I woke up super-early the next morning (6 a.m.), so as to avoid being in my pyjamas when the teachers arrived. My Gameti talk took place in the school library (though it was open to the public) and the attendees consisted of nearly all the middle and high school students, which was about 15 kids in total, not counting the few adults also there. They were largely bored until I got to the illustration portion of the talk; things took off once we did some drawings together.
One girl, Janelle, was keen to get the illustration we did (of one of the character’s faces) correct, and asked for guidance on every single feature. She seemed really proud of the end result. Another student, David, was mute and looked really unhappy for most of my talk, but he broke into a pretty big smile when I remarked how good his drawing was. Forrest was a bear-like kid and a bit of an Artful Dodger type. He kept trying to convince me to bring him a coffee. He told me he was going to join the military once he finished school because of the money. Either that, or the RCMP.
The strange thing to me was how un-curious everyone was about my arrival in Gameti: the students, the townspeople, the teachers. Maybe it’s pure narcissism, but I thought a new arrival wandering around a town of 300 (where no one ever seemed to be in the streets) would bring some questions, but nobody seemed the slightest bit surprised by my appearance there. It’s terrible, but I couldn’t help thinking how perfect the setting was for a horror movie: totally isolated locale, two months of near-total darkness, only 300-plus residents.
One of our stray dog (we hoped) friends in Gameti.
Waiting for my return flight at the Gameti airport, I ran into a town elder. He was at the airport to greet a new arrival in the community: he wants to make sure he knows everyone who moves into Gameti. The pick-up truck delivered our bags to the plane, and once all the passengers had arrived, we were off. (That’s the great part about small planes; as soon as the passengers arrive, you take off!)
We flew to Wekweeti (formerly Snare Lake) to pick up some other passengers and deliver some food supplies before heading to Yellowknife. During our short stopover, the pilot and I got to chatting. (I had the same pilot going to and from Gameti, so by the second flight, we were old friends.) Apparently I wasn’t blending in as a local: he asked what I was doing in Gameti. So I explained the whole children’s author visit. ‘Do your books talk about those communities?’ he asked. I had to admit they didn’t in the least. The one Indigenous character in The Dead Kid Detective Agency is Mohawk, who have traditionally lived far from the Arctic Circle. ‘Then why did they bring you up here?’ he asked. All good questions, and ones I’d asked myself a few times. But I was just happy to get the chance to visit.
When I asked the pilot if he was from Yellowknife, he answered, ‘No one’s from Yellowknife.’
Then the co-pilot sheepishly admitted that he was.
