Chapter Two: Flies in the Mist

As a young Lakhota-Ojibwe boy, Binesi was enjoying the canoe ride down the banks of Wičhíyena Wakpá Tȟáŋka—The Great River of the Setting Sun. He was donning his brand new buffalo skin pants with fringes and a top that his mother and sisters made for his 12th birthday.

His father, Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla, was taking him to see his cousins at the Sun Dance Festival, and they were just rounding a bend before the confluence with Tȟuŋkášilapi Wakpá Wákȟaŋ—The Sacred River of the Grandfathers. The bugs were annoying him more and more as they continued paddling. But the pests seemed to leave Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla alone, or he paid them no mind.

All along the shores of the river by the cattails—there were large, loud dragonflies and other more ominous, louder, unnamed bugs scurrying between the clusters of cattails. The mosquitoes were out in force even though it was only mid-afternoon; but they were of no concern compared to the flies.

The flies were everywhere—of all types. There were green and brown bottlenecks; some even had a purple hue. There were deer flies as big as a thumbnail; they were something dreadful. They had tentacles which hung out of their mouths and made them look as though they were drooling. They had two scoops with which they would pry your flesh apart, and then the tentacles would stiffen into needles and pierce into the middle of the torn chasm—perched like an oil rig ready for extraction. Thankfully, his leather pants and shirt thwarted their bites—but his head and hands lay vulnerable.

He needed his hands to hold the oar and keep rowing, so he could not swat and swipe at the annoying insects that were swarming about his head. The flies were dive-bombing and landing unmolested. Some were even greedily digging into his flesh and causing him to bleed. He started to cry and asked his father if they could turn back.

Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla said: “Nibi aawan bimaadiziwin — Water Is Life.” He told Binesi he would have to learn to persevere through life’s tribulations no matter what the spirits may bring him.

Just as they cleared a huge half-submerged boulder, he saw a fish leap out of the water and swallow one of the flies. He jumped and pointed it out to his father, but Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla just told him to be still and allow the forces of nature to protect and guide him. Binesi looked confused.

“Already,” his father said, “they’ve been helping you, but you’ve been unable to see it.”

He spoke of how the frogs on the banks and the fish in the water ate the bugs and their larvae; how the intimidating-looking dragonflies actually ate other bugs that bothered him, like mosquitoes. He told him of the bats at night that feasted on the most dreadful of bugs. He went on and on about all types of birds and how each had their own way of stalking and hunting different insects. Binesi began feeling better knowing there were spirits that not only provided for him but also protected him from his enemies.

Finally, by late evening, they reached ‘The Great Confluence,’ Wakȟáŋ Owáyawahe, where the rivers joined and ceremonies were held.

"See how the currents argue?" Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla shouted over the roar. “Whirlpools suck down branches. Eddies spin traps for the careless." He pointed to a dead tree churning in a vortex—swallowed whole in seconds.

Binesi gripped the canoe’s edge, his knuckles white. “Why hold the Sun Dance here?”

Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla’s paddle sliced through a foaming ridge. "Because chaos teaches alertness! Watch the deer—" On the far bank, two deer drank by the turbulent shore. Their ears flickered, muscles coiled. When a hidden current surged, they leapt—not away, but sideways—landing firmly on stones slick with spray. "—they dance with danger. One misstep, the river wins. One hesitation, the wolf takes them." Tȟašúŋke Waŋžíla steadied the canoe as a whirlpool yawned beside them. "To survive boundaries, you must be as nimble as those hooves—as alert as those ears. Deer have those ears and those hooves because of the wolf and the river."

"Mitȟúŋkala, my son—Look down—see that ripple? A gnášká (frog)—just claimed her treaty share—a fly. There—ho! Hógna (fish)—it leaps. That’s the Wamákȟaškan Oyáte at work."

"The Animal Nations live by ancient agreements: Gnáškayapi Oyáte (Frog Nation) guards the shores, Hógnakayapi Oyáte (Fish Nation) cleanses the waters, Tȟašíyagnupi Oyáte (Dragonfly Nation) hunts mosquitoes… and Čhanúwíčhakšičiyapi Oyáte (Fly Nation)?”

A heron glides by with a silvery hógna dangling from its beak.

“No flies?—No fish for herons. No Hokáğaŋ (herons)? Muskrat overrun the marshes.” Locking eyes with Binesi… “You think Wakȟáŋ Tȟáŋka makes mistakes? We’re not masters here, son. We’re one nation among many. Remember that when their bites burn—even pests are relatives doing wakháŋ work.”

Chapter Two: Key Elements