Posted on February 4, 2021 under Thursday Tidbits with one comment

To the beat of Mary’s drum.

 

“Paingupaa paingupaa paingupalii Alakuup irniapinganuut.”

“I miss, miss, miss Alaku’s lovely son.” This song was created probably in the 1940s or 50s by someone who missed Pausi, Alaku’s son. This family was living on their own on a campsite or campsites just like any other family before everyone was forced to settle in Kangirsujuaq by the Government of the day in the late 1950s. (Translation by Mary Argnak)

I hardly know where to start.

Every once in a while, I think that I am starting to understand the north. More often than not, I’m wrong. I could live up here another 25 years and I doubt that I could even scratch the surface.

As mentioned in a previous post, I was invited to join a group of young children who meet after school at the museum to sing songs of the Inuit, play drums and throat sing. I was asked to play guitar. I was not brought in as a guest throat singer! During a normal year when a global pandemic is not raging, this troupe, led by Mary and Lydia, perform in the community and also at Pingualuit National Park. They perform for their community and they also play for visitors and tourists who are looking for an authentic experience.

I wandered up to the museum after school on Tuesday for my first session. I kind of resembled the Pied Piper as a string of youngsters walked along side me and behind me. One of my students volunteered to be the roadie and carried my guitar. This was the first session in a very long time and the organizers weren’t sure how many to expect. Twenty-five students ranging in age from 8-13 crowded into one of the main exhibit rooms, a place oozing with culture and history. I recognized most of the children. Many of them have been known to cause teachers to sprout gray hair. I think you get my drift. They’re a handful in the classroom and in the school yard.

Without any fanfare, Mary started by passing out song sheets written in Inuktitut. I wasn’t surprised to see the group sitting in a circle. There is something about a circle that speaks of family and unity. She first explained the songs in their native tongue and then translated for my benefit. Many of these children who find it hard to stay still in a classroom, were transformed right before my eyes. They were in their element, with their people, singing their songs. This was obvious a veteran group. Song after song, they joined in without any hesitation. There was no shyness and no erratic behaviour. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. At least a third of the group were boys and they were singing every bit as loud as the girls. Often at this age, boys are far too cool to actively engage in song.

The gathering was joyful as Mary and Lydia rolled out song after song. There was clapping, foot stomping and drumming. I was able to pick up the rhythms of many of the tunes and was even able to sing some of the lyrics in a rudimentary fashion. Mostly, I just stared at the faces of the children and sat, rapt, as Mary passed along stories from the elders.

All the while, one thought kept running through my mind. I realize that educating the children in school is important, but what and how we teach them is like trying to put the proverbial square peg in the round hole. No wonder the students are bored to tears much of the time and act out. When they are speaking their mother tongue, singing songs from the past, hunting and fishing, using their hands to create things of beauty, they are truly alive and engaged. I am not blaming the people who are designing the curriculum but when I see children in their element, they are very different people. As John Prine once sang, “you are what you are and you ain’t what you ain’t.”

Lydia is an extraordinary throat singer, and she is passing along her knowledge to the next generation. One by one, many students got up and stood in the middle of the circle facing Lydia. They grabbed each other’s forearms so that they could feel the movements of each other. The first song was about a little puppy and the two participants exchanged sounds so extraordinary, I am unable to describe them. One of my students was asked to join Lydia. I am putting it mildly but over the past two years, this young girl has caused my last few remaining hairs to fall out. Respect for privacy does not permit me to go into any further detail. I was dumbfounded to hear this young girl exchange sounds from deep inside her throat and her soul. It was simply awe inspiring. I was close to tears. I have no doubt that she has the ability to become a famous throat singer later in life and will no doubt pass this along to the next generation. I was so proud of her… and a bit sad in a way.

Traditional school is not the answer for so many of these children. True, instruction in the younger grades in our school is still done in Inuktitut but at grade four, they have to be educated in either English or French.  Luckily, the community provides them with extracurricular activities so that they don’t lose their language and culture.

“Unnuangulirami Taartuulirpatuq qila takuguviuk tarqiq nuivattuq ammalukitaatsiaq tarqivalutsuni qungattujuujaartuq takunnaasugu, qirngutiqarqunga suungujukallamik takugunnatara qaningnituugaluaq upaguminartu qaujiguminartuq qanuittuusarmangaat sanasimaninga.”

“This song was written by my sister-in-law, Ulaayu Pilurtuut and it goes something like this. When it is night time, as it gets dark and you look up and see the moon (nice round moon- full moon), it looks like it is smiling at you. I have a good telescope; I can see clearly to the moon. Although it is far, I dream to go and see how it is (or how it was made). (Translation by Mary Argnak)

Nakurmiik. (Thank you).

Have a great weekend.

 

 

 

Posted on February 1, 2021 under Monday Morning Musings with no comments yet

Smitten with my new mittens

 

“I’ve been everywhere, man, I’ve been everywhere, man,

Crossed the desert’s bare, man, I’ve breathed the mountain air, man,

Of travel, I’ve had my share, man,

I’ve been everywhere.

I’ve Been Everywhere. Hank Snow

I’ve been to the Coop, man,

I’ve been to the Northern, man,

I’ve been to the clinic, man,

I’ve been everywhere.

I mean no disrespect to Hank Snow nor my adopted village of Kangiqsujuaq. I have done my share of traveling over my lifetime. I have been in some of the hottest places on earth and now one of the coldest and coolest places. I have met so many remarkable people and hope to meet many more. That’s if we are ever able to travel anymore.

At Christmas, I decided that traveling anywhere was going to be complicated and potentially dangerous. I stayed in the north and as I have documented in this space previously, I had one of the most enjoyable and memorable Christmases ever.

Now, I am staring at Spring Break and the oddsmakers are painting a rather bleak picture about travel anywhere except to the grocery store. Travel restrictions around the globe are piling up quickly. It is not surprising that Canada is facing problems with delivery of the game changing vaccines. Rarely have 7 billion people all wanted the same thing at the same time. There is only so much production capacity. Finger pointing is not particularly useful. The vaccine will arrive when it arrives. If we were the only country stuck in the mud, spinning our wheels, I might be annoyed. Just watch the BBC news on any given night and you will find similar situations in almost every country. I wish that there was such pent up demand for my books!

I am sure that I will have a wonderful spring break in the north but visiting friends and families would have been great too. It seems like our lives are in suspended animation.

I am involved in an after school activity with another colleague. We have a small chorale group of young girls. Last year, this group had a big excursion planned to travel to Montreal but Covid scuttled that. This year we had hoped to travel somewhere in the region, possibly another village, but alas this is not going to happen. The good news is that we have a world class National Park right in our backyard. Well, not quite in our backyard. It’s a 5- hour skidoo ride to get to Pingualuit. We have our group booked in to go there at the end of April. Our plan is to produce a music video featuring songs in Inuktitut, English and French with Mother Nature (and a giant crater) as the backdrop.

I would love to be able to say that I skillfully made the incredibly warm mittens shown in the picture above. Yes, there is a small piece of me in these pualuuks… probably blood from stabbing myself repeatedly with a sewing needle. I attended a couple of sewing classes before Christmas and was able to stitch some of the rabbit fur to the leather in the hand of the pualuuks. Classes ended before I had a chance to really learn the skills necessary to make the mittens and complete my project. My teacher, Jessica, had all of my material in her sewing bag. January zipped by (as all months seem to do) and a few days ago, one of the teachers approached me with a bag from Jessica with the finished product. She is an amazing person, and I am so grateful to have yet another souvenir from my time in the north. When I eventually make my way back home, I am not sure what I will do with all my acquired winter wear. It wouldn’t be practical in Nova Scotia or Africa.

Africa? Huh?

I have been intrigued with Africa all of my life. I won’t stay in the north forever. My next stop could be Africa. I have two volunteer opportunities that I’m looking into, realizing, of course, that neither Africa nor Antigonish are accessible for me these days! I’ll keep you posted.

Have a great week.

P.S. I started to read a new book on the weekend. Thanks to GMD for sending this to me. In the forward to the book by Barry Lopez called “Arctic Dreams” I read this quote from N. Scott Momaday. It beautifully describes what I have been unable to articulate during my time in the north.

“Once in his life, a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth. He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience; to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder upon it, to dwell upon it. He ought to imagine that he touches it with his hands at every season and listens to the sounds that are made upon it. He ought to imagine the creatures there and all the faintest motions of the wind. He ought to recollect the glare of the moon and the colors of the dawn and dusk.”

 

Finally finished my Christmas puzzle!