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.