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Welcome then, to Metlakatla, Alaska. As our cruise ship, the S.S. Universe Explorer, draws up to the wharf, the houses of Metlakatla look like blue, red, green and white dice spilled between evergreen forests. The road from the dock winds up a slight incline and links up to the street that leads into the heart of the town. I decide to meander through residential neighborhoods where the only sound is the twitter of birds heralding the arrival of spring. Some homes are adorned with lace curtains in their windows; others have carved totem poles standing beside their entrances. Several appear to be deserted with boarded up windows and peeling paint. I am drawn to the wayward charm of a town with irregularly shaped yards and houses that are sometimes angled askew to the road. I am also beguiled by the fact that Metlakatla doesn't have a single public restaurant or cinema (though it does boast a video outlet!) and that its streets are entirely innocent of traffic lights. Spread over 86,000 acres of land on
Annette Island (sixteen miles south of Ketchikan, Alaska), Metlakatla
was founded by a lay Anglican priest, Father William Duncan, who arrived
here in 1887 with a group of Tsimshian Indians from British Columbia.
It is the only native reservation in Alaska and, since the area falls
outside US state and federal jurisdiction, the Tsimshians administer
their own Tribal, Juvenile and Appellate courts. ___________________________
Her smile is as generously proportioned as she is, and as she and two other drummers beat an accompanying rhythm, her voice booms, "ahha-ha-ha-ahha, yoh-ho ahha …" Suddenly the room explodes with color, movement and sound as the dancers flood across the floor, swirling, swaying, reaching up, dipping down, beckoning to us in gestures of greeting. They are draped in blankets of yellow, black, scarlet and deep blue, trimmed with glinting mother-of-pearl buttons. As they whirl, they display the back of their blankets, appliquéd with ravens, eagles, wolves and whales, all of which are symbolic representations of clan and lineage. Their head-pieces are dramatic too - the men wear stylized Tsimshian emblems painted on yellow cedar; the women are adorned with intricately beaded coronets. A dancer with raven feather "claws" swoops past, laughing as he sings and stamps his feet in time to the rhythm of the drums. When the dance is over, the audience goes wild with applause. As the afternoon progresses, I realize that this is more than a dance performance. It is an exuberant celebration of a community gathering, where both adults and children are part of a blithe and joyous romp. A young mother croons to a baby slung across her bosom as she moves in step to the beat; a father hoists his chubby toddler onto his shoulders and beams as he leaps into a spin. They sing to the spirit of February's moon and weave through the patterns of their seasonal rituals. The men mime pulling in their fishing nets; the women bend as though picking berries. ____________________________ Our hostess takes the podium again to announce a special dance by the four clans of the Tsimshian people and invites us to join them on the floor. "Now, I know some of you are thinking, 'But I don't have a clan.'" She says, "Well, let me tell you that you do. To us, you are 'Adabeesh'. Adabeesh is the Tsimshian word for the beautiful butterflies that arrive here in the spring and summer and leave in the fall!" The audience laughs, claps and cheers. She smiles and nods. "So when we call out, 'Adabeesh' - come and dance among us! Be proud of who you are in Metlakatla!" The Adabeesh are thrilled to oblige. We flutter and dip and sway in glorious confusion amid a welter of ravens, eagles, wolves and killer whales. And then, all too quickly, it is over. The dancers wave goodbye and we slowly retrace our steps to the wharf. To our surprise and delight, our hosts have preceded us to the dock. Like old friends at the close of a party, they are waiting to thank us for coming to see them - and to say farewell to each of us in turn as we walk up the ship's ramp. It's a heartwarming finale to our stay in Metlakatla - the little Tsimshian town where I frolicked as a butterfly for a day.
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