A Warm Arrival

 It is cold here. It is so cold. It's like walking into a freezer, only it is actually colder than that. A freezer runs at -18C. Today the temperature was -28C.

I set off this morning from Bismarck in a sturdy 4 wheel drive. I wanted to get going before the snow came. The hotel night watchman warned me not to stay outside for longer than half an hour. 'That's all it can take to get frost bite.' I left the garages and supermarkets behind and passed ranches with silos and a few rows of feathery, frosted trees. The cattle were velvet black against the white, strangely lunar landscape, their breath rising in clouds above. The empty road stretched away in a straight line. Occasionally a truck or a SUV would pass me and I saw several cars abandoned in the snow at the side of the road. 

After about an hour or more, I saw the silhouette of the Casino Hotel looming on the hill. It's on the Reservation and belongs to the Sioux tribe, but is managed by a company. Gamblers sit at flashing slot machines, smoke cigarettes in front of tired croupiers. The walls around them are painted with scenes of buffalo and tipi encampments on the plains. Water protectors gather in the lobby and the dining room, taking refuge from the cold. 

Over a buffet lunch, I talked with Kendra and Bea. They have both been here since the Autumn. 'It's probably been the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' said Kendra. 'All these people coming together, realising there is something they can do. I've been blown away by the people I've met and by the skills they have shared. I helped build a yurt with the construction team. Others were building compost toilets. A woman was running a herbalism course. Before it got cold, it was heavenly living together like that. So many people have left now. ' Kendra looked sad. 'It's time for me to go home. Now it's so cold, I can't be self sufficient any longer. My food is all frozen. I can't even open the cans.'  

Bea came from the East coast in September, bringing solar panels for the camp. She has been arrested twice here at Standing Rock and has a court case coming up soon. 'I'll come back. It's not over. DAPL are still drilling.'  Kendra peeled back her sleeve and showed me faded biro marks on her skin. 'It's the phone number for legal aid. Everyone was told to write it on their arm in case they got arrested.' 

Both of them agreed that the welcome they received here was wonderful and they have passed time with brave and inspiring people. 'Real warriors. Noble people,' said Kendra. But she worried too, about infiltrators. 'I tend to trust everyone, but there have definitely been cases of people trying to sow dissension. And a bunch of DAPL stickers were found at the camp.'  

After lunch, I drove down to the Oceti Sakowin camp, passing on a bridge over the Cannonball River, the water now frozen solid. A man at the entrance gate welcomed me, and asked me if I am coming to visit 'in a good way.' I assured him I am. I was struck by the beauty of the coloured flags in the wind, the tipi poles pointing up into the white sky. People warmed themselves at fires. Hand warmers were handed out.  Everyone is wrapped up. Some were arranging lifts to go home. I arrived at the moment that the sacred fire was being burned for the last time. Wood is short. A Native American man spoke prayers into a microphone. 'There are no real goodbyes. Take what you have learned here and bring it home. Protect the water and the land wherever you are.' Large quantities of sage and cedar, whole bags of tobacco were placed on the embers, sending their sweet smoke over a statue of a beautiful woman with braids. Someone ladled hot water onto the earth, making a lake around her feet. 'Mni Wiconi! Water is Life!' 

I stood next to Mark, a strong looking 'Native' with a kind face. We shook hands. 'I was born here at Standing Rock.' He had also just arrived. But he didn't drive. He walked through the snow for eight hours to be here.

I had brought some tobacco with me. I asked him who I might offer it to. 'To my uncle,' he said, and he led me to an elder. We waited at a distance while he finished a conversation with someone. And then the elder came to me, and I gave him the tobacco, and told him I had come from England, that many people there were praying for the water and the people at Standing Rock. We took our gloves off and shook each other's hand. 'Thank you,' he told me. 'I won't forget that.' 

Nor will I.