Tho Niiowennake
The title of this post means "These are my words" in Mohawk.
On September 11, 2001, I was in Amsterdam. A lot of you know some or all of this story, but bear with me. Because of the time difference, it was late afternoon when I heard what was going on in NYC. I was on the way back to my hotel from the Van Gogh museum when a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was American. Upon my confirmation, she told me someone blew up the White House. That's all she knew.
When I got back to the hotel, I went to the room I was sharing with my boss. The TV was on CNN and there was a note on my bed telling me to call my Mom and which room the boss was in and I should join her. I called my Mom, assured her I was OK, and then went to join the boss in the other hotel room. Besides my boss, there were four colleagues, two of whom were Mohawks and we all sat there, dumbfounded, speechless, and utterly incapable of hiding any emotion. That day, the five of us in that room knew that we'd never forget each other.
Skip to 2006. I was in London for a tradeshow and I walked by a booth and out of the corner of my eye, I saw KCB, one of the Mohawks that had been in that hotel room. I hadn't seen him since that day and when I recognized him, I immediately went over and gave him a big hug. He recognized me instantly as well. We caught up a bit, smiled a lot, and made a pact to keep in touch.
Since then, I've seen or emailed with KCB less than I would like, but every time we do see each other, we have enormous smiles on our faces. He's a bald, frantically energetic and passionate guy and he is fascinating to me. I try to politely pick his brain about his culture and heritage every chance I get and God love him, he's happy to indulge me.
This week, I was emailing with him and noticed he had a new part to his name, and one that was clearly Mohawk as there was no possible way I could pronounce it. So I asked him about it and one thing led to another and he's since treated me with a nomenclature lesson from the Mohawk Nation. Apparently, since we invited him to speak in Montreal, he added his Iroquois Mohawk name, as is their custom. He also told me that no two Iroquois can have the same name while they both live. Their clans own their names and when they die, they can then choose to pass the name along when the right soul is born. His name, which I won't print here for the same reasons I don't use anyone's real name on this site, refers to a feather used in the Condolence Ceremony and "is used to strip away the grief and suffering of those who suffer, so that their ears may hear the words to uplift them, that their eyes may behold the beauty of life, and their lips may again speak good words".
In his culture, names don't just describe who they are, but also what their duties and obligations in this life will entail. Maybe it's PMS or the full moon or stupid Saturn rising, but this facet of the Mohawk culture is inspiring to me and is affecting me deeply today. I'm actually at a complete loss of words for how it affects me other than to say, it's beautiful and I wish my culture hadn't tried so desperately to wipe out the cultures that were here on this land before us. We could have learned so much.
Finally, I had mentioned to him how when I travel I miss my family and he gave me a phrase that he feels transcends the limits of its English equivalent.
Akwe:kon tsi ni kónhnhes enkononrónhkwake.
All the length of my life, I wrap my spirit around you.
On September 11, 2001, I was in Amsterdam. A lot of you know some or all of this story, but bear with me. Because of the time difference, it was late afternoon when I heard what was going on in NYC. I was on the way back to my hotel from the Van Gogh museum when a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked me if I was American. Upon my confirmation, she told me someone blew up the White House. That's all she knew.
When I got back to the hotel, I went to the room I was sharing with my boss. The TV was on CNN and there was a note on my bed telling me to call my Mom and which room the boss was in and I should join her. I called my Mom, assured her I was OK, and then went to join the boss in the other hotel room. Besides my boss, there were four colleagues, two of whom were Mohawks and we all sat there, dumbfounded, speechless, and utterly incapable of hiding any emotion. That day, the five of us in that room knew that we'd never forget each other.
Skip to 2006. I was in London for a tradeshow and I walked by a booth and out of the corner of my eye, I saw KCB, one of the Mohawks that had been in that hotel room. I hadn't seen him since that day and when I recognized him, I immediately went over and gave him a big hug. He recognized me instantly as well. We caught up a bit, smiled a lot, and made a pact to keep in touch.
Since then, I've seen or emailed with KCB less than I would like, but every time we do see each other, we have enormous smiles on our faces. He's a bald, frantically energetic and passionate guy and he is fascinating to me. I try to politely pick his brain about his culture and heritage every chance I get and God love him, he's happy to indulge me.
This week, I was emailing with him and noticed he had a new part to his name, and one that was clearly Mohawk as there was no possible way I could pronounce it. So I asked him about it and one thing led to another and he's since treated me with a nomenclature lesson from the Mohawk Nation. Apparently, since we invited him to speak in Montreal, he added his Iroquois Mohawk name, as is their custom. He also told me that no two Iroquois can have the same name while they both live. Their clans own their names and when they die, they can then choose to pass the name along when the right soul is born. His name, which I won't print here for the same reasons I don't use anyone's real name on this site, refers to a feather used in the Condolence Ceremony and "is used to strip away the grief and suffering of those who suffer, so that their ears may hear the words to uplift them, that their eyes may behold the beauty of life, and their lips may again speak good words".
In his culture, names don't just describe who they are, but also what their duties and obligations in this life will entail. Maybe it's PMS or the full moon or stupid Saturn rising, but this facet of the Mohawk culture is inspiring to me and is affecting me deeply today. I'm actually at a complete loss of words for how it affects me other than to say, it's beautiful and I wish my culture hadn't tried so desperately to wipe out the cultures that were here on this land before us. We could have learned so much.
Finally, I had mentioned to him how when I travel I miss my family and he gave me a phrase that he feels transcends the limits of its English equivalent.
Akwe:kon tsi ni kónhnhes enkononrónhkwake.
All the length of my life, I wrap my spirit around you.
We might say "I'll always love you". I have to agree with him - his version is way better.
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P.S. Sorry to hear you got kicked, again, in the same shin, again. Ryan has his bidness tonight so if you feel like chillin', having a couple beers prior to the bowling extravaganza (if you're going) that would be swell. Much love Sister.