Settle in, folks. This is going to be a long update…

My team had its debriefing for our second phase project today, which means that we are officially done with our experience in Pine Ridge, SD.  And yet, I have maybe two updates about the entire project, not because I was lacking internet access or because I was lazy, but because this project was so frustrating/ stressful/ infuriating, that I made the conscious decision NOT to post about it.  Anything I said would have been remarkably critical, and I didn’t want there to be a chance that people who shouldn’t be reading it (namely, the woman in charge of our project) could.  Allow me to explain…

This project began with enthusiasm and excitement for my entire team.  From day 1 of learning about it, we had been told that we were one of the few teams even considered for the project, because the higher-ups felt our team’s dynamics would suit the project.  This was a high-profile project.  We would be working on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation at the SuAnne Big Crow Boys and Girls Club.  Non-natives working with and teaching Native children, Lakota Sioux to be precise.  We were warned: people in places well above our regional offices would be watching us to see how a team would work in such an environment.  We were, in essence, the prototype team for NCCC going into Reservations.  We felt honored and pleased by the distinction, but little did we know what lay ahead (cue foreboding music with lightning).

The drive to South Dakota was nice, but a bit harrowing at times.  Because of winter weather, we had to take the scenic route through south through Utah, through Colorado, then north through Nebraska and to South Dakota.  For anyone who has traveled this route before (as I am sure many of you who read this have), you might recognize that this takes us through the Rocky Mountains in the heart of ski country, like Vail, CO.  And it was there that, looking back, it seemed the mountains were trying to tell us to turn back; go no further; danger ahead.  Snow swirled around us, wind blew our 15 passenger van to both sides of the road, grey clouds descended and veiled our vision – the worst winter weather I had ever seen.  Yet we made it through, and once we passed Denver, it was smooth driving the rest of the way. 

We arrived on a Thursday, and were awkwardly met by our first supervisor and the Programs Director for the club, Derek.  Derek is not a Native.  He lives in Nebraska and was a teacher for many years at Red Cloud School, the Jesuit school down the road from the club.  A nice man.  A smart man.  Just a bit socially awkward.  We got a brief tour of the club from him, and then were introduced to the club’s Executive Director, Chick.  Now, ”Chick” is a nickname for Leatrice Big Crow, the mother of the deceased girl, after whom the club is named.  The fact that there is such a strong family connection within the club becomes important, so stay with me.

The first night was enjoyable.  Chick and her family (who we later found out were actually part of the staff) prepared us a meal of Indian Tacos, which are different only in that they are made with frybread instead of tortillas (frybread could be a post of its own), she said a prayer for us and we had a smudging ceremony to rid any ill-spirits from us so that our experience could be a positive one.  Now, having gone to university near a Reservation, I am aware of smudging and have done this before.  I was grateful that they were taking that kind of interest in us being there.  But, no amount of burning sage was going to shield us from the experience we were about to have.

The next day was our “orientation.”  Because such a big deal had been made about our project being within a different culture, none of us wanted to speak out of turn about anything, so we largely sat and listened to Chick talk about the club and the Reservation.  We learned about SuAnne and her fame in Pine Ridge and her tragic death that was the impetus for this club.  Chick talked about the poverty on the Rez, which she called “emotional poverty” rather than “material poverty.”  We even were told that if the spirts were right with us, we might be allowed to perform a sweat lodge (they weren’t, I guess, we didn’t).  Some of this was interesting, some was bizarre, some was uncomfortable, but who were we to judge the situation on the first real day. 

We were then taken into a different room of the club, which they call the “Incentive Room.”  Incentive for who or what, we’re not really sure.  We were led into this room, which initially strikes you as a very nice room, but very out of place for a Boys and Girls Club.  It looked like a living room: long sofa in the middle facing an entertainment center with a sizable tv, a fireplace to one side, still decorated for Christmas (mind you it was the 8th of February), and fashionable light fixtures.  Then we started to notice the decor: plaques for various awards, medallions, trophies, glass-enclosed jerseys and jackets from national basketball tournaments, a life-sized cardboard cut-out of a teenage girl…it hits you suddenly.  We were standing in the room that had been devoted and dedicated to the accomplishments of SuAnne while she was alive.  I don’t mean any disrespect by my description.  SuAnne must have been a remarkable and talented girl.  But for myself and my team, this was an uncomfortable moment.  Especially when Chick played our orientation video, which was a collection of home video of SuAnne, the majority of which dealt with her basketball accomplishments.  Imagine sitting in a room with the a mother watching a highlight reel of her deceased daughter, on what turned out to be the day before the 16th anniversary of the day she died, surrounded by the artifacts of that life.  What do you say?  How do you react?  How do you not feel uncomfortable? 

That was the only training we were to receive for the length of the project.  Following this day’s orientation, I had a brief, but acute, panic attack.  We still had no idea what we were supposed to do at this club, as no one had yet explained to us why we were needed and how we would be used.  I had never worked with children before in this type of environment, I didn’t know what to do or how I was going to do it, so I did the only thing I could think to do – I flipped out.  My team helped me out and talked me down and were very understanding.  They gave me the night to collect myself, while they had to work late (teen social nights lasted until 11:00pm, every other Friday - of course our first night was one of them).  I am still grateful for how understanding and supportive my team was for me that night.

While I never again felt that way and was fine for the rest of the project, it turns out I panicked far too soon.