While Brazilian food and bike paths are exhilarating, there is no substitute for a good pow-wow on the Great Plains. Johanna, a Native American enthusiast (albeit she is German, Croatian and altogether un-native) wanted to experience one.
Fortunately for us, after a quick perusal of www.powwow.com, we discovered that, in fact, the Omaha Nation was conducting its 200th annual pow-wow that weekend. We hopped in the car and headed for the rez.
We knew we had entered sacred territory when we heard the unmistakable sound of chanting, war drums beating and the jingling of leg-bells. Sure enough, directly down Pow-Wow Drive was the extravaganza.
I guess things have probably changed since the original event some 200 years ago. Sure, there were hundreds of Native Americans wearing elaborate feathered head dresses, intricate beadwork and pelts. There was vigorous dancing and hypnotic chanting.
Nevertheless, the pow-wow lost its "wow" factor because it was plagued by commercialization, including a tribute to the American flag which took place in the middle of the ceremony. We are thoroughly convinced the original Omaha-ans would skin the hide of any tribe member who defected to join the U.S. Army. But not this time around -- a flag pole and Old Glory graced the sacred grounds. They danced around Old Glory like children around a may pole.
Secondly were the carnival tents selling Native American memorabilia. Some of it was legit -- a t-shirt saying "The Original Founding Fathers" with a Photoshop-altered picture of Mount Rushmore in which the "presidents" were characters like Chief Joseph and Sitting Bull. I swelled with Native pride at the sight of that. But some vendors were just posers, including a Pale Face (like ourselves) selling imposter dreamcatchers and plastic rings probably obtained from a vending machine. Talk about killing the mood.
Despite a few minor setbacks, we thoroughly enjoyed the experience and anticipate returning within a few moons' time.
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