Odawa Language and Legends: Andrew J. Blackbrird and Raymond Kiogima
Review:
Petoskey News-Review
Odawa elder keeps language alive
Wow-kwing on-je-baw.
He comes from heaven.
The Odawa phrase could certainly apply to elder Ray Kiogima of the Little Traverse Bay Bands. For he has been the guardian angel of the Odawa language much of his life.
After all, if it weren't for him, such a phrase couldn't even be written down.
For hundreds of years, the musical tones of the Odawa language have lived a transient existence, passed down orally from generation to generation but never committed to paper - until now.
“I have a knack for writing the language,” Kiogima said.
It's a good thing, too - he has spent more than 20 years painstakingly creating a written record of Odawa words and phrases using the English alphabet.
Kiogima's new book, “Odawa Language and Legends,” combines translations of Odawa words and phrases with retellings of Odawa legends. It also includes the original 1878 text of “History of the Ottawa and Chippewa Indians of Michigan” by Andrew J. Blackbird.”
Until now, texts on Odawa have combined the language with the closely-related Ojibwe (Chippewa) language out of Canada. Kiogima's book is the first to focus strictly on Odawa.
“I always talked the language, and a lot of people wanted me to see if I could preserve it,” said Kiogima, sitting in an armchair by the fireplace at Between the Covers bookstore in Harbor Springs. “Then I thought, ‘Well maybe I could.'”
Waiting for his book signing to begin, 73-year-old Kiogima looks the part of a storyteller. He talks animatedly about Odawa customs, such as the “ghost dinners” held on All Saint's Day. In this tradition, people gather to eat and honor those who have passed away, and after everyone is fed, they reset the table and leave it set up for the night, believing their dead ancestors will come for the food that night.
But the language has been his real labor of love. The book contains information on grammar, tenses, and conversation, as well as a basic dictionary. To translate Odawa into writing, Kiogima divided each word into syllables, and determined the vowel sounds of each with the help of Jane Nyer, then an English teacher at Harbor Springs High School.
Cynthia Haynes, a Harbor Springs writer and artist, worked with Kiogima in the 1970s. Haynes was a French and English teacher working for the community schools, and when Kiogima decided to start teaching Odawa, she helped him out with the paperwork.
“The first sheets we used were mimeographed, with that purple stuff,” she said with a laugh. “Copy machines weren't even around then.”
Haynes stopped by to see Kiogima at the book signing, although she had long since stopped regularly studying Odawa. There, too, was Constance Cappel, the book's editor, who said Kiogima's book fulfills a dire need for a strictly Odawa text.
“This is their land, we're the interlopers,” she said with a laugh. “They shouldn't be learning English, we should be learning Odawa.”
“A language is the voice of the people,” added Cappel, a Harbor Springs writer who has also lived in Kazakhstan and Poland. “It reflects who they are, and this is a very poetic, moving language. We're so fortunate we still have some natives who speak it.”
Cappel called the book “a dream of a lifetime” for Kiogima. But Kiogima didn't write the book for himself only. He wrote it to remember those who spoke the language before him and to help those he hopes will speak it in the future. Developing a written guide gives the dying language - and the Odawa culture - a better chance of survival.
“The main thing was preserving the language,” said Kiogima, who was designated the tribe's prayer reader because of his fluency. “People who are really fluent in the language die off, and if they haven't taught their kids or grandchildren the language, they haven't left anybody who can speak it.”
Growing up in Harbor Springs in the 1930s, Kiogima heard both Odawa and English. His mother and father spoke Odawa at home, and he did, too, until he started school as a student at the Holy Childhood boarding school run by the Sisters of Notre Dame.
“They wanted us to talk their language,” Kiogima said. “All our school was taught in English, so we had to more or less learn that as we went along.”
At age 13, Kiogima moved in with his grandmother, who was intent on making her grandson speak his native language, whether he liked it or not. Her insistence helped him gain fluency.
“I would throw an English word in there and boy, she got upset about that,” he said with a laugh. “She said, ‘If you're going to live with me and talk to me, you're going to have to talk Odawa.'”
When Kiogima had children of his own, he taught them some Odawa words and phrases. Once they entered school they spoke more English, but Kiogima often reminds his children - and their children - of their native language.
“When we'd sit down for supper, I'd say ‘pass the potatoes' in Odawa, stuff like that,” he said with a smile. “They would remember those words.”
A carpenter for 40 years, Kiogima juggled his day job with his Odawa language work until he retired in 1992.
As one of a few fluent Odawa speakers, and even fewer Odawa writers, Kiogima now lends his expertise to the tribe's language program. Every Monday afternoon, he meets with a group of elders and program coordinators to practice Odawa with them.
“By conversing with each other, we hope to try to keep the language alive, to try to figure out ways to get it out to people,” he explained. “We're trying to get everyone here fluent enough to become instructors so they can go out and teach children, and hopefully they will carry it on.”
Carla McFall, the tribe's language program coordinator, said that Kiogima's help is much appreciated.
“He loves the language,” she said. “He's not just documenting it for preservation, but he is committed to restoring it and revitalizing it.
“I don't know too many elders of his generation who have gone out and taught themselves how to read and write it like he has.”
Even though Kiogima's main goal is to teach the language to members of the tribe, many others in the community appreciate his efforts to perpetuate and celebrate the Odawa language and traditions.
James Graham of Harbor Springs grew up hearing old folktales and seeing artifacts at his uncle's house, so he has always been interested in learning more about Odawa culture.
“My family has always been really into local history,” said the 32-year-old Turkey's employee, who stuck a note on the cash register to remind himself to attend the book signing. “It's the language they originally spoke on the land I grew up on. It's just fascinating,”
Kiogima and Cappel will schedule more book signings in Northern Michigan this summer, but their next appearance will be at the tribe's June symposium.
Although Kiogima has already done more than his part to save his native language, he's not finished yet. He wants to write another book, one that includes more words and phrases, as well as information on how to form sentences.
That way, future readers can figure out by themselves how to speak Odawa, if there are no native speakers around or left living.
“The more I go somewhere and hear the language spoken, I feel good just hearing it,” said Kiogima, whose age is belied by the lively twinkle in his eye and youthful grin on his face.
Perhaps another Odawa phrase provides an even better description of Kiogima.
O-da me-tchaw-ne.
He has a big heart.
Bethany Root is a News-Review staff writer. She can be contacted at 439-9397, or broot@petoskeynews.com.