Part Two of Rubbing Shoulders with the Yakama Indians

        Here continues the second part of the intriguing tale of the Yakama Indian Nation.  There's a shape shifting Coyote, out of body travel, Medicine women who see the future and a duezy of a joke on an Indian Agent.   If you missed Part One, read it first. 

Yakama Indians see life and the Great Spirit in every living thing, such as this tree.

                      Even today, once a year there’s a huge Fourth of July POW WOW on the Yakama Nation Reservation, in White Swan, where Indian-only riders compete in racing tournaments.   The public is always invited to watch (and spend their money there.)   There is great food, traditional dancing in authentic Native costumes to the beat of a circle of tribal drums, and lots of fun.  

                      Funny thing though, the Confederated Tribes of Yakama had NO horses until after they began trading with the Plains Indians.   When the Yakamas saw their first mounted rider and horse, they thought the horse and man were one creature.   It scared the crap out of them.

                   When the Plains Indian got off his horse, the Yakamas were still dumbfounded at the creature standing beside the man.  

        Soon they were unafraid and the wily Yakamas quickly adopted the practice of riding and breeding horses.   


        Much like the automobile impacted modern man, the horse revolutionized the life of the Yakamas.   They were more mobile, could travel farther and carry more than on foot as before.  Plus horses became sport.


       Remember from Part One, the women used to walk on foot, 40 plus miles round trip annually to harvest Bread root?  


       Imagine their joy at having horses to ride and pack their supplies.  

        Since the Yakamas had no word in their language for “horse”, they called it “Kusi Kusi” (khoo-ssi khoo-ssi”) which meant “big dog”.  (“Kusi” was the word for dog.  By doubling the word, it meant “big dog.”)


        About that language.  It was insanely difficult to learn.   I know, I  tried!

 

       One of my instructors, in fact a couple of them, were Yakama Tribal Elders, well educated, and much revered among those at the college and the Yakama tribe.  One woman named Virginia Beavert, who was in her 60’s then, taught a class in Sahaptin, the official language of the tribe.  The entire language had only 3,500 words in it.  It was an interesting language.  

         Trying to speak it was like trying to GARGLE water ... WHILE chewing gum ... but with a BOARD in your mouth!  I quickly found that my “White man” tongue was fastened at the WRONG END!

        The Yakama language I was taught is really a northwestern dialect of Sahaptin, a language of the Plateau Penutian kind, according to Heritage University.   When I was there learning it in 1999, they called it “Sahaptin,” but recently some native speakers decided to use a traditional Yakama name for this language, which is "Ichishkíin Sínwit.”  (And I thought the original name was HARD to say!)    


        Tribal Cultural Resources program now use that name (unpronounceable!) to supersede the word “Sahaptin.”   Apparently that means "stranger in the land.”   If anybody was a “stranger” it was the WHITE soldiers who conquered the tribes. 

Beautiful sunset on the Reservation

           The sounds of this American Native tongue were made in the BACK of the throat with the mouth barely open.  (Try to COUGH with your mouth SHUT!)  I think I hawked up a lung trying to get the hang of pronouncing the language.

           I remember trying to pronounce a word as I walked across campus one day at Heritage College where I studied.   The sounds that came from my lips did not even remotely sound HUMAN!  

         A friend, walking in the opposite direction toward me, heard what she thought was me struggling to clear my throat, and  asked if I needed a cough drop!  (I was just trying to say “robin” which sounds like “kwoosh kwoosh.”)

        Even with very few words in their vocabulary, the Yakama peoples’ language had an amazing number of extremely specific words:  the sound a horse’s hooves made while walking over loose shale, for example, had its own word.  There were several colors of wild rabbits, each of which had its own unique word.  


         If the Yakamas adopted an English word, they simply added “kin” to the end of it and readily used it.   For example, “TVkin!”

        Let me tell you, in my language class it was a whole OTHER world!

         When my teacher, Tribal Elder Virginia Beavert, was speaking, we had to remain TOTALLY silent.   It was considered very RUDE to raise your hand, whisper to another student, or ask a question of a Tribal Elder WHILE she was speaking.  If you broke the rule, you were instantly expelled from class. 


        We shut our big mouths and ALWAYS listened respectfully to her.   She would talk for about an hour, pausing to think in silence, then proceed when she wanted to.   After she had finished speaking, then her assistant, also a tribal member, would let us ask questions.   If HE didn’t think the question was a good one, you didn’t get an answer!

         She was treated like royalty and indeed she WAS.  Not only had she been a Tribal Elder and a Tribal Judge, but also SHE was the granddaughter of OWHI, or White Owl.   HE was one of the original signers of the Treaty of 1855.   She was HISTORY WALKING right before our eyes.  The 1/8 Cherokee blood in me practically worshipped her.  I wanted her to take me home!   


        We addressed her as “sapsiqashle” in Sahaptin - (“saahp-see-kwaash-lah”) or teacher.   I was among real Indians at Heritage College and I loved every minute of it. 

       She shared some of the strange aspects of Yakamas beliefs with us.

       Yakamas have a legendary character called “Spilyay” (pronounced “Speel-yay.”)    He’s a shape-shifter and a coyote.  Wicked trickster he is, and they always blamed mishaps on Spilyay.  


        I tried to do the same, but nobody was "buying it"...

       Also, the Yakamas kept their children well behaved by threatening them.  They told the kids that the “Discipliner” would come to beat them.  (I have forgotten the word for him in Sahaptin, but he was a BAD ASS dude.)   He would travel around among the communities and the tribe brought out any recalcitrant kids. 


        He scared the moccasins right off them but good!  Maybe he and ole shape shifter Spilyay were buddies.  We could use a few of him on our teens these days!

       My teacher casually told us she COULD TRAVEL OUT OF HER BODY!  She told us many times about “flying above my house and seeing my parents inside, eating, etc.”    She could tell people things that happened, about which ONLY they knew because she was NOT there physically, but in her out-of-body self.   Her mother was a “healer.”  


         Virginia said her mom always seemed to sense if she was spying on them, and she’d look up and shake her fist at her!

       She told us her mom could also see the future.  One time the family was at a POW WOW.  Virginia said that her mom was resting out of the heat in a small trailer they’d brought along.  Suddenly, on that clear-blue-sky-day, her mom rushed out of that trailer and shouted, “We must go, there’s a storm coming!”  So, they did!   Within 15 minutes, a HUGE micro burst of wind toppled the tents, flags and that trailer she had been in. 


          I really believed her.   Virginia Beavert was very convincing.  You had to be there. It was like being in the presence of royalty.

 

         The school I attended was started originally by Catholic nuns.  Classes had been initially conducted in the old Federal Indian Agency building just outside Toppenish to teach the children of the Yakama Nation.  It was brick and very old but updated before I arrived there.   


        By the time I went there, the campus had several buildings, a modern library, computer center and several portable classrooms and staff offices.  Today it is much larger.   New buildings replaced the old mobile home classrooms and it is Heritage University, now a part of the University of Washington campus system.   

        When I attended in 1996, white students were a minority and mostly Yakama tribe members and Hispanics attended that elite private college.  The Yakama tribal members who were students seemed quiet and well-behaved to me.  (Must be because of that “Discipliner Dude’!)  Some wore their hair in traditional style, worn long, down their backs.   


       Education was free to all enrolled tribe members.  The college sat in the heart of the reservation surrounded by hop fields and orchards.

Heritage University's modern library and computer lab on the reservation.

      There is a funny story about the early days of the Indian Agency that later became Heritage College: 

     Seems in the old days, the Indian agent, a white man, was trying to get to know the Yakamas.  So, every day he would go out and sit on the front steps of the Indian Agency and eat his sack lunch.  There was an old Yakama Indian who always sat on those steps, day after day.  


       He never spoke to the agent but only watched him eat his lunch.  Often the Indian Agent would try to strike up a conversation but to no avail.  The old Yakama man never said a word to him, so the agent assumed the man did not speak English.

      Every day without fail, the white agent would offer the Yakama a share of his lunch by extending out his hand with a sandwich.  Always the Indian would grunt and turn his head away, but then he would watch quietly as the white man began to eat his meal.  The agent would unwrap his sandwiches, eat them, then fold up and save the paper which he put back in his metal lunch pail.   


      Always watching, saying nothing, the old Yakama would just sit, looking around silently, but keeping his eye on the white agent.

     One day the agent had a terrible cold.   After eating his lunch, putting away his sandwich papers, he pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose heartily on it.  Then, he folded his handkerchief and put it back in his pocket. 


        Without warning, the old Yakama jumped to his feet!   With a disgusted look on his lined face he exclaimed, “YOU WHITE MEN!  You save EVERYTHING!”   


      Then the old man stomped away.  And he never returned!

      The Yakamas were strange when it came to death, too. 

 When somebody died, they would burn sage brush fires, letting the smoke rise to the sky.  It was how they believed the spirit of the dead rose to the heavens to their God.  If any of the smoke happened to flow through a window or door, Yakamas believed the spirit would be trapped.  


        Since we had Yakamas working at the college it was not uncommon, even during a hot, breathless day, for one of them to rush to shut the doors and windows whenever they saw smoke.

       They told me that they had something else that happened often: burying their dead in already occupied graves! 

       Since the federal government broke up the reservation into many land plots, giving some of the best land to whites, and the others to Yakamas, there were a lot of white people buried in the reservation cemeteries.  Burials had to be in authorized cemeteries, even on the reservation. 


        Many poor Yakamas could not afford burial plots much less coffins.  They religiously believed their dead had to be in those cemeteries, though.

       So, in the night, family members would slip out to the local cemetery near them, and dig up the grave of a white person.   They would bury their dead on top of the coffin in the grave, then shovel the dirt back over it, carefully replacing any sod they had pried up.   
                Usually no one ever knew.
 
        One White man had to be disinterred for an autopsy, though.  They found TWO Indians buried on top of him!   The Yakamas I knew laughed, talking about how it was funny that whites didn’t know they were sharing their graves with one, probably two dead Yakamas!  They felt they got the "last laugh" on the whites.

That was poetic justice to me.

         When a Yakama died, the family had a “Giving Away” ceremony.   All friends of the deceased would come to the home, where family members made gifts to visitors of every single possession of the deceased person!  Not one item was left of the dearly departed at the end of the day.  


         However, exactly one year later, everybody who had received a possession of the deceased, returned it, on the “Giving Back Day.”   Yakamas talked about how often a nice TV was given away, but an older one was brought back.  They didn’t get mad.  It was just their way.  

        Also, if you were a Yakama, you were NOT allowed to speak the name of the dead person for a whole year, nor were you ever allowed to carry a photo of them.  After one year, you were then allowed to talk about them, speak their name and show photos of them to anyone.  (The really old Yakamas would not let you take their photos. They believed you would trap their spirit on the film.) 


       The Yakama Nation had their way of doing things and we respected them.  They were deeply spiritual, grateful people.

       On campus the Yakama students often had fund raisers for one thing or another.  They would hold a Fry Bread (or Indian Taco) sale.  They would make a simple flour and water dough right in front of you, stretch it out very thin to the size of a giant tortilla, then fry it in hot lard.  It became golden, bubbly and very crisp.  You could have them put shredded cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, salsa and sometimes a little cooked ground burger on top for only a dollar. 


             It was so delicious!  I sure miss those days.

Graduation day at Heritage University. Austin on left, middle son David on right, back in 2000.  I became a teacher myself!

My son Austin today at his own graduation, four generations down from my own Cherokee ancestors.

       Six years after I had started Heritage University, I graduated in 2000 with highest honors, as an Elementary Teacher with endorsements in Spanish, English as a Second Language and Bilingual Education.   I didn’t go to school full time all the way through, so it took me longer.   I worked part time jobs all the way through to support myself and my son Austin.   


         My son sure loved those Indian tacos.  Out of self defense, I learned to make them at home. 

       When I was half through college, the tribe built a huge Casino just down the road from the campus.  Like many tribes, they have learned to take advantage of white man’s greed for what seems easy money.

At the Reservation RV Park, there are tee pees that are for rent to camp in, placed on concrete bases with firepits.  Non-Indian tourists love these!

         Crowds flocked to the Legends Casino to enjoy gambling and the sensational restaurant and grill they had inside.  The Casino booked well-known music bands, great entertainment, and had bingo parties, too.  They built an RV park near it, where I’ve stayed in recent years.  Basically the Casino was open 24-7.  They employed ONLY tribe members, which brought many tribe families out of poverty within a year.  


          Pretty soon the tribe was raking in the money.

 

        FIRST thing they did was pay off the Casino financiers and build ANOTHER casino right next to it.  


        SECOND, they helped expand the Heritage University campus and increased tribal enrollment there. 


        THIRD, after tribe member graduation from college, they sent as many of them as they could on to LAW SCHOOL.   


        They may have lost “round one” in the Treaty of 1855, but they were not going to lose ANY in the future, not with THEIR own lawyers!

Very, very smart Indians, I’d say.

Sunset bronzes our RV on a Fall evening when we last visited the Nation's RV Park

http://www.legendscasino.com/community.html   Thanks to this website for many photos used here.