Pow-wowed
My heart was beating overtime, my brow sticky with sweat and dust. The drumbeat was at once exciting and soothing. The songs sung by men from Alkali Lake, BC, effortlessly reached the high notes. Many from the circle of admirers and fans captured their pure voices with hand-held recorders. I heard a loud shrill and turned to see a magnificently dressed dancer with a flute, urging the singers to continue. In the haze of dust, a large circle of 12,000 powwow dancers from across the continent honoured the drum group and their incredible songs.
It was 1983, the end of March, at the first big powwow held at Regina’s large Agridome. As I walked around and took in the sights of the powwow grounds, thousands more spectators were present to witness the first powwow of the year – and the largest according to other seasoned powwow attendees.
Alkali Lake, once portrayed as Alcohol Lake, whose peoples suffered from intense abuses of all forms, were the winning group that year. Ordinarily clad drummers pealed out extraordinary passion in their songs, songs that reached nearly 20,000 appreciative people that day. I know, because I still remember that day. Powwows are today a great source of tradition, culture, food, fashion and art, and friendship. It’s hard not to forget a powwow.
Back home, powwows were the term used for our gatherings and didn’t always involve the drumming and dancing of our brethren to the west. Often, our powwows were a smattering of games, contemplation, more games, feasting and dancing to fiddle music all night. Our first regional summer powwow held in Fort George yielded a massive gathering of peoples from all the communities and we celebrated the first years of our new self-government in the only way we knew, by being the greatest host you can be.
At that time, the powwow revealed itself as a competitive gathering, with the pillow fight being one of my favourite sports. How often can you duke it out with the chief balancing on a log and whacking each other until one of you lost balance and fell off the log. Great stuff!
Another great favourite was the tug of war, which could get violent. Your legs would actually shake under the great pressure to win as you pulled your opponent across the line across the sand. If only Depends for Adults were available in those days. We wouldn’t have had so many rip-roaring surprises from exertion or laughter.
Tests of strength brought out the best of the bushman skills. One of the crowd’s favourite competitions was the carrying of 100-pound bags of flour, portage-style. With only a rope and minimal strapping to your forehead and bags and bags of flour heaped to your load, if you would walk further than your competition, you came in top dog. Neck brace pull was another one-on-one sport that made everyone understand that the Cree use their heads in more ways than one.
The paddling contest was one that my late uncle and I entered and we came in first easily, as we had enough time to have three cigarettes to allow the slowpokes to catch up, then paddle off again. The race was about three miles in total, across the river one mile down river and other half-mile, then back against the wind and waves to the beach.
The women also did this and were quite impressive with their stamina and endurance. Back in the day, it was the women who checked the fishnets and paddling was the only way to get around. Everyone paddled, so… the canoe race had a lot of contestants.
Today, those same games are used in our “traditional powwow.” In a way, we have changed the name due to political correctness and what exactly powwow meant and to who. I found that if you gave it a name, it would be powwow because it meant that we First Nations peoples were getting together to have a good time, and no one could mistake powwow with any other national festival. Octoberfest anyone?