Nenabozho miinawaa Manijoosh (Nenabozho and the Worm) One day, Nenabozho sat in his lodge and looked at his empty pantry. "I’m hungry. Manoomin naboob (wild rice soup) with a fat zhiishiib (duck) boiling in it sounds delicious," thought Nenabozho. Determined to find what he needed for his naboob, Nenabozho set out walking in the woods to a river where the manoomin grew abundantly and where he knew the zhiishiibag would be because the manoomin was one of their favorite foods. But when he came to the river, he found the manoomin plants drooped over and many dying. The river itself had turned a dirty rust color, not at all like the clear river it used to be. “What is this? What is going on,” exclaimed Nenabozho. “The Wayaabishkiwejig (White people) have built a huge waakaa`igan (building) upriver,” one of the manoomin plants replied. “They dig things out of Ashkaakamigokwe (Mother Earth), dump dirty things into the waters and turn the waters to rust and poison.” “And now we are sick, Nenabozho,” the plant said. “Many of the zhiishiibag who eat us have also gotten sick and some have died. Many of them no longer come here, Nenabozho.” Nenabozho looked at the riverbank and, sure enough, he saw the bodies of many zhiishiibag. His heart saddened, Nenabozho stumbled through the wilderness and came to where the woods ended. Before him stretched fields with strange plants growing in them. He walked through the fields and came to the house of a gitigewinini (farmer). There he found all manner of strange creatures. Bizhikiwag miinawaa gookooshag miinawaa baaka`aakwenhyag (Cows and pigs and chickens). They lived behind fences and pens and walked in their own shit and filth. But Nenabozho was still hungry. His stomach growled like a wiindigoo. The Bizhikiwag were much too large for him to capture, and the gookooshag were slimy with mud and shit. “Those baaka’aakwenhyag sort of look like zhiishshiibag,” thought Nenabozho. He found a bag, tossed several of the baaka’aakwenhyag into it, and brought them home to his lodge. Nenabozho roasted a few of the baaka’aawenhyag. He sat back with his belly rotund with baaka’aawenhyag meat. “They don’t taste like zhiishshiibag,” he told his wife. “But they don’t taste too bad and they satisfy my hunger.” Nenabozho then built a small lodge, covered it with wire, for the other baaka’aawenhyag. The strange, feathered creatures that couldn’t fly began mating and laying eggs. And Nenabozho thought he had discovered a magical and endless source of food. This went on for several winters and Nenabozho never lacked for food. His wife told him he was getting fat, but he didn’t care. He had food and that is all he cared about. He didn’t have to worry about getting up early in the morning and go out foraging for food. The baaka’aawenhyag meat and eggs provided him with what he needed. One day, Nenabozho was walking in the woods and he became sick. He doubled over in pain and fell to the ground. There was blood in his stools and a sharp pain in his bowels. He was so tired that he could hardly move. Opening his bleary eyes, Nenabozho saw Makwa sitting next to him. “What is wrong with me, inawemaagan (my relative),” Nenabozho asked Makwa. “You have been eating the wrong kind of food, inawemaagan,” Makwa said. “The baaka’aawenhyag eats dirty things from the ground,” Makwa explained. “And when you eat them, you get sickness from the food they eat. A manijoosh, a worm with spreading legs, then grows inside you and eats your body. It is not only the baaka’aawenhyag that causes this, but also the bizhikiwag miinawaa gookooshag. These are not the natural foods that Gichi-Manidoo (the Creator) provided us with.” “But what can you do to stop this,” cried Nenabozho. “There’s very little I can do. It is a Wayaabishkiwejig inaapinewin (White man’s disease). I don’t have the medicine for that. I can help you since you are part spirit and part human. But I fear for our people in the days to come. With our lands diminished with boundaries, our natural foods will lessen, our people will eat the unnatural foods and drink the poisoned waters of the Wayaabishkiwejig, and they will become sick with the manijoosh.” Makwa then doctored Nenabozho and used a bone to suck the manijoosh from his body. Makwa held out his paw and Nenabozho saw a dark colored worm with many legs squirming in Makwa’s paw. Makwa then crushed it and buried it in the ground. Nenabozho still withered in pain from where the manijoosh was torn from his body. Makwa gave him plant medicines and teas to help heal the pain. In time, Nenabozho recovered. After he healed, he killed all his baaka’aawenhyag, buried them deep in the ground, and burned down the lodge he had made for them. Nenabozho returned to his old ways. Rising early in the mornings, he put his asemaa down and went foraging for natural food in the woods. Some days he found food and other days he found none. But he didn’t mind. He only had to think about the manijoosh, the ugly worm with many legs, that had squirmed in Makwa’s paw to overcome his hunger and thoughts of foraging for unnatural foods. Instead took out his hand drum and sang a nagamon (song), a nagamon biimadiziwin (song of life). Nenabozho's nagamon drifted through the diminishing Ojibwe woodlands, a nagamon that thanked Gichi-Manidoo for another day to cherish life. Mi sa go. Post Script: Last night, I sat down and wrote this story in an hour and a half. It took about an hour to write it and another half hour to do some editing. The words simply flowed out. I’ve written short-short fiction before, so I was familiar with this form of fiction and wrote the story within a narrative frame of just over two pages. Of course, what makes this story different is that it is a new Nenabozho story. And it is one that has never been written before. I’m not unfamiliar with Nenabozho stories. I am an aadizookewinini (traditional storyteller) and I have told Nenabozho stories before audiences. My main drawback as an aadizookewinini is that I don’t speak Ojibwemowin (Ojibwe language) fluently. My knowledge of Ojibwemowin is limited. So my stories are told in English with a mixture of Ojibwe words. I know the cycle of Nenabozho stories that were collected by William Jones in the early 1900s. And I know the stories that were told outside the context of the Nenabozho cycle. Stories about Nenabozho and how the woodpecker got its red head or how spiders came to be, to name a few. What makes this Nenabozho different is that it is a story told with a modern timeframe. But this isn’t really unusual. For example, Waasabiikwe (Anna Gibbs) tells the story about Nenabozho miinawaa Ditbidaaban (Nenabozho and the Motorcycle). But the main connective thread of my Nenabozho story is my own battle with cancer. The manijoosh, the ugly worm with many legs, has lived inside my body. I know this worm and I know it well. One of the inspirations for my story is Ron Geyshick from Lac La Croix. In his book, Te Bwe Win (Truth), Geyshick told the story of Leukemia and Diabetes. I’ve borrowed a line or two in writing my Nenabozho story. Lastly, there are various ways of spelling the name of our Great Uncle. Nanaboozhoo, Nanabush are a few. I've used the spelling that my elders in Red Lake use - Nenabozho. Dedicated to the Survivors, Warriors All. May You Sing the Song of Life © 2017, All Rights Reserved, Robert DesJarlait
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Robert Desjarlait
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