I just started working for the Nez Perce Tribe Department of Natural Resources and was back at Lewis-Clark State College. Things were feeling good. I was on a path that I was unsure of but I felt that I was going in the right direction.

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I had a dream of walking away from a fire. I looked down and I was wearing a buckskin wingdress and moccasins. I was overwhelmed with sadness and I felt that I wanted to die. I was walking along Lapwai Creek, on the west side, going towards the Clearwater River. I know this land but I didn’t know myself. I laid down and said to myself, “This is where I am going to die.” I fell asleep but was quickly awoken by the sounds of horses breathing. Three men in full regalia, on horses, with the most beautiful warbonnets started speaking to me in Nimiipuutímt. I didn’t know how to speak Nimiipuutímt and I told them “I don’t know what you’re saying.” They all shook their heads and I awoke.

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Days months and years collided but the little boy was always by my side, coming into my dreams, telling me, “Don’t forget about us!” I felt a strong connection to him and he was as real as my thoughts. We were both slaves to the Soyapóo army men and to whatever they wanted.  

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Many years went by and I started learning Nimiipuutímt from some of the last first language speakers in that same building the army men once resided in. Two worlds that were separated by time but collided in my everyday life. At work, that former army house, still today resonates the sounds of army men running in and out. All in order, all in sequence, all day, coming and going as instructed.

My whole life, even today, these memories became my reality. The distant past is my present and future. The little boy following me all around this land. Always telling me to not forget. We were taken as slaves. We experienced what many would consider their worse nightmares. Him and I were betrayed by our own relatives and friends. Handed over by them, to the army, so that they could continue living comfortable American lives.

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We were fed up and came to realize that no one was going to come and save us. We had to take action and save ourselves. I don’t remember who started the fire but it blew up fast and even the horse stalls, where we slept, were enflamed. Everyone was running in all directions but I waited for the little boy. My friend, my little brother, and he never came out of the smoke.

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So, I started walking north towards the Clearwater River. I looked down at myself, wearing my buckskin wingdress and worn-out moccasins. I was tired but I finally arrived where the Clearwater River and Lapwai Creek meet. I wanted to die. Everything that I had experienced among these army men made me feel like dying. I laid down but was awoken by the sounds of horses. Three men in warbonnets started speaking to me in Nimiipuutímt. I could finally understand them. I told them, “I want to die.” One reached out his hand and said in Nimiipuutímt, “We are medicine men and we are going to heal you.”

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I took a picture of my piláqa Horace Axtell, on an appaloosa horse, in his warbonnet, and I remembered. The image of the man on the appaloosa horse with his warbonnet is actually three men side-by-side. Men that wore the warbonnets were either medicine men or men who led respectable and honorable lives protecting the children, women, and elders; and our Titooqanáawit (Indian Ways of living). This is why Hipéexnu’s logo is of the three men, on appaloosa horses, side-by-side.

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Our Language and Culture is on the Verge of Extinction and Hipéexnu’ is remedying this loss.