21/09/2025
Aujourd'hui plus que jamais nous avons besoin d'une communauté et d'aînés pour nous guider...
Long ago, in a camp beside the sîpiy (river), children watched as the kêkiwêwak (old ones) sat around the miskotâpân (lodge fire). Some had hair as white as snow, and some carried voices that trembled like dry leaves in the wind. The children whispered to each other, “Are all these kêkiwêwak truly êhtê-ayak (elders)?”
Their nohkom shook her head softly. “No, nitisânak (my grandchildren). To be old is not the same as to be an êhtê-aya. An elder is one whose words are maskihkîy (medicine), whose steps follow the teachings, whose heart steadies the people. Age alone does not make that so.”
She pointed toward the far edge of the camp. “But there are those among us who have carried the kiskinohamâkanak (ancient knowledge) of our people all their lives. They never sought riches or praise. They simply stood firm, holding the truth for our people, like a maskwahtik (pine tree) that does not bend in the storm. That is eldership.”
The children listened, wide-eyed. One asked, “But what of those who are old yet do not live well? The ones who quarrel, who drink, who forget the teachings?”
Nohkom’s eyes grew soft. “We do not cast them away. Many have been wounded by hardships not of their making. Their suffering is still part of our circle. But we do not follow their example. Instead, we learn from their pain. We say, see where that path leads, and choose differently. The sun still rises, even if one pîsimwâsis (little bird) flies crooked.”
Another child asked, “Why do we bring asemaa (to***co) when we ask an êhtê-aya a question?”
Nohkom placed a small bundle in her hand. “Because asemaa is our heart. When we place it in an elder’s palm, it is like giving them our spirit with trust and humility. We are saying: I honor your words as sacred. Teach me what you know.”
The miskotâpân crackled, and the children grew quiet. Nohkom’s voice became like a song: “So remember this, nitisânak. Not every kêkiwêw is an êhtê-aya, and not every êhtê-aya is perfect. But true eldership is known by the fruits of a life lived with sôhkeyihtamowin (courage), sôhkâtisiwin (love), manâtisiwin (respect), kêkêkwêwin (honesty), tâpwêwin (truth), sâkitowin (kindness), and nistohtamowin (wisdom). We honor those who live in that way. And when we see failure, we do not use it as an excuse to fail ourselves. Instead, we take the good where we find it, and let the rest remind us how fragile we all are.”
The children leaned close to the miskotâpân, holding the story as though it were a glowing ember.
—Kanipawit Maskwa
John Gonzalez
