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Holly Dobbins
Canada
July 2004
See previous submission from Holly Dobbins
 My Name is "Story"
It is difficult to believe that this will be my last entry for 'Notes from the Field.' As I consider what to write, a thousand images flood my consciousness. The colors of my traditional boots, embroidered with reds and pinks and purples, seemed the most beautiful I had ever seen on the day they were given to me. On that day I gained my freedom to walk wherever I pleased in whatever weather, sure in the knowledge that I could feel where I was going and be warm and safe.
With a half-smile on my face I recall the sounds of snowmobiles and the sights of hunters venturing out across the ice in the early morning, heading to flow edge while the Aqsarniit (Northern Lights) danced across the sky. Once I shared the sky with them. I was on a small RCMP plane, practicing with Inuit colleagues the Inuktitut words for 'star' and 'moon;' I felt such childish delight at being able to point them out. Aqsarniit danced all about us in streams of green and lilac. I have seldom felt so alive.
Thanks to the support of the RCMP, who allowed me to travel on their planes, and Nunavut Tunngavik Inc. who helped sponsor some of my travel, I have been able to meet people in communities all across Nunavut and the Northwest Territories who helped to create this new territory. As people have shared the stories of their lives with me, I have become a trustee to a myriad of voices. That alone is a great gift, but the greatest gift of all that I have been given is that of true friendship. Shortly before I left Iqaluit, I came to realize how my months of work gathering the life stories of people and the birth story of a territory has really been regarded by those around me.
"You have been coming here for almost three years," an Inuit keeper of traditional knowledge told me, "and it is time that you were given an Inuktitut name." My name is "Story." Unikaak. I am a storyteller.
Now I must return home and begin to write those stories. It is over the last few months that I have come to understand much more deeply the marriage between tradition and contemporary life in Inuit culture. The most difficult part of coming to Nunavut, beyond the physical difficulties, was my fear that I might not gain the trust and support of those I most needed to meet and know. Now, in leaving Nunavut, the most difficult part, beyond deeply missing the community I have come to know and love, is bearing the burden of getting the story right. But, thanks to Fulbright, I now have a host of friends, mentors and guides to whom I can turn whenever the need arises.
I also know that I leave something of myself behind. In a difficult era, when the international community views the acts of the United States critically and skeptically, the role of being an American abroad is perhaps even more salient. Although neither Canadians nor Inuit judge individuals by the acts of their government, no few times have I surprised those around me by my sensitivity and openness and eagerness to learn. And I have often been surprised by how few Americans some of my friends have actually known. Being a storyteller, I have told many stories of my country and my life. These stories too I leave behind, along with the greater understanding that they bring.
For the rest of the summer and into early fall, I will be traveling across Southern Canada to continue gathering stories from those who were part of the creation of Nunavut. The connections I have made, thanks to the Fulbright program, will also continue. Several of us have already made plans for future collaboration. My time with Fulbright may be coming to and end, but my future with Canada and the people of the North is only just beginning. From the Inuit I have been reminded of the value of optimism, the wisdom of letting go of anger, and the joy of good fellowship. These lessons I will carry with me the rest of my life, and try to pass them on wherever I can - beginning with you! Taima.
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