Chasing the Holy Girl

Driving through the reservation at night is not one of my favorite activities. I’m not superstitious, but I’ve heard enough creepy stories to make the drive from Page to Tuba City uncomfortable. I set my shoulders back and put on an air of confidence, just in case. If dark energy exists, so does light. Johnny Cash serenaded me across the desert. The waning moon lit up rock formations from behind; turning them into shadows against the starlit sky, gentle giants that marked the way.

The ceremony started at 11 pm. Around 10 I met Natalie, my roommate from college at the Sonic in Tuba City, a small town kept alive by tourists that pass through on various adventures. We bought coffee and made our way out of town to her relatives’ house.

A Kinaalda is a Navajo puberty ceremony for young women. It is a rite of passage that traditionally lasts four days. I was invited to sit in on the last night of the ceremony. This is the night where a medicine man sings blessings called Hozhoni’go. The songs last all night until sunrise, when the girl (now woman) runs to meet the gods and returns holy. This is the gist of the ceremony, but it gets much more intricate. I know as I describe this I will be butchering words and making mistakes left and right. But this is the most accurate portrayal of my experience that I possess.

We sat in a Hogan waiting for the medicine man to wake up. He was in one of the eight corners of the room, snoring loudly. The girl of honor who we’ll call ‘Jo’ was also asleep. They had both been up very early doing other parts of the ceremony all day. Natalie and I were sitting on a couch in the Hogan, armed for the long night ahead with Red Bull and coffee. The room had mattresses and cushions lining the eight walls. There was a wood stove in the middle of the dirt floor that people had to walk clockwise around before taking their seat. There was also a large mat in the middle of the room where attendants of the ceremony could place an item to be blessed by the medicine man. The pile consisted of bags, purses, shoes, a horse saddle, and a Prince Shark tennis racquet with fresh red strings and a pretty pink grip. The medicine man eyed the racquet and looked at me quizzically.

‘I should have gone with shoes’ I thought. The room filled with mostly women and Jo’s father. The medicine man passed around corn pollen for us to bless ourselves with. I followed Natalie’s lead as she took a pinch of pollen and put it to her mouth, then her head, then sprinkled a path to the east, an offering to Diyin, the gods.

The songs began. Somber, rhythmic corn songs came from man’s the deep, relaxing voice. His first songs told a story. ‘She came from the east, she came from the west. She is beginning her journey. She will go to meet the gods’.

The lights were turned out in the Hogan. A small lantern lit the room, casting charismatic shadows on the walls. As the medicine man sang he rocked back and forth, causing his shadow to grow and retract on the white wall behind him. He sang for hours. Jo’s head bobbed as she fought to stay awake. Her mother and aunties calmly reminded her to stay awake through the long hours of the song-filled night. I am exhausted too. I close my eyes. I can still hear the song of the medicine man, and my mind dances on the line between consciousness and sleep. I sipped caffeine for synthetic energy.

As sunrise draws near the songs start to have a conclusive sound to them. The Godmother washes Jo’s hair with yucca as the medicine man sings, this time with a sense of urgency. On his cue Jo takes off to the east, her hair still dripping with yucca water. She is to run further than she has to this point. We ran behind her, chasing the holy girl. We were instructed to make noise so the spirits would know she is coming. Now, I don’t know how many of you have ever tried to run in moccasins and a long skirt in deep sand, but I’ll let you know that it isn’t easy. Flashlights lit the way, as the sun had yet to rise. The moon and stars shone brightly. About two miles later we reached a stopping point. She blessed herself and ran around a young shrub, heading back toward the Hogan. Regardless of the sand and cold, I found myself loving the run. I let myself get in touch with a Super Native bone I didn’t know I had in me. I hooted and hollered to announce Jo to the spirits. Dogs howled at us and I howled back. A few miles later she returned to the Hogan a woman.

Upon returning, we each grabbed a handful of white corn powder and went outside to offer it to the east, praying for our friends, our family, and ourselves. I prayed a prayer of appreciation. I expressed that I want safety in my travels, and I want my loved ones to feel happiness and develop appreciative minds. As we prayed the sun was close to rising, giving the horizon an ombre effect from yellow to light blue to dark.

We took back our blessed belongings and the medicine man teased me as I reached for my racquet.

‘Now you won’t miss any balls’ he chuckled.

‘I better not, or I’m coming after you!’ I joked, instantly wondering if it’s appropriate to heckle a medicine man. The night before the ceremony Jo had made a corn cake in a dug out hole in the ground with help from the women. After the cake cooled she served it to the guests. The men of the family had been outside keeping coals on the cake to cook it and make sure it didn’t burn. I was honored to receive a large chunk of cake and a gift basket as a ‘thank you’ for taking part in Jo’s Kinaalda. It was a beautiful ceremony.

By this time I had been awake for 28 hours, ever since I left my home the previous morning to drive to Antelope Canyon. Even though I was tired, I took time to soak in the sunrise. It is becoming my favorite part of the day. I don’t necessarily like being awake for it, but I’ve seen more beautiful sunrises on this trip than I have in months. It was an incredible 28 hours.