Dear Friends of Boundless:
An Inuit group of families and Elders from Ottawa graced us for the past five days. Last night, their final one, I sat at their fire where they teased each other mercilessly and honoured each other’s accomplishments..
One of their Elders, Daniel,charmed me like no other.
When I sidled up to him, he said, “When I see you…is it Steven?….you make me smile.”
Having been successfully wooed into his orbit, I let er rip. Gesturing to the kids among us, I asked him, “Is life better for these kids than when you grew up?”
Again he smiled, revealing tobacco-stained teeth and eyes that disappeared into a sense of wonder.
“You know”, Daniel said, “back in the day there was no sarcasm.”
I was befuddled. Sarcasm for educators is boundary crossing – a venting of frustration. Was this a criticism of the old ways or the new ways?
He added, “When I grew up (in the north), we didn’t have time for sarcasm. We couldn’t be silly. We were too busy surviving. These kids can be silly in Ottawa.”
“So it’s better in the south (Ottawa) for these families?
He is emphatic. “Definitely.”
Candidly, I know too little Inuit culture to know what to make of all this. One family had to leave day three. The mother has five kids under the age of ten and they were overwhelmed with lice.
This community is grieving loss at every turn. Inuit have the highest rates of suicide in Canada.
Food insecurity abounds. In fact, our food delighted the group more than anything else. I sense this was more than just abundance. It was about eating together.
Daniel explained that migrating from the north to the south is utterly isolating. He stressed that educating youth is not the first concern of families. Finding a community means everything.
I look upon Daniel and the other Inuit staff as tailors. If one imagines the cosmos as an infinite web with seams that have ruptured, these social warriors are forever sewing them back together.
Near the end of our conversation, Daniel declared that his people have healed at Boundless. Surely this is a stretch. But who cares? I now regard these lofty statements as aspirational, and in being so, end up becoming navigational.
The night ends with me throwing sunshine on one of our Inuit LITs, Kunu, who works for us now and will return as a student in September.
“This is the only time I will give a compliment to Kunu.” The group giggles. “Kunu, you are an ambassador of your people in our school. I assure you Elders that your people are well represented by this lad.
Then Kunu weeps.
“Gotcha”, I say.
And I can feel a seam sealing.
Thanks for reading.
Steven
