I was sixteen and had just joined a new church youth group. It was my first summer with the group and I was invited to go along with them on a mission trip to an Indian reservation in Bridger, South Dakota. I’d been told many things about the people of Bridger. They had very little in comparison to me but yet they were some of the happiest, most humble people I would have the pleasure of meeting. I was told that seeing what they had and what they made of it would change my perspective on life itself.
I decided I would join the group that summer to see if what they said was really true. The bus ride was about ten and a half hours long, and with it being the middle of summer it was hot and uncomfortable. There were about twenty other teenagers on the bus all around my age. Most had been to Bridger multiple times before and this was an annual trip for them. While on the bus they shared their stories with me about the magic they feel when on the reservation. Emmy, Sam, and Elliot told me about the time they spent an entire summer living on the reservation.
They told me about helping the kids with homework from summer school and helping the adults plant food to eat since there wasn’t a store in an hours distance. When we finally pulled into the community my stomach dropped with both excitement and fear for what | would discover. I looked out the window to what looked like a ghost town. There was little torn up shacks in a line and beat up cars parked next to a couple of them. Kids of the community started chasing the bus as the adults stood on their porches and waved at us driving by.
By the time we reached to the ommunity center where we were sleeping there were fifteen kids waiting for us, hugging the ones who they have seen before. I stood back and watched not knowing anyone. The kids were dirty and wearing clothes to big for them. They were very loud, yelling out names of those in the group. One girl had a dog and was showing him off to anyone that would listen. They dog was filthy and concerningly skinny. While observing my surrounding and taking everything in I realized I was alone at the bus doors. I started to walk around the group and head inside the building when a kid ran up to me and started hugging me.
I was startled and a little creeped out at first but then I felt the kindness this kid was trying to comfort me with and I relaxed. Soon all the kids were in front of me introducing themselves. Before I knew it a little girl named Anna had ahold of my hand and was walking me through the little community to give me a tour. Anne was twelve and the oldest of the kids that greeted us when we arrived. Although she was the oldest she wasn’t that great of a speaker. She mispronounced most words and got distracted easily like a little kid.
Although she talked like a younger kid her knowledge of the community was impressive. She informed me that the little shacks were their houses and that they were government owned. To receive a home each family had to put in an application to apply to live in the houses. Some families were approved, but most were not even though there are empty houses available. The biggest problem with being approved was they had to have some source of income besides what the government was giving them. Anna then introduced me to a family who wasn’t approved a house lived.
There I met the twins and their parents. Their home was an old, broken camper that they bought from a man passing by the area. What surprised me about the family is how proud they were about their home. The fact that they bought it with their hard earned money and have fixed it up some was something they were very proud about. And even though it wasn’t what| would call ideal living conditions, they seemed really happy about it and their lives. When we left Anna told me that most people in the community are unable to buy property on their own which is why the family was so proud of their home.
Anna and I then headed back to the Community Center where she introduced me to the head of the community. He was a long haired man with a soft spoken voice. I asked him about the history of the community and how the people got to be here. He told me about Lakota tribe and it’s history with the American people, that after the trading done by their ancestors this was the only land the Lakotas were left with. Some of the people of the community had used that to their advantage and has bought land and made money off of it selling cows, chickens, eggs, and other livestock.
Others decided to never leave the land out of anger and not wanting to lose part of their heritage And because there were no job opportunities within an hours drive many didn’t have jobs since they had no transportation. hly money they received was from the government. With this information I then grew mixed feeling about the Lakota people. Should I look up to them for people so happy off of so little? Or should I try to help them see there is a better life out there if they just help themselves? I thought about these questions as I walked away.
I knew no matter what I decided to do they were going to do what they wanted anyway. Also that there was no way I could convince them of a better life if they have been living like this for years. I didn’t have an easy answer to give them anyway. I couldn’t provide them with a car to transport themselves. And I couldn’t give them money to buy land to grow livestock on. I decided then that I would spend my time with them learning to enjoy the little things and making the most out of what I do have. That night I had dinner with the people of the community.
I sat and listened to many of the older members stories of their parents, grandparents, and even great grandparents. Anna had to repeat some things said back to me because their english wasn’t the best. They spoke of wars that were fought and friendships made. The people spoke with such pride for their ancestor. One story that stuck out to me was their relationships with horses. They believe horses have this special spirit and sacred relationship with the Lakota people. It’s said that they have their own language between the two that a white man can’t fully understand. I found this amazing and confusing.
To show me what they were talking about an older gentleman took me outside the community center where they kept the horses and showed me what they meant by having their own language. He got in the pin with the horse and starting speaking in Lakota language and directing his hands. Anna tried to repeat what he was saying to me but he was talking too fast for her to keep up. But soon, to my surprize, the horse started listening and following his arm movements. I learned then that these people have a special understanding of life and that they choose to live life like they do to keep their heritage alive.
