mardi 13 juillet 2010

A part of my book/in english

My name is Waïskwaï and this is the story of my defeats and my victories, which I hope, will not leave you indifferent, may it be for a hint of happiness, joy, passion, love, peace and compassion and even much more!

Chapter 1 - Landing on earth

Lying down, my head pressed under my body, the heat was dense. The sunrays seemed to pierce my heart as I woke up suddenly, my hand still laying on my leather bag. "Ouch!" I surprised myself saying out loud when my head hit the ground. How much time had I been sleeping? Time? What was that mystifying thing which the "Washichun", the white men, couldn't stop checking inside their jacket pocket? Now where could that female wolf I had been hunting for hours have been gone? How could I have fallen asleep? "I let her go," I murmured to myself, patting my forehead. Still drowsy from the rude awakening, I scanned the distant plains for her. "I'll find you back, beautiful Spring child."

I am a member of a tribe called Labritha, which is itself part of a big nation: the Lakota. We live a happy life on the plains out there and even now, the galloping horses still amaze me. The symbolic animal of our nation, the bison, has shown me the strength of mankind. I am the middle child of a family of two sons and three daughters; I am the friendly type, quite used to daily teasings and games. My father is a chief warrior whom everyone respects and my mother is affectionate and always helpful. As for me, Waïskwaï, my name itself is strength. Waïskwaï is that strong and unbreakable wood used in building our canoes and I was named after it by a friend. Here, names can be given just like we offer a gift: any important event that comes to our life can give birth to a new name for one same person, that name often being inspired from an animal or from the beauties of nature surrounding us. Waïskwaï is not my name of birth, it was given to me long after. In our nation, a number of stories and legends have been rocking our tender childhood. Let me tell you about my story.

I was born in the days of young bisons, or as white men would call it, in the month of April. The women were bustling and rushing about: a birth cannot be ignored; despite being a beautiful and unique experience, it can be hard, painful and sometimes fierce. Inside our teepee, my mother, laid down on bison-skin, was sweating and moaning with pain. She started to cry as she became more and more exhausted and her friends began whispering sweet words in her ears, all meant to encourage her. "The sun was high up in the sky when the pain started," the greatest story-teller of all time Little White Bison, an eminent person in our tribe, told me. We listened, our mouths open and our tongues in suspense, and paid attention to every word he said. On that evening after sunset, young and old were sat down around a wood-fire, all listening to the story of my birth. What an amazing memory story-tellers have! They were asked to fill that role, so that over time, people could know where they came from and where they were going. The old man went on, "The women were soothing your mother with songs, each one in our sweet and charming language. The atmosphere then calmed down and your mother's muscles relaxed. Time seemed to slow down and the baby seemed ready to come out." There's a time for everything, I told myself, as I thought about it all. In our tribe, it is often said that a good atmosphere makes delivery easier. "There she was! She slipped from the heavens down to earth. She came here to make the quiet life, too quiet, of our plain take off."

My name was formerly Aleshanee, which means "one who plays all the time." This name fit me because I was indeed such a girl, spending the whole day gamboling, climbing and swimming. On that particular night, Little White Bison succeeded in fascinating us. His stories never left anyone indifferent. On that night, the story of my birth was told in the plains of Lakota.

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