n’zaagidewi n’bimaadiziyin, spelling mistakes and all

by waaseyaa'sin christine sy

the other day, ngii zhaa zhiishiibike (duck hunting. not picking. lol). nongo dibikak, ngii wiisnidi ninshibwaaboo. i swirled the smokey flavour around in my mouth; it lingered on my tongue. i can still smell the smell through my plaid shirt; still feel the warmth of its life-giving body. i wonder if my viscera, blood and cells exploded with memory upon tastebuds. i thought of manoomin entering it, me. manoominkeshi. plucking feathers put me in mind of women, my women. a long line, a majestic swirl, a delicate, powerful web. the women in me. who they are is a mystery beyond the names and stories, a few recollections, growing from ininaatig on my wall.  i don’t know. i see them there in images of me working; ancestral love, lingering onward, steady and onward.

miinawaa nongo dibikak, ngii gaawaabimaa ishpiming. ngii waabimaa nokomis miinawaa ngii waabimaag ishki anangoonhsag. bezhik, “jijaak ananghoonhsag” zhinkaazaa; miinawaa, niizh, “ogimaa ananghoonhsag”. i had been thinking about ogimaa ananghoonshag for a long time and talking about it with others; thinking about its responsibilities and gifts and how this relates to life here on earth. this one always makes me think of kwewag, manidooyag, nibi, and defying gravity. you know this one is  at work when you see the mists rising up off the lands and waters. this one, in unison with that one kind of nibi-kwe manidoo, makes magic, yes? i’ve noticed this manoomin giizis (some say falling leaves), there has been so much mist in early evenings, early mornings, and during middle-of-the-night treks. i imagine the old people and ducks would know something about what it means.


County Rd 86, somewhere around Lucknow