From the Editor M. Jacqui Lambert
I want to read and share stories that are written by those who understand the deep culture of rural Alaska. Producing The Qargi Zine is my way for creating a space for all of us to do just that. The Qargi, for our ancestors, was a place where the community expressed itself. The Zine is a new place, a new way, for the community to express itself today. We come from a place of beauty and we lead our lives with some sort of creativity that should be celebrated and showcased in something like this. Something that is tangible and can last for years, to easily land in the hands of the next generation. This is a way of sustaining our culture.
Kathleen Jaycox Stephen Bolen Mason Evans Don Henry Brianna Triplett Penny Schaeffer Gabe Tegoseak Victoria Drexel Kaylene Evans Paulette Schuerch Hannah Atkinson Maija Lukin Tiffany Creed Tim Argetsinger Agnik Schaeffer Denali Whiting
06 A Surviving Language 07 Practic Inupiaq On Your iPhone 11 Pages for Feburary 12 My Museum Memoir 14 Run 22 Somewhere Only We Know 24 Story Time with Penny 28 Women of Summer 29 I am From 30 Caribou Soup Recipe 34 Natives on Sound Cloud 35 Religious Tug of War 40 How to Fillet a Salmon 42 For Eva 44 301 Shore Avenue 46 Interview with Rachel Adams
Iñupiaq: A
Surviving Langauge
Uqaqsiutitaun - Telephone Uqaqsiutitautikun uqqaaġiqatigisukkaatin - Telephone call for you Atugaksratlaviyu phone book-an? - Can I borrow your phone book? Kuukpiaksraġniaqtuŋa - I am going to get a cup of coffee Kuukpiaġukpich? - Would you like a coffee? Suuyutuġupich? - Would you like tea? Miluŋmik naaqaa avumik? - Cream or sugar? Kuukpiallaaġuktuŋa - I want another cup of coffee Katimaniaqtugut ____ łaakpan uvlaapak - We are meeting at ____ this morning Katimanaqsiruq - It is time for the meeting Katimaniaqtuŋa uvlaapak - I will be in a meeting all morning Ikayaġnapich? - Do you need help? E-mail lan savakpa? - Is your email working? Fax numb-aq piqaqpiuŋ? - Do you have the fax number? Qanniqtuksrauvisa suuranik? - Do we need to make an order for supplies? Sakuuktuŋa uvlupak - I am very busy today Iḷisaġniaqtuŋa uvluq naalugu - I will be in training all day Suniaqpich aiḷiñaqsikpan? - What are you doing for break/lunch? Qakugun savaguiġñiaqpich? - What time will you be leaving the office? Tuuliuqsinniaqtuŋa - I am going to be late
Work Phrases
Nikaitchuat Inupiaq Phrase Book
Download the app Quizlet onto your iPhone
Type in “igluguqiqi” into the search bar. You will see the user and picture show up.
Sign up for the app. You can do it through gmail, Facebook, or regularly.
When this shows up, click on a study set. Emotions, Places, Post Bases, etc.
When you’re signed up, hit the search button in the far right corner.
After you clicked that, click the three dots that are in the far right corner.
Click “users” under the search bar, on the right side.
This screen will pop up. Click “Add to Folder.”
Click “Create a new folder” next.
Click Folders at the bottom middle of the app. Click your new Folder Name. Then the set name.
Name the folder whatever you want. Then click “Save” in the top right corner.
Here’s what pops up when you click “Cards” on the top left button. Click the card to show Inupiaq.
This screen will pop up next. Click “Done” in the far right corner”
When you click “learn” on the middle button, you’ll see this.
Helpful tip! Download the “Achagat” application to use Inupiaq fonts while using the “learn” section of the Quizlet app.
You did it! Now do steps 4-11 for the other sets if you want to.
Play a matching game by clicking the right button, “match”
A PLAYLIST FOR THE TRAIL
Jamaica Running The Pool
Pursuit of Happiness Kid Cudi
The Thrill Wiz Khalifa
Mo Free Mo Fallin The White Panda
We Will Walk Matisyahu
Valkyrie Missile Angels and Airwaves
Outside Childish Gambino
Let It Out Girl Talk
Angel On My Shoulder Kaskade
Photo: Kathleen Jaycox
Pages for February Stephen D. Bolen Inextricable, this blustery cool night, Forbade to die, iron-sights, as if not a grade on site, Though a camber denies my right, To breathe surfeit light. Cast in indecent "how are you's" passers-by. It's apparent winter fills this meadow, Pollen and mold not bothering me, How can I live and not feel; Candid rise of a smile's despair.
It's dear to worry—I, cumbersome, May not see March. Only know that the sunlight will be back, Must affection have me again. When lain, another's spine, fingertips frozen meeting mine; May it take anything to get passed this February.
Photo: Adrian Scott
By Igluguq Jacqui Lambert
http://kotzpdweb.tripod.com/kotzpics1.html The old NANA Museum of the Arctic, built in the 1970s, seemed a little out of date in the early 2000s. It was like I stepped back in time whenever I arrived.
There was always an ongoing open conversation between everyone. A lot of laughter came out of the main office. A door opposite side of the window led to what we called the cave. It was the cool place to hang The main door was lopsided so you out. Kids sat in there to hold hands had to slam it closed. The light mostly or talk on the phone with their short comes from showcases so you have lived boyfriend or girlfriend, to adjust your eyes after coming in because it was so dark. This was from the bright summer day. The the place for secrets. museum smelled like hard bottom mukluks, which are made from seals. The cave leads to the main stage of You can also smell a hint of walrus the auditorium. Still to this day, the hide coming from the blankets. During auditorium seems like the biggest lunch break though, it smells like the place in the world to me. Bleachers best Chinese-American food in town. split the place in half with land animals on one side and water The main office had a laid back feel to animals on the other. Scenery is it while performers waited on the next painted on the walls to make you flight or bus of tourists. There was feel like you’re outside. Animals are one little window in the corner and it life size because they’re taxidermy. was usually bright enough outside to Behind the stage is a huge fake keep the lights off. mountain with goats on it. Drummers usually tightened their drum skins or taped their broken sticks. So every once in a while, you can hear a drumbeat to make sure it sounds right. Dancers were out of their regalia so you usually had to step around mukluks and atikluks to get around the room. No one seemed to like cubbies.
Between shows, we used to turn out the lights and see who can sit alone in the middle for the longest time. I used to be scared but as I got older, I usually found myself here for the free space. If I close my eyes now, I can just imagine being a little kid in my second home away from home. The old NANA Museum
of the Arctic not only gave me a safe place to spend my summer days as a child, but it gave me a sense of pride and ownership in my Inupiaq heritage. My family never had a lot of money to live the subsistence lifestyle, so I got in tune with my culture at the museum. When the tourists arrived, a few of us young girls would follow an older teenager to the main entrance where we greeted everyone. We loved to pose for disposable cameras in hopes of getting some cash out of it. Between shows, we would curl each other’s long, straight, and black hair. Sometimes the older girls would allow us to wear some of their make-up. We stood pretty for strangers until they all got into the auditorium. The older teenager went to introduce themselves and the show. The show starts out with a diorama and a short film about our region. The video talks about our long history to this land and how we subsist all year around.
“We pass down our culture from generation to generation.” An old man says to narrate. This always caught my attention because I always wondered what it meant. At the museum, we always heard talk about passing down these dances through generations. I didn’t realize back then that it meant a lot that I was learning as a young girl so I can teach other younger kids as I get older. To keep the dances alive. After the slideshow, the lights turned out and a long show of the animals came next. They held a spotlight over animals and described what they’re useful for as tourists sit in a big dark room to learn. Sometimes animal noises would come on. The show got interesting for us performers when it went into storytelling. They started out with a story about a big mouse. “I am big! I am big!” A man’s voice roars over the speakers to fill the auditorium. One of the performers has a mouse shaped mask on and they are holding their arms in flex position above their head. “I am so big that my back touches the sky and my belly touches the Earth.” The story goes on to explain that eventually he realizes that he’s just a small mouse under a seal skin hide. It was told to children to remind them to be humble. Humility is a very important value in our daily Inupiaq lives. I learned that through having summer fun and acting out this story for tourists.
tourists. A couple of us carried the blanket, which smelled like walrus hide, to the center of the floor. My stomach tickled with excitement to be thrown back into the air again. Nervous laugher filled the air when they practiced with a bucket filled with gravel. The leader taught them simple Inupiaq to follow instructions — Atausiq. Malguk. Pinasut. Ki! One. Two. Three. Go! Before I knew it, they called me up. A couple people let go with one hand while I stepped on to get a huge whiff of the walrus hide again — a smell I still comfortably cling to the rare moments it comes around. My calf muscles relaxed. Then my shoulders and finally my stomach. Over the silence I can barely hear a couple tourists comment about their anxiety over tossing me into the air. I let out a big breath and told them that I love to fly. Atausiq. The blanket seemed to breathe right along with me. Malguk. My focus relied on the fake mountain straight across. Suddenly, I couldn’t hear anyone besides the breath of the blanket and the voice of our leader. Pinasut.
The next story tells about the Eagle mother and how she started gatherings in the Qargi, the community house. She does all the planning a woman would do for a get together. There’s cooking and invitations involved, followed by everyone finally showing up. This is when we all got fox masks and walked out to dance next to the Eagle mother. Finally, we all came out as a dance group to perform for them. There are girl dances, boy dances, women and men’s dances. There are family dances. There are partner dances. All these dances tell a story and we share them with the tourists until we finish and allow them to join us. “Nalu Katak!” Our leader yelled while pushing the bleachers back at the end of the show. “Blanket toss!” We all yell back to translate for the
Chills. All over. Just waiting for that fleeing moment in the air. Ki! All at once, the crowds voices come back. My legs and core flexed to spin me into a full circle. Within that one turn, I caught a glimpse of all the animals of our region. Starting first with the mountain, going into the water, and then the land animals. Just as fast as I was in the air, I landed back on my feet to see the excitement in everyone’s eyes. They slapped the blanket and cheered me on. All the tensed muscles relaxed and I was ready to try again.
Run
by Mason Evans Run for the mountains young spirit Run home The city doesn't treat everyone the same Especially us The city knows we're not from around here It knows that we don't fit the standard norms And because well, we are different Our blood runs through the streams and rivers in the Arctic north west Not through the power lines that are planted down every street road Our brain and instincts have taught us how to survive by living in part of the world that no settlers didn't think was possible Not through cable boxes that lie in every household living room Our foundation is within the tundra, layers and layers of permafrost that has been frozen for thousands of years Our roots keep us grounded, stable, reliable And not through living by the use of smart phones that change every 12 months Run home young spirit Know that Mother Nature herself will protect you She will wrap you up in valleys and spoil you with your favorite wild berries Run home young spirit Know that the land, mountains, lakes, and animals will be able to tell you more stories than your college textbook Know that thousands of years are exhaled through every breath, wisdom escapes your lungs on the daily Run home young spirit Know that your language is an endangered species, slowly losing its weight in the world But it doesn't mean we will stand quiet Our voice together as one has proved us unmovable Run home young spirit Know that your lineage cant be able to be traced back by paperwork Yet it will be illuminated in stories by your elders Know that their tales are painted across the night sky in blue, green, red, everlasting colors that is awed by the rest of the world Run home young spirit Know that the northern lights are messages from your ancestors Know that they dance for you They are here to heal you whenever you feel like you're lost They are your map in the night sky Follow them young spirit Run home
My name is Brianna Triplett and I am a Junior at the University of Alaska Anchorage pursuing a Bachelor of Science, majoring in Natural Science with minors in Chemistry and Psychology. It wasn't until just recently that I’ve figured out college. I have always fancied the idea of becoming a doctor but never believed it was a possibility for me. I was afraid of failing. I wasn’t even aware of how to begin chasing a dream so big. There are five main components that I’ve learned along my journey that contribute to how you can affectively achieve your goals: perspective, purpose, community, failure and perseverance.
The odds are never in our favor if you consider the statistics on Alaska Native students pursuing higher education…or are they? In 2014, roughly 12% of American Indian and Alaska Natives have attained a bachelor’s degree. The percentage drops to 7% when considering a graduate or professional degree. Now, we can consider these statistics discouraging, or we can see them as an inspiration to make a difference and bring something new to the table. Redrawing your perspective to see the light in every situation can make your goals less overwhelming. We all have something to bring to the table and we must become our own advocate in order to make the difference we envision for our future.
Having a purpose as to why you want to reach your goals provide you with direction and meaning. If you need a little reminder of why you are working through the difficult times, take a moment to sit down and write a mission statement you can live by everyday. Knowing why you are working through the obstacles prevent you from giving up when things get difficult.
Take a look around you. Are you surrounding yourself with others who encourage you or have same goals? You may have heard this before but I’m going to tell you again, you are who you hang out with. Surround yourself with individuals you look up to and who inspire you. When you have feelings of doubt, don’t be afraid to ask for guidance or someone to listen to the struggles you’ve been facing. In order to achieve your goal, big or small, you need support. Most importantly support from yourself. Give yourself grace. Maybe you’ve been chasing your dream for quite some time and haven’t achieved it yet. Consider all of the challenging obstacles that you’ve overcome. Sometimes it’s not about the overarching goal but the milestones you’ve accomplished along the way as well.
Failing sucks. I’m not sure how else to put it. It can be unavoidable no matter how much effort you’ve put in. It can be the defining factor in what determines your choices for the future. Failure creates uncertainty. Sometimes though, failure is needed in order to learn more about yourself and how strong you actually are. In order to overcome failure you have to redraw your perspective and define that moment as a learning opportunity in order to do better next time. If you feel like giving up, reflect on your purpose of why you’re pursuing your goal and surround yourself with others who encourage you and support you.
Sometimes goals take longer than expected or there are obstacles that come up that seem unbearable. Having the courage to fight through the difficult times even while in doubt is the difference in individuals who achieve their goals and those who do not. Some dreams may seem daunting and well out of reach. It’s important that you work towards your goal every day. Set a small goal each day that will get you one step closer to the end result.
References 1. http://factfinder.census.gov/faces/tableservices/jsf/pages/productview.xhtml?src=bkmk 2. https://www.aamc.org/download/321472/data/factstablea8.pdf
I look for you under the sheets Where you were always safe I look for you in the coffee Where you were always comforted I look for you in the music Where you were always yourself And I look for you in my writing Where you were always creative I look for you in the birds Where you were always wishing to be I look for you in the class Where you were always meant to be I find you in my heart ache I find you in my pain I find you in my sorrow And I find you in my brain -Jacqui
i keep trying to find a pretty way to put it into words find a way to share it with everyone but i can't get anything out that makes sense i liken it to a dream that slips away within seconds of waking up you remember it and you're holding onto the memory as hard as possible but as soon as you open your eyes to your blanket and your sideways view of life makes you forget the beauty almost instantly so i'm left here trying to explain why this dream is even worth listening to cause we all know we stop listening to people share dreams almost thirty seconds in whose dream do you remember? besides your own i mean -Jacqui
“I feel SO bad for you Eskimos!! Being put into corporations in Alaska..” a big Native American guy said to me once during a lunch break at a historical symposium. I was invited as a youth trainee in film production to collect oral histories of the Indigenous Peoples’ movement since 1977. To begin the project, we met up with a group of first delegates at the United Nations in Geneva, Switzerland. The Arctic Region was represented by little ol’ Eskimo me. “Well, I was thinking the same thing about Indians and reservations. I’m glad that we still own our home land and the corporations provide us with jobs left and right.” I proudly stood up for myself. Suddenly the table fell silent. It was then that I realized how underrepresented my heritage was, even at a conference specifically oriented for the Indigenous Peoples. Here I was, all 5’3 of me with my pride in being an Inupiaq Eskimo woman from Northwest Alaska, staring at the stoic faces of well-grown Indian men. We were supposed to be coming together as “one people” but in this moment, I couldn’t feel more secluded and out-numbered once again.
If I were to re-create the Ilitqusiat and add new values specific to my self and my generation, the first one that comes to mind is resilience. Moments like this one at the symposium happen a lot; people give me their undivided attention and pressure me into being the sole face of the Eskimos. They want me to tell them exactly what it’s like to be one. More often than not, people have stereotypical ways of putting me down and discouraging me from taking pride in my own culture. I’ve had to learn how to approach the world with resilience to their plain ignorance. If Americans don’t mention polar bears, they will ask about Sarah Palin first. If they hear that I’m from just above the Arctic Circle, they’ll look at me with confused eyes and ask again where that is. When I tell them that I’m an Eskimo, Americans will ask if English is my second language. When they go into further conversations about Alaska with me, they ask me why the United States even bought our land in the first place. They ask if I live in igloos and sod houses, or if we really raise families in the broken down homes filmed in documentaries. Americans want to know how I can have the heart in me to take pride in a culture that kills animals to wear their fur. They bluntly ask me how I was capable of leaving my community because “like, isn’t that basically unheard of or something?”
By Jacqui Lambert Try as I may, nothing that I share can hold a candle to the true definition of what it’s like to be an Eskimo. It takes a variety of perspectives from across the Circumpolar Arctic to answer their simple questions of what it means to be Inuit. And when I get to the very bottom of our traditional culture within the subsistence lifestyle and spiritual dancing, there is an even deeper culture within us that’s unexplainable. The biggest thing most Americans believe about Natives is that we are not normal human beings just like they are. But we do watch the same soap operas, visit the same websites and obsess over the same celebrities. The money in our wallet is American currency, we don’t need a passport to visit the contiguous states, and our educational system is exactly the same. In fact, my generation has almost fully adapted to the Western culture while losing touch with the Inupiaq culture. What I am trying to get through to you today is the fact that we have become so oppressed by the influence of America in the past 55 years of statehood that we are forgetting who we truly are. I am worried that if we don’t take the responsibility in gaining and sharing our cultural knowledge, it will soon slip through our fingers. Taking complete control over preserving our tradition is more simple than attending meetings, liking an online resource or buying an Inupiaq Rosetta Stone CD. What we need to do–as a collectivistic community–is lead by example and teach the younger generations how to wipe away any shame they have in being a Native. We need to show that there is a lot of pride to be had when it comes to being Inupiaq Eskimo. We must teach them about our culture so they can always be prepared to share it when they leave home. Because if we don’t, then who will?
It was early autumn and family and I decided to take a ride up the Little Noatak River in Northwest Alaska in my brother-inlaw Doug's tiny fishing boat. We rode through the Kotzebue Sound until we reached the winding river and parked near a high, crudely made plywood dock. We spent the day scaling what I named Suicide Hill and ate sweet fall berries. After I picked a handful of blueberries, we decided it was time to leave and headed towards the boat. As I started walking onto the "dock" and prepared for my graceful leap onto the bow of the boat, I heard a loud crack and started falling for what seemed like an eternity. My sister said she witnessed the exact "Oh nuts!!" moment on my face when the board broke, and the quick acceptance of my fate as I plummeted to my doom. Luckily, my survival instincts kicked in and I used my head to break my fall. I laid there for a while and opened my eyes to see a number of cartoon stars flying about. I could hear my sister yell "Did you break anything?" I croaked what I thought were my last words, "Just the berries." I stood up and dusted myself off; the only damage done was to my sisters underoos from her fits of uncontrollable laughter. Once we were all in the boat, the sound of the boat engine sputtering and eventually wheezing meant we were most likely stranded. As our fearless leader worked on the engine, the rest of us took inventory of our food rations. We had a bottle of water and some meat sticks. My sister found two-year-old old Rex's SpongeBob survival backpack and looked at the contents: 1 stuffed Cookie Monster, 1 hairbrush, and 1 plastic Elmo. We were saved. However, our celebration was short lived, as the roar of a working engine meant we were on our way back home. Another successful family outing in the books! -Penny Schaeffer
ajsquiltsncrafts@gmail.com
Photo: Gabe Tegoseak
By Victoria Drexel
A softball cracks off the top of an aluminum bat and the home team dugout erupts in cheers. "Run, run, run!" They yell, smacking the rusted chain link fence with the backs of their worn leather mitts. The hit is no better than an average infield pop fly, but it catches a gust of cold wind which drags it to the outfield. The runner rounds first, sneakers struggling to find friction on the loose sand. The center outfielder, a girl just old enough to play in the adult league, loses the slow moving ball in the light. She tries to squint it away. It’s nearly midnight, but this is Alaska, thirty miles above the Arctic Circle-- the sun is everywhere. A stocky, elder woman with lines tattooed down each side of her chin, sits on the cold, crowded bleachers. She follows the ball with her eyes while toddlers in atikluks play around her feet. No one is wasting the rare summer sunlight sleeping. Work, for those who have it, can be done during the nine months of darkness. Now, there is softball. The ball hangs in the light for a moment. The girl knows an embarrassing miss will be the butt of jokes around Kotzebue by the end of the game. If it were a really embarrassing maneuver, the story might even travel further north, by boat, to the villages along the Noatak River, or east along the Kobuk. She takes two steps back, letting the ball fall in front of her and easily fields it back to the second basewoman. The elder woman silently raises her eyebrows, giving her approval. "Slide!" "Slide!" The home team yells to the runner from their dugout. Standing protectively over the base, the second basewoman catches the ball in the webbing of her glove. The runner hits the ground, her foot reaching out, her body purposely low on the sand, and she is engulfed in dry dust. The outfielder watches as the dust settles. The untethered bag has been kicked out from under the basewoman's foot, almost to the outfield, although it’s hard to tell where the outfield begins on the grassless field. The runner is left stranded. This is an added element to the game when playing in an arctic sandlot. The ump calls the runner safe. The second basewoman instantly throws her glove to the ground and yells for the ump to change the call. Players from the home team dugout shout back. A man watching the play from his ATV parked behind home plate drives off, complaining of the call. The girl runs back to her spot in the outfield, unnoticed by either team, her throw already overshadowed by the call. The elder woman settles back in her seat.
By Kaylene Evans I belong to my people. I belong to Shishmaref and Kiana Even though I am equally Iñupiaq and American I am so full of western knowledge it is killing me. Figuratively now, yet I know when it was all too true I know of the assimilation school that was my Alma Mater. I have heard the stories from elders’ mouths. Mouths that were smacked when any utterance Other than English rolled off their tongue Mouths that quivered in fear of the hurt imposed on us Mouths that were silenced. Some still silenced. Some speaking, yet in a different tongue Some internalizing the colonizers words Savage, I hear people say Laughing, now this isn’t our cultural value of humor Seal calling in the hallway doesn’t show your hunter success Changing annunciation and syntax, that is not how we respect our elders How many people live by the our traditional values, How many can even name them? There is a disconnect from reality, always hoping for better The bullshit American Dream that disturbed the reality of the Natives Destroy to replace is the nation anthem Developing, barely completing an Environmental Impact Report Where the fuck is the Cultural Impact Report? Oh there are mouths of many kinds. There are many today that still smile For these mouths have been fed by the land, These mouths have etched lines on their face, Forever portraying their happy, loving life As if onto baleen art It is in resilience that they survive That we survive The Arctic’s negative temperatures and snowstorms Weathered us to be strong We knew of unity before the goddamn States ever did Responsibility to tribe. Knowledge of family tree. Sharing. Cooperation. Resolution of conflict. We lived by these, Our way of being civilized Loving and caring for our people and our land. Some may call us savage, As an etymology lesson: It is from Late Latin, salvaticus means “of the woods” And as geography lesson, There aren’t trees in my subarctic community. We are of the land, Inupiaq, The real people- by translation
By Paulette Schuerch
Caribou 4 handfuls (if your Mom didn’t send enough caribou less is okay) Cut your caribou into 1 inch pieces and coat with beef stew packet in medium bowl, heat your pot and add olive oil. When hot, sear caribou pieces until fully brown to lock in all the juices. Once the caribou looks like it is done add a couple courts of water or fill ¾ of the way up. Make sure you have caribou fat for flavor. (Boil for an hour) Carrots, Celery & Onions 2 handfuls each, however you may use half a large onion or one small onion. You should cut them about a ¼ inch thick and be consistent so it can cook evenly. (Add to your pot about 15 minutes into boiling) Once it comes to boil reduce heat to a rolling boil, that’s about medium heat. Stewed Tomatoes 1 can Del Monte or Hunts is best, however if you are still in college or shopping at AC than you can purchase those cheap generic type (not much flavor but will still do the trick). Flavored such as Italian is great (more spices) Cabbage ½ a small head shredded. No you don’t pull out the cheese shredder; you cut your cabbage in half and slice very thinly and cook until translucent (there’s that darn word again). This is a much laid back recipe and after about an hour and a half you will have some of the best caribou soup you ever tasted. Always smile and dance a little while cooking, if you cuss or you are in a bad mood this won’t turn out at all. Happy Cooks make happy delicious food. Variations You can use various kinds of meat, it is fine if you use Moose (which I don’t like because it’s tough and taste too gamey for my taste buds). If you don’t have access to game meat you can use beef too. This is also good with corned beef as well; no, not from a can, you buy it at Fred Meyers or Costco and boil it whole for about four hours than cut into bite size pieces and follow the instructions above. If you have Caribou Heart and Tongue it’s even more amazing. Use 1 heart and 2 tongues! If you are in the city Beef tongue is good too, but that’s only if you are very home sick and have no other tongue to cook. If you prefer your soup to be comfort soup and hearty rather than healthy omit the cabbage and substitute the cabbage with a hand full of rice and potatoes (cut into pieces of course), two handfuls of macaroni and a handful of spaghetti broken in quarters in the last 20 minutes Traditional Eskimo way If you are out in the country caribou hunting in the fall, boil your caribou with river water, add onions and cook for about an hour than add rice. That’s all we had a long time ago and you can find a lot of people in our villages cooking it like that. Don’t use as much water so it can be tastier. You don’t have many fresh veggies in the villages so this is your typical soup you eat more than you’d like throughout the year. If you have bones or ribs use that too, it gives it a lot of flavor and the patiq (marrow) is great!
Photo: Maija Lukin
My favorite time to go hunting used to be Labor Day weekend on the Kobuk River. However with climate change and transporter hunters we now have to wait until a week or two after that. It’s very expensive to pay for gas to travel from Kotzebue to Onion Portage on the Upper Kobuk area. In the fall of 2011 when I returned back to the Region after being gone for six years I had to hitch hike to go hunting… literally! My friends Guy, Allen, Daniel and Juanita brought Adrian and I to Noorvik in a boat. I waited at my Aunt Nunga’s for her to get off of work than she, my Uncle Verne and I left for the Upper Kobuk . We spent the entire weekend hunting and drinking wine! You should see my new wine glasses that my friend Bea made for me; she glued stems to mason jars so now I won’t spill a drop! Once our hunting weekend was over we traveled down river to Martha Wells’ camp (she’s one of my many Aana’s) and visited Tommy and his family. A couple of boats from Noorvik and Kotzebue came by to see how our hunting went and how many we caught. They were short on gas so I offered them some if they can take me home. We transferred my caribou into Martha and Gary’s boat and they drove me to Noorvik, once there we transferred them to Pakik and Kim’s boat and they brought Adrian and I back to Kotzebue! That was the best hunting trip ever! Well, almost! I took my daughter Jacqui and son Ned hunting when they were pretty young and Jacqui in all her brilliance asked if we could just shoot the fox running on the river bank so we can just go home after being out all day having no luck at getting a caribou! Once you have made this several times you won’t have to look at this recipe again, it will soon come natural to you. If by chance you don’t like it, just rip out this recipe from the book and throw it away or use a red pen and write… she lied, it’s not the best! Remember all recipes are guides only; you can omit and/or change up anything. You can use your own spices rather than the beef stew packet! If you don’t have all ingredients in your refrigerator use what you have, I added zucchini and it was great. Happy Cooking and always remember happy cooks make happy food, happy food makes happy families and like my Papa told me in the 2nd grade “COOKS DON’T WASH DISHES!”
-Anonymous
When I was a kid, my church’s youth group held a craft car race and sold small wooden car kits for $5 each. In elementary school, one of my immersion teachers taught our class how to carve soap stone, so I figured I could carve the car kit with the tools my Aapa had. I took my kit to my grandparents after leaving the church and when I was looking for a file in my grandpa's tool box, my uncle found me, and offered a helping hand. He used a power tool to cut the shape into a sedan the way I wanted. My car was the only one realistically shaped from the blocks we were given and I painted it glittered royal blue with flames scorching the hood. I even had a cute little spoiler. I got second place because my wheels weren't glued in leveled, but I'm sure I could have placed better if they had been. I was proud of our project together and more importantly; this was a fond memory I have with a male figure in my life, as I had known no father. When I was away in boarding school, this same uncle would call, but from a jail cell. He was there for years for heinous crimes that I didn't know about until after I graduated. I remember him for being comforting and encouraging through difficult times in my adolescence. My (foster) parents, mom, one of my brothers and my uncle were the only people who called while I was away from home. After I found out about his crimes, my perspective of him did not waver much. When I saw him on the streets of Anchorage, panhandling, I not only saw a man who lost his mental capacity to function in society after a long period of incarceration, I also saw the person who would tell me to do well in school. I saw the person who told me he loved me. I saw the male figure that helped me craft a project for an event I wanted to win. Then I saw him on Facebook, notorious for holding a "need weed" sign in the midtown area, not just from one person, but from many who found
entertainment in the blatant truth of his cardboard sign request. I helped him in the modest way that I could. I worried for him. I cried and felt desperately confused when he would show up to my workplace. I took a day off of work to help him gather what he needed to travel back to our hometown, necessities like an ID, food, clothes and a phone to reach him at when he had a plane ticket secured. I listened to his voicemail when he called to talk to someone, anyone, after he woke up from his bum camp being attacked (the homeless and their camps are often harassed). That afternoon, I attended my managerial communications course, where I was prompted a class debate on whether homelessness was a real issue, and I had been assigned the opposing side claiming that it wasn’t, the irony was uncanny. (This class assignment was an exercise to examine the rhetoric used in the opposing side of social issues.) With the effort of willing family members, we were able to get him home. Then I heard about his return to Anchorage from an aunt working on the same floor as I. Then again, from a human resources coordinator, who identified him on camera when he aggressively reached for a security guard. Now I see him in the streets again and also on Facebook, ridiculed. One day he called from a soup kitchen, leaving voicemails on my work phone. I’m not sure what he was looking for in talking to me but I didn’t have it in me to offer help again. Like all of my family before, I had to create a buffer and remember that my family’s problems are not mine and I am not responsible to help them - Advice given to me by a behavior health specialist. I see a lot of criticism on public Facebook pages about how panhandlers should work if they wanted money. Reverberating that if they wanted a home, they should work to purchase one. There are endless ways to tell someone
what panhandlers should do. I have never seen the critics giving realistic and constructive input nor have they done so with compassion. How are these men supposed to compete in a society when not too long ago they were plucked from the threshold of colonization? They are a byproduct of assimilation and cannot help what has happened to them all too quickly. How are men on the streets supposed to be productive members of society when behavioral and mental health interventions are overcrowded and underfunded? How are the homeless supposed to purchase homes having no strong employment history because they do not have the skill level necessary for the jobs that are not available? How are Alaskans supposed to sustain their lifestyle if Fortune 500 companies are cutting jobs to support their profit margins? How is the state supposed to sustain a deficit when they are cutting taxes on their primary resource? How can anything be financially achievable when our economy is dependent on the decisions made in OPEC nations? How can a nation a world away from our own empathize when their region of the world is familiar to greater hardships than those that our society suffers?
drunks, holy rollers, and manipulators. I am the descendant of the middle school and elementary stunted education. I am the same. And yet, I have become more, as my past life has met my current one. I am also the same blood of the survivor and the resilient; I am the child who continues on to secondary education. I am called beautiful, smart, sophisticated, when at a child I was called worthless. I am both shaken and empowered by the words directed at me as a child: “You won’t amount to anything.” What I have taken from this entire experience is that I have to remember where I have come from and honor my past and ancestors by representing them earnestly in the way I live my life now… of what I concern myself with. I have to ascend from my ego and societal prejudices and develop a critical analysis of what my life and my blood truly means to me. My only logical reduction has been to adopt an inclusive perception.
Some people chose their lifestyle and some chose not to help themselves. Some people have given their entire lives for the betterment of others less fortunate. We have been given the undeserved grace to choose and we have certainly evolved to a point in which we should. People need to understand that empathy, forgiveness, compassion and humanity are not My family is definitive to my self-perspective. I just words; they are words with applied am from the same blood of the homeless; I meaning. People should not just be concerned by am of the same victims of abuse, rape, incest, the way we treat and think of others, people are of the women who weeps because she loses obligated with certainty to be so concerned, as her culture, untreated PTSD and mental you have been so graciously given a conscious. deficits. I am also the same blood of Inclusive thoughts begin with our attitude of offenders, rapist, abusers, meth addicts, others, collectively; they create the standards of ethics in society. We change and help others by our own beliefs, and when we hold them unwavered at the interest of all, we help humanity. After all, a society is like a chain, as strong as its weakest link.
Religious Tug of War: Quaker Missionaries vs. Inupiaq Women in the early 1900s By Hannah Atkinson
“We talk about club rules and Mrs. Kagoona want us to all try to be pure in our lives and to help all the other women to be pure too. We all stand up to tell that we want that for a club rule.” Stumbling across a document recording the minutes of a Kotzebue Women’s Club Meeting I was not surprised that the secretary summarized a discussion of purity. Northwest Alaska, with Kotzebue at its center, has one of the highest concentrations of Quaker Christians in the nation. Then I saw the date. Lula Young, the secretary of the Kotzebue Women’s club, posted the script on February 16, 1915. What did Lula Young think of purity? The Inupiaq of Kotzebue Sound had
lived for roughly 10,000 years with a unique spirituality related to their lifestyle of living off the land. In 1915 Christianity was a new arrival in the ancient land. More than a century later, the Quaker conversion of Northwest Alaska is thought of as a rupture. It is thought of as a time when the old Inupiaq way of life ended and Christianity replaced it. Ernest Burch examined the Quaker conversion in a 1994 piece, “The Christianization of Inupiat in Northwest Alaska.” He suggests that Quaker religion took root because it allowed the Native people of the region to make Christianity their own, and to carry that message to other Natives. By focusing on the
records of conversions and official reports, Burch does not tell the story of the female missionaries or female Inupiaq converts, like Lula Young and the Kotzebue Women’s Club. Because of this, stories about the lived religious experience of 20th century Inupiaq people, or how the religion was practiced day-to-day and in the homes, have yet to be told. Evidence from the everyday lives of women suggests that the Inupiaq people of Kotzebue Sound mixed traditional belief with Christian beliefs to make a new religion. As Burch tells the history, the Christianization in Northwest Alaska began in 1885 when the missionary Sheldon Jackson became General Agent of Education in Alaska. Jackson set the
tone for missionary work with the “In actuality it was Anna Hunnicutt native populations, which was to who prompted the mission at Kotzebue civilize the Eskimos with English Sound. She was highly motivated by the literacy, cleanliness, industry, and Quaker Women’s Foreign Missionary Society, Christianity. With Covenants, an organization determined to spread the Congregationalists, Episcopals, and word of god to women in foreign countries, Presbyterians traveling throughout for they believed if you successfully the Arctic as early as 1887, there converted women, you would also be were still no significant numbers of converts in Kotzebue Sound by reaching the future generations born by 1890 (Burch, 1994). those women (Society of Friends, 1895).” Burch suggests that the major shift in the region began with the Inupiaq convert Uyaraq. Uyaraq came from a community south of Kotzebue Sound. Along with the by explorers and whaling crews in the was none. Burch focuses on Robert Samms’ area (alcoholism and overhunting). Covenant missionary David missionary work in Northwest Alaska. In Although the missionaries in Johnson, Uyaraq attended Qatnut, a actuality it was Anna Hunnicutt who Northwest Alaska prior to 1897 were large trade-fair drawing Inupiaq, prompted the mission at Kotzebue not successful in converting people, Yupik, and Siberian Natives to they laid the groundwork for religious Sound. She was highly motivated by the Kotzebue Sound in 1896. Here, change. Most importantly, the Inupiaq Quaker Women’s Foreign Missionary Uyuraq spread the gospel to the Society, an organization determined to worldview was one that was not approximately 1,000 attendants. spread the word of god to women in exclusive, so that Inupiaq people could Uyaraq knew to use the trade fair to foreign countries, for they believed if reach a larger audience. The natives continue to hold animistic beliefs as you successfully converted women, you well as Christianity if they thought the present at Qatnut 1896 were so impressed that they requested that a beliefs to be pragmatic (Burch, 1994). would also be reaching the future generations born by those women Burch talks about two ways mission be established in Kotzebue immediately. According to Burch’s that Inupiaq people kept their Inupiaq (Society of Friends, 1895). After the mission was founded by AnnaHunnicutt, worldview while also accepting account, the Quakers Anna Christianity. First, the Inupiat adapted Robert Samms, and Carrie Samms, the Hunnicutt, Carrie, and Robert educator, missionary, and nurse, Martha Samms answered the call (1994). the meanings of their traditions to be Hadley joined the group (Good, 2005). The mission was established expressed through Christian symbols. Women dominated the Kotzebue Sound Second, the Inupiat created a fusion of in 1897 on Kotzebue Sound in the Mission in 1898, and they followed the location of the annual summer trade Quaker and Inupiaq traditions: a new principles of the Quaker Women’s Inupiaq Quaker religion (Gualtieri, fair. This was the founding of the Foreign Missionary Society. All of this 1984). (Burch, 1994, pp. 17). In this town of Kotzebue, which is the provided the context in which the way, Inupiaq people carried on some modern day hub of the region. By Kotzebue Women’s Club sat down on of their traditional practices while 1902 there were 100 official believing in God and Christian ideals February 16th, 1915 to sing hymns, offer converts and even more unrecorded prayer, teach from the bible, and discuss converts. In 1908, Christianity had of good and bad. Burch credited Robert Samms, the rules of the club. The meeting spread from the Kotzebue Sound to minutes of the Kotzebue Women’s Club the Colville River more than 100 the Quaker missionary, and Uyaraq with remarkable abilities: “ Uyaraq and is an example of the way religion was miles NE of Kotzebue Sound the Samms had an uncanny ability to expressed in every day life. Events (Burch, 1994). turn the Inupiaq definition of the documented in the minutes capture a There were several issues of unique moment where a new religious timing and worldview that created a situation to Christian advantage by interpreting traditional beliefs and practice was being created based on context in which Natives believed traditional and Christian beliefs. the messages that Uyaraq and the practices in ways that made sense in terms of both religions” (1994, pp. 16). In one summarization by Lula western missionaries spread. At this Young, the women of the club thanked time the Inupiat were in a crisis in At times they even created the illusion of Inupiaq Quaker tradition where there Mrs. Ahnemaynuk and Mrs. Kootcok for part because of the changes caused
cleaning Mrs. Tulacooksiok’s house when her son died. Traditionally, when someone dies in the house the family evacuates the house immediately leaving the body and most of the things around it at the time in the house. When the women discussed the death of Mrs. Toolacooksiok’s son and the rituals that followed, they were describing their religious experience, and a mix of both traditional Inupiaq and Quaker practices. Because Inupiaq spirituality is not exclusive, Mrs. Toolacooksiok was able to follow the traditional ritual of distancing herself from the body of the deceased and the Quaker ritual of friends taking care of the family in need. In this case, Inupiaq women were forming a new religious practice from Inupiaq and Christian beliefs. The rules, agreed upon by the women of Kotzebue Women’s Club and summarized in the 1915 meeting minutes suggest that to be a better wife and mother means to adhere to strict domestic roles. They clearly define that the woman is responsible for the cleanliness of her household and family. This is an interesting parallel with the traditional Inupiaq focus on domestic roles. The division of sexes for the Inupiat was defined by clothing, style of dance, and labor. Women played an important role in subsistence, gathering, fishing, harvesting the kills of their husbands, and processing the meat. Women’s authority in the home was often noted by westerners visiting the region before the 1900s, this was something that westerners could relate to. I suggest that the female Quaker missionaries utilized the similarity between western and Inupiaq domestic roles to assign Christian meaning to everyday Inupiaq practices. Looking beyond Burch’s “Christianization of Northwest
Alaska,” we can see a story develop from the everyday lived religious experiences. Inupiaq women were converted by missionaries who allowed or promoted combining traditional beliefs with Quaker beliefs and at times inserted Christian meaning to existing Inupiaq ways of life. Developing their own expressions of Quaker Christianity, the women of Kotzebue Sound made it a goal to help other women be pure too. In 1915, the Kotzebue Women’s Club definition of purity was not replacing traditional values, it was the creation of a new religious experience.
Hannah Atkinson went to high school in Kotzebue, Alaska. She earned her bachelors in Anthropology and returned to Kotzebue where she continues her study of Inupiaq language, domestic roles, and storytelling through her everyday life in Arctic Alaska. Note: The ideas expressed in this paper are based on an analysis of two texts, Christianization of Northwest Alaska, Burch, 1994, and Kotzebue Women’s Club Meeting Minutes, Young, 1915. If there are any oral sources that can add to this history, please contact the author at hannah.atki@gmail.com. Taikuu!
“The Inupiaq of Kotzebue Sound had lived for roughly 10,000 years with a unique spirituality related to their lifestyle of living off the land. In 1915 Christianity was a new arrival in the ancient land.”
For Eva Note to the reader: This piece is dedicated to one of my professors, Eva Saulitis, who passed away this January. For more on Eva’s legacy as an Alaskan writer, teacher, and biologist, as well information about her published works, please go to www.evasaulitis.com. I have a bad memory. You’ll have to remind me of the conversations we’ve had, the presents exchanged, the names of the foreign cities I’ve been to. Times I’ve been mean. Been wrong. Did just the opposite. I’ll be surprised by how close I used to be with someone, when I find a note from them while tidying up my room. You’ll have to tell me, more than once, the rules to a card game. I’m sorry. Why don’t I just keep score instead? The name of my favorite film director, the moment when someone asks, lost. Where is it? How do you spell “maintenance”? Is it like maintain-ance? But I remember some things. A semi-areal image of where I was sitting in a class when I learned something huge. Some adage that sticks, like, “Sentimentality is making more of something than God does.” The layout of my dorm room during that semester. The swelling passenger seat. Where you were standing, where she was standing, where I was sitting. The dartboard. The dog. Times I’ve said the weird thing that no one related to, that my mom doesn’t like salad that has fruit in it, certain birthdays. I remember, “Are you sure you want it to be me?” and I remember saying yes. Or nodding. Which was it? It’s just the words, that big feeling. In my mind, an image of an apartment with no people, just furniture. Just a sheet tousled up and a duffel bag. I only remember the shape of things, and the shapes of the emotions that are churning. The details don’t come. The things I wanted to say being pulled along on a string of frustration, a still life of my apartment in Portland on the fourteenth floor, the sun right through the buildings inside a freezing May night. The ice set in like cobblestones. That wind that made the snow look like sand. Whether the feelings were expanding like pizza dough, rising up. Whether they were getting punched back down. Whether I got a shot of anxiety straight to the stomach. I can almost remember the time my sister nearly sustained a spinal injury, and how her twin brother had a panic attack even though I wasn’t even there. I can see him there, right at her feet. There’s no timeline of events for these things. There’s no transcript, no way to describe them in full; it’s just layers and layers and layers of feeling wrapped loosely around an hour. Hovering above each sentence: I know your knock. You always look clean. I’m just scared. But I’m just paraphrasing. The things I can remember of Eva are just shapes— a circle and a triangle. A thick, gray table to the right side of a room with swinging blinds hanging over long windows. The people chatting, in chairs, around it. The circle. Faces turned toward faces. The sunlight trying to bust in. The sheen of the scarf tied around her head. The fiction writer, with the mustache, I liked him, he was funny. He was there, too. What is his name? I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’ll come to me in an hour. I don’t remember what I told her. It was something about women. It may have not been about women, but it was at least a conversation between women, which is almost as good. It was about the prevalence of sexual violence in Rural Alaska? I think. Maybe. There was more.
There was a lot more. I was thinking, I have to make sure I’m listening and not lecturing. I can’t be known as the girl who lectures about Rural Alaska or I’ll lose my audience. I have to meet people where they are. Eva, though, she was safe to talk to about those things: those sunless rooms in my heart. If I needed to shed some darkness in my writing, she would read it and she might really, really get it. She would help me tackle it a little. She would honor what I had written because it was there, and it was something I had shared, not because of some measure of my aptitude or deservedness or even my attitude. Not because she believed her wisdom to be far greater than mine, but because it was there. Because someone had created it, had penned a part of their heart. She wouldn’t have been gratuitous in her advice. She may have eventually hurt my feelings if she had been my teacher longer. I need to have my feelings hurt by good people more often. I need to be told things I need to hear. She may have been eating a salad at the time. I can see a fork with weak iceberg lettuce and two shiny carrot shavings stuck on with sickly ranch dressing. Then again, everyone was always eating salad. But the shape was a triangle, thick end angled toward me. She seemed to have a talent for giving her committed attention, making you feel important for the moment, with the directional light of her listening. The triangle. She read her words under stage lights at the end of the day, in an auditorium. I was exhausted, sitting alone on purpose, and this triangle of hers made me listen for real. I had sit in on a lecture where a guest speaker talked about the large crowds Eva draws to her readings. He said, “…And this wasn’t sick Eva. This was just Eva.” The people in her crowd must have known a little something about her triangle. It must have expanded out forever. It was decided at some point that the things you remember are the important things and the things you can’t remember must not be important. When I can’t remember someone’s name, birthday, little details, I’m telling them they’re not important even when I don’t mean to. It’s just a slip of the mind, but it does matter. So I try. I try to remember more than feelings; I’ll try to remember the favorite foods of other people, just to make a little happiness or at least to help block out the neutral feelings that drag on so much. I will say, “You’re studying social work, aren’t you?” I will remember authors. Writers. Their plots and best sentences. I’ll figure out If I’ve read that one or just thought about reading it so many times that I think I might have but probably not. I’ll try to remember exactly what Eva told me and the names of her best works. I will try, though I may only succeed at pulling up an image of lying under the moon on the frozen tundra with a friend, resolving that I was going to write to Eva—to thank her for a few things I can’t remember, right when I got home.
by Tiffany Creed
Interview with Rachel Qaulluq Saġvali Adams by Polly Aġnik Schaeffer November 2015 Qikiqtaġruk, AK Uvaŋa atiġa Qaulluq. My name is Qaulluq. Aniruŋa Katyaaŋni, January 23, 1930. I was born in Kiana, January 23, 1930. Aŋayuqaaka Clara Jackson and Frank Jackson, Taisruġlu Qapuglu. My parents are Clara Jackson and Frank Jackson, Taisruk and Qapuk. Aniqatiqaqtuŋa malġuŋnik aŋutiŋnik ilaqataa aglaan piiqhuni nutuaŋaġmi. I have two siblings, male, one died at a young age Suli tallimanik sisterqaqtuŋa. Also I have five sisters. Aġnik: Kisumun atchiitruavich? Who were you named after? Atchiitruaruŋa paapaa papaŋanun, Saġvali. I was named after my dad’s dad, Saġvali. Atiqaqtuq Saġvalimik. His name was Saġvali. Ani’ammaguuq aniyuma Saġvalimik taiyuqunġitchaaŋa aglaan Qaullumik. They said when I was born he didn’t want them to call me Saġvali, but Qaulluq.
Aġnik: Iñuuniaqavich mikiavich nani qaugrivich? Where did you become conscious/ aware when you were little?
Aġnik: Taimani
naluaġmiuraaġniqpat qaugriavich?
Did they speak English back then when you became aware?
Qaugriruŋa Katyaaŋni, takku tatqavani Ii, naluaġmiuraaqtuanik anipluŋa. tusaasuuruŋa. Katyaak I became aware in Kiana, for that is nalauġmiut iñugiahutiŋami where I was born. tarrani. Yes, I did hear people speak Taimani iñuuniaqapta hunŋuraqhuta Kiana had a lot of suapayaaq niqi katitlugu iñuuniaqtugut. English. white people there. In those days we hunted every kind of food, gathered it-that’s how we lived. Aglaan iñupiaraaqtuguttuuq. That’s how come I have broken Pakmatun fast food itna aikłiqsaanġitchugut aglaan we live off English. When, you know, hearing the English the land. Unlike today where we order fast food, people too. White people that talk English. But we spoke we lived off the land. Iñupiaq, too. Taatna katiniurałhaiñaptitnik. Taatna Taatna avugiiksitiqługu taatna iñuuniusiqaqtugut. naluaġmiuraaqtuġaqtuŋa. With everything we tried gathering Everybody was like that I think together. That was our way of life. though. I would mix it up and speak Ii aŋayuqaapta iḷisuatigaatigut. English. Sunaiłiġmik, qaaktułiġmik, kavisiuqsiłiġmik, siiłiġmik. Yes, our parent taught us. How to hunt, Aasriiñ qaglaan mauŋa seine for fish, descale fish, and cut fish. Qikiqtaġruŋmun nuutpich? And when did you move here to Qikiqtaġruk? Qanuq qaluum tuvaġnaqtilaaŋa. Iḷisuatigigaat iluqaptiknun, not only me Nuuttuŋa November 1st 1950. but all of us. How to put fish away. They showed that Taatna maani iñuuniaqpauraqtuŋa. to all of us, not only me but all of us. I moved November 1, 1950. I Iluqata, we all pitch in. We all pitched have lived here a long time. in. All of us, we all pitch in. We all pitched Savahutin naaqaa …? For work or … ? in.
Taatna savauraqapta, we have chores. Ii, savviaqłuŋa mauŋaqłuŋa savauraqłuŋa. Taatnaqłuŋa uvlupak Qaulluuruŋa. Iñuguġniaqapta. When we do things, we have chores. Yes, I came here to work. And today I am called Qaulluq. When we were growing up. Aarigaamiuvva ikayutiksramnik
piḷuġniqsuŋa taatnaguluqama. It was nice that I did this- it helped me a great deal when I did that. Aġnik: How oldaqpich taimani? How old were you back then? Twenty years old aggiqqaaqama, 20ŋuruami. Uvva pagmapak 85 years olaqtuŋa. I was twenty years old when I came, I was 20. Today I am 85 years old. Taimani maani atlauruq, uvluvak atlaŋŋuqtuq takku. It was different back then, it’s different than before today. Yeah, atluallapiaqtuq. It was very different. Tupqich iñuugiakitchut, paŋna tupqiḷapiaqtuq sumikunnii. There were only a few houses, up there was no houses at all, not even one. Asriaġniaġvik naaggaqaa huntaqtut ptarmigan tamaani. They picked berries, hunted for ptarmigan then.
Photo by Tim Argetsinger
I mean the population was not many, not like today. When a person was in need they would collect food, etc.
Igluatigitqunġitlugunniiñ aglġaksruġigaatigut. They would instruct us not to make fun or laugh at him/her.
Ikayuġnaqman itnaqpauraqtuamik aglaan qiñinġitchuŋa. I didn’t see anyone who was in great need, except whenever someone needed help.
Naaggaqaa ikayuġnaġluqtuaq utuqqanaaq ikayuġlugu. Or if an elder needed help to help him/her.
Aglaan that’s the way they were in our church. Iñuich takku suqłungitchut. But that’s the way they were in Well, people didn’t do really bad things. our church. Maaniłhiñaq tupiqaqtuq. Aggiqaaqama … by friends church. Just right around here were houses when I came … by Friends Church.
Aġnik: Qanuq taimani utuqqanaat algaksruġuuniqpat? How did the elders give instructions back then?
Iñuich ikayutillapiaqtut naaggaqaa inuksrahutiŋ niqauramiglu pipmata People helped each other or whenever someone was in need of food
Taimani algaksruġagigaatigut, to respect elders. In those days they would instruct us to respect our elders.
Iñuich qiñiġutiniqsut. People looked after each other.
Qanuġiḷluġniqpan iñuk pisulguiḷḷuni naaggaqaa qanuŋaniqpan. If a person is not normal or is not able to walk normal or if he has physical ailments.
Ami iñugiakpaurangitlutiŋ pagmatun suiḷaqman iñuk taatna iḷiraqsiuġvigiplugu piraġigaat.
Tamarra alġaqsruusraivut qiñiłhiñaaġlugich itna akimik takku nalurugut taimani kayuuraqapta- when we were helping out. Those were our advice not just to look at them and we didn’t know anything about getting paid Ilaŋisa aglaan uvva candyranik aatchulagaġaatigut. Quyaraqtugut. But some of them would give us a little candy. We always be so thankful. Apai–too much, but we never ask for it. It’s themselves that give us the candy. Ii, aglagiaqtuŋa. Tarra nalauġmiuraatlaitchuŋa aglaan aglagiaqama. Aglaan tarra
Interview with Rachel Qaulluq Saġvali Adams
Tarra iḷitqugaluaqhuta takku pigaatigut. Because they wanted us to learn.
tusraasrimaplugu, you know. Yes, I went to school. But I didn’t know how to speak English when in school. Aġnik: Qaugriavich taimani qanuġlitai quvianiqpiuŋ iñuuniałhin? But I When you became aware back then heard it before, you know. was your life happy? Ilaŋa iḷisimałhiñaqługu. Takkukii tarra at home, with love, Naluaġmiuraatlaiḷḷapiaqtugut iluqata what our parents give us. qanuqtai. I only knew some of it. None of us At home, with love, what our parents knew how to speak English at all- all of gave us. us. Suniuraqapta quviasrugaqniqsugut suli. Takku sua piraksragigikput Aglaktipta iḷisuatiraqpatigut imma. imiqtaġuta Taima takku qaġauraanġitchuq When we were doing something we taatnasrimun pi’ami. always felt happy also. Because we Maybe our teachers did show us allright. Well, they probably didn’t havehad to do chores like haul water it easy either when they were put in naaggaqaa puggutchiqiluta. that position. Or wash dishes. Aglaan tarra akuniinġitchugut taatna Mama taatna salikuqtitlutalu naluaġmiuraaġnialiqsugut. piraġigaatigut. But it wasn’t too long after that we Mom would let us sweep the floor. began learning English. Aġnik: Qanuq uqapiaraaqavich iḷisaġviŋmi qanuġitpatin? How did they treat you when you spoke Iñupiatun at school? Tarra uqapiaraatlaiḷḷapiaqtugut aglagviŋmi tamaani. We really didn’t speak Iñupiaq at all in the school then.
Aglaan pisugaaqługu piraqtugut suli, imma qanuġii iqiasukkaluaġaqtugut. But we did it to the best of our ability, maybe sometimes we might be lazy. Aglaan taatna iḷisitkaatigutli naaggaqaa aġiunauraqapta tamarra quviasrugaqtugut. That’s the way they taught us or when we played outside we were very happy.
Tarrauna uqapiaraaqtiġluqman cornermunlu qitchaġaqtuq – uqapiaraaqtuaq. Sua naatkaluaqnagu savaaksraq When a student spoke Iñupiaq, he uvagut suli aġiuniatlaitchugut. would stand in the corner – the one We would finish all the chores who spoke Iñupiatun. because we couldn’t go play out. Uvva pakma itniinġiqsuq aglaan iḷitchuliġaat. Nowadays it’s not like that at all, they want to learn (Iñupiatun). Tarra strictŋullapiaqtut taimani. They were very strict that time.
Games like, hit the can, manna mannaa. Norwegian … Ukiumi Norwegiahuta upinġaksraaqman, in summertime aasriiñ tamatkua, hit the can. Manna manaa, and any games that you know. In the winter towards spring we played Norwegian, in the summer those Piuraaġaġigivut. Quviasugaqtugut. We would play those games. We would be happy. Villageaġmiut, kidsaŋich piraqtut iluqata. All of the kids in the village would take part. Aqsruatraqmiraqtugut ukiumi. We also played soccer (or football) in the winter. Quvianaqtuaq. Itna takku sunik alapisruatinik makuniŋa piñikmatun piqanġitchugut It was a happy time. For we didn’t have any distractions No TV, telephone, makuniŋa piitchugut. We didn’t have those Radionik aglaan tarra radioqaġniqsuat ilaŋich iñuich qagriamma. Except some people had radios when I became aware. Siḷatiŋitnukhuta naalaġniuraaġaqtugut uqaqtuanik. We would go outside of their house and listen
Tarra naatlugu aglaan naatchiñiuraġniaġaqniqsugut – aġiunaġuum. We would try and get caught up- so Naluaġmium atausrim inaan we could go out and play. piani. Taatna qitkutinik, hit the can. Manna By this one white man’s place mannaa. Tamarra, Norwegian.
Ii, quviasrugaqtugut takku. Iñuguġniaqapta. Yes, we were always happy when we were growing up. Aġnik: Qanuq uvva iḷisimatquniqpiuŋ iñuuniałiqput? Naaqaa tusramma algaksruun? What do you want (future generations who see this) to know about our way of life? Or the elders’ instructions? Tarra iḷisaksraġigaattuuq. Tamanna respect for elders taipkua. Others need to learn that too. The value like respect for the elders. Iñupiat ilitqusriat tarra taatna iḷisimaraksraġigaat. They need to know the Iñupiaq values. Taatna, to keep going. What we do. Tammasrutnagu taatna qaŋapak taimakŋa. That way, to keep going. What we do. Not to lose it. Tusraakkaqput. What we heard a long time ago. Mikiłiptitniñ aglaan pakma igliqtuksraugaluaqtuq. Ever since we were small it needs to keep going today. Atlaŋuqpagipluni piiq siḷa. Atlaŋullapiaqhuni. Our weather has changed tremendously. Really changed. Qanuqtai … wonder how? Aglaan tarra iñiqsruuraġniałikun uvva pakma iñuunialiqsugut. But only through prayer we are able to live. What else? Tarra. Apaiqtiqtuŋa. There. That’s enough.
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