Nigokomis Grandmother

Nigokomis

By Tracy Bertrand October 4, 2004

Kwey, Tracy nidijinikaz. There you have it. The very first time that I have used the language that was denied me. I do not know this language, but the speakers of it continue on, their blood in my veins, their determination in my heart, their perseverance in my very nature. I am an Algonquin descendant. I used to say when asked, that I was French, with a bit of Native somewhere in my family tree. I didn’t really know any better. I was denied a lifestyle, a culture, and a sense of belonging because of the ignorance and abusive nature of others so long ago. Perhaps their actions and words weren’t meant to destroy entire generations, but they did. Perhaps these actions and words were meant only to “enlighten” and “civilize” and “assimilate.” Most of you reading this probably know what I am talking about. For those of you who don’t, let me tell you a story… Nigokomis, (Algonquin for “my grandmother”) was a little Algonquin girl. Nigokomis’ mother got sick and died when she was only 3 years old. Her father left her a little while later. She had to live with distant relatives. After her mother died, there was nobody else to teach her, or that was

willing to teach her about herself and her heritage. Nigokomis told my father that her relatives did not let her speak her Native tongue. Every time she spoke Algonquin, her mouth was washed out with soap, she was berated, and she was slapped. Quite the conditioning for acquiring a new language. She was never allowed to speak Algonquin again. She learned to speak French. When she married my grandfather, she spoke French to him, but she was gradually learning English. My father remembered speaking in French to my grandparents as a little boy. He then remembered speaking only English to Nigokomis, and also remembered that she would only speak English after a while. My grandfather would speak to her in French, and she would respond in English. What that indicates to me is that she refused to continue to speak French as an adult. She could no longer identify with that language. Language is a central make-up of one’s identity. She was not French. She was Algonquin. She identified as Algonquin, so therefore removed the French from her identity. After all, identity is what you believe yourself to be, part of one’s heritage, and her identity was initially chosen for her. She was eventually so far removed from her heritage, she knew nothing about it to teach her children. If she did remember, perhaps she chose not to. Her children had nothing to teach their children. They

had been “civilized” and were “assimilated” into modern society. It could have continued on like that, but there is a stirring within me that won’t let it. I will teach my children about our heritage as I am learning about it myself. The next time someone asks me what ethnicity I am, I will tell them that I am Algonquin.