The all community potluck was billed as The New Teacher Welcoming Potluck, and the whole town was anticipated to attend. I pondered what to bring. Potato salad, the food of my people? Cake made with old bananas for something sweet? In the end, I chose a kind of made-up succotash of canned black beans, canned corn and canned red peppers. The red peppers made it flashy and it actually wasn't too bad, alongside the variations of salmon brought by the others. I don't know if people liked it but it was all gone when I left so it can't have been too bad.
There were two kinds of baked salmon, dried salmon skin that was crunchy good, and a bowl filled with strips about half an inch wide by 3 or 4 inches long of cured smoked salmon. The kind of smoked salmon that in an average Safeway store in Portland sells for nearly twenty dollars per pound. This was in a huge wooden bowl, clearly hand carved, with a diameter of about two feet. It was amazing and reminded me of the salmon my grandpa would bring over every once in a while when I was a kid.
There was also rice, boiled and roasted potatoes, things made with local cranberries including a lovely vibrant pink pudding kind of thing, dozens of baked cookies and bars, and moose stew. Finally, I had a chance to try moose! I am delighted to report that it was delicious. Much like beef in consistency and flavor but just more meaty tasting. Very rich indeed. I am glad I only took a small bit because I am sure it would have caused much more intestinal distress the next day than the slight inconvenience I experienced.
There was a local band from the church playing country songs and before we ate, a woman whose name I never did hear gave a long speech to welcome, not the new teachers, but all the regional tribal elders and leaders who had completed their final day of regularly scheduled tribal council meetings. There were visitors from all the villages around us and many of the names echoed those of my students. Then a man said a long prayer in Yupik, the only thing I recognized was "Quyana Jesu" which means "Thank you Jesus." I didn't understand the words he said but the meaning was clear, and it reinforced my desire to learn Yupik, a language of many consonants and sshhhhh sounds.
Although I have been trying to get out of my comfort zone, this time I did sit with the other new teachers. I was surprised that none of the teachers, new and old, wanted to go to the potluck, and many left as soon as they wolfed down their food. I didn't see why they showed up at all if they knew they were going to leave 20 minutes into a 2 hour affair. I hung around and was delighted that at the end of the eating portion, there was a kind of local karaoke. As the band played, women went up front to sing various Yupik and gospel songs, including my former para-professional aid, Frieda. I teased her a few days later about knowing her all that time and never knowing she was a singer! She raised her eyebrows and beamed back at me, "Oh yes, there is a lot of singing we do. But mostly at church." Maybe if I ever get a vehicle here, I can join the church choir, something that definitely is out of my comfort zone in Portland, even though it is only a half block walk away.
As I sat listening to the singing, the light broke through the clouds and made the view from the Commons so incredibly beautiful, I tried to point it out to anyone who would listen. But my fellow teachers hardly noticed and the villagers just shrugged, their way of saying "Yeah, so what? We know it's beautiful here." I wished with half a heart that I had brought my phone but there is no camera good enough to capture what I saw.
Toward the end of the evening, a few of the elders got up to make more speeches. This time I was lucky enough to have a very kind woman sitting next to me who whispered what the people were saying. One very elderly woman told of how she was widowed early in her life but knew her husband was always with her, and how she wished the community would find better ways to combat the drugs and alcohol problems in the area and how sad she was that so many children don't speak Yupik any more. All the while she was saying this, about a dozen kids from toddler age to 10 years old were running around making quite a lot of noise with no one supervising them. When a little one bonked her head and wailed, then one of the women went over and scolded the little ones and read them the Yupik Riot Act because they all hurried back to their chairs and sat quietly from then on. I sure wish I had a translation of that!
When it was at last time to go, Emma, the woman who had been translating for me, told me that since the woman who is supposed to be my Cultural Mentor for the class I am taking is unable to fit me into her busy schedule, she (Emma) was possibly going to take up the task. She told me I was free to visit her anytime, that hers is the blue house up the hill and she would talk to my teacher about it. I sure hope this happens because I like Emma and felt we were on the same page that I am just a nice White lady who wants to learn about the people with whom I now live. Quyana Jesu!
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