Mi Casa @ Lake Speaks! Cafe Cultura Community Speaks Project #19 Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
Mi Casa @ Lake Speaks! Copyright Š 2015 by Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
To the dedicated Mi Casa youth in our Spoken Word/Poetry workshop…Your stories matter! Be powerful! #CafeCultura #XpressYourself #TellingOurStories
Acknowledgments Thank you to the staff of Mi Casa Resource Center Neighborhood Center at Lake for the privilege of providing Café Cultura’s Telling Our Stories workshop series as part of your afterschool programming. We especially appreciate the time we spent getting to know all participants as you shared your stories with us. Remember: “It’s our responsibility and choice to express ourselves and lift our voice, together building unity, leaders in our community. This is how we tell our stooorrrryyyy!”
Foreword Having heard about Mi Casa’s incredible service to the Lake campus over the years, we were honored to join their work as an afterschool provider for the 2014-2015 school year. We enjoyed the experience and found inspiration as we guided participants in writing and performing spoken word poetry. We trust you will feel the same as you read this collection. These middle school students show us examples of how we can and must express ourselves and tell our stories. For those who do not know about organization: Café Cultura is an award-winning arts, culture, and youth development organization in Denver that promotes unity and healing among Indigenous peoples through creative expression while empowering youth to find their voice, reclaim oral and written traditions, and become leaders in their communities. Café Cultura has been providing positive, creative, and engaging community spaces for the Denver metropolitan area for more than nine years. After the passing of respected elder and veteran poet Abelardo “Lalo” Delgado, we accepted responsibility to continue using our oral and written traditions to provide opportunities for creative expression often not offered in schools or in the larger community. Café Cultura also drew inspiration from the movement connecting Indigenous people from throughout the Americas We use creative expression to unify people representing southern Indigenous nations, known by terms such as “Chicana/o” and “Latina/o,” with those Natives of northern nations, referred to as “American Indian” or “Native American.” Café Cultura hosts one of the best open mic venues in the Denver metropolitan area, and the only space focused on family and youth. We also conduct highly engaging and culturally relevant spoken word/poetry workshops for underserved youth throughout Colorado. Café Cultura partners with select organizations and
schools to facilitate an intensive workshop series, publish youth poetry, and organize participant showcases. In an effort to develop young leaders within our community, we also coordinate a youth leadership program for Indigenous youth. If you or your organization is interested in collaborating, feel free to contact us. For more information about our open mic events, workshops, youth leadership program, and other programs: info@cafecultura.org 720-394-6589 www.cafecultura.org www.facebook.com/cafecultura
Table of Contents As a Navajo by Ty ..................................................................................1 My Brother by Jesus ..............................................................................3 Unity by Taylor .......................................................................................4 Chuletas by Anonymous .......................................................................5 Trucks by Jose ........................................................................................6 Down on the Rez by Ty ........................................................................7 The Heartless Solo by Savana ........................................................... 11 Disneyland by Christian ..................................................................... 13 Tacos de Barbacoa by Jesus ............................................................... 14 So Close by Ty ..................................................................................... 15 Ghost Car by Juan............................................................................... 16 Tacos by Jose ....................................................................................... 18 It's Been Too Long by Ty .................................................................. 19 Necklace by Dominik ......................................................................... 22 Family by Anonymous ....................................................................... 23 Carne del Hombre by Jesus ............................................................... 24 No More by Ty .................................................................................... 25 My Mom's Tacos by Armando.......................................................... 27 Remembering by JBR ......................................................................... 28
As a Navajo by Ty As a Navajo, I think differently I think everything is my family. The sun is my brother. The earth is my mother. The sky is my father. All the animals and plants are my brothers and sisters. As a Navajo, my family went through the same things as yours. Back then in school, we were not allowed to speak Navajo. If we did, we would get whipped, either by belt, stainless steel wire, or just slapped. As a Navajo, we have traditions, celebrations. When you are a small baby, you have a baby shower. We have a ceremony. When you have your first hug, we have a ceremony. When you hit puberty, we have a ceremony. When you turn 16, well, you know how it goes. As a Navajo,
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I have pets. Yes, I have cats and dogs, but I also have farm animals. I have chickens that cluck, cows that moo, horses who shs, sheep and goats who bhaaaaa. As a Navajo, I respect my elders. When you disrespect, they disrespect. When you do not listen, they pull your ear. When you do not do what you are told, they bring out the whip. When you do what is expected, they respect you. I maybe Navajo, but we are not different. We are all human, are we not? We have the same qualities. We have the same emotions. So why judge, when you are judging yourself.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
My Brother by Jesus I come from a strong and funny man who loves me a lot. He stands tall and I follow his footsteps. I will always remember when we kicked back at the mall. I will never forget the jokes he told me. He said I was small and it made me laugh. When I am with my brother, it makes me feel safer. His jokes make me smile. He keeps me company.
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Unity by Taylor I produce a voice for others. I make people dance to the beat of my voice. I cause inspiration with a voice so loud, you cannot ignore me. I grasp you by the ears. I am here. I am there. I am everywhere. I am a tree. I can grow this way or that way. I grow so tall, I could be a forest. My branches can be twisted or straight. I grow a leaf like my aunt. I know that I have to let it fall. So, I grow a greener one and keep it. But a leaf fallen is a leaf grown, generation to generation. I am an oak tree like my family before me in unity.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
Chuletas by Anonymous I am the rambunctious and soft chuletas my grandparents make with oil, salt, pepper, meat, fun, and love. The smell reminds me of Juarez, where there are Mexican restaurants in every corner you turn. I come from a recipe thousands of years old, passed on generation to generation with love. It reminds me of having fun and living life to the fullest. I will always remember the times chuletas have brought my family together.
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Trucks by Jose Every time I step into my uncle’s beast, I feel butterflies all over my body. Every time I turn it on, it feels like I am getting a massage. I try not to get the beast angry, because if I do, it will not stop. Every time we ride it down the street, everybody stares in fear. But they get happy and surprised since the beast is sexy and mean. Every time we rev the engine, the Hondas stay quiet. When it is time for the race, you hear the gears interacting with the supercharger. You look through the one eyed monster and you feel fear! Riding down federal feels like riding in heaven. I look to my left and there I see my guide, my mentor, my real teacher, my best uncle. He taught me everything in life. As a teacher, he has given me the best advice and skills I need to become a man.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
Down on the Rez by Ty Every Sunday is a new week, a new time. I go to the Rez to see my great grandma shi nalii. I help her with difficult things: I heard sheep. I cook. I clean. I feed her babies, all the animals at her house: horse, cow, sheep, and dog. She loves them, loves them like a person. She says, “They may be animals, but they are breathing, living things.” On the Rez, everyone knows each other. It is a safe place, a place with no danger, no risk. Everyone is connected, either by clan or relation. Everyone laughs because I talk “all Rez,”
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with unknown words like: Izett Ashanii Chich Iss If you do not judge me or my way of talking, then I do not judge you, alight! Everywhere you go on the Rez, there are long dirt roads, with many stickers and cacti. But do not miss the beautiful things that you can see, like the long tall mesas. Long ago, before I was born my great grandpa owned his land. He owned his own mesa. Between the mesa, there lived some cows, his cows, brown cows, black cows, white and black polka dot cows. Now, right now I hear the cows, the old and the new. The old know what is going on. The new still need to learn. As I hear them,
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
I take them to the Hogan. This is where we feed them. I run ahead while cousins stay behind. I lay out the hay for the cows to eat. They are not here yet, since I am so close, so close to a small mesa. I climb it, holding on to spots that will help me up. Further and further I am away from the ground. I went up so high, I thought I could touch the sky. Turning around, I see everything. Mesas surround me, the cool breeze in my face. I see the dirt roads. The water ways are empty There are very little trees, but many cacti. Suddenly, I hear something It is not far off. What is that sound? It is getting closer‌ I look to the ground. Oh, It is just the cows. I climb down carefully, very slowly, trying not to fall down. Whenever you come to the Rez, you may only see the dirt and more dirt that burn your feet You say,
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“The Rez is boring.” Well, you do not live there. I say the Rez is beautiful If you don’t see it, oh well! Like the elders say, “If you don’t see our beauty, then you haven’t seen the beauty in yourself.”
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
The Heartless Solo by Savana I am Americana. Many call me ghetto. I look white but yet I do not cry. My ancestors come from Mexico but I was born in the ghetto. I have seen the best and the worst of my people. Death can be easy. It is also peaceful. When death comes, no one can run. Death will take us, one by one. Life is not easy but not impossible. We will all have the feeling of wanting to turn to dust. For its true, all of me is not alive. Only the half of me will rise. I am the heart with no soul. I am the soul with no heart. I cry, not because you say you do not care, but because I feel you are hurt. Some say the world will end in fire, others say in ice. To my own desires, somehow I know it will end in fire.
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Who has the power to change but me? I am my hope, my strength, my soul. I feel the long, wet drops shuffle down your face. I say everything will be ok. You say you are not alive and wish you could die. I am the armrest where you can place your head. Even if I am ever a heartless soul, I will always be here for you. Being there for you is trustworthy and being worthy of trust is the key to my heart.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
Disneyland by Christian Disneyland is where the best memories happen, where 42 year old dads scream like little 6 year old kids, and where the “California Screamin’” gives you head-aches. Little kids cry because they were not able to take a picture with Mickey or Cinderella. They walk all day, getting to the hotel and revealing blisters.
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Tacos de Barbacoa by Jesus I will always remember los tacos de barbacoa my grandmother made with las tortillas fresh off of el comal. It makes the room smell like nothing you can imagine. It was amazing when I took a bite. All the crema and tomate fell off la tortilla. I still remember how good it was. It is the kind of taco that people would eat if they were going to die and it was their last meal.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
So Close by Ty I could feel someone watching me, but no one is there. All I see is a handmade blanket, the one I made for my great grandma for her birthday. Now, she is gone. I am crying, remembering the day she was in the hospital, the day she died. You may say this is an everyday thing but for me, it is not. You see relatives every day. But my great grandma barely had the chance. The only people who visit her were her grandchildren, my little cousins and me. We were the ones who loved her, the only grandchildren she knew. Since she has been gone, my heart is broken. But my family tells me to always remember that she is by my side every day to protect me, love me, and cherish me.
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Ghost Car by Juan Every time it turns on, it sounds like a sick beat. When it burns tires, the smoke forms like an empire. It looks like an ice cream that is very flavorful. Its engine is beautiful, cutter than a girl and meaner than a lion. When I ride it down the street, it feels as if I am riding a jet. When I get on the highway, the police dream they could catch my purple jet Riding down federal feels like I am gliding in heaven. I look to my right and see my cuñado shifting, as if he was eating the best tacos at Don Paco’s. I will always remember my cuñado. He is like a brother to me. He is happy and funny. He has helped me push myself forward. He showed me how to not to disrespect my parents. He always said, “Do not spend your mom’s money just to spend it.” I always listen to him. He is tight and right for my sister! We go to Don Paco’s to eat the spicy chile that makes my mouth feel like it is on fire, like when my cuñado burns his tires. I tried to eat a bunch but it did not work,
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
because Mexican chile is spicy. That is the way my culture rolls.
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Tacos by Jose Tacos are in my nature When I first tasted them, it reminded me of my family in Durango. I will never forget my grandma’s tacos. When she died, I felt cold. When I sleep, I dream about the tacos she makes. When I wake up, I feel cold again, but happy at the same time. I feel happy because my grandma passed on the recipe made with carne molida and lechuga. So when my mom makes them, I feel my grandma next to me. I can smell her handmade tortillas. I love to eat them when we are home.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
It's Been Too Long by Ty I see a sheep riding in the back of a truck, its hooves tied up, its eyes in fear. The men lie it down on the ground, its neck on a log and its head over a bowl. Grandma has a sharp knife. She cuts its throat open. Blood flows into the bowl, no noise from the sheep. The head is off, the flow all gone all in the bowl. I grab the bowl and bring it inside. I give it to my great grandma so she can make it into her homemade blood sausage. I run outside to help some more. The sheep’s skin is gone, its legs tied up on a branch of a tree. Grandpa cuts open the stomach. I grab another bowl and put it under the open stomach. Guts fall into the bowl. Now it is heavy. I give it to the women. They cut and clean everything, making sure nothing is dirty. Once it is all done,
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it is time to cook! The fire man has the fire going. We grill all the meat over the flames. Now it is time to wait. Grandpa says, “Make some frybread dough so grandma and auntie can make the bread.” I make the dough: 2 cups of flower, 2 spoons of salt, and baking powder. I use my clean hands to mix it. I add some warm milk. I don’t cheat, I use my bare hands. Grandma tells me, “If you use a mixer, or a machine, your bread is not made with heart.” She also says, “Do not be mad whenever you cook or bake. If you do, your food will not come out right and the people who eat it will also get mad. It is not good.” Everything is done now. It is time to eat. I grab a rib, along with ach’ii. As I take a bite, the juices flow on my tongue. It is delicious. I wish I could have it now, just thinking of it. Taking that bite
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
or butchering a sheep is my favorite thing to do during any celebration! I will always remember, remember the beautiful smell and amazing taste of mutton!
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Necklace by Dominik The necklace reminds me of my past. When I put it on, I see my future. With an image of Jesus Cristo, putting it on feels like the arms of my mother wrapping around me and giving me warmth. Call me a miracle child. I am special. If I end the day mad, sad, and bad, I warm my heart with tamales my mom made. I am a Mexican. No one can stop me, nor block me. All I need is my future. I sleep now. I see dreams of a different world. My culture is there. My family is there. Both are strong.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
Family by Anonymous I come from the pan my mom pulls out to make something amazing. I will always remember the memories created in the yellow, round, and small flan. This cold blob brings the whole family together. I am from the bipolar state, where cold mountains overlook the city and the green plants mix with the smells of downtown. I am from the big state, but small city. I am the place where all my family lives. I will never forget my homeland, Colorado.
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Carne del Hombre by Jesus I am the delicious and chewy carne asada that the men in my family make. The smell reminds me of home and those cherished moments. I come from a great meal usually eaten on the weekend. It reminds me of my roots. I will always remember how each delicious bite fills me with joy. I am my dad who crossed the border for his family to have a good future. For that reason, he wakes my butt up every day for school. He comes from Mexico, a country big and wide. He has been in the US for 13 years, he clearly knows how to hide.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
No More by Ty There is no time to think, no time to plan. Voices are being thrown toward me, telling me to go back to the Rez. I do not belong in this place. They say I am different than them. But guess what, I cannot leave. I am here for my education, not for you. I am doing this for my mother and father. No matter what you say, I am going to stay. The voices will not stop and listen. They keep being negative. Why won’t you stop? Just leave me alone! Stop! Just stop with your hating! I will not leave, leave this place. This place is my new home. You cannot tell me what to do. This is my life, not yours. You have no say in this. The voices slowly disappear, as I stay longer in this place. The more time I stay here, the more I cannot be seen. I do not care if that is so.
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I just want to get this over with. Thank you for stopping. I really appreciate it. I am happy now. With more time, I am able to think. With more time, I am able to plan.
Telling Our Stories Workshop Participants (ages 12-14)
My Mom's Tacos by Armando I am the ground beef tacos that my mom makes with corn tortillas, lettuce, and spicy salsa. She makes them for my teachers, who love the flavor they bring. I will always remember my mom’s ground beef tacos, especially when I have a bad day at school. I return home to the smell of the salsa coming from the kitchen. Ground beef tacos make me forget school for that day.
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Remembering by JBR Ruby will never be forgotten. She is my only sister. I remember the time when she told me to smile with my teeth because it I do not want to I look like I am going to the bathroom. She told me that when I smile with my mouth closed, it looks like I am one of those girls with daddy problems. “Daddy was not there, to take me to the fair,� is the song she would sing to me. Even if the world would come to an end or the government would release a chemical to make us forget about our loved ones, I would remember her.