Weaving the Tall Grass

Tiponi gently touched Gonyaul’s arm and gave it a light squeeze. She began informing him that she would be back and gestured for him to meet her at a certain time. She indicated this by trying to show where the sun would be. Gonyaul didn’t figure it out until she used the word ‘sun’, “Inti”. It was a word he learned yesterday.

Gonyaul expressed that he understood that when the sun was at a certain point, which was an hour or so past noon, he would be back at his camping area.

With understanding established between the two she smiled and saturated the air with her farewell before moving off. She wanted to sprint; however, settled for a brisk walk with a spring in her step.

Gonyaul watched her leave with a warm smile. It was so enriching to see someone else openly rejoicing in the morning with their behavior.

When she had disappeared from his sight, Gonyaul knelt down and began his morning meditation.

It wasn’t ten minutes into meditating, he hadn’t even gotten past the introductory breathing when he heard a chatter of increasingly louder calls directed at him. It interrupted his meditation and he had to remove his eye wrap to see what was going on.

Standing a few yards from him were the elder women he had been assigned to beckoning him like you would a herd of goats. They were basically telling him to ‘get up and get to work.’

Gonyaul rose and could only seem to placate them by following. They brought him over to an area where there were several others, mostly teenagers, weaving baskets and other container like shapes utilizing the blades of tall grass. Gonyaul was genuinely intrigued by their innovative creations and they didn’t have to ask twice before he joined in the work; getting a tutorial first. He looked around before diving in, hoping Tiponi would also be present; however, she would not be.

Gonyaul’s first attempt was to make a simple bowl alongside the youngest of the group. His partner and teachers bowl looked good. His was a wonky bust. One of the older teenagers came over and tried to encourage him to not be discouraged and took his bowl and put it on his head. She was making a joke that ‘he didn’t make a bowl, he made a hat.’ This gave them all a good laugh.

Gonyaul tried again from scratch.

Halfway through his better looking bowl, a young teenage boy arrived with a large bundle of tall grasses to resupply them.

Gonyaul hadn’t seen too many older boys doing chores, and this was because the older a boy became the more his chores moved to the periphery of the tribe. The older the boy the more to the edge they became until they were literally moving outside the boundaries. So as Gonyaul understood it, the women’s chores were in the protected heart of the encampment and the men’s chores were on the protective exterior; much like a seed.

He didn’t question it, but the Odsier weren’t about to allow Gonyaul training in the more physical and combative skills the men undertook. He had not developed enough trust and credibility to have that type of freedom yet. But when Gonyaul did glance off in the distance he could see the guys working the livestock, practicing hunting and riding, patrolling, fighting, among other things.

Gonyaul got a round of applause. He made a decent little bowl.

Meanwhile, Tiponi had informed her mother what had taken place that morning with Gonyaul and the tent offer. The mother was overjoyed for her daughter, who had long been passed over for matrimony. Even though the father was not in approval, women and men in the Odsier were equals. She didn’t need his permission to take her own actions and make her own decisions.

The mother rallied the troops, her relatives, and they began collecting the necessary materials for Tiponi; each one giving of their own tents extra parts till all the basics were covered.