Where feeling and fry bread meet

“Fry bread”! “Get your freshly baked fry bread here!”

A friendly face adorned with 2 long braids greeted us as we approached the stall which presented an assortment of delicious smelling breads.

“So why is it called fry bread?”

The question left my mouth seconds after I realised how stupid that must’ve sound.

The woman chuckled. “Cause there ain’t a thing simpler than calling something for what it is my dear”.

I nodded in agreement, however slightly embarrassed.

The woman, her name was Alice, went on to describe how she was taught how to make the bread by her mother, who was particularly proud of her fry bread baking skills.

It reminded me of my own mother, who had her special way of baking “Tashnift” a well-loved bread amongst the Berber people of Morocco.

We were in the Indian village at the Calgary Stampede, an annual rodeo show in Calgary, Alberta in Western Canada, which is often referred to as the Texas of the North.

The Indian Village is a small homage to Native American culture, or “aboriginal” culture, which is a more prevalent term for the indigenous peoples in Canada. There were tepees, beaded-jewellery workshops and a special tepee which displayed beautiful hand-made baskets, tools and painted plates.

And there was Alice.

Alice was an elderly lady who hailed from the Blackfoot (Siksika) tribe. The tribe is spread from the northern Plains in Montana, US until Alberta, Canada. The reservations scattered across the Great Plains.

Alice said she was one of the last of her family still alive who could speak the Siksika language fluently and regrets the fact that her grandchildren couldn’t speak it.

“I lost my son to alcohol poisoning before I could teach him”. “Some people here, in Calgary, they look down on us, think we’re just a bunch of drunks, living on benefits and roaming the streets”. “My son was a drunk, I will admit that, but he was a good man, trying to drink away his sorrows, as many young kids try to do these days.” “It’s hard, but we live well now, he’s in a better place.” She smiled.

“We are a proud people, and we like to solve our problems on our own, we don’t let them get to our heads.”

I admired Alice’s openness and positivity. She was one of those people you couldn’t forget, no matter how much time passed.

I told Alice about the Berber people and Tashnift, and she asked me for the recipe. I promised her I would return the following day with it.

As for the fry bread, I bought 3.