COLLINS OAKGROVE (b. 1944), whose Indian name is Zhaawanoowinini (Man of the South), is one of Red Lake Reservation’s strongest Ojibwe language advocates. He was born in a house at the reservation community of Redby and spent most of his formative years in the Redby-Ponemah area. Similar to the experience of most of his peers, Collins’s parents and grandparents spoke Ojibwe to him from birth, and that was his first language. In his teens, Collins went to school for a time in Santa Fe and in Minneapolis. His experiences in these locations gave him an early understanding of the special gifts he had received through his traditional upbringing at Red Lake. They also inspired him to spend most of his adult life involved in efforts to revitalize the Ojibwe language.
Collins was drawn to Minneapolis in his early adulthood because he felt his best job prospects lay in the city. He knew that a significant percentage of the Red Lake Indian population lived there as well, and he had something to offer them and all Anishinaabe people. He worked for nearly fifteen years in the Minneapolis school districts, teaching Ojibwe language, culture, and history. Eventually, he was persuaded to accept a position at the University of Minnesota and to apply his talents and knowledge to the education of adults, which he did for another fifteen years. During those thirty years in Minneapolis, Collins acquired many friends and had hundreds of students pass through his classrooms. His reputation as a fine teacher and comedic storyteller strengthened with each successive wave of students.
Collins loved his work and his growing family in the city, but other passions attracted him as well. He longed for the woods of his childhood and the sense of cultural solidarity at Red Lake. He had given thirty years to Ojibwe language and community work for Indians in Minneapolis, and he realized that his knowledge could also be well applied at Red Lake. In 1996 he returned to the reservation and took a job at the neighboring town of Bemidji, again teaching Ojibwe language. In addition to teaching, he tutored and coached the American Indian Knowledge Bowl team. This recently developed competition has achieved great popularity among many Minnesotan schools with significant native populations. Students compete in knowledge of Ojibwe language, American Indian history, and geography. Collins’s team won two consecutive Knowledge Bowls, in large part on the strength of their knowledge of Ojibwe words and phrases.
Collins eventually left Bemidji to work more directly with reservation youth in the Red Lake School System. There, too, he has continued to promote Ojibwe language education and to stress the importance of bilingual learning and living. He has most recently been active in efforts to acquire funds for the construction and operation of a charter school on the reservation, a school that would function with a strong focus on bilingual education. Despite the many years Collins has devoted to Ojibwe language education efforts, he shows no signs of slowing down. According to Collins, “There is just too much work to be done.”
Zhaawanoowinini Indizhinikaaz
[1] Zhaawanoowinini indizhinikaaz, miinawaa dash a’aw ogiishkimanisii indoodem. Imaa wenjibaayaan, imaa Miskwaagamiwi-zaaga’iganiing, mii wenjiiwaad ingitiziimag apane. Miinawaa dash a’aw nimaamaayiban, onow odoodeman migiziwan. Ganabaj a’aw nimishoomisiban Zhaaganaashiiwakiing gii-onjibaa. Gii-pi-izhaa omaa. Aabiding igo ogii-mawidisaan onow ikwewan imaa Obaashiing. Mii gaa-ikidowaad ingitiziimag apane.
[2] Aan noongom niwii-aadizooke. Geyaabi biboonagad gomaa noongom. Mii dash noongom, mii wenji-izhichigewaad anishinaabegoban. Anishinaabeg aadizookewag megwaa biboonong, megwaa biboong.
Bijiinag Anishinaabe Gaa-waabamaad Chimookomaanan
[1] Aabiding giiwenh wayeshkad gii-pi-izhaawaad omaa chimookomaanag, imaa ingiwedog, gaawiin wiikaa ogii-waabamaasiiwaawaan chimookomaanan, anishinaabeg gaa-ayaawaad omaa.
[2] Mii dash aabiding a’aw inini ogii-inaan owiiwan, “Megwaa dagwaagig.” Ogii-inaan owiiwan, “Gizhenaab, niwii-kiiyose noongom. Mii imaa ningaabi’anong keyaa niwii-izhaa.” “Haaw,” ikido a’aw, “Aaniish apii waa-pi-azhegiiweyan?” “Ajina sa go inga-ayaa imaa megwekob.”
[3] Gaa-izhi-maajaad a’aw inini babaa-giiyosed. Megwaa ayaad imaa ogii-noondawaan awiiya biidaasamosed. Mii dash, ogii-paabi’aan ji-dagoshininid onow—maagizhaa gaye gii-inendam, waawaashkeshiwan. Wa, gaa-izhi-noogised ji-baabi’aad imaa, noomag igo gii-ayaa imaa. Miinawaa dash a’aw gaa-pi-izhaad imaa. Ho wa, wii-waabamaad onow chimookomaanan imaa chi-goshko’igod onow a’aw. Gaawiin wiikaa ogii-waabamaasiin chimookomaanan ji-bi-izhaang imaa.
[4] “Hey,” a’aw chimookomaan gii-piibaagid, “You see anything today?” Ho wa, maagizhaa gaye a’aw anishinaabe, ganabaj ogii-kosaan iniw chimookomaanan. “Ho, aaniish enendamaan ji-izhichigeyaan,” inendam wa’aw anishinaabe. “Mino-giizhigad noongom, eh,” gaa-izhi-inaad. Mii dash ezhi-ikidod a’aw chimookomaan, “Jeez, it’s a nice day out.” “Eya’,” ikido a’aw anishinaabe. Ogii-waabandaan dakonang baashkizigan. Gaawiin wiikaa ogii-waabandanziin i’iw baashkizigan. “Awegonen o’ow gii-takonaman,” gaa-izhi-gagwejimaad wa’aw anishinaabe. Ogii-kagwejimaan onow chimookomaanan. “Ya, it’s a good day,” ikido a’aw chimookomaan. Mii dash i’iw, booch igo abwezowag anishinaabe miinawaa a’aw chimookomaan.
[5] Miinawaa dash a’aw anishinaabe ogii-poodaan o’ow ojaanzhan imaa akiing i’iw, bingwiing imaa. Ishkwaa-izhichiged, miinawaa dash o’ow chimookomaan gaa-izhichiged—omoshwens ogii-poodaan o’ow jaanzhan imaa.
[6] Noomaya go ogii-inaan anishinaabe, “Hey,” ogii-inaan, “Akina gegoo ogoshkanaan a’aw chimookomaan,” odinaan.
Wenji-nibwaakaad Nenabozho
[1] Aabiding giiwenh o’ow babaamaazhagaamed a’aw Nenabozho enind, ogii-waabamaan biidaasamosed wiijanishinaaben. Mii dash o’ow, ogii-naazikaagoon iniw anishinaaben. “Nenabozho,” ikido anishinaabe, “Giwii-kagwejimin gegoo.” “Ahaaw,” Nenabozho gaa-izhi-nakwetawaad. “Aaniin wenji-nibwaakaayan,” ogii-kagwejimigoon iniw anishinaaben, wiijanishinaaben.
[2] “Haaw.” Nenabozho gaa-izhi-inendang wii-inaad iniw anishinaaben, wiijanishinaaben. “Apane sa niin niijii nimiijinan nibwaakaaminensan.” “Oon, dagish waabanda’ishin wendinaman onow nibwaakaaminensan. Gaye niin niwii-nibwaakaa.” “Haaw,” Nenabozho gaa-izhi-inaaad, “Daga wiijiwishin. Giga-waabanda’in wendinamaan onow nibwaakaaminensan.”
[3] Mii dash megwekob gii-izhi-izhaawaad imaa. Megwaa bimosewaad, Nenabozho gaa-mikang o’ow waaboozoo-miikanens. “Mii imaa wendinamaan nibwaakaaminensan,” ikido Nenabozho imaa miiginaad onow nibwaakaaminensan gaa-izhi-miinaad bezhig owiijanishinaaben—a’aw waa-kikinoo’amawind. “Daga zhakamon abezhig,” ikido Nenabozho. “Ahaaw.” Owiijanishinaaben gaa-izhi-zhakamod bezhig. “Ishte,” ikido owiijanishinaaben, “Gaawiin aawaasinoon nibwaakaaminensan. Waaboozoo-moowensan gosha.” “Enh. Enh,” ikido Nenabozho, “Miish o’ow gaye giin nibwaakaayan.”
Bebaamosed Miinawaa Gawigoshko’iweshiinh
[1] Apane babaamosed a’aw Nenabozho gii-pabaamose gii-ayaad omaa. Mii dash o’ow ani-babaamosed gaa-izhi-miikawaad onow binesiwan, onow gii-naganaawaad omaamaayiwaa omaa. Gaa-izhi-gagwejimaad, “Aaniish giinawaa ezhinikaazoyeg,” ogii-kagwejimaan a’aw Nenabozho. Mii dash, ogii-nisidotaagoon i’iw ayaawid. Mii dash, gaawiin ogii-nakwetawaasiigoon onow binewan. “Gaawiin giwii-pooni’isiinooninim. Aaniish ezhinikaazoyeg?” Mii dash binesiwag gaa-izhi-inaawaad, “Bine indizhinikaazomin.” “Oon. Inashke niin niizhing indizhinikaaz. Mii i’iw bezhig, Nenabozho indizhinikaaz. Miinawaa dash Bebaamosed gaye indizhinikaaz.” “Oon.” Gaawiin ogii-nakwetawaasiigoonaan Nenabozho. “Wiindamawishin ezhinikaazoyan. Niizhing akina awiiya adayaanaawaan izhinikaazowinan,” ogii-inaan Nenabozho. Mii dash iniw binewan, “Gawigoshko’iweshiinh indizhinikaazomin gaye niinawind,” gii-ikidowag.
[2] “Sate! Gaawiin giin. Onzaam sa go gibi-wiiji’ininim,” gii-ikido a’aw Nenabozho. Mii gaa-izhi-zhaagode’enid gaa-izhi-miiziinaad onow sa binesiwan. Mii dash gaa-izhi-maajaad a’aw Bebaamosed.
[3] Megwaa, bimised a’aw ikwe-bine, gaa-izhi-booniid imaa. “Wish,” ikido a’aw, “Awenesh gaa-toodooneg owe gii-miiziinegwaa?” “Nenabozho,” gii-ikidowag oniijaanisan. “Wha. Inashke niin ge-doodawag. Aaniish wenji-izhichiged?” “Ingii-kagwejimigoonaan iwe ezhinikaazoyaang. Mii dash, ingii-inaanaan, ingii-wiindamawaanaan ezhinikaazoyaang—Bine miinawaa Gawigoshko’iweshiinh.” “Oon.” “Mii dash, ingii-miiziinigoonaan omaa.” “Haaw. Inga-izhaa imaa. Aaniish akeyaa gaa-izhaad imaa Nenabozho?” “Mii akeyaa imaa, ningaabi’anong gii-izhaa.” “Oon.” Mii dash a’aw ikwe-bine gaa-izhi-biini’aad oniijaanisan.
[4] Megwaa biini’aad onow, Bebaamosed—enind Nenabozho—megwaa bimosed a’aw gaa-izhi-waabamaad imaa iniw akiwenziiyan imaa namadabinid. Odaanan dash owiidabimigoon imaa. “Aaniish wenji-namadabiyeg,” ogii-kagwejimaan Nenabozho. Mii dash gaa-izhi-inaabid imaa giishkaabikokaaning imaa chi-waasa imaa enaabid. Mii dash akiwenzii gaa-izhi-inaad Nenabozhon, “Mii awiiya ge-giishkitood ji-azhe-gwaashkwanid, mii awe ge-wiidigemaad onow indaanisan omaa.” Owaabamaan odaanan. “Mii owe ge-izhichigeyaan,” gii-inendam Nenabozho gaa-izhi-wiindamawaad onow akiwenziiyan, “Niin sa go inga-wiidigemaa gidaanis. Inga-azhe-gwaashkwan owe omaa giishkaabikokaaning.”
[5] Mii dash ishkwe gaa-izhi-bimosed, noomag gii-niibawid imaa waabandang giishkaabikokaaning imaa gaa-izhi-chi-bimibatood imaa. Jiigayi’ii imaa gaa-izhi-chi-noogised. Gegaa sa go gii-pangishin imaa biinjayi’ii imaa. Wa hiyaa, gaa-izhi-waabamaad miinawaa odaanan. “Niin sa go inga-wiidigemaa.” Ishkweyaang go gaa-izhi-bimosed naanaagadawendang o’ow ge-izhichiged gaa-izhi-chi-bimibatood imaa miinawaa. Jiigayi’ii gaye gaa-izhi-chi-noogised gayesh. Gegaa go gii-pangishin imaa. “Hiyaa,” ikido Nenabozho, “Niin sa go inga-wiidigemaa gidaanis,” ogii-inaan akiwenziiyan gaa-izhi-azhe-bimibatood. Gii-chi-inendam o’ow. “Inga-izhichige. Gaye niin sa go inga-giishkitoon ahe-gwaashkwaniwaanen,” gii-inendam a’aw Nenabozho.
[6] Jibwaa-ani-bimibatood, gaa-izhi-booniinid ikwe-binewan imaa jiigayi’ii giishkaabikokaaning. Mii gii-inendang a’aw ikwe-bine, “Inga-goshko’aa a’aw Nenabozho jibwaa-ani-gwaashkwanid imaa.”
[7] Mii dash a’aw Nenabozho gaa-izhi-chi-bimibatood imaa. Jiigayi’ii gaa-izhi-chi-noogised; mii dash onow ikwe-binewan gaa-izhi-bazigwiinid, “Papapapa.” Gaa-izhi-goshko’aad onow Nenabozhon. Hay’! Mii sa go. Gii-pangishin imaa biinjayi’ii.
My Name Is Zhaawanoowinini
[1] My name is Zhaawanoowinini, and my clan is the Kingfisher. Where I am from, there at Red Lake, that’s where my parents were from. And my late mother, she was of the Bald Eagle Clan. My grandfather may have been from Canada. He came here. One time he visited this woman there at Ponema. That’s what my parents always said.
[2] And today I’m going to tell legends. It’s still winter today. And that’s how the Indians did things. Indians tell legends while it’s winter, in the midst of the winter.
The First Time an Indian Saw the White Man
[1] Once when the white people first came here, these ones there, the Indians around here, they had never seen white men.
[2] Then one time that man told his wife, “It’s the middle of autumn.” He told his wife, “Dear, I going to go hunting today. I am going to go there towards the west.” “All right,” she says, “When will you come back?” “I’ll be there in the bush for just a little while.”
[3] So that man left to go around hunting. While he was out there, he heard someone approaching. Then, he waited for him to show up—maybe, he thought, a deer. Wa, he stopped to wait for him there, hanging around there for a spell. And then he came there. Ho wa, he was going to see that white man, as that [Indian] guy was shocked by him. He had never seen a white man come there.
[4] “Hey,” that white man yelled, “You see anything today?” Ho wa, and maybe that Indian, perhaps he was afraid of that white man. “Ho, what can I think of to do,” thinks this Indian. “It’s a nice day today, eh,” he told him. Then that white man says, “Jeez, it’s a nice day out.” “Yup,” says that Indian. He saw him holding a gun. He had never seen a gun. “What’s this you’re holding,” this Indian asks him. He asked that white man. “Ya, it’s a good day,” says that white guy. By then, they are really sweating—the Indian and that white guy.
[5] And then that Indian blew his nose there on the earth, in the sand there. After he does this, then that white man does this—he blew his nose there in his handkerchief.
[6] Soon thereafter the Indian says to him, “Hey,” he tells him, “The white man keeps everything,” he says to him.
Why Nenabozho Is So Smart
[1] This one time as that guy called Nenabozho was walking along the shore, he saw a fellow Indian walking towards him. Then he was approached by that Indian. “Nenabozho,” the Indian says, “I want to ask you something.” “All right,” Nenabozho replies to him. “Why are you so smart,” he was asked by that Indian, his fellow Indian.
[2] “All right.” Nenabozho was thinking of what he wanted to tell that Indian, his fellow Indian. “As for me, my friend, I always eat smart berries.” “Oh, please show me where you get these smart berries. I would like to be intelligent myself.” “Okay,” Nenabozho told him, “You come with me. I’ll show you where I get these smart berries.”
[3] Then they went off there in the bush. While they were walking along, Nenabozho finds this rabbit trail. “I get the smart berries right there,” Nenabozho says there as he gives away the smart berries, giving one to his fellow Indian—the one who was going to be taught a lesson. “Put one in your mouth,” says Nenabozho. “Okay.” His fellow Indian put one his mouth. “Ishte,” says his fellow Indian, “These aren’t smart berries. These are damned rabbit turds.” “Yes. Yes,” says Nenabozho, “Then you’re getting smart yourself.”
Bebaamosed and Gawigoshko’iweshiinh
[1] That Nenabozho walked all over when he was here, always walking around. Then as he was walking around, he found these birds that had been left by their mother here. So he asks them, “What are your names,” that Nenabozho asked them. Then, he was understood by them in his being [there]. But he wasn’t answered by those birds. “I’m not going to leave you alone. What are your names?” Then those birds told him, “We are called Bine.” “Oh. Look, I have two names myself. For the first one, I am called Nenabozho. And I am also called Bebaamosed.” “Oh.” They didn’t answer Nenabozho. “Tell me what you are called. Everyone has two names,” Nenabozho told them. Then those partridges said, “We are also called Gawigoshko’iweshiinh.”*
[2] “Sate! Not you. I’ve been hanging around with you too long,” said that Nenabozho. Those birds were frightened as he crapped all over them. Then that Bebaamosed took off.
[3] In the meantime, that hen flew up and perched there. “Wish,” she says, “Who did this to you, crapping all over you?” “ Nenabozho,” her kids said. “Wha. Just look at what I am going to do to him. Why did he do this?” “We were asked what our names were. Then, we told him, we told him what our names are—Bine and Gawigoshko’iweshiinh.” “Oh.” “Then he crapped all over us here.” “All right. I am going there. Which way did Nenabozho go there?” “That way there, he went towards the west.” “Oh.” Then that hen cleaned up her children.
[4] While she was cleaning them, Bebaamosed—the one called Nenabozho—while he was walking he saw an old man sitting there. And his daughter was sitting with him there. “Why are you sitting,” Nenabozho asked them. Then he glanced at the cliff there, looking a long way there [to the bottom]. Then that old man told Nenabozho, “Whoever shall be able to jump, he’s the one who will marry my daughter here.” He sees the daughter. “That’s what I shall do,” Nenabozho thought as he told that old man, “I shall marry your daughter myself. I am going to jump over this here precipice.”
[5] Then he walked back, standing for a little while there, looking at the cliff there, he ran really hard there. He came to an abrupt stop right at the edge. He almost fell over there. Wa hiyaa, he looked at [the old man’s] daughter again. “I am going to marry her myself.” Afterwards as he walked [away from the edge] reflecting on what he would do, he sprinted there again. And he came to a stop right at the edge too. He almost fell there. “Hiyaa,” says Nenabozho, “I’m going to marry your daughter myself,” he told that old man as he ran back. He was really thinking hard. “I am going to do this. I must be able to jump off myself,” that Nenabozho thought.
[6] Just before he ran, that hen perched there near the edge of the precipice. That hen thought, “I’m going to scare that Nenabozho before he jumps there.”
[7] Then that Nenabozho really took a run for it there. Right at the edge he came to a halt; but that hen flew up like this, “Papapapa.” She scared that Nenabozho. Hai’! He fell right over the edge there.
*Gawigoshko’iweshiinh means “the little scary bird.”