Eskimo Dance

Friday night, we were invited to go to the Tribal Council for an Eskimo Dance to honor us new teachers. We piled in the van at 6:45 PM and drove through the pot holes to a tattered grange-hall type building. Not a soul was in sight and a padlock was on the front entrance. While we were waiting, we discussed how most of the buildings in the village are raised since many destructive floods had forced the village to relocate to the other side of town. This building had an interesting water-level sign I hadn't noticed while walking past it to Dave's Store. It showed the recommended building elevation, as well as markings of other local buildings. I was glad to see they had built the school two feet above the suggested level.
Finally, four-wheelers started puttering in and after awhile someone came with a key to let us in the T.C. Inside the large rectangular room, there were shallow bleachers on the left side and many bright blue circles hanging on the wall on the right side. There was a row of folding chairs around the perimeter. Our large staff group shuffled onto the cold metal bleachers. I took my muddy boots off to replace them with my Sketchers.
After a longer time, I asked a returning teacher how long it might be until they start-- hadn't they said 7? She replied that they were on local time. This meant it could be another hour before it started. However, to waste some time, I went with my principal, another teacher, and took one of my students to the local Annex store across the way.
My Sketchers suctioned to the thin mud with each step, as the routine of changing back and forth between mud boots and shoes is becoming more familiar. Luckily, I was able to avoid too much mud and walked around the plywood floor as others shopped for snacks. I can't justify spending lots of money, but I was in desperation for a caffeine fix after two days of teaching. So, at that point a $2.59 Coca-Cola seemed like an okay deal. However, my roommate's pop cost four dollars and some odd change for an expired Diet Pepsi.
When we got back, a row of men were sitting on the chairs opposite the bleachers, holding the blue circles. When the dance began, an elder started singing a Yup'ik simple melody. The others joined in. For the next few hours, all men beat on the drums and sung. Women and children wearing Guspaqs, bounced their knees and made motions with their hands as if they were berry-picking, mixing Aqutaq (Native ice cream made from berries, fat, and fish), and hunting. It was a night of serious, and even some silly, dancing. They even convinced me to go out there to fumble through the unfamiliar dance moves with, what I felt like, naked hands. All the ladies and girls had gloves or fans covering their hands. When they invited us new teachers to try dancing, I had to remember that they couldn't have expected us to bring the proper attire. Knee bobbing and air-berry picking was more difficult that it looked from the bleachers!
Afterward, the atmosphere of the room had changed from an ordinary cold rectangular room to an excited buzzing room full of hugs and handshakes as we left. It was after 11 P.M. and I was exhausted from two very draining days and excited from the prospect of sleeping in the next day. Many of us felt like walking home next to the river, in the chilly breeze, with the sun’s light still shining bright.