I hug Kokom Buffalo Dreamer, and as we continue to hold hands, I marvel at the wonder of it all.

  28

  Sharing His Truth:

  Mosom’s Journey of Healing

  I am still at Kokom Buffalo Dreamer’s side when I see something surprising—Mosom is on the stage and starting to speak into the mic.

  “Hello, everyone, thank you for being here and showing your support.” His voice is gentle, yet filled with a sense of solemnity. “I want to tell you about a chapter of my life that was filled with darkness. When I was my grandson’s age, I was taken away from my family and sent to this residential school. Everything I was, they tried to erase. Imagine being told you can never speak your native language or practice your culture’s beloved traditions.

  “We were made to wear uniforms and cut our hair. We were subjected to harsh discipline and treated as if we were less than human. The very essence of our being was stripped away.

  “But now, my relatives, we must remember that we are still here. Yes, we carry the weight of history on our shoulders, but we also carry the strength of our ancestors within us. We are the living proof of our ancestors’ resilience and the strong spirit of our people.

  “So let us walk forward together. Hiy hiy, nanaskomen!”

  The crowd cheers, and I can feel their hearts filled with remembrance and a sense of pride.

  Then, before Mosom leaves the stage, he catches my eye. “My granddaughter, it would be so nice to hear from our young people.” He motions to the mic.

  I’m not sure how to respond, but I feel like I do need to share too. So, without thinking too much, I walk onto the stage. I stand in front of the mic and look out at the crowd.

  “Hello, my relatives. My name is Summer, and I am twelve years old. My heart hurts for my family today. These schools tore families apart, robbed kids of their childhood and culture, and left behind wounds that still ache today. I can’t imagine not being able to live with my own family—to not experience picking berries with my kokom or sweetgrass with my mom. I was raised to be proud of who I am, and I want to say thank you to all who teach me. And I want to thank all the survivors for being here. It’s not fair what happened to you, and today I stand here and say, ‘Never again.’ I love you. Thank you, hiy hiy.”

  29

  Powwow Time:

  Celebrating Heritage

  The next weekend, we all attend our community powwow, where so many of our families and friends come together. I dance fancy shawl, where I hold out my shawl and mimic the movements of a butterfly fluttering from flower to flower. It’s a fast dance with a lot of spinning around.

  Autumn is dancing the jingle dress dance for the first time, and her dress has silver cones that sound like bells on it. I watch her practice the dance’s light, quick steps.

  “I’m so excited,” Autumn says breathlessly. “There’s nothing like the energy of the powwow.”

  “Yes,” I agree. “And it’s so cool seeing everyone in their regalia.”

  Just then we spot Uncle Lawrence, and when he sees us, a warm smile spreads across his face. “Ahh, my lovely nieces! Today is the day!”

  Autumn practices for Uncle, and he nods approvingly. “You’re doing great. You remembered to hold your head up high like we talked about.”

  “Yep! Got it, Uncle,” Autumn answers, standing taller. “I won’t forget that it’s important to show confidence and respect while dancing.”

  “Right! And did I ever tell you that the jingle dance dress was inspired by a dream?”

  “A dream! Really?” Autumn says. “Summer and I love talking about our dreams. Please tell us more!”

  “Sure. A long time ago,” he begins, “there was a little girl from the great Ojibwe Nation who got very sick, along with others in her community. One night, her grandfather had a dream about her dancing in a dress full of teardrops, and she was happy and healthy. When he woke up, he asked the grandmothers in the community to make this special dress. When they put it on her, at first she had to be supported, but as she danced, she gained strength, and soon she was able to dance on her own. This dress helped to heal her and many others in the community and gave them all renewed hope. It’s now called the healing dress dance or the jingle dress dance.”

  Autumn and I listen intently, absorbing every word.

  “Oh ya!” I say. “Now I remember that my mom and dad told me that story when I was little. I forgot it was from a dream.”

  “Dreams are like windows, offering glimpses into ourselves to help us find deeper meaning with things we might have a hard time understanding awake. You should always pay attention to them, no matter how big or small,” Uncle Lawrence shares.

  “That’s so true, Uncle!” I say. “I will pay attention!”

  “It’s fascinating!” Autumn says. “I’m going to write down everything you said after the powwow.”

  “I expect you will.” Uncle Lawrence chuckles.

  Before we head over to the powwow, Autumn has one more question. “Is there anything else we should focus on while we dance?”

  “Yes, remember to listen to the drumbeat,” he answers. “Let it guide your movements. Dancing is not just about the steps; it’s about connecting with your community and celebrating life. And also about having fun and enjoying yourself!”

  We both nod happily. “Thank you so much, Uncle. We really appreciate you.”

  “Absolutely! If you have any more questions, don’t be afraid to ask. See you two on the dance floor!”

  “See you out there, Uncle!”

  With newfound confidence, Autumn and I make our way to the powwow grounds and join the other dancers in the arbor.

  During my dance, I let the beat of the powwow drum guide me, just like Uncle shared. The sound is so powerful as it echoes across the arena, strong yet gentle enough to lull babies to sleep in their cradleboards. Our shawls sway to its beat, and I feel connected to the other dancers as we move rhythmically around the arbor. By the end I feel totally exhilarated.

  In their chairs, Mom, Aunty Crystal, and Aunty Onawa are laughing and clapping.

  “You both looked so beautiful dancing out there!” Aunty Onawa tells us when we finish. She’s wearing her leopard-print ribbon skirt and cowboy boots.

  “Thank you, Aunty,” I say.

  “Yes!” Aunty Crystal jumps up. “Looks like you two have been practicing! You did great!” They have on their gray vest and matching beaded gray hat. “Hey! By the way, Autumn was telling me you’re thinking about developing tech to learn Cree, is that true?”

  “Well, I said I’m going into coding, and maybe will develop a Cree language program,” I say shyly.

  “That’s amazing, Summer! I have a book called The Essence of Programming Language. You can have it if you’d like.”

  “Wow! Thank you, Aunty! I would love that.”

  “Great! It’s at Kokom and Mosom’s house. I’ll give it to you when we return,” Aunty Crystal answers, sitting back in their chair happily.

  Aunty Onawa gets up and hugs Autumn and me. “You both make me so proud. A coding genius and a private detective right in my own family! How can I be so lucky?”

  Mom is smiling in her jean jacket and blue ribbon skirt. “Any chance you two are hungry?”

  “Yes!” we say. “Always!”

  The smell of fry bread fills the air, and Autumn and I start with that.

  The warm bread melts in my mouth. Its exterior is crispy, the inside is soft and fluffy, and each bite is a burst of pure bliss. I love everything about the powwow, but in this moment, I think this is the best part.

  30

  The Gift of Our Connection

  Over the next few weeks, a revolving door of visitors continue to join us at Kokom and Mosom’s house. Almost every evening we have a backyard barbecue with friends and family.

  As the days grow shorter, a cool breeze whispers through the trees, signaling the end of the season. I marvel at how quickly time has flown, but also have a sense of excitement and readiness for the new school year ahead.

  On one of our last afternoons on the rez, Autumn, Mosom, and I go for a ride on our horses. The sunlight casts a golden glow on the lake as we make our way to the edge of the bush surrounding the big house. I ride behind Mosom and admire his expertise as he guides his horse with a gentle hand, his love for horses evident in every movement.

  We follow each other on the trail leading out to the valley, where we are able to ride side by side, our horses gracefully trotting.

  Then we climb up another trail and stop at a ridgetop, where we all get off our horses to stretch our legs and admire the view, and Mosom points out an eagle soaring high.

  “Aho kihew! Did you know that when you become a warrior, in our Cree way, you are gifted an eagle feather? I was speaking with your dad, Summer, and he shared with me that, in the Apache way, you can be gifted with an abalone shell for this same reason.”

  Mosom digs in his bag and hands Autumn and me each a small box containing a necklace on a soft brown leather rope with a gold clasp and an abalone shell the size of a quarter.

  “I wanted to give you something you’d be able to wear as a reminder of how proud you make us,” Mosom says. “At the powwow I saw these abalone shell necklaces and I thought of you two right away.”

  I hold my necklace and admire the shell’s iridescent silver, pink, and blue colors. They create a beautiful wavy pattern. Holding the shell feels like I have a small planet cradled in my hand.

  “I am gifting these to you today because you have both been so brave. When we listened to the stories from the residential school survivors, you helped to create safe spaces for them to share their experiences and support their healing. You honor our traditions not just for yourselves, but for those who never got the chance to do so. You are doing great things for the community, and we are truly proud of you both.”

  Autumn’s eyes are shining as she gives thanks, and I imagine mine are too.

  As I put my necklace on, I think about how this summer has been such a time of growth and discovery. Autumn and I are just beginning to understand our history, and we want to learn so much more.

  I gently caress Luna’s neck before I climb back on her. Galloping through the valley, I take in the vibrant colors of autumn that have begun to paint the landscape gold and copper and burgundy. Above, I see the migrating geese soaring across the sky, their wings beating in unison. Their honking calls make a haunting sound as they echo through the air, reminding us that they were here, and they will be back.

  I feel alive and thankful to be part of this world. To be here with my people and ready for anything.

  Glossary

  aho—informal greeting/thank you

  âsowahamakew—traveling for someone

  astum—come here

  câpân—great grandchild

  eha—yes

  hiy hiy—to give thanks

  holay—that’s enough

  kihew—eagle

  kinanâskomitin—I am grateful for you

  kisakitin—I love you

  kiya—you

  kîyas kisik iskwew—Old Sky Woman

  kokom—grandmother

  mihkokwaniy—red rose

  mosom—grandfather

  namoya—no

  nanaskomen—thankful

  nôsisim—grandchild

  paswâwimostos opowatam—Buffalo Dreamer

  pehta—hear it/listen

  peyakwayihk—unique

  pihitikwe—come in

  sohkeyimowin—have courage

  tansi—hello/how are you

  tapwe—truth

  wonska—wake up

  Author’s Note

  The inspiration for this book is deeply rooted in the resilience and indomitable spirit of my father, Melvin; my kokom Julia; my mosom George; and my many aunties and uncles who endured the harrowing experience of the Indian residential school system. I intend to honor the courage of my father and family members by sharing their untold stories and the impact of those schools, on Sixties Scoop survivors and day school survivors, of which I am a survivor as well. I’ve aimed to breathe life into this book and give their stories the credence and recognition they deserve by illustrating the strength of the human spirit. May it be a tribute to the past, galvanize healing and reconciliation, and celebrate the perseverance of those who have overcome.

  Even though Buffalo Dreamer is a work of historical fiction, truth is etched on every page; it is embedded in a real time and place. It shares the buried stories of the courageous and often nameless warriors: the children who suffered in the Indian residential school system, which was intentionally omitted by our history books. This story is deeply personal to me, as it echoes the intergenerational narratives of my own family’s experiences.

  The painful history of the Indian residential school system is a dark chapter in our collective past. These schools, spanning over a century in Canada and the United States, forcibly separated Indigenous children from their families, aiming to erase their culture and assimilate them into Euro-Canadian society through the policy of “kill the Indian, save the child,” as quoted by bureaucrat Duncan Campbell Scott, who spent fifty-two years in the Department of Indian Affairs, where for almost twenty years as deputy superintendent he oversaw the residential schools. The impact of these schools continues to be devastating, leaving multiple generations of Indigenous peoples with destructive historical trauma, including the loss of language, culture, and ultimately identity.

  Recent discoveries using ground-penetrating radar have unearthed more about these schools: unmarked graves where countless children were unceremoniously buried without dignity or integrity. These discoveries have validated the narratives shared by countless elders and survivors.

  I hope you will join me in this ongoing discourse and gain a deeper understanding of the experiences endured by Indigenous children and their families. I encourage readers to seek out the biographical narratives and nonfiction accounts that inspired this book.

  I’ll leave you with the words of Murray Sinclair, who was the chair of the Indian Residential Schools Truth and Reconciliation Commission from 2009 to 2015: “Achieving reconciliation is like climbing a mountain—we must proceed a step at a time. It will not always be easy. There will be storms, there will be obstacles, but we cannot allow ourselves to be daunted by the task because our goal is just and it is also necessary.”

  Thank you for embarking on this journey with me.

  Kinanâskomitin.

  Violet Duncan

  kîyas kisik iskwew

  Acknowledgments

  I am incredibly grateful for the support and encouragement I have received from so many people on my journey. First and foremost, I want to express my deepest gratitude to my loving and supportive husband, Tony. He has been my rock, always there to lift me up and believe in me, even when I doubted myself. His unwavering faith in my abilities has been a constant source of strength.

  I also want to acknowledge my incredible editor, Nancy Paulsen, who believed in my story and pushed me to get it out into the world. Her guidance and expertise have been invaluable in shaping the final product. Without her dedication and belief in my work, this book would not have been possible.

  I am also indebted to my family for inspiring the story in the first place. My four children, my sisters, my brother, and my parents have all played a significant role in shaping my perspective and fueling my creativity. Their love, support, and unique perspectives have enriched the narrative and made it truly come alive.

  To all of these amazing individuals, I want to say a heartfelt thank-you. Your belief in me and your support have been instrumental in bringing this book to fruition. I am forever grateful for the role you have played in my adventure as a writer.

  About the Author

  Violet Duncan, a member of the Plains Cree and Taino tribes from Kehewin Cree Nation, has been touring nationally and internationally since 1991. Her artistic endeavors have captivated audiences throughout the United States, Canada, and Europe, showcasing her talents as a Native dancer, hoop dancer, choreographer, storyteller, and author. As a distinguished former Miss Indian World, she proudly represented the Indigenous Peoples of North America.

  Violet has excelled as a cultural advisor, facilitator, mentor, and motivational speaker for over thirty years. Her dedicated focus on empowering Indigenous youth is at the core of her mission, as she aims to foster spaces for Indigenous literature, performance, and traditions through her work.

  The need for Native representation and promoting cultural awareness through literature inspired her to write and self-publish three award-winning children’s books: I Am Native, When We Dance, and Let’s Hoop Dance!

  In addition to her artistic and literary accomplishments, Violet possesses valuable expertise in mental health–related training and traditional protocol, coupled with a profound understanding of working within Indigenous communities. She has co-written curriculums for community advocacy involving Native youth wellness, identity, belonging, and leadership and is currently working on a new program that develops strategies to manage stress, explore creativity, and boost self-confidence in secondary school.

  Find out more about Violet at VioletDuncan.com.

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