Oona/Ni-bo-wi-se-gwe/Night Flying Woman Character Analysis

No Indian family dared approach the relief and welfare agencies of the Twin Cities. They knew that they would only be given a bus ticket and be told to go back to the reservation where the government would take care of them as usual.

These strangers […] are again asking the Ojibway to mark a paper. […] The Ojibway to the east have made the mark, and now they are on the big water where they must stay forever. The strangers promised never to enter their forests but they came anyway[.]

Poor Trees, we are leaving, but you will be gone too after the strangers come. […] Poor squirrels, where will you go after the strangers come?

The women wove reed mats and cut birch bark. They fastened the mats around the base of the lodge frames and put overlapping birch-bark sheets on the upper part. Then the lodges were ready.

Our lives must now revolve around this lodge, because we must not meet the strangers. But remember that we, the Ojibway, have always moved freely from a summer place to a winter place, with a blueberry place, a ricing place, and a sugar bush in between.

We know the secrets of the forest and receive the gifts of a Generous Spirit. These we repay by honoring and respecting the living things in the forests: the animal people and the plant life which in itself is life-giving. We do not waste the precious gifts, but share them with our brothers.

The people […] welcomed the stranger who had traveled with him. They prepared a feast and made a place of rest for them.

He said that they must mark a paper before a man called Agent, and afterward they would be given food and clothing.

Each ricing time the man will come for the children. If they live in the longhouse of the school they will never know our ways. Our strength will be lost. If we move close to the big village, the children will stay home at night and we can still teach them the old ways. We must decide—shall we stay separate and not see the children from ricing to planting, or shall we speak to them each night about the good of our people?

Maybe it will start them learning civilized ways.

But always there was the sorrow that the sickness brought, and life was shortened by it. Many times the sickness took mothers and fathers. The children who were left behind were raised as little brothers and sisters by those for whom they were namesakes.

They say we must forget what was taught by our people and we must believe only what we learn now at the church.

So it is the custom that at the very first time—and only the first time—a young girl has the physical signs of change, she must go into the forest […] and fast. […] The longer she fasts, the clearer will be her dreams of what she will do in life. If she is a Dreamer or a Medicine Person, her visions will confirm this.

It is well that we plant and harvest and hunt, for this food given us by the White Father would not be enough.

Oona was so busy with the farm work that she had little time to meditate, so her powers as a Dreamer lay dormant.

There were white peoples’ homesteads here and there, so the three were very careful and quiet. They did not want to be seen by the pale strangers.

Then came the laws to control the fishing, the hunting, and the trapping, even on the reservation lands.

Oona’s heart broke many times when she saw the faces of the young ones. Many of the children had swollen necks from infections of the tubercular germ, and they easily caught the diseases of the lungs. The change of diet left them with no way to fight the germs of the strangers who were dominant in the land of the forest and lakes.

Around 1910 the big logging companies moved west and many Ojibway had to find work in smaller camps.

I should like […] to hear the stories of our people.

No Indian family dared approach the relief and welfare agencies of the Twin Cities. They knew that they would only be given a bus ticket and be told to go back to the reservation where the government would take care of them as usual.

These strangers […] are again asking the Ojibway to mark a paper. […] The Ojibway to the east have made the mark, and now they are on the big water where they must stay forever. The strangers promised never to enter their forests but they came anyway[.]

Poor Trees, we are leaving, but you will be gone too after the strangers come. […] Poor squirrels, where will you go after the strangers come?

The women wove reed mats and cut birch bark. They fastened the mats around the base of the lodge frames and put overlapping birch-bark sheets on the upper part. Then the lodges were ready.

Our lives must now revolve around this lodge, because we must not meet the strangers. But remember that we, the Ojibway, have always moved freely from a summer place to a winter place, with a blueberry place, a ricing place, and a sugar bush in between.

We know the secrets of the forest and receive the gifts of a Generous Spirit. These we repay by honoring and respecting the living things in the forests: the animal people and the plant life which in itself is life-giving. We do not waste the precious gifts, but share them with our brothers.

The people […] welcomed the stranger who had traveled with him. They prepared a feast and made a place of rest for them.

He said that they must mark a paper before a man called Agent, and afterward they would be given food and clothing.

Each ricing time the man will come for the children. If they live in the longhouse of the school they will never know our ways. Our strength will be lost. If we move close to the big village, the children will stay home at night and we can still teach them the old ways. We must decide—shall we stay separate and not see the children from ricing to planting, or shall we speak to them each night about the good of our people?

Maybe it will start them learning civilized ways.

But always there was the sorrow that the sickness brought, and life was shortened by it. Many times the sickness took mothers and fathers. The children who were left behind were raised as little brothers and sisters by those for whom they were namesakes.

They say we must forget what was taught by our people and we must believe only what we learn now at the church.

So it is the custom that at the very first time—and only the first time—a young girl has the physical signs of change, she must go into the forest […] and fast. […] The longer she fasts, the clearer will be her dreams of what she will do in life. If she is a Dreamer or a Medicine Person, her visions will confirm this.

It is well that we plant and harvest and hunt, for this food given us by the White Father would not be enough.

Oona was so busy with the farm work that she had little time to meditate, so her powers as a Dreamer lay dormant.

There were white peoples’ homesteads here and there, so the three were very careful and quiet. They did not want to be seen by the pale strangers.

Then came the laws to control the fishing, the hunting, and the trapping, even on the reservation lands.

Oona’s heart broke many times when she saw the faces of the young ones. Many of the children had swollen necks from infections of the tubercular germ, and they easily caught the diseases of the lungs. The change of diet left them with no way to fight the germs of the strangers who were dominant in the land of the forest and lakes.

Around 1910 the big logging companies moved west and many Ojibway had to find work in smaller camps.

I should like […] to hear the stories of our people.