempts on the res and learned several more relevant statistics:
- The domestic violence shelter on the res shut down about a year ago, and since then there has not been any real, sustainable resource for domestic abuse clients.
- Over ½ of the families here are single parent homes.
- 60% of the people on the res are under the federal poverty line and are EBT recipients.
- Originally the organization served people from age 14-24, but has had to lower the age of acceptance because they have had people referred to them as young as 6 years old.
Sidenote: I still have yet to meet my supervisor. Lorraina has continuously tried to call her, but no response. She also wasn’t at the meeting. However, I was assured that things would fall into place. Welcome to the res mindset, things can move slowly and the only natural rhythm of events here is that there is no rhythm at all. I have no idea what I will be doing with Sweetgrass yet, I don’t know if I will have my own caseload or if I will be doing group work. So, I’m trying to prepare myself as best as I can but bear in mind that there are certain things beyond my control. (Big Girl revelation)
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Leonard's soon-to-be Montessori. It's main mission is cultural preservation (teaching Lakota language, dance, etc.)
After the meeting, we went to meet with Leonard Littlefinger (descendent of Chief Bigfoot) because Lorraina said he would be a valuable person and resource to me while on the res; she trusts him. On
the way out, I realized that I should have brought him a gift. I had met him once on a brief occasion before. I decided on half a pound of honeybush vanilla in an origami tin. Before we left, Lorraina and Paul went to buy sandwiches for he and another tribal elder in the community who was with him, Richard Broken Nose. Leonard’s Montessori, where we met them, is about 15 miles outside of the res in Oglala. Right now they are doing major construction on Hwy 18, which leads in and out of the res so its really bumpy and kicks up a lot of dust. When you drive through that long strip of bare road, it almost feels like you’re in a dream because everything hides behind a faint mist of white smoke and the prairie just looks so damn beautiful. There’s nothing but horses, cows, sunflowers, corn, and a few sparse ranches and houses. The sky is open and the wind is so present here. When we got to the Montessori, Richard and Leonard were both in the back. As soon as I was in the same room as them, I could feel their presence. They are both fluent in Lakota. After Lorraina introduced me and explained that I would be working with The Sweetgrass Project, Leonard said that he remembered meeting me briefly at a Belmont convo. He said, "you ask a lot of questions. They're good." I was kind of embarrassed; people have been noting that to me a lot lately, haha. After getting settled, Leonard suggested that Richard share some wisdom with me concerning suicide and the Old Way. Richard began to explain to me that until about thirty years ago, there was no such thing as suicide in Native American culture, especially among the Lakota. He explained that in Lakota, all people are connected; this philosophy is expressed by the phrase Mitakuye Oyasin (also known as Ubuntu in African culture, or comparable to empathy in American culture) and they all share the same cultural mindset. But, when the wasicu (whiteman) came, their philosophy, ethics, way of life, everything was divided into two forms of thought: the Native Way, often referred to as the Old Way, or what Leonard refers to as Circular, versus the Western Way, also known as the Square. For too long of a time, these realms of thought were considered irreconcilable. So, when the western mindset was emphasized, it was at the cost of the Old way—thus was born the common boarding school/assimilation phrase: “Save the Man, kill the Indian.” It is fitting a circle into a square: you have to shove it in and there is a cost.
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| "God hath not promised skies always blue." An appropriately embroidered blanket hanging in hallway of the Center. |
Richard continued, “My ancestors died brave, fighting. Now, I see my people, most of them are cowards. I never heard of people in my generation, or generations before, killing themselves. In the Old Way, there is a respect for life in all phases, you don’t just give up somewhere along the way. You can’t. Your soul will wander lost among the earth because it is not it’s proper time yet. These people, they think that they die and go to heaven, but to me, this is heaven. Everything in front of us: Heaven. My people have lost the Old Way and that’s what they need. If they can’t feed their addiction, they want to die; if they can’t get what they want, they want to cut themselves. My ancestors used to mark notches on their bows and arrows when they accomplished certain honors or have overcome struggle. It’s like a tattoo.” I told him that I had my own bow and arrow notches and showed him the inside of my arm, which carries a sacred heart, and underneath says, “Little girl arise.” We all chuckled and he said, “See? I can just look at you and know your history. I could do the same thing on my own arm.” In a moment of complete honesty, I told Richard and Leonard that I was scared. I was scared because I didn’t come from their culture, and as much as I tried to make myself familiar with their history and spirituality by reading books before I got here, I knew I would be at a loss in comparison to the other people working for Sweetgrass. Their cultural identity is a valuable tool for working with their clients-- I don’t have that. Richard looked at me and said, “There is a balance. You have one mindset that you have cultivated; now you have come here to learn the other. To learn the circle. It is our responsibility to show you. Mitakuye Oyasin.” The wisdom in his face made me believe him. Leonard then gave me four pillars to help guide my practice with the Lakota—Identity, Spirituality, Respect of one’s self, Respect for others. As he told me this, it took all my strength not to nerd out and pull out the notebook in my bag. This is the basic gist of what he said, but not nearly as poetic:
1) Identity- In order to know yourself, you must know where you come from.
2) Spirituality- When you know yourself, you know where you are going. You know what guides you. 3) Respect of one’s self- This is what people often overlook. It is how they carry themselves, how they end up in addictions. Lots of times the best way to teach this is to show it.
4) Respect for others- If all of the others are in place, this should come naturally.
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| hanging in the children's playroom at the Center. |
When I got back to the Center, Karen was ready to pick up the older kids for dinner, worship and playtime. We drove through the neighborhoods stopping and saying hello to people, almost all of which she knew by name. I felt like I was in a township in South Africa again, except this is right smack dab in the middle of the United States of America: four leggeds running amock, little two leggeds running amock, completely dilapidated houses that housed generational families of about 15, trash everywhere, dust everywhere, everything was disheveled. Everything was rusty and dirty and torn. When the kids got in the van, there was snot smeared all over their faces, sticky things stuck to their hair, and their hands had cheetoh leftovers all over them. I realllly wanted to get maternal on them and wipe them down, but I held back. I figured I’d at least give them one day to get to know me J. When we got back to the house, there were about 9 more kids waiting outside. As we served dinner to about 40 children (some of whom had to stand and eat), I had to get them in check a couple of times because some of them didn’t say please or thank you. None of them really seemed inclined to pick up their dishes either, so I said “When you’re finished, please bring your dishes into the sink.” After the words left my mouth, I felt like an ass because I didn’t want Karen to think I was trying to take her authority. I just can’t stand when children seem to forget to be thankful, especially to people like Karen or Alicia who are so generous to them. After that, we went downstairs for a puppet show/worship and playtime. During playtime, I asked one of the girls who she was making paper hearts for and she said, “My brother, he is in prison,” then she just skipped away and started drawing on the chalkboard. We played more, and then took the kids back home in the van with no windows. The kids were generally good about staying in the seats but one of the tiny ones scared the daylights out of me because she got out of someone’s lap and was walking right next to the window. The girl (who could have easily been mistaken as a boy because she wore her brother’s hand-me-downs) is probably three years old. I just about had a heart attack. When we got back to the center, I helped Karen and Alicia prep for a church meeting that I was lucky enough to eavesdrop on while I washed the dishes. I heard 3 fire trucks tonight. |
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| Dr. Scholten (Lorraina): One of the women who taught me how to advocate for myself and advocate for others. |
