Kwigillingok

When my parents asked what I wanted for my college graduation gift, I requested a trip back to Kwigillingok. Mom and Dad spent a decade teaching school in the Yup'ik villages but we have not been back since we left 19 years ago. I get to hear the fascinating stories about life in the bush and I enjoy seeing our friends from the villages when they come to Anchorage, but there is little that I remember from my toddler days in Kwigillingok and Platinum. Last weekend, Mom, Dad, and I finally had the opportunity to visit Kwigillingok. I was ecstatic.
Here I am sitting in as co-pilot on the flight from Bethel to Kwig. Don't worry, I didn't do any of the flying, otherwise we might not have made it there!
Our family photo (1988). I was born at the nearest hospital in Bethel, Alaska and I am told that I was the first white girl born to Kwigillingok. My first word was "amuq", which is the Yup'ik word for milk.

From the air, the fall landscape of the Yukon-Kuskaquim Delta looks like a marble painting of orange, yellow, green, and blue. The tundra is pancake flat, marshy, and the closest thing to a tree is in the form of drift wood. Lakes and ponds are ubiquitous.

Even with all the technological changes and growth in villages the last twenty years, visiting Kwig felt like going back in time. Living off the land, collecting rainwater for drinking water, and using honey buckets is quite different from the life I have become accustomed to in the city. In the summer, rain water is collected from the roof and from boats set outside the homes.
Because of the permafrost, all structures are found on stilts to accommodate the frequent sinking and shifting of the ground. There are no cars, but board-walks have been extensively expanded and widened in recent years, so now four wheelers and bicycles can be used on them.
This "tramway" and abandoned cart we used to use in order to haul hundreds of pounds of yearly provisions in from the barge. Fuel was pumped into the pipe-line, in the center of the boardwalk, so generators could run.

People of Kwigillingok, like other people living in the arctic, can see the affects of global warming around them. The average annual temperature increase in the arctic is nearly double that of the global average temperature increase. The permafrost that provides a foundation for the structures in this village depends on is melting. The land is literally sinking into the Bering Sea. The villagers have begun to abandon their homes that are close to the shore and have created a new housing area on higher ground. Ike, one of my Dad's old hunting buddies, described that a high tide and wind blowing inland causes the ocean to come right up into his yard. Eskimos have also seen changes seen in the animals and fish that they depend on. If the sea levels rise as expected, communities such as this one could be completely inundated.

By western monetary standards, people in rural Alaska are poor. Gas prices may approach $10 a gallon, travel costs are outrageous, and the price of purchased goods is soaring, but the community in this village still seems to thrive. Even though 34.7% of the population lives below the poverty line and many people live in inter-familial homes, the people of Kwigillingok are the happiest, hardest working people you will ever meet. They are vibrant, despite living in a harsh environment. The people we know from Kwigillingok are strong in their traditions, have a healthy sense of cultural pride, and are undoubtedly the most generous people we have ever met.

Katie Peter, the woman that I'm standing with, made the pink kuspuk for me as a graduation gift. It fits perfectly! Mintauq and Katie Peter are my brother, Nathan's ("Tunralaq's"), Yupik parents. It is believed that Nathan carried the spirit of Katie and Mintauq's son, Tunralaq, after Tunralaq "passed on" in a boating accident the summer before Nathan was born. The Peter family is extraordinarily generous and they bring tundra salmonberries and salmon strips for Nathan and our family when they come to Anchorage.
My brother's childhood friend, Jonathan Kiunya, with his grandfather, Peter John, and his aunt, Katie Amik.

Yup'ik is not an easy language to learn. But the throat-clearing sounds in this guttural language have their advantages. Almost all of the sounds can be articulated when it's so cold that your lips and cheeks are stiff and frozen. Some people hypothesize that the frigid winter environment had something to do with the evolution of their language, since people can verbally communicate even in the extreme cold, but I haven't been able to find any linguistic expert to support or refute this idea.
Mom and Dad enjoying the sunrise. We used to come to this river every day to check on our boat and whitefish nets. This time of year it is important to make sure the boats aren't frozen to the mud before the tide comes in-- otherwise your boat will flood.

Kwigillingok is a dry (alcohol-free) village and it is unique to many other villages in Alaska. The elders still get the utmost respect and traditions are very important to the people. The people here are extremely friendly, talented, and bright. Even with English as their second language, they crack witty jokes. They are quite the artists as well, and many of their traditional weaved baskets, boats, and ivory carvings are displayed in museums around the world.

People living in Kwigillingok live almost entirely through subsistence hunting, fishing, and gathering for lifestyle preference as well as economic reasons. The men are skilled hunters and have incredible ways of navigating the land, even without any landmarks. My Dad's old hunting buddies said that my Dad's name still comes up sometimes in the men's steam bath, when they share stories that include the Kass'aq (white person) who was able to hunt and navigate like an Eskimo.

When Nathan and I were little, we would go visit our relatives in Kansas every summer. When we had turkey or chicken for dinner Nathan would ask "Who banged 'dis bird?" Everyone else thought it was hilarious, even though he thought he was using good manners to compliment to the hunter responsible for providing such a great meal. Last weekend it was comforting to have a gourmet dinner at Otto Friend's household, where it was totally appropriate to eat the bird soup with your hands and question who provided the meal. Abnormal behavior would have been if someone were to refuse to eat the eye balls, head, or insides. Everything cooked together tasted great, and the only things I didn't eat were the bones and a little feather.
Tom cod on hand woven grass rope that is set out to dry.
Men cutting up a walrus to be dispersed among the village. It has been increasingly difficult to get walrus recently, so we were lucky to be there when they brought in one. People came from all over the village to share the meat, skin, internal organs, and even the freshly shelled clams that were found inside the walrus's stomach. I got to help an older woman, Anna Alexie, carry a heavy backpack full of walrus back to her home.
Some boys enjoying poking and whacking at the walrus remains. In order to respect the spirits, every part of the hunted animal is used. The dried intestines laying there will make great rain-proof jackets that can be worn under parkas. Intestines are a wonderfully designed material, as they only allow a unidirectional flow of water. Stomachs can be stretched and dried and used as storage sacks.


Mom and I with Lena Atti. Lena generously gave me a hand crafted Eskimo Yo-yo. Lena is an incredibly talented seamstress and one of the few remaining reed grass weavers in the world. Her work is displayed in prominent museums. Lena taught my Mom how to make a fur parka and is passing along her wild grass weaving skills to Bonnie, her daughter. Bonnie (who was once my babysitter) is also quite the artist, and made me some intricately beaded Mukluk earrings.

My favorite part about this trip was getting to see the impact that my parents had on their students in this village. It was pretty neat to see people's faces light up and in some cases see them running out of their homes to greet them. I got to eat salmon strips and akutaq (Eskimo ice cream) off a living-room table that my Dad built. My old babysitter talked about how she still passes along nutritional information that my mom taught them about seal, one of the staple foods for many people living in rural Alaska. While my Mom and Dad were teaching at the high school, their students interviewed village elders to identify the Yu'pik names for the flora, fauna, geographic features, and over 250 place-names for historic sites in the tundra and in the ocean. One of the lead students in this project, Steven Evon, told us that he's now putting this information onto Google Earth.

I can only hope that one day I can make a difference in someone's life, the way that my parents did for so many of their students and friends out there. I hope to give back to these village communities someday--perhaps I can help provide them with quality health care if I become a P.A.
This trip was all that I had hoped it would be-- I only wish that Nathan could have come along and I wish we could have stayed a little longer. I guess that means that some day we will have to go back!