Post by Okwes on Oct 12, 2006 14:20:24 GMT -5
Grandma Leona Helps Boarding School Girls
Jodi Rave - The Missoulan
Oct 09, 2006
<http://missoulian.com/content/articles/2006/10/01/jodirave/rave7\
4.jpg>
Domestic violence: Leona Kitto's tears tell a painful story, but
they help heal the girls she comforts - Sunday, Sept. 24, 2006
Leona Kitto drie s her eyes at the Wholeness Center in Flandreau,
S.D., while describing the abuse she received as a child and
later, when married to her first husband.
Photo by JERRY MENNENGA/Sioux City Journal
FLANDREAU, S.D. - It can take months before some of the boarding
school girls trust Leona Kitto enough to reveal their stories of
abuse.
She won't reveal details or names. But she cries when she thinks
of their stories - and how they mirror her own.
She holds the girls, and she tells them: �That feeling will
never go away. But we still got to heal and we got to go on.�
Leona wiped tears from her eyes as she sat in the Wholeness
Center, a domestic violence and sexual assault shelter in
Flandreau.
�I went through that in my younger days,� she said.
�It's a hard feeling. I'll cry every time. But that crying
kind of heals me. I lear ned to think that way. We have to let
the hurt feelings out.�
Most of the students at the Flandreau Indian School call this
66-year-old woman Grandma. They've come to know the dorm
assistant who covers the 3 p.m.-to-midnight shift.
Leona isn't a counselor, but in the evening hours, it's just her
and the girls, alone with their feelings.
Leona understands their stories of sexual and physical violence
at home. She was beaten by her mother and sexually abused by male
relatives.
And even though her mother hurt her, Leona embraced the
opportunity to establish a relationship with her before she died.
And now, she misses her.
But she could do without memories of living in an old car tucked
away in the woods. Or of the times when social service workers
took Leona and her brothers and sisters away.
She lived at relatives' homes, where they told her to be good or
they would send her back to the �papoose h ouse,� an
orphanage on South Dakota's Sisseton Reservation.
As a young woman, her future seemed to be under control. She went
to work at the boarding school and married. She had her first
baby at 21.
Then she settled into a life of domestic violence with her
husband, who she described as much older. He kept her confined to
the house when she wasn't working at the school.
�I used to sneak out the window with the kids,� she said.
�And I learned to drive real fast.�
Each time, she'd go home to the Sisseton Reservation. After a
week or so, her husband would show up to return her to Flandreau.
�It built up on me,� she said. �So when he died, boy,
I had something to do - go and get drunk.�
Those days were wild and boozy and they lasted for 11 years. But
it became a lifestyle she and her boyfriend, Norman Kitto, could
no longer sustain. She married the man, 30 years her j unior, on
Valentine's Day 14 years ago. They've been sober since.
Both credit Native spirituality for changing their lives. It
began unexpectedly: A brother-in-law asked Norman to loan him
money. In exchange, he gave Norman a pipe bowl, an item to be
filled with tobacco and used for prayers and ceremonies. After
the man repaid Norman, he told him to keep the pipe bowl.
An uncle in Nebraska told him to come visit when Norman had a
stem that fit the bowl. The elder said he'd help bring the pipe
to life.
�The night before we went back, we went out and drank,�
said Norman. �Then we got down there to Nebraska and went
into a sweat. From that point on, we never drank.�
Norman and Leona now participate in Sun Dance and fasting
ceremonies.
�I'm inspired by her,� said Paula Clary, the director who
sat with Leona at a dining room table in the Wholeness Shelter.
�When you look at all the terrible t hings that can happen to
a child, Leona's gone through a lot of it. Boarding schools.
Sexual abuse.�
Leona adds: �Papoose house.�
Even now, Grandma still hurts. Her husband knows when the pain
has settled like nails on a chalkboard. �Norman always says,
�Do you have that hurt feeling?' �
�Yes.�
Let's talk about it, he tells her.
�It's a cruel world,� she said. �But you can survive
in it as an Indian lady.�
But now, she's more worried about the young Native women she sees
every day, the ones worried about going home for the summer or
the ones who will attempt to make it through the first year in
college.
�It's really pitiful what those girls are going through.�
Jodi Rave covers Native issues for the Missoulian. She can be
reached at 1-800-366-7186 or at jodi.rave@lee.net
<mailto:jodi.rave@lee.net>
Jodi Rave - The Missoulan
Oct 09, 2006
<http://missoulian.com/content/articles/2006/10/01/jodirave/rave7\
4.jpg>
Domestic violence: Leona Kitto's tears tell a painful story, but
they help heal the girls she comforts - Sunday, Sept. 24, 2006
Leona Kitto drie s her eyes at the Wholeness Center in Flandreau,
S.D., while describing the abuse she received as a child and
later, when married to her first husband.
Photo by JERRY MENNENGA/Sioux City Journal
FLANDREAU, S.D. - It can take months before some of the boarding
school girls trust Leona Kitto enough to reveal their stories of
abuse.
She won't reveal details or names. But she cries when she thinks
of their stories - and how they mirror her own.
She holds the girls, and she tells them: �That feeling will
never go away. But we still got to heal and we got to go on.�
Leona wiped tears from her eyes as she sat in the Wholeness
Center, a domestic violence and sexual assault shelter in
Flandreau.
�I went through that in my younger days,� she said.
�It's a hard feeling. I'll cry every time. But that crying
kind of heals me. I lear ned to think that way. We have to let
the hurt feelings out.�
Most of the students at the Flandreau Indian School call this
66-year-old woman Grandma. They've come to know the dorm
assistant who covers the 3 p.m.-to-midnight shift.
Leona isn't a counselor, but in the evening hours, it's just her
and the girls, alone with their feelings.
Leona understands their stories of sexual and physical violence
at home. She was beaten by her mother and sexually abused by male
relatives.
And even though her mother hurt her, Leona embraced the
opportunity to establish a relationship with her before she died.
And now, she misses her.
But she could do without memories of living in an old car tucked
away in the woods. Or of the times when social service workers
took Leona and her brothers and sisters away.
She lived at relatives' homes, where they told her to be good or
they would send her back to the �papoose h ouse,� an
orphanage on South Dakota's Sisseton Reservation.
As a young woman, her future seemed to be under control. She went
to work at the boarding school and married. She had her first
baby at 21.
Then she settled into a life of domestic violence with her
husband, who she described as much older. He kept her confined to
the house when she wasn't working at the school.
�I used to sneak out the window with the kids,� she said.
�And I learned to drive real fast.�
Each time, she'd go home to the Sisseton Reservation. After a
week or so, her husband would show up to return her to Flandreau.
�It built up on me,� she said. �So when he died, boy,
I had something to do - go and get drunk.�
Those days were wild and boozy and they lasted for 11 years. But
it became a lifestyle she and her boyfriend, Norman Kitto, could
no longer sustain. She married the man, 30 years her j unior, on
Valentine's Day 14 years ago. They've been sober since.
Both credit Native spirituality for changing their lives. It
began unexpectedly: A brother-in-law asked Norman to loan him
money. In exchange, he gave Norman a pipe bowl, an item to be
filled with tobacco and used for prayers and ceremonies. After
the man repaid Norman, he told him to keep the pipe bowl.
An uncle in Nebraska told him to come visit when Norman had a
stem that fit the bowl. The elder said he'd help bring the pipe
to life.
�The night before we went back, we went out and drank,�
said Norman. �Then we got down there to Nebraska and went
into a sweat. From that point on, we never drank.�
Norman and Leona now participate in Sun Dance and fasting
ceremonies.
�I'm inspired by her,� said Paula Clary, the director who
sat with Leona at a dining room table in the Wholeness Shelter.
�When you look at all the terrible t hings that can happen to
a child, Leona's gone through a lot of it. Boarding schools.
Sexual abuse.�
Leona adds: �Papoose house.�
Even now, Grandma still hurts. Her husband knows when the pain
has settled like nails on a chalkboard. �Norman always says,
�Do you have that hurt feeling?' �
�Yes.�
Let's talk about it, he tells her.
�It's a cruel world,� she said. �But you can survive
in it as an Indian lady.�
But now, she's more worried about the young Native women she sees
every day, the ones worried about going home for the summer or
the ones who will attempt to make it through the first year in
college.
�It's really pitiful what those girls are going through.�
Jodi Rave covers Native issues for the Missoulian. She can be
reached at 1-800-366-7186 or at jodi.rave@lee.net
<mailto:jodi.rave@lee.net>