Bernice Loafer is a Lakota Elder, born and raised on the Pine Ridge Indian reservation, in South Dakota. The book is about growing up in a mission school on the reservation in the 1940’s. How the system of the day tried to assimilate the Native American children into white society, by disallowing them use of their native language, cutting their long hair, and forbidding any honoring of customs and traditions. This excerpt is the time leading up to her entry into the boarding school system, and how it changed her life.

Apple

by Bernice Loafer

I was born on a cold October day four years before the start of World War II, and in the midst of the Great-Depression. Our home was located in the No Flesh District of Kyle, on the Pine Ridge reservation in South Dakota.

Our family consisted of five living children, three boys and two girls and our mother and father. Three younger sisters before we were born and one after never made it past childhood. I know only the names and ages of these four small sisters who perished.

Alvina, was 8 years old. She would have had long dark hair in braids. Did she laugh and talk a certain way? Eunice, age 1 year and 4 months. Ida, age 1 year, 8 months. Both barely toddler ages. Mae was 3 or 4 years old. The age when they’re curious and get into everything. She succumbed to polluted drinking water (dysentery) and died in the arms of my father. There are no known photos of these children, only three small bare mounds in the local cemetery, Mae was buried elsewhere to show they once lived, were loved and mourned when passing. Infant mortality in the ‘20s on the reservation was high.

The area where we lived at the time was very remote with low rolling hills all around and nameless trees growing along a small creek. At night, everything was quiet and still. The stars twinkling in the inky sky seemed closer and brighter back in the desolate hills. You could hear coyotes yipping on occasion, a long mournful howl was heard.

The house we lived in was a two-room log cabin, with mud- chinked walls. The chinks made with dirt, grass and water, all mixed into a thick paste, which was then slapped between the logs and left to dry. The roof was covered with a layer of dirt. Sometimes in the summer, small weeds would sprout or on occasion a sunflower. The floors inside were wooden planks, left bare. White muslin cloths were nailed to the interior of the sleeping area. These cloths were removed during the summer months so the walls could be re-chinked with fresh mud. I can almost smell the moist dirt after a rainfall. Sometimes, with the removal of these cloths, we’d find spiders among them and before squashing them, we’d say, in Lakota, “Tankasila wakinyan nekte”, which means, “Grandfather, the lightening killed you.” The spider in Indian lore was seen as the devious trickster. We said this to trick him into believing the lightening killed him.

There was an eight year difference in age between my older sister Alice and I. She was born Jan. 2. Her Indian name was, “ Omaka Teca Win,” which means, “New Year’s Woman.” She had long, dark hair, always in braids. One day, she told how a boy sitting behind her in class had tied her long braids to the back of her chair. Often times, she played with small, discarded boxes. One was a Vick’s box. There was a square hole cut on one side with a bit of lace attached above the hole to make it look like a window. She helped our mother out a lot with us younger children. To me, she was like a second mother. I tagged along after her as much as I could. This closeness had a very devastating effect on me in later life.

My mother’s Indian name was, “Oglala Winyan,” which means, “Oglala Woman.” She had long dark hair, in braids. She was small of stature and not very strong. I believe she was just worn out and heartbroken over the babies she had lost. Her maiden name was, “Little White Man”.

My father was originally from the Rosebud reservation. His Indian name was, “Wiyaka Luta,” which means, “Red Feather”. He was older than our mother and was prone to chest pains, having to rest often during his chores.

Although WWII was going on and we were in the midst of the depression, I was a carefree child. Surrounded by my loved ones, never knowing my life, as I knew it, was going to change drastically.

Watch for Bernice’s book “Apple” coming late 2004 or early 2005 to a bookstore near you.