The Lasting Imprint of a Brief Friendship

What an afternoon with a Hopi elder taught me about presence, history, and the possibility of lasting connection.

In March I spent a week on the Hopi reservation in Arizona. I was part of a group of about 20 people, there by invitation, with an organization called Sumi Nungwa. We camped on the land of Hopi potter, Dee Setalla. The mission of the Sumi Numgwa organization is simple and beautiful.

This was my first time going to Hopi. Before the trip, our Sumi Nungwa leaders tried to prepare us for some of the cultural differences we might experience. For example, they told us we shouldn’t point at anything or anyone. Pointing was considered rude. They demonstrated how the Hopi “point” with their mouths, not their fingers.

I was nervous, and certain I would point or otherwise inadvertently offend someone. I was also mindful that the Hopi elders might not be as excited to meet me, a privileged white woman, as I was to meet them. So, when we arrived at Dee’s house for a party, I approached people tentatively. I smiled and said hello, but I felt shy.

That is, until I met the chairmen.

The three of them sat in seats of honor, right in front of Dee’s house. I walked up and timidly said hello. The one in the center smiled and introduced the three of them as “the chairmen” with a laugh. He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye that I was immediately drawn to.

They all introduced themselves and made me feel at home. Without hesitation, they welcomed me into the conversation, and I stood chatting with them for quite a while. After a time, two of the chairmen went off to get some lunch, and Nathan invited me to sit down. He had stories to tell.

He told me his people were Tewa, originally from New Mexico. I had never heard of the Tewa people and, when he said they were originally from New Mexico, I naively assumed he was talking about his grandparents or maybe his great grandparents.

But what Nathan was talking about was thousands of years and many generations of Tewa people in New Mexico. According to Nathan, the Tewa were invited by the Hopi to settle on First Mesa in the late 1600s, following the Pueblo Revolt against the Spanish. In exchange for the land, the Tewa served as warriors to protect the Hopi against the Spanish or other hostile invaders. Over time the two peoples adopted each other’s customs but maintained their own languages - though the Hopi-Tewa learned Hopi as well. Nathan proudly told me he spoke Tewa, Hopi, Navajo, and English!

Nathan also told me he was a Hopi clown.

He said this with that twinkle in his eye and, at first, I thought he was pulling my leg. He had already demonstrated his sly sense of humor during our conversation. He went on to tell me that Hopi Clowns intentionally dress and behave inappropriately at Katsina dances. They play an important role in these sacred ceremonies. With humor, the clowns hold up a mirror to the community, reminding them of the high standards of Hopi living by demonstrating just the opposite. Nathan and the other chairman laughed at shared clowning memories, not going into details, but assuring me they were very inappropriate!

Spending time with Nathan I learned something I would experience in other conversations with Hopi elders and with Dee during our visit.

The Hopi sense of time is very different from ours. The elders we met had an ability to be fully present in a way very few people I know can. Time slows down, making space for connection and stories over tasks. And the reach of history is can be quite long in any conversation. Stories might reference something that happened last week or thousands of years ago. I was in awe of the welcome, openness, and connection I felt, all possible during a conversation over lunch.

Nathan may have been the first, but not the last person to tell me that when the Hopi pray, they do not pray for the well being of the Hopi people alone. They pray for the well being of all people and all living things. This is the Hopi way. And I felt the truth of it in the connections I made that week.

***

Later that day, as we finished lunch at Dee’s house, Nathan—whom I deliberately sat beside—and his friends shared more personal stories. They spoke of being sent to boarding schools away from their families and having their knuckles struck for speaking Tewa or Hopi. Yet even these memories were interwoven with tales of youthful mischief and boyhood adventure. Alongside the pain of what had been forced on them and what had been lost, there were stories of ordinary people living ordinary lives. History is more nuanced when you get to hear it from the people who lived it.

As the afternoon wore on, folks started cleaning up from the lunch. Not wanting to leave the conversation with Nathan, I looked across the table at my friend, Lorraine, and said reluctantly, “We should probably be helping.” Nathan smiled with that twinkle in his eye and told us we were doing exactly what we were supposed to be doing.

We stayed at the table.

***

About a week after we returned home, we learned that Nathan passed away. Although I only knew him for a few hours, he left a lasting mark on my heart. I share this story in memory of Nathan: A good man, a wonderful storyteller, a wise elder, a clown, and a friend. Blessings on your journey, Nathan.