Journey to Wekweti

>> A Montrealer reflects on her experiences working and living with the indigenous Dogrib community in the far reaches of the North

Story and photos by NADINE NEEMEH

As I climbed Mount Royal with my dog the other day I realized that I did not have to be on the lookout for wolves or bears as has become my custom in the Great North. We have been living in a remote native community called Snare Lake or Wekweti, which is about 165 kilometres north of Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories (64o 11'N, 114o 11' W). The community is rarely identified on official maps. It is only accessible by plane, with the exception of a couple of weeks in March, when an ice road is sometimes extended into the community. The road is built over approximately 200 kilometres of lakes and portages in order to allow for transportation of fuel, housing materials and other goods required by the community. It is also an opportunity for the local people to stock up on heavy dry goods such as rice and detergent, thereby saving the $0.69/pound of air freight. I bought $250 worth of dog food to be transported on the last winter road.

I arrived in Snare Lake in September of 1999. The small six-passenger caravan landed at the airport--a tiny airstrip with a terminal building scarcely bigger than an out-house. The community taxi, a large white van, drove me to town. It was a beautiful drive of approximately eight kilometres through a narrow road they call the airport road. The community was surrounded by beautiful hills covered in midget-sized coniferous trees on one side and an impressive huge lake on the other. There was no snow at the time, but once it fell, the ground remained white for the next nine and a half months. Other than the limited infrastructure, contained almost entirely within an area scarcely bigger than Jeanne-Mance Park, I was surrounded by miles and miles of rugged land and clear water. It gave me that wonderful feeling of being incredibly small but connected to something immense.

The indigenous peoples of Wekweti are Dogrib, descendants of the Dene. Although no longer nomads, they are still a very traditional people who rely heavily on hunting, trapping and fishing for their diet. Their main sources of food are caribou and fish. Only a few generations ago many of them survived entirely off the land, following the caribou from fall to springtime and usually reuniting in the summers to collect their Treaty money and sell their furs. These traditional Dogrib are today the elders of the community. They moved to Wekweti in the 1960s, building the first houses of the community. It was an ideal place for them to settle since the caribou migrated through the region each spring and fall.

In the last 11 years this community has changed at lightening speed. Prior to 1990 it had no electricity or running water. The latter had to be obtained directly from the lake, and heat was generated through wood stoves. One person was employed to drive down to the lake and fill everybody's buckets, and another was employed to keep replenishing the wood in the school and band office throughout the night. That was only 11 years ago. Today every house has electricity, and all but two houses have running water. Each household has a telephone and most have satellite TV. A few months ago we installed computers and Internet dial-up connections for public access at the arcade and in some of the houses.

Enter white woman

I am a "quitien," a white woman. I have been the manager of their community for the last year and a half. My role as manager of the Dechi Laot'i First Nations Band has been to advise the chief and council, to determine courses of action that meet the community's needs, to negotiate with government and other funding agencies, to develop and administer the budget, to hire, train and manage local and outside employees, to oversee or manage all programs, projects and municipal operations and to deal with day-to-day issues facing the community.

I am often asked how I ended up where I am and what drew me to the job. I found out about the job through a posting on the Concordia job board. The position seemed to entail an incredible amount of responsibility for a 25 year old, and it seemed like a challenging job where I could really make a difference. One of the qualifications for the job was a Bachelor of Commerce which, although I had completed, I had always regretted having done. It seemed like a great opportunity for me to justify the degree. I have also often been drawn to the wisdom of the North American Indians and was very interested in learning from these people who have lived off the land for so long.

It has been a wonderful and difficult experience. It took many months for the people to accept me as their band manager and to trust me as a person; I was the fourth band manager in less than two years. Ideally and eventually the position will be filled locally; however they require further training and education to successfully do so. They have their traditional knowledge and wisdom with which they have always governed themselves effectively, but they must also learn the "white man's" system in order to become autonomous once again. It is a constant struggle to keep their culture and identity while being forced to change their ways to adapt to the modern Western world. With the current speed in technological change it is a struggle, I think, not uncommon to many people of our world today.

Of course there exists resentment toward the government and the white man for having interfered with their way of life; less than 80 years ago these people were entirely autonomous, and today they are in large part dependent on government services for their survival. However, I think there also exists much hope. There are a growing number of Dogrib individuals in leadership positions in their communities and in Yellowknife. This is also a very important time for the Dogrib people; the Dogrib Treaty 11 Council is in the process of finalizing their land claims and self-government agreement. The power is being given back to the people.

Digging for diamonds

In Wekweti, the community is largely subsidized by the government, receiving funding for core services and various programs. It also has several joint ventures that provide revenue for the community. Approximately 15 per cent of community members work for the band or its subsidiary development corporation. Another five per cent work at BHP, the first diamond mine in Canada, which has been operational for a few years. There are many more mining companies to follow; for good or for bad we have found the North to be rich in diamonds, and we are digging at full speed.

There is a big concern about the effect the diamond mines will have on the migration of caribou, particularly among the elders. The various mining companies often come to the community to consult with the people and explain what they are doing. The elders always voice their concerns. History has shown them that when man digs up the earth he leaves behind a big mess, and the lives of the local people and animals suffer as a result. The mining companies invariably try to assure the people that things will be different this time, that the land will be left as though it had never been touched. It sounds nice; it seems impossible.

One of the most trying aspects of my job is the small town politics. It is interesting to watch sometimes, but usually very frustrating and upsetting. There are only a few core families in Snare Lake. The community is governed by the elected chief and five council members. I think they try to be fair in their decision-making, but like anywhere else, family usually comes first.

Great escape

It is very difficult to escape in such a small community. The incredible beauty has definitely been my refuge. I once left a seven-hour council meeting completely drained and exhausted to find myself surrounded by the most spectacular sunset that stretched out for miles. I remember another time I was leaving the office around 11 p.m. feeling like I hardly had the energy to walk the 100 metres to my home only to look up and see the sky completely green with dancing lights. It was the most spectacular aurora I have ever seen. Although I sometimes feel like a foreigner in a faraway town, I have always felt comforted by the vastness and beauty of the land. I find the winters to be a particularly beautiful season. It is true that they tend to be very long (about nine months), very cold (-50 C in the coldest months) and very dark (three hours of sun for the shortest days); however, when the sun shines over the huge white lake and the permafrost hangs on the trees, the community looks like a magical winter wonderland.

Being in such close contact with wild animals has also been an incredible source of wonder. I was once awakened by my dog barking hysterically at four in the morning. It turned out that there was a huge black bear standing right outside our living room window! I stared for a moment and then grabbed my video camera and watched as he slowly walked away. Another time I was walking down the airport road with the dog when she suddenly stopped, stared into the bushes for a while, and then turned and began running toward the community. With great fear I tiptoed towards the bush to see what she had seen or smelt. I saw a dozen caribou standing there looking right back at me.

Unfortunately I feel that my time to leave is soon approaching. Although I have travelled and lived in many parts of the world, I feel that leaving this small Northern town will be my most difficult move yet. I have felt a real sense of purpose during my time in the community. I have become an integral part of so many of these people's lives and they in mine. I have become accustomed to replenishing myself with the beauty and open space that is the Great North. I have danced all night to their beating drums and powerful songs. I have hunted and watched while they skinned the caribou and the moose. I have shared their stories and learned their ways. I have found a home in a world that is so unbelievably different than where I had ever been. I wonder about my future and where I will go once I leave the community.

I wonder too about the community's future. So much has changed in the last decade; I question what it will be like 10 years from now. I wonder if it will continue to expand and in time have an all-weather road to Yellowknife or if the youth will eventually move closer to the city and ultimately abandon the community. I also wonder if the youth who today show great desire and potential to become tomorrow's leaders will in fact do so. Of course, time alone will tell.