Ethan Bonerath “Lost Hope”

LOST HOPE ____________________________________________________________ by Ethan Bonerath, Grade 10

On a warm summer day, Makwa lounged under a willow tree listening to the sound of the distant birds. The pungent aroma of smoked meat flooded his lungs from the nearby smoker. The air caressed and carried his long black hair. Makwa loved picking blueberries and sweetgrass with his siblings, which his father sold. He often joyously ran through the woods barefoot, feeling free as a wolf. He loved exploring and learning new things from his father’s travels. He loved his family dearly and would often play and venture with his siblings, cook with his mother and hunt with his father.

Later that day, his father returned from trading and sat down with Makwa. He told him about the meaning and importance of his hair.

“Your hair has great value, Makwa,” he expressed with intent. “It is a sacred piece of who you are. It is of great pride and meaning. It is a connection to your culture, family and creator. You must take great care of your hair.” Makwa held this lesson deep in his heart.

That afternoon, Makwa swam in the gleaming blue lake, gliding through the water like an otter. As he got out to dry himself, he heard a caw. The call of a raven rang out through the forest. Makwa enjoyed the song of hope and freedom. Later, Makwa’s mother gave him a beautiful new pair of moccasins. He loved his new pair of shoes. When evening arrived, he smelled salted salmon and wandered inside his family’s quaint home for dinner.

After dinner, all the children gathered around their father’s log chair to listen to another one of his famous stories. The children loved hearing stories. Storytelling allowed their father to teach them important lessons and pass down deep values as well as ideas. His stories went on for hours, and yet the little ones stayed fascinated throughout. Makwa went to bed imagining the stories. As hard as he tried to keep his eyes open, he drifted into a deep sleep.

The next morning, Makwa was awoken by loud thumps of men’s feet at his family’s home.

“Do you have any kids?” one of the men asked hastily. The men looked at Makwa with malicious intent.

“You have the lucky privilege of having your son taken away to attend school,” another said to his parents condescendingly.

The next thing Makwa knew, he was whisked away, pulled out of his mother’s arms. His parents stood dazed—almost lifeless—as though he had been snatched by the jaws of a falcon.

Makwa was thrown onto a train for what seemed like days. He was starving, scared, sad and lonely. He worried about his family and where he was going. He thought about his father’s stories about school, he pondered what school would be like. The once-vast forest and nature that was home turned to fields of cattle and grain.

He finally arrived at a bustling bus stop. People exited the train like cattle from a barn. He was guided to a concrete castle, where rows of children were lined up against the wall, funneling into the “school.”

“Name?” shouted a woman in a black robe at the door.

“Ma-k-wa,” he stated.

“Oh. Jim, okay?” said the woman, whose eyes wore fear. He was rushed to another line and

LOST HOPE ____________________________________________________________ by Ethan Bonerath, Grade 10

waited nervously. The moccasins that his mother made him were taken away and tossed into a large pile.

“Next!” shouted another cloaked woman, holding what looked like sheep shears. Makwa was pushed into a chair. His hair was cut from him. As the strands fell onto the cold ground, he was filled with sadness.

“My hair, my name, my pride,” he thought. With two snips, his whole being and connection to home and self was torn from him. Why he didn’t act or speak up, he didn’t know. He felt as if he was a fawn inside a wolf’s lair. He couldn’t act. A feeling of immeasurable dread filled him.

“No speaking your language, no expressing your culture,” said the strict nun. Everything Makwa held dear was gone in a flash. He missed his family immeasurably. Every so often, he would hear the familiar call of a raven. Its voice would spark memories in Makwa, but the hope and freedom it once represented was no more. The raven’s voice went unheard, like lost shoes.

A year later, Makwa was sent home, yet the pain he felt changed who he was at the core. He no longer wanted to speak his language. He felt separate from his culture. His hair began to grow back, yet the pride that had been previously stripped from him wouldn’t regrow so easily. The connection and joy he had wasn’t returned by new trips with his father or eating with his family. His mother gave him another pair of moccasins yet they couldn’t replace the ones that had been stolen.

A year passed since his return, yet no change had been seen. The joyous boy who once ran through fields and picked blueberries and sweetgrass with a smile on his face had not come back. He had returned in body but not in soul. They crushed the once free-spirited boy into a shell of his former self. Over that year, the “Indian” and soul in him was erased. They had purged his heart, spirit and culture. When will he return to the times before? These questions were in vain, as the scars on him were deeper than a year’s fix. His soul was broken by a thousand belts, by a thousand screams, by a thousand cuts deeper than flesh and a thousand lost shoes. The year at that school had created an irreversible scar that wouldn’t be healed for millennia. This scar would last longer than the body that would age and wither with time. ***

Now, row after row of shoes sit quietly on the stairs. The shoes dance in colour and cry in sorrow. Lonesome shoes lined across concrete long for a home. They call out, but no one acknowledges them. Sadness fills them. Shoe after shoe calls out for hope, but their voices go unheard. Alone on the concrete stairs, the lonesome shoes sit, waiting for kindness. Colours fill the ground: blue, red and pink—so bright you can hear them call out to you.

“Will anyone come for me?” they cry out. But like a raven’s call in an empty forest, their voices go unheard. Their hope dwindles with every unanswered cry for help. As night approaches, all become quiet. The darkness drifts. The colours that once filled the stairs with hope and light fade away. Darkness wraps the shoes. No longer do they dance or cry. Their voices disappear into the void.