A Deeper Love Inside: The Porsche Santiaga Story

by Sister Souljah

  Afterwards NanaAnna took us on a tour of the area. “This is theirs. That’s ours. This is how we do it. That’s how they do it. This is what it cost on the reservation. This is what they sell it for in U.S. territory. And there is that damn casino!” NanaAnna pointed as she drove and spoke.

  “Why don’t you like the casino?” Riot asked.

  “We built it. We own it. It’s on Native land. It makes millions, maybe even a billion, but it brings all type of people on to our land, not as welcomed guests, who love and know us, or our culture, but as gamblers. There’s a lot of traffic twenty-four hours a day, and a lot of liquor. Drinking and driving, never a good combination,” she said. I remained quiet since I now knew that her husband and daughter were killed in that kind of accident.

  “That’s a whole lot of money, and the casino probably created a bunch of small business as well,” Riot said, and I saw her mind moving.

  “Yes, and that same money divides us Natives. Families that had been united forever were broken over that damned casino.” She frowned like she was caught up in a dark memory. “Because of that casino and the money it generated, all kinds of people started popping up claiming they was Natives when they weren’t. Even some of our enemies started saying they were entitled to a share cause they had one drop of Native blood, that they say came from their great-great-great-grandfather, who they couldn’t never prove ever existed!”

  As I looked around I noticed several signs advertising cigarettes by the carton at very cheap prices. I wondered how the Natives could sell ’em so cheap when they were so expensive back in Brooklyn. Aunts and uncles and everybody else used to complain about cigarette prices that kept going up and up. I thought to myself, if I could get someone to cop a couple of cartons for me, purchased up here on the reservation, I could shoot to the city and sell ’em as “loosies.” I could make some real paper. It wouldn’t be risky like selling weed, I figured. After all, smoking cigarettes is perfectly legal, right?

  As her truck eased by the residential section of the reservation, I checked it all out. So these were “the Natives”? I asked myself, not really fully understanding who they were. Their houses were small and cheap, not too impressive. In some parts there were a group of trailers. The few men I saw walking around rocked cowboy boots. Cowboys and Indians, I thought to myself. But the Indians, who were not Indians, were dressed like cowboys? NanaAnna’s skin color was darker than most of the Natives I was seeing. With the Natives wearing the same fashions as everybody else, I couldn’t really tell them from the average white people. NanaAnna spoke like there was a big difference. I couldn’t see it, though.

  “Our people living on the reservation don’t pay property taxes to the United States government,” NanaAnna pointed out as we toured.

  “Yes, but are the people here poor?” I asked NanaAnna.

  “What is poor?” she asked me strangely. I didn’t say nothing back. Maybe I had insulted her after she had helped me. “We are fighters and survivors. We are here. We are alive and breathing, living and loving, birthing and caring, working and earning. The sky is above us. The earth is below us. We can never be poor,” she said.

  “You shouldn’t of asked her that,” Siri said to me. “Let’s just be mostly quiet,” Siri suggested.

  Chapter 17

  “That was a real dangerous thing you did escaping from the white man’s prison. It was even more dangerous because you brought others with you. That’s why I love you. You’re not like them. You’re fair skinned and unselfish. It’s like the great spirit of evil didn’t swallow you up. Your family, especially your mother, was good and strong. I’m sure she watches over you. She may even be sitting right there.” NanaAnna pointed. Riot’s body jumped. NanaAnna continued focused strongly on speaking to Riot.

  “Have no fear. Our ancestors are on our side. Your mother probably was the spirit leading the way when you young ones were journeying through the forest to my home. You used to run through there when you were little. Remember, you and Revo, you two were smart enough to find your way back here after being away for four or five years. That’s your youthful minds working for you, led by your departed elders,” she said. Then her eyes shifted some to include me in her talk.

  “Just remember, their law says that you are children. I’m the adult, which makes me responsible for both of you. You let yourselves onto my property. But I let you stay. That means I’m laying my life down, for the protection of your young lives and your freedom. That’s one of the things that any elder is supposed to do. But whatever you two do out there in this world, they’ll trace it back to me. Be brave but not stupid. Walk humble, instead of puffed out with pride. Be unafraid but not careless or casual. It is the highest level of civilization when you realize that you are connected to others, and you live your life not just for yourself, but for one another,” NanaAnna said. I did catch that she was saying something like what Lina taught me, about living for the Diamond Needles and not just thinking of myself all the time.

  “Now that you are fleeing from ‘the Great White Hunter,’ you are the same as us,” she said to Riot, I guess because Riot is white. Then NanaAnna pointed to me and then to herself, to say like Riot was now with us brown-skinned people who were always running from the Great White Hunter anyway.

  NanaAnna gave Riot a tall gift. Riot stood up and unwrapped it.

  It was a mirror. I was glad to see that. I had been wondering why there were no mirrors on this property. I needed one to check myself out.

  “A mirror,” Riot said.

  “It is the first mirror on this property,” NanaAnna said. “Lean it here and take a look at your whole body,” she instructed Riot. Riot leaned it, then stood in front of the mirror looking at herself.

  “Remember that the mirror can show you a reflection of what you are wearing. It can show you an image of your body that you will only mistakenly compare to the image of someone else’s body. The mirror cannot show you your soul. The fashion and styles and even your disguises will change many times. Your body will mature and age, then retard. The mirror can show you your clothes, image, and body. It cannot reveal your intentions or your beliefs. The soul is eternal. Your beliefs are your guide. Your intent and actions are your judgments. Parents and ancestors surround you. They have passed on to the spirit world, where the great evil is powerless and can never go. While you are on the Mother Earth, fight against all forms of evil. Never sell or surrender your soul. It is the only thing that lasts forever. If you sell your soul to the devil, if you become evil, you will live in eternal hell. If you fight the great evil while living on Mother Earth, even if it kills your body, your reward for resisting is paradise.” Riot’s eyes were wide open and her face was frozen. She didn’t say a word. I definitely didn’t either. What could we say? These were words that were foreign to me. I guess she was saying be good and not bad. I thought it was too late for me. When they busted into my house and destroyed my family, there was already nothing I wouldn’t do to get them back. Everyone said that was my wrong attitude, my anger-management problem, my schizophrenia paranoia illness and dysfunction. Everyone had already decided I was a bad girl. I wondered if bad and evil meant the same thing. If it does, fuck it. I’ll be dat.

  Late night, Siri and me were sitting outside speaking softly. NanaAnna appeared without making no noises. It’s her property, I thought to myself. She knows where every pebble and rock is. Through the dark night I could only see her eyes. “These are for you,” she said. I didn’t see her arms or fingers handing me anything, but a colorful sack appeared. Because of the countryside darkness, it seemed to hang in midair, like in a magic show. Now all I could see were her eyes and the floating bag. I reached for it.

  “You seem to like the dark night,” she said. “So I’ll talk to you here where only our eyes seem real. That will make the truth softer for you.”

  “We can talk,” I said.

  “She’s spooky,” Siri whispered, her lips pressed against my ear. I touched Siri’s leg t
o quiet her. I was sure NanaAnna didn’t notice her seated beside me in the dark.

  “The spirits suggested that I give these books and items to you. I know you can read and write. They said to me that you are so young in your journey, and have so much more to figure out,” NanaAnna said.

  “Maybe you can talk regular to me so I can know what it’s about. I like regular talk better,” I told her nicely.

  “You pretend not to know many things that you surely know,” Nana said.

  “I’m not a pretender,” I defended.

  “The spirits say that you are carrying many injured broken bodies on your eleven years young back.”

  “Huh?” I said. I wasn’t even eleven yet.

  “You believe that it is loyalty to be just like the ones who you are carrying. But your soul knows that you are different. Otherwise they would be carrying and protecting you, instead of you carrying and protecting them.”

  Siri tapped my leg. I knew what she was thinking: Let’s get outta here.

  “The only way you will be successful on your journey on Mother Earth is if you accept and acknowledge that you are different from your loved ones, and use it as a strength and a weapon to save them. If you refuse to open you heart and listen to your soul as it speaks to your heart and mind, you will fail and become the same as those who you are trying to save. Then all of you will suffer until your collective and complete defeat. As it stands, while you are pretending not to know what your soul has already told you, everyone here on Mother Earth is afraid to tell you the truth.”

  “I don’t know, NanaAnna. But I do know I won’t stay here long and I’ll pay you back every cent for everything I use that belongs to you. It will take me a little time, but I’ll add on some money if it takes me too long.”

  “We are not discussing money, credit, or repayment. I discuss these things with the government. They are not my friends or children or people,” she said in her way, very calm but with a little angry feeling along with it. “Na-ho-ten-ye-sa-na-tenh-gwa,” she said, speaking some foreign language. I wondered why people thought that they could just suddenly start talking any language other than English to me. I didn’t say nothing back. What could I say to that?

  “What do they call you?” NanaAnna said.

  “Porsche,” I answered back.

  “Porsche, we believe a child’s name should reveal a piece of the meaning of their life journey. You were named after a car, right?” she asked.

  “Not just any car,” I responded. “An exclusive car, an expensive car, a fast car, a beautiful ride.” I said my words slowly, softly, and confidently into the air. They were not really my words, though. They were Poppa’s. Was she trying to disrespect my father because of the name he gave me? I started feeling red.

  “So what’s the meaning of NanaAnna?” I shot back.

  “It’s the name of my second face,” she said oddly. “It’s the name that those who don’t truly know me call me. I only answer because they call me this name with affection. Also, I know that they would not take the time to truly know me well enough, for their tongues to call me the name of my first face, given to me by my people, Oshadagea Oronyatekha.”

  NanaAnna was right. Who’s ever gonna be able to repeat that name comfortably? In the hood they would just name her Big O or Little O if she came with all those letters and sounds. Only the first letter of her name would count. On the other hand, I took it like she was try’na challenge me. No, I took it like she doubted that I could ever speak that name either. I was being underestimated again.

  “Say it one more time, please?” I asked her.

  “O-sha-da-ge-a O-ron-ya-te-kha,” she said, pronouncing it slowly. “It means Rain Water. Many people express anger when in rains. Some even become depressed by the rain. Rain is regarded as an interruption to more important things that need to be done. But without rainwater, nothing grows. Everything dies before blossoming,” she said. I sat quietly, thinking.

  “What language is that?” I asked her because it did not sound like anything I had ever heard in Brooklyn, Long Island, or on lockdown where there were a lot of different girls speaking different ways.

  “It is the language of the Iroquois people of the Seneca Nation,” she explained.

  “Iroquois.” I like that name. “What does it mean?” I asked her. She paused.

  “It means, the killing people. But we are much more than that. Sometimes when you fight back, your enemies name you things like the killing people, when we should have been called the fighting people,” she said.

  “The fighting people,” I repeated. I liked that, too.

  “The fighting people who will kill you if you’re hunting us, our spirit and offending Mother Earth,” she said. “Porsche, in the bag are some of the things you will need to use to become stronger. Stronger in your health and in your understanding.” She paused. “Remember, your body is the vehicle that your soul is using here on Earth. If you don’t pay attention and take great care with your vehicle, it will break and become useless. Then your soul will be released and return.”

  I murmured, “Thank you.” I was getting uncomfortable with that word, though. I don’t like thank you, because it means somebody did something for me that I’d rather I had done for myself, or that my family should’ve done for me instead.

  “I like you, Porsche, for many reasons. You remind me of my daughter of many years ago. When she was your age, she had your face and fire. Secondly, you and I both speak to the spirits. Even out here in the dark there are many more sitting besides us than just you and I, right?” she asked me.

  “Huh?” I responded.

  “And like myself, you prefer to be with the ones you love the most, but if they are not giving you the love that you need and that you crave and the same love that you give them and gave them, you are prepared to be alone.” NanaAnna laughed a little. “Yes, that’s how I am also. You and I are capable of creating our own little world, a safe place for ourselves,” she said softly. Oronyatekha, the second part of my name, means between villages. It describes my life journey so well. Always, I am caught between ‘the world of the hunter and the world of the hunted.’ ”

  NanaAnna left quietly like she came in the first place.

  “Who talks that crazy to little kids?” Siri asked me.

  Then Siri began to talk greasy about NanaAnna. But I checked her.

  “We shouldn’t say nothing bad about her. She’s strange, but she helped us out when no one else would.”

  That night, I decided that anybody who helps me out, I’d pay them back more than they gave me in the first place. I don’t care what nobody says. Money makes shit happen, same like Riot’s money made us get free. Same as money made girls on lockdown have anything they needed or do anything to get it. If NanaAnna didn’t have no money, they’d kick her ass right off of this property. She said so herself—“property taxes,” right? And if someone gives you something for free, they can show up anytime and take it back or lie about it and switch it around. She said that, too.

  That’s why she didn’t want to live on the land where the government told her to live. But then she didn’t want to leave it either. Caught “between two villages,” she bought the property from “the hunter” that was right next door to the hunted, “the killing fighting people.” She bought the house hidden in the wilderness. That’s gangster to me.

  Chapter 18

  We were on our hands and knees picking strawberries, in a field of 15,000 strawberry patches, as the sun rose up, incredible.

  “You said you wanted to work,” NanaAnna said.

  Me and Riot and Siri rose up in the country morning dark without complaint. We had money on our minds. The morning air was chilled. We walked, instead of riding in the pickup truck.

  “Walking is good for your heart,” NanaAnna said as she weaved and worked her way leading us through the woods and into the strawberry field.

  “Take deep breaths. Inhale, and exhale,” she said. She was wearing a pretty, lo
ng denim skirt, with a short apron tied around front. She wore expensive leather walking shoes and a cotton long-sleeve blouse. Her hair was wrapped in a floral scarf and tied beneath a quality hat, not fitted or floppy, and very feminine. Me and Riot had on the cheap shit we got yesterday. Our Walmart jeans were stuffed into our tube socks. Our tube socks were stuffed into our skips. Hoodies protected our skin and us from the early morning breeze. We both wore work gloves that NanaAnna told us to put on. Riot tied down what little hair she had left with a blue bandanna. I tied mine with a black one. We were not going into town, so we were girls today. Riot suggested that me and her should use the names off of a song that her mother used to like. It was written and performed by Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney. The song was called “Ebony and Ivory.” I told her that was fine, but I’m Ivory cause that name was the bomb to me. We agreed. Immediately, we told NanaAnna our new names. She smiled. I said, “It’s the name of my second face.”

  Out in the fields nobody bothered too much about names. It was picking those berries and getting them in the wide wooden baskets and how many baskets we could fill by noon.

  “Put your hands in the soil,” NanaAnna told us. “Ivory meet Mother Earth,” she said, introducing me to the dirt. “You city girls gotta get country smart. Country smart is more useful than city slick,” she said. I didn’t mind cause NanaAnna picked while we picked. She taught us how to sort and select the darkest red plump little strawberries and how to handle them carefully so that they wouldn’t bruise.

  “The bruised ones are just as good to eat or cook, but harder to sell. Some customers are silly like that,” NanaAnna said. “They think if anything isn’t perfect looking there’s no good inside of it, or use for it.”

  After demonstrating how to place each strawberry in the basket, and how high to stack ’em so that the ones on the bottom of the basket didn’t get crushed, we got busy. Me and Siri was slow in the beginning, and dropping strawberries here and there. Before the first half hour disappeared, we were quicker than the others who were mostly older ladies. My body is flexible like that. I crawled easily on my knees up and down the rows. I didn’t care about destroying the jeans. Soon as I left this area headed home, I was dropping every cheap labeled thing in the trash.