WAIT, WHY HAVEN'T THESE BEEN CALLED "MABlogs" YET? COME ON NOW.
Moving on.
Moving on.
Today, the last day of service, was bittersweet.
We didn't get OUR BOOTH at DQ. But, Veronica got her ice cream (only once a week as per her Lenten promise) so that was sweet.
Today started like any other day this week, before the sun and with the obnoxious blaring of iPhone alarms. Even though our day with Wac'ang'a didn't start until 1 p.m., we still had a full day planned. All 12 of us cycled in and out of the showers (located in Tiopsa Zina, the tribal school that trusted Dawn with a key able to get any room except the superintendent's office), and then we marched in Madeleine-row fashion to the cafeteria of the tribal school to begin our couple hours of observing there. After being directed by some socially savvy fourth graders to the "correct" lunch table and enjoying some small talk, we were led to the morning's "Flag Song," which is a tribal drum and singing sequence to honor the students, staff, and the culture before they start the day. We visited with a special education class and the elementary-age boys' and girls' Dakotah language lesson.
After fumbling over mazaša (money) terms in Dakotah, we were challenged to a game of dodgeball by some overly competitive (and slightly sneaky cheating) fifth graders. If being pummeled by foam balls wasn't enough, we then faced off in a game of kickball. Playground skills were tested and no spectator's head was safe (as in our unexpecting site leader Queen of Bacon Dawn was smacked right in the head by a line drive, though she should've known better than to be in the line of play).
Once we were thoroughly tuckered out, we made some TZ spirit wear purchases and headed to… THE LOCAL CASINO WOOT WOOT TRY TO STOP US NOW MABoD… to get lunch. We all enjoyed legal, only food-oriented fun, even though the entire restaurant heard our loud gasp when they said they were out of fry bread for Indian tacos. When we left, we were asked by multiple townspeople why there were 12 girls in matching "Sisseton Sista" shirts invading their humble eatery.
We finally made it to Wac'ang'a (five minutes late, as per the Indian Time standard, of course) to share our talking sticks. These talking sticks were representative of our lives thus far and in the future through colored paint, ribbons, and yarn. We went around the circle explaining the significance of each color, going over the many ups and downs in all of our lives. Kleenex boxes made their rounds as emotions seeped into our circle of sharing. Even after a week of living, working, and sharing with each other, there was still so much we didn't know. Sophia, Pam, and Julie surprised us with certificates for our service there, deemed "Sacred Sister Awards," and gift bags including calendars, Crest White Strips, and gradual tanning lotion to make up for the lack of sun we suffered this week.
After a hearty round of hugs, Sophia lead us to the Woodrow Wilson Keeble Health Center, which serves the local Native community fo' free. Kerri Peters, a medical administrator assistant, gave us a grand tour, showing us the many different services of the facility, while also revealing the struggle to have a full staff and meet the needs of the population. The center was full of beautiful Native artwork, including beaded stethoscopes, which interested our pre-med participant, May.
We made a quick car unloading and nap stop before returning to Wac'ang'a for the Dakotah Naming Ceremony. Four boys in the Boys to Men program, which educates Native boys about their cultural traditions in an effort to eliminate sexual and domestic violence, received their Dakotah names from the tribe's medicine man, Arnold. Each was given an eagle feather that had been cleansed in our earlier shared Inipi to signify the major event. Afterword, we shared a meal of fry bread and pulled barbeque buffalo (#SorryLent) with the now young men and their friends, families, and members of the community.
With this, it was unfortunately time for us to say our goodbyes. Sophia teared up and told us to never take any sort of abuse, not to allow ourselves to be doormats, and to never go it alone. Pam told us to enjoy our youth before menopause (#SistaStruggz). Julie reminded us to keep in touch and to not forget what we learned.
As we skipped into the sunset, singing a Dora the Explorer "Map Song" parody to our housing (see Twitter for proof), we knew that this week has changed us. It has brought us places that we could've never imagined, sometimes revealing places that were difficult to go to. We know our service is nowhere near done, and that "bring it home" resonates stronger than anything with our trip. As we return to Columbia, we bring sage-cleansed souls and a reinvigorated passion and drive to educate and inform our community on all that we learned.
We bid adieu for the final time from our (other) booth at Dairy Queen. Long live the Queen (and her location-specific WiFi).
Love and cheek smooshes,
Sisseton Sistas and CoBoos, Veronica and Dawn
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