Immersing adults in Indigenous language builds family connections, cultural identity

By the time Laura Boucher finishes a language session with her older sister Catherine Boucher, her mouth and throat have had a workout.

"My throat is sore and my voice is raspy," she said, laughing out loud.

She's getting better at wrapping her tongue around new sounds, and there's always a lot of laughter when they get together. 

"One of my favourites is, when we have a photo and we make up all kinds of stories and we just laugh," Laura said.  

Catherine is a master of Dënedédlı ̨́né Yëtı, a dialect of Chipweyan, and Laura is her apprentice. They both live in Fort Resolution, N.W.T.,  but they're from Rocher River, a now abandoned community in the South Slave. 

They're among a growing number of people in the N.W.T. who are reviving Indigenous languages through an immersion model that pairs adult learners, with elders and others who have a strong command of their Indigenous languages. The learning happens while the apprentice and the mentor visit or work together on everyday tasks, for several hours a day speaking only the Indigenous language.

It's a commitment, but Laura Boucher said it's worth it because it's given her a deeper understanding of her language, and her culture, but also a stronger connection with her sister.  

"Because of residential school, we kind of kind of went our own ways and did our own thing," Laura said.  "And the language has brought us back closer … we talk about personal things, you know, so it reconnected our friendship."

Reading the stories of elders and digging into the meaning of words she's uncertain about, has taken her deeper into the language, Laura said.

A big challenge has been the 48 tonal vowel sounds of Dënedédlı̨́né Yëtı.

Catherine said "it's exciting" how quickly her sister has mastered those sounds.

She's now made it a personal mission get other fluent speakers signed up as mentors. 

"Our language is the most important thing in our life … that identifies who you are," she said.

Passing the language on, two generations at a time

In Fort McPherson, Grace Martin's grandchildren are often home while she's learning Gwich'in, from her aunt Mary Effie Snowshoe. 

"I guess while they're playing they listen to us because sometimes I hear them trying to use Gwich'in," Martin said.

It's one of the benefits that comes from her effort to learn her language and something Snowshoe said makes her very happy.  

She's fluent because she didn't go to residential school as a child.

"My parents took me out on the land and that's where I grew up with the language from morning 'till I go to bed," she said. 

Martin started learning with Snowshoe about five years ago. 

"A lot of our elders are leaving us and we're going to end up losing our language," she said. 

Martin said she's now able to joke around with her elders.

Snowshoe said a lot of her family members started with basic Gwich'in. 

"But I know a lot of young people who want to speak the language. And it makes me more strong."  

She said more and more of them are stopping to say some words to her in Gwich'in and that makes her feel "really, really good." 

Filling 'a hole in their heart'

Angela James, who is with the the Indigenous Languages and Learning Secretariat at the Government of the Northwest Territories, said some learners have felt a "hole in their heart because they don't know their language."

The next intake for the Mentor-Apprentice Program run by Department of Education Culture and Employment  is open until May 1, with the new cohort starting in September. 

Mentors and apprentices must submit progress reports and are paid for their 200 hours in the program, plus the costs to attend a mandatory workshop.  

Those costs are shared between territorial and Indigenous governments. 

"When they start to learn to speak their language, they become so happy and it affects their well-being and their heart and spirit development," said James.

She gives a husband and wife team from Sambaa K'e as an example. 

"Her progress in the last two years is astounding," she said. "What's really wonderful about that pair is that it spills out, of course, into the home."

Chores and Dene Zhatié

That's what's been happening for Valerie Lamalice, whose husband Gilbert is teaching her Dene Zhatié. 

Gilbert mastered the language by working closely with elders from a young age. 

The couple speak Dene Zhatié together for an hour at lunch and at least another hour a day when they're doing things as a family, like cutting wood or checking nets.

With encouragement from her parents, Valerie said she's learned to push past her shyness and use the language every day. 

Taking every opportunity to practice

"So when I go to the store, I see elders there," Lamalice said. "They'll stand there and then I'll listen to them, try to involve myself in their conversation." 

Valerie said her uncle often comes over in the mornings for a visit and they talk about the weather. If she speaks in English he'll help her find the words in Dene Zhatié.

"He said 'Just keep on going, no matter what. Just keep on pushing yourself to do it.'" 

The Lamalices say they're also teaching their children, one word at a time, and they're getting support from other family members. 

"My son is going out on the [trap] line with his older uncles, so they're speaking to him in the language more too. So he's catching on slowly. So that's really good," Valarie said.