One Sunday morning, after languishing alone in his temporary lodging for a couple of hours, James decided to attempt to visit Monique in her home. He’d heard that was simply not done. She chased away community members who appeared at her door seeking advice or healing—things had apparently gotten out of hand a few years earlier and worn her down. But his few encounters with Monique had made him nostalgic for his great-grandparents, who had lived into their nineties, well into his youth. He longed desperately for that kind of intimate interaction with an elder.
James had already heard so much about Monique from her family members and from Catherine. Others beyond the reserve had heard of her power and influence without ever meeting her, for Monique had never physically left her people’s territory around the village of Chezgh’un. According to local knowledge holders, in the weeks leading up to Monique’s birth, there were signs that she would be extraordinary: weather patterns were different, a thunderbird landed and perched on Mount Shas everyday around four o’clock in the afternoon and seemed to peer toward the village. Four o’clock was the hour of Monique’s birth and the elders in the region were on full alert that day—they sensed something significant was occurring and word spread rapidly. Within hours of her uneventful birth everyone in the community knew Monique would grow up to be a seer, healer and spiritual warrior. From a young age, her dreams would guide the community’s hunters to the location where moose, caribou and bears could be found.
Monique’s parents instinctively knew that it was critical that she never be captured by the Nedoh and taken to one of their schools to be indoctrinated, brainwashed, acculturated and used as cheap labour—wounding her spirit and stifling her soul. Instead, Monique would be raised by Dakelh elders in their language, steeped in the Dakelh culture and cosmology at a camp in the woods, at her family’s winter site, which could only be reached by dogsled or boat. She would not be taught to speak or read English. The exposure associated with learning the language and ways of Nedoh would’ve changed her indelibly, distorted her thinking and altered how she perceived the world around her. Through their culture and religious dogma the Nedoh asserted that they were the masters of the universe and instilled this in the mind of their children from a very early age, along with their notions of right and wrong, sin and virtue. Anything good or pleasurable was sinful, yet they themselves, the Nedoh, did it all anyway, secretively or with some type of perverse rationalization that it was the Lord’s will—or they would feign remorse while confessing to having committed a sin and then seek forgiveness and absolution, which were easily granted in exchange for a tithe or offering. In extreme cases, they would claim they were possessed by the Devil and seek exorcism first before confessing to a priest or engaging in supplication for forgiveness directly with their Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Whereas Monique’s people cut trees for essential uses like firewood and material for building homes, Nedoh businessmen had already destroyed much of the local forest habitat, clearing trees right to the edges of lakes and rivers, eventually causing mudslides, which interfered with fish spawning and migration. Monique’s people used every part of an animal, whereas the Nedoh hunted mammals ruthlessly and wasted so much, leaving moose and deer entrails, antlered heads and hides in ditches along the roadside. Bird numbers decreased dramatically, especially swans and grouse. Beavers were brought to the brink of extinction from trapping for their pelts and for a secretion from their castor gland that was used to season food and enhance perfumes. The Nedoh also dammed the Nechako River, diverting over half of its flow and causing the water level of local lakes, rivers and their tributaries to drop, disrupting the ecosystem and the natural habitat, creating avulsions up and down the river, which confused migrating elk, moose and Indigenous hunters.
Monique grew up knowing humans were not above living things: muskrat, beaver, moose, weasel, porcupine, eagle, goose, woodpecker, crow, owl, salmon, cedar and spruce were all relations—cousins of sorts. The lakes, streams, rivers, meadows and mountains were the blessed homeland of her people, and they knew that in order for their good fortune and health to continue, they had to treat nature with tremendous respect—in all of their activities and their lifestyle. The plants and animals that provided food and medicine for the Dakelh sacrificed a part of their life, and, for this, individuals and families were forever grateful. They showed gratitude by placing tobacco in certain locations and by saying prayers of thanks after every harvest.
Monique learned to co-exist with all of these creatures and to understand her place—the place of all Dakelh in the natural world—and she would teach this to others, not by lecturing them, but by modelling a rich life in harmony with it all. Bear would offer itself to her in a dream, and she would tell the men where to find it. Then, as always, she would carve it up meticulously, and use every part of the animal, render the fat for extra nutrition and use it for making medicine along with other body parts.
Monique gave birth to all fourteen of her children, including her three miscarried babies, in her lodge in the forest with the help and guidance of a skilled midwife. She in turn raised her offspring in her language, respecting the tenets and customs of Dakelh culture. She taught them to carry their own weight, look out for and support each other and to be stewards and protectors of Mother Earth—to leave their lands and territory improved, better than they had found them, even if just in some small way.
From the time they were toddlers, Monique and her cousin Abel were told that one day they would become husband and wife. Abel was a second or third cousin and this was important—that he be related but not too closely. Relations always treated their women better. Abel had a gentle spirit which would calm—or at least attempt to calm—Monique’s fierce nature.
When James knocked gently on Monique’s door, Abel answered, ushered him in and motioned for him to sit on a round of spruce just inside.
Abel disappeared into Monique’s bedroom to ask if she wanted to have a visitor—the new principal. Sitting there in the rustic shack where Monique and Abel had raised their family, James had a flash of anxiety—had he made a mistake coming to visit unannounced and uninvited? And how would they communicate one on one—have a meaningful conversation? He hadn’t yet learned any Dakelh except for basic phrases like t’su in t’oh, “how are you,” and the response t’s ’us t’oh. Des ah neh for “be quiet.” Within a few minutes, though, Abel ushered him into Monique’s room, and James began to tremble—his eyes filled with tears.
The elder was propped up in her bed—a crimson scarf tied around her head and a thin and faded Hudson’s Bay blanket pulled up to her neck. Her long, thick hair was pulled back tightly and woven into a braid that flowed onto her left shoulder and continued over the bed toward the floor—James couldn’t see the end of it.
“What’s matter, Princip’l? Ain’t seen ol’ womans in her bet’ before?” Monique said with a deep melodic laugh. Ah, that’s right, she could speak rudimentary English, and was willing to do so in private, but refused to when her children and grandchildren were within earshot. Remaining silent, James tried to look into her eyes, but Monique didn’t return his gaze.
Monique reached into a tree stump beside her bed for a rippled tin can, which looked like it may have once held Campbell’s soup. She took a sip from it.
“Hadih, Monique. Good to see you.”
“Hadih. Good ya come ta see Monique. I jus’ drink bit o’ wine. Haf some…” Monique said as she held the can out for James.
James was honoured that she would share her drink with him, but responded, “Oh. No thanks, Monique. Got lots to do today.”
“This my territorih, t’James. Everythin’ you see ’roun here—animals, plants, water ’n sky. But it ain’t mine like some Nedoh say. I’m part of it—jus’ part of it, but we gotta say it’s ours or they try to take it from us—always wanna take our land!” A deep boisterous laugh.
“I knew you were comin’ to us, t’James. Seen you in a vision. But you won’ stay—won’ work with us feri long—too scared. Scared ta become one of us. Jus’ like yer family—you lef’ dem too. Too scared they gonna hurt you. Too much hurt t’James—I see hurt all over your face.”
James took a deep breath, trying to control the intense emotions that were overtaking him. What did Monique see? He was feeling so good—he was at the top of his game—the youngest school principal in the province—and Nehiyaw at that! Yes, he’d experienced incredible tragedy and loss. Within the last ten years, both his mother and his older sister had died. The two most important people in his life were forever gone, and he’d hoped he’d put his grief behind him. But time and again, he was forced to acknowledge that he was still grappling with the enormity of the loss. In fact, maybe that was part of the reason he made this landscape shift in his life—it was a powerful distraction.
Why did Monique say he wouldn’t be there long? What did she see in his future? Did she perhaps have some insight into his clandestine personal life? Would it ruin him? He hoped not—he had a plan. He would stay in Chezgh’un for a few years, maybe even up to ten years if things worked out, accomplish amazing things and build a reputation as an expert in Indigenous education. Maybe he hadn’t weighed things adequately from different angles—hadn’t analyzed his strengths and weaknesses, nor the opportunities or threats—in this new life, this new context.
“Nedoh power o’er you s’real strong t’James. Them white peoples, they control you too much—control yer mind ‘n yer heart. If you wanna live among us Dakelh you gotta break free. See ta worl’ like Dakelh see it. Feel it deep inside o’ you—be one with us and our territorih. But Nedoh brainwashed you so much—all them years bein’ taught their ways ’n talkin’ their language. Their way of bein’.”
What was she talking about? Did she mean the Catholic Church? Or was it his education—twelve years of public school and then five at university? The influence of all his white friends—of Franyo? He knew he couldn’t press Monique for details. That’s not what one does with elders; she’d said what she had to say—in vague terms—and he would have to ponder and reflect on her words. Over time, he would come to understand what she meant.
Didn’t Monique understand why he was here? That he’d come to reconnect with all of that? To commune with nature, to get back his Indigenous soul, get back to his roots. Didn’t she know that he’d prayed to her ancestors at the cemetery his first day here? That the ancestors were guiding and helping him now? Monique’s words “too scared” echoed in his head—slammed him. Too scared to care deeply—that was what she was really saying. Wasn’t it? Would he go through life just skimming the surface—never go deep again, with family, with a lover?
After a few minutes of shared contemplative silence, the sign of a deepening bond, James stood to leave. Monique turned to look at him, smiled broadly, then nodded and said, “My door s’always open ta you, Princip’l. Come see me anytime.”
James felt the same powerful connection with Monique and Abel as he’d felt with his own grandparents and great aunts and uncles back home, and he was so grateful for this. At once the visit both calmed and worried him, as visits with elders often do. Still, he hoped that Monique would give him guidance that nobody else could. Guidance and universal love. Assurance that he was on the right track.