Bushmen

    I have just returned from my visit to two Alaskan villages: Nanwalek and Port Graham. Each are on the Kenai Peninsula towards the Aleutian Islands. We were quite lucky, as the weather coming off the Gulf of Alaska can be quite horrid. All four days were sunny and *gasp* not windy. The wind around here is constant. In Seward we've had about a week and a half worth of straight 25 mph winds, with gusts up to 45 mph. It doesn't stop. The wind lull was much appreciated.

    Both places were gorgeous. Nanwalek was right on the beach and we arrived early our first morning. With some spare time, since things in the villages go on a much slower, laid back clock than anywhere else in the US, I had a chance to roam the beach. At about 10:30 am, the sun's rays were just erupting over the hillsides. The sun is so low, it pierces the eye sideways. Each rock on the pebbly beach is broken into a color spectrum-for each stone, five more exist in layers behind it, colors throbbing around the edges. It was a beach site I had never seen before. Waves crash as I stare at three immense volcanoes along the Aleutian chain, one of which I can see smoke rising from like a simmering cigar, slowly embering inside. The town is just behind me, the largest building is the school. It also employs the most people--6 teachers. There is a janitor as well. We met him our second night in town. Nanwalek has a park dedicated to his honor. He will be the next tribal chief and spends his mornings in meetings with other elected members of his tribe, his afternoons running the only general store in the village, which is open from 12-5 six days a week, and his nights cleaning the school. We came upon him after dinner at the teacher's house in Nanwalek, on our way to bed in the elementry classroom. His clothes were tattered and dirty, and his face shone with beads of sweat as he slid the vacuum cleaner back and forth across the carpet, something out of a 1980s after school special. 

"Hello! You must be the scientists" he says. We nod and give him our names.  Everyone in the villages calls us that-the scientists. We walk towards the window that overlooks the basketball game playing downstairs. We watch a 16 year old villager jump, complete a 360 degree turn, and make a basket from the 3-point line.

   "You have some great kids," I say, nodding at the game floor.

    Chief looks at me like I'm trying too hard. "They do like the game. My son Patrick, that's him on the court in the white jersey, he tells me everything that happens on this court when he comes home. Every foul, everything. He went to one of those camps, you know, for the game. They have those in Anchorage, and he brought back all the rules, the official ones. He really loves it. He wants to play college basketball. I hope he can find a better career goal, though. Someone from a little village like this can't play professional."

    This whole dialogue takes quite a while to communicate, each word is pronounced in perfect laid-back laziness, not that this man could be lazy. 

    Port Graham was an experience, as well. It was half the size of Nanwalek, so only 20 students in all K-12 grades existed in the village. I found a seal flipper, though, with a big bite taken out of it. I could see all the bones moving under the flesh, quite enjoyable. 

   The worst part of the trip was losing my camera as I boarded the plane home. It fell out on the runway, and we'd taken off by the time I realized it. Consequently, no pictures from the trip. I'm hoping my travel mates give me copies of what they took.