Ta-Na-E-Ka by Mary Whitebird

As my birthday came closer, I had awful nightmares about it. I was reaching the age at which all Kaw Indians had to participate in Ta-Na-E-Ka. Well, not all Kaws. Many of the younger families on the reservation were beginning to give up the old custom. But my grandfather Amos Deer Leg liked the tradition. He still wore handmade moccasins instead of shoes, and kept his iron-gray hair in tight braids. He could speak English, but he spoke it only with white men. With his family he used a Sioux dialect.

Grandfather was one of the last living Indians (he died in 1953 when he was 81) who fought against the US Cavalry. Not only did he fight, he was wounded in the war. At that time my grandfather was only 11 years old.

Eleven is a magic word among the Kaws. It was the time of Ta-Na-E-Ka, the “flowering adulthood”. It was the age, my grandfather told me hundreds of times, when a boy could prove himself to be a warrior and a girl took the first steps to womanhood.

“I don’t want to be a warrior,” my cousin, Roger Deer Leg, told me.

“I’m going to become an accountant.”

“None of the other tribes make girls go through the test,” I complained to my mother.

“It won’t be as bad as you think, Mary,” my mother said. “Once you’ve gone through the test, you’ll certainly never forget it. You’ll be proud.”

I even complained to my teacher, Mrs. Richardson, feeling that, as a white woman, she would support me.

She didn’t. “All of us have rituals of one kind or another,” Mrs. Richardson said. “Don’t look down on the customs of your people.”

Customs, indeed? I had no wish to live on a reservation for the rest of my life. I was a good student. I loved school. I had never thought that being an Indian was exciting.

But I’ve always thought that the Kaws were the originators of the women’s liberation movement. No other Indian tribe — and I’ve spent half my lifetime learning the subject — treated women more equally than the Kaws. The Kaw allowed men and women to eat together. A Kaw woman had the right to choose a husband to her liking even if her father was against the marriage.

The Kaw had legends about “Good Woman”, a kind of Joan of Arc who led the Kaw warriors into battle after battle which they always won.

And girls as well as boys had to undergo Ta-Na-E-Ka. The ceremony was a bit different in different tribes, but since the Indian’s life was dedicated to survival, Ta-Na-E-Ka was a test of survival.

“To survive, we must endure,” my grandfather explained. “When I was a boy, Ta-Na-E-Ka was more than a symbol it is now. We were painted white and were sent naked into the woods.

We couldn’t return until the white had gone off. It took almost 18 days, and during that time we had to stay alive looking for food, eating insects and berries. It was an exciting time.”

“What happened if you couldn’t make it?” Roger asked. He was born only after three days I was, and we were being trained for Ta-Na-E-Ka together. I was happy to know he was frightened too.

“Many didn’t return.” Grandfather said. “Only the strongest and cleverest. Mothers were not allowed to weep over those who didn't return. If a Kaw couldn’t survive, he or she wasn’t worth weeping over. It was our way.”

“What a lot of nonsense,” Roger whispered.

“I’d give anything to get out of it.”

“I don’t see how we have any choice,” I answered. Roger tried to comfort me. “Well, it’s only five days.” Five days! Maybe it was better than being painted white and sent out naked for 18 days. But not much better. We were to be sent, barefoot and in bathing suits, into the woods. Even our very traditional parents were against it when Grandfather told us to go naked. For five days we’d have to live in the woods, keeping warm as best we could, getting food where we could. It was May, but the days and the nights were still cold.

Grandfather Grandfather was in charge of the month’s training for Ta-Na-E-Ka. One day he caught a grasshopper and demonstrated how to pull its legs and wings off and how to swallow it.

I felt sick and Roger turned green. “It’s a good thing it’s 1947,” I told Roger. “You’d make a terrible warrior.” Roger just grimaced.

I knew one thing. I wasn’t going to swallow a grasshopper no matter how hungry I was. And then I had an idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it before?

I went straight to my teacher’s house. “Mrs. Richardson,” I said, “would you lend me five dollars?”

“Five dollars!” she exclaimed. “What for?”

“You remember the ceremony I talked about?”

“Ta-Na-E-Ka. Of course. Your parents have written me and asked me to excuse you from school so you can participate in it.”

“Well, I need some things for the ceremony,” I answered in a half truth.

“I don’t want to ask my parents for the money.”

“It’s not a crime to borrow money, Mary. But how can you pay it back?”

“I’ll baby-sit for you 10 times.”

“That’s more than fair,” she said, handing me a new five-dollar bill. I had never had that much money at once.

A few days later, the ritual began with a long speech from my grandfather about how we had reached the age of Ta-Na-E-Ka. All the friends and relatives who had gathered at our house for dinner made jokes about their own Ta-Na-E-Ka experience. They all advised us to eat much now, since for the next five days we’d be very hungry.

“I’ll probably laugh about this when I’m an accountant,” Roger said, trembling.

“Are you trembling?” I asked.

“What do you think?”

“I’m happy to know boys tremble too," I said.

At six the next morning we kissed our parents and went off to the woods. “Which side do you want?” Roger asked. According to the rules, Roger and I weren’t to communicate during the whole test.

“I’ll go up the river, if it’s OK with you,” I said.

“Sure,” Roger answered. “What difference does it make?”

To me it made a lot of difference. There was a place a few miles up the river and there I had seen a boat. I thought a boat was a better place to sleep in than under a pile of leaves.

“Why do you keep your head straight up?” Roger asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just nervous,” I told him. Actually, I was afraid I’d lose the five-dollar bill, which I had put into my hair. As we came to the bank of the river, Roger shook my hand. “Good luck, Mary.”

“N'ko-n'ta,” I said. It was the Kaw word for courage.

The sun was shining and it was warm, but my bare feet began to hurt immediately. I found one of the berry bushes Grandfather had told us about. “You’re lucky,” he had said. “The berries are ripe in the spring, and they are delicious and nourishing.” They were orange and fat and I popped one into my mouth.

Argh! I spat it out. It was awful and bitter, and even grasshoppers were probably better-tasting, although I wasn’t going to find out. I sat down to rest my feet. A rabbit hopped out from under the berry bush. He smelled the berry I had spat out and ate it. He picked another one and ate that too. He liked them. He looked at me. All of a sudden I realized I was no longer frightened. Ta-Na-E-Ka might be more fun than I had thought. I got up and went up the river.

“Not one boat,” I said to myself. But the restaurant on the shore, “Ernie’s Riverside”, was open. I walked in, feeling silly in my bathing suit. The man at the counter was big and kind-looking. He asked me what I wanted.

“A hamburger and a milk shake,” I said, holding the five-dollar bill in my hand so he knew I had money.

“That’s a pretty heavy breakfast, honey,” he said.

“That’s what I always have for breakfast,” I lied.

“Forty-five cents,” he said, bringing me the food. (Back in 1947, hamburgers were 25 cents and milk shakes were 20 cents.) “Delicious,” I thought. “Better than grasshoppers — and Grandfather never once mentioned that I couldn’t eat hamburgers.”

While I was eating I had a bright idea. Why not sleep in the restaurant? I went to the ladies’ room and made sure the windows were unlocked. Then I went back outside and played along the river bank, watching the water birds.

The restaurant closed at sunset, and I saw the owner drive away. Then I climbed in the unlocked window. There was a night-light on, so I didn’t turn on any lights. But there was a radio on the counter. I turned it on to a music program. It was warm in the restaurant, and I was hungry. I helped myself to a glass of milk and a piece of pie, wishing to keep a list of what I had eaten so I could leave money. I also planned to get up early, slip out through the window, and go to the woods before the man returned. I turned off the radio, wrapped myself in the man’s apron, and, in. spite of the hardness of the floor, fell asleep.

“What are you doing here, kid?”

It was the man’s voice.

It was morning. I had overslept. I was scared.

“That’s OK, kid. I just wanna know what you’re doing here. You lost? You must be from the reservation. Your folks must be worried about you. Do they have a phone?”

“Yes, yes,” I answered. “But don’t call them.”

I was shivering. The man, who told me his name was Ernie, made me a cup of hot chocolate while I explained about Ta-Na-E-Ka.

“The most stupid thing I ever heard,” he said, when I was through.

“Lived next to the reservation all my life and this is the first time I’ve heard of Ta-Na-whatever-you-call-it.” He looked at me. “Pretty silly thing to do to a kid,” he muttered.

That was just what I had been thinking for months, but when Ernie said it, I became angry. “No, it isn’t silly. It’s a custom of the Kaw. We’ve been doing it for hundreds of years. My mother and my grandmother and everybody in my family went through this ceremony. It’s why the Kaw are great warriors.”

“OK, great warrior,” Ernie grinned. “And if you want to live here, it’s OK with me.” Ernie went to the neighboring room and brought me a sweater. “To keep you warm,” he said.

The sweater was too big for me, but it felt good. And I’d found a new friend. Most important, I was surviving Ta-Na-E-Ka.

My grandfather had said the experience would be filled with adventure, and I was having it. And, Grandfather has never said we couldn’t accept hospitality.

I stayed with Ernie for the whole period. In the mornings I went into the woods and watched the animals and picked flowers for each of the tables in “Ernie’s Riverside”. I had never felt better. I was up early in the morning to watch the sun rise on the Missouri, and I went to bed after it set. I ate everything I wanted — insisting that Ernie take all my money for food. “I’ll keep this in trust for you, Mary,” Ernie promised, “in case you are needing five dollars.”

I was sorry when the five days were over. I’d enjoyed every minute with Ernie. He taught me how to make western omelets and to make coffee. And I told Ernie all about the legends of the Kaw. I hadn’t realized I knew so much about my people.

But Ta-Na-E-Ka was over, and as I approached my house, at about 9.30 in the evening, I became nervous all over again. What if Grandfather asked me about the berries and the grasshoppers? And my feet were not hurt. I hadn’t lost a pound and my hair was combed.

“They’ll be so happy to see me,” I told myself hopefully, “that they won’t ask too many questions.”

I opened the door. My grandfather was in the front room. He was wearing the ceremonial deerskin shirt which had belonged to his grandfather.

“N'g'da'ma,” he said. “Welcome back.”

I hugged my parents warmly, then I saw my cousin Roger lying on the sofa. His eyes were red. He had lost weight. His feet were a mass of blood and blisters, and he was moaning. “I made it, see. I made it. I’m a warrior. A warrior.”

My grandfather looked at me strangely. I was clean, well-fed, and healthy. My uncle and aunt looked at me with hostility.

Finally my grandfather asked, “What did you eat to keep you so well?”

I caught my breath and told the truth: “Hamburgers and milk shakes.”

“Hamburgers!” my grandfather cried.

“Milk shakes!” Roger moaned.

“You didn’t say we had to eat grasshoppers,” I said shyly.

“Tell us all about your Ta-Na-E-Ka,” my grandfather commanded.

I told them everything, from borrowing the five dollars, to Ernie’s kindness.

“That’s not what I trained you for,” my grandfather said sadly.

I stood up. “Grandfather, I learned that Ta-Na-E-Ka is important. I didn’t think so during training. I was scared of it. I had it my way. And I learned I had nothing to be afraid of. There is no reason in 1947 to eat grasshoppers when you can eat a hamburger.”

I was shocked at my own audacity. But I liked it. “Grandfather, I’ll bet you never ate one of those rotten berries yourself.”

Grandfather laughed! He laughed aloud! My mother and father and uncle were surprised. Grandfather never laughed. Never.

“Those berries — they are terrible,” Grandfather said. “I could never swallow them. I found a dead deer on the first day of my Ta-Na-E-Ka — and he kept my stomach full for the whole period of the test!”

Grandfather stopped laughing. “We should send you out again,” he said.

I looked at Roger. “You’re pretty smart, Mary,” Roger moaned. “I had never thought of what you did.”

“Accountants just have to be good at arithmetic,” I said comfort-ably. “I’m terrible at arithmetic.”

Roger tried to smile, but couldn’t. My grandfather called me to him. “You should have done what your cousin did. But I think that you are more alert to what is happening to our people today than we are. I think you would have passed the test under any circumstances, in any time. Somehow you know how to exist in a world that wasn’t made for Indians. I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble surviving.”

Grandfather was right. But I’ll tell about that another time.