Three Weeks to Grow Up
The real leader has no need to lead- he is content to point the way.-Henry Miller. Adaptation of a foreign tongue, and different environment shape my surroundings. We’ve grown weak, our enemy has fallen, and yet we stand strong. I look in the eyes of my brothers and sisters, and pull them from the ground, and say, “We’re not to the finish line yet.”
I stand there blurred, with flashy lights that lie above me. My ears toned deaf, as cheering and a hard drum beat buzz my ears. Five hundred people surround me, and yet the tight space feels as if I’m lost. I’ve come to realize that I’d desert home for three weeks. My pillow, my bed, my family, and friends all left behind. Midnight glowed with stars, and the moon shined with tears of leaving all from what I called, my comfort zone. Not only did I leave a trail of tears, but my girls that stood under my wings began to pull back. No matter how much I wanted to follow my reflected tears, I had to stand strong and be there for them. July 24th, 2011, I left home to tour, to dance along other Native American Dancers. The Koshares, Kwahadies, and Kossa dancers would tour together becoming, “The Song of the Eagle.”
Our first show stood inside a school that quickly reassembled a childhood movie known as, “High School Musical.” The floors so shiney, hallways nicely swept, and then we gasped at the sight of the auditorium. We would dance above a stage, parading around in our regalia, formally crow hopping to the beat. Performing an act of raids, and sacred animals, like broadway was beneath our toes. Regalia, our important appearance was to be put on immediately,and from that point on, I knew this was going to be one long adventure. A girl of twenty-three, would dance proudly as a fancy shawl with a hidden secret behind her smile. Behind the curtains stood a bully. She began to mock, and tease a thirteen year old girl that whimpered, and yelled to be left alone. In the corner stood the one who called herself the leader, but she took no stand. Arguments went back and forth, but no resolution came of it, and I had no need to dramatize my title, it was time to take it to the head moms. There it was taken up where I stood with my definition of a leader, and the way things should’ve been handled. From there we’d taken one note, what not to do. No need to argue over maturity, or immaturity. We’re all little once in our life and everyday we learn new things. Somedays, you just have to take a stand without knotting your views, and others. You must take in all sides, and learn from there.
Elgin, Illinois, was a place where we’d come in contact with a broom, trash bags, and dirty rags. It all began with chores, and responsibility. We had our clans, and my girls and I belonged to the maidens. Our first job, food. We’d prepare food, expand it along tables, and clean up. Eventually it’d turn to collecting trash upon the bus, and sweeping at our stay. Findlay and Sandusky, Ohio, and Aurora, New York we’re our final steps in the U.S., and we’d officially step into Canadian Territory.
Canada was filled with many breathtaking sights such as, Niagara Falls. Not a picture could capture the emotion that would spill with adrenaline. My heart spoke, “ A new place, different rules, and sign language that spoke through words.” We’d stop every few hours to munch upon food, that wouldn’t fully feed us and try to decipher the words of french. Not everybody spoke french, but not everybody spoke english. They’d speak, and to our best ability we’d nod with respect and not laughter of how we blushed with confusion. Our money began to transform into coins, and from there expand higher into paper money. It was time for laughter, fun, and yet a bit more of adventure. St. Sauveur Des Monts,Quebec, had a life changing experience not only for me, but my companions that followed as well. A park of water rides laid slanted on a mountain that we’d soon wonder through. Nothing but the sound of French slipped through strangers lips, and inside my nerves twisted with the feeling of discomfort. I somehow had to wrap myself up inside the new surrounding, and eventually I became more open to the idea of newer things. It took more than standing in line for hours to ease the discomfort, but I had to be willing to let go. No one said, everyone would speak the same language because everyone has different views.
Bangor, Maine, Pipersville, Pennsylvania, and Jackson, New Jersey, had flew passed the window seats of the tour bus and we had reached Baltimore, Maryland. Day after day we danced and gave it our all, but our bodies began to shut down. The last week of tour, our muscles became a puppet that we played with, and our coughs began to overwhelm our lungs. Sickness, exhaustion, and starvation had hit us. The dead bodies that lie tired on the floor, weren’t the dancers that left at the beginning. Exhaustion of never ending travel, tore us from our daily log of rest, and starvation of our snacking and five meals we used to eat, meant nothing. We got very few hours of sleep, not enough protein, and vegetables to feed our bodies. At the moment, my stomach dropped, because everyone fell before me. With their eyes they spoke of giving up, but I saw their hearts lifting their chin. I needed to do something, anything, so I ran to beg my leader for help. I came running back, with a smirk on my face and leaders with water, oranges, vitamins, and protein bars that would soon feed our bodies. The need of keeping my group from falling and giving up. I looked beyond us, and roughly saw the others. The Kwahadies, and Kossas had eventually grown weak. They slept with a sickness inside their throat, and cried with hurt bones, and knees. They dropped one by one, letting the pain and sickness eat their bodies. The thought of sleeping, not dancing, and giving up gnawed at our minds, but together we helped each other up.
Looking back, my group bleed from wounds, but covered it with a band aid, was too tired to stand up, but fought to never kneel, and bandaged from head to toe, but we didn’t let that stop us from doing what we loved. Dancing, a culture we respected and saw in our eyes as sacred we must play the part, in order for it to be realistic.
Richland, Virginia, Nashville, Tennessee, Paris, Texas, and Amarillo, Texas, were our last stops till we would hit the road back to La Junta, Colorado. It was a rough trip, of dancing day after day, getting to know new people, and adapting, but along the road, I’ve made greater memories for my scrapbook. I left footprints in graved in mud I walked in. I’ve learned more about who I’ve come to be.