Teachings tell us of the importance of uniqueness

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 20/11/2023 (758 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I want to share a story with you.

It’s a traditional Anishinaabe story about the first human, our first ancestor — the being who teaches through games and tricks. This story is called, “Wenabozho loses his eyeballs.”

One day, while walking, Wenabozho encountered some ducks. The ducks were dancing and tossing tiny, shiny balls into the sky.

Wenabozho was very entertained.

“What are those things you’re throwing?” Wenabozho asked the ducks.

“Our eyeballs,” the ducks replied. “Try it.”

Wenabozho took out her eyes and tossed them up, quickly catching them and popping them back in place. This was fun. Her eyes saw many things when they were up in the air.

All afternoon, Wenabozho and the ducks played with their eyeballs. As the sun began to go down, the ducks grew tired and told Wenabozho they had to go home.

They gave a warning before leaving.

“Don’t play with your eyes for too long,” the ducks warned Wenabozho. “If you keep tossing them into the sky, one day they won’t come back.”

Wenabozho laughed. She wasn’t one to follow the rules.

She couldn’t stop playing games with her eyeballs. Wenabozho played for days, months and, finally, years.

One day, she threw her eyeballs so high they never returned.

Wenabozho was blind. She stumbled around the world for a long time, sad.

Soon, Wenabozho discovered something amazing. She experienced the world in new ways. She heard more clearly. Her sense of smell was keener. Even water tasted different. She soon realized she had more gifts without her eyes, not less.

Wenabozho learned to use her body in new ways. She gained more knowledge and learned new tricks. She learned her eyes were incredible parts of her, but so were all of her parts. She played and danced and had fun again.

One day, while walking in the forest, she came upon a kind spruce tree and told it her story.

“Would you like to see again?” the wise old tree asked Wenabozho.

“I don’t need to, but I can try,” Wenabozho said.

“Here, take my resin, and make some gum to make yourself some new eyes,” the spruce tree said.

Wenabozho made new eyeballs from the gum found in the tree. Her new eyes worked very well, and she lived for a long time with them.

Wenabozho never forgot the teaching about how she lost her eyeballs.

November is Indigenous Disability Awareness Month, a “time to celebrate the achievements and valuable social, economic and cultural contributions made by Indigenous peoples with disabilities in Canada.”

The Wenabozho story is about disability — or, rather ability, since there is no real traditional word for “disability” in Anishinaabemowin (or most Indigenous languages).

The closest word I’ve ever heard for the term is maagizewin, which Anishinaabemowin teacher Pat Ningewance tells me means “a permanent inability to walk straight.”

The word might describe what some “disabled” persons do, but not what they contribute to the Anishinaabe world.

For that, we turn to the first part of the word, “maagizi,” which means “needs empathy.”

This is closer to an Indigenous understanding of “disability.”

Being born with distinct abilities, without a limb or carrying unique needs, isn’t a deficiency in Indigenous traditions. In fact, it’s the opposite.

For Anishinaabe, our teachings tell us we need as much uniqueness as possible in our gatherings and governments to become our fullest political, economical and cultural selves.

Having an “extra” chromosome, a dynamic ability to learn, or using a wheelchair is something to be valued because it helps the community learn, grow and thrive.

Simply put, people with extraordinary abilities give us a critical perspective that would be sorely lacking if everyone was the same.

In ceremonies, for example, everyone has the opportunity to sing, dance and contribute. People who are very unique offer more.

Deaf people challenge us to experience sound through other senses, such as touch.

People with anxiety or depression exemplify the value of process and silence.

Communities who have members with multiple sclerosis or Parkinson’s disease teach families and entire nations how to be creative and patient.

Elders and knowledge keepers remind Indigenous communities every human and non-human has a gift that must be shared with the universe in order to make it whole.

Sometimes these gifts are the ability to do remarkable, superhuman things.

Sometimes these gifts are the ability to communicate with beings many of us cannot.

Sometimes these gifts involve incorporating materials in the body such as metal, plastic, electronics or eyes made from the gum of a spruce tree.

This is what Indigenous peoples believe when we are honoured with a relative in our lives who is absolutely, fully and completely unique.

They are able in every way, making us all able in the process.

niigaan.sinclair@freepress.mb.ca