The Arbutus Review • 2020 • Vol. 11, No. 1 Special Issue on Indigenous Wellness •
https://doi.org/10.18357/tar111202019458

The Journey of ȻELÁSTENOT
ȻELÁSTENOT (Bonnie Seward)

University of Victoria
bonnieseward12@gmail.com

ȻELÁSTENOT TŦE NE SNÁ ĆSE LÁ,E SEN EṮ W̱SÁNEĆ. ȻELÁSTENOT is my traditionalname and I am from W̱SÁNEĆ (Saanich) Territory located in the southern part of what is nowknown as Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. I have connections to the SENĆOŦEN
language through my mother’s territory in W̱SÁNEĆ and to the Hul’q’umi’num language through my fa-
ther’s territory in Cowichan (Duncan, BC). Both are Coast Salish languages. SENĆOŦEN and Hul’q’umi’-
num, along with most First Nations languages, were passed orally from generation to generation and hold
our history, stories, and teachings. My love for both languages comes from each of my grandparents, my
heroes who spoke SENĆOŦEN and Hul’q’umi’num as their first languages. I want my mom, my chil-
dren, and my family to speak our languages like our ancestors did. Currently, I am in my last semester
of the W̱,SENĆOŦEN IST Language Revitalization Program at the University of Victoria. This program
is designed to help revitalize the SENĆOŦEN language and develop teachers to build the SENĆOŦEN
immersion program in our ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱ Tribal School.

I began my own SENĆOŦEN language learning journey in 1988, when my family moved from
Cowichan to W̱SÁNEĆ territory. My maternal grandma would speak the language with us grandchil-
dren, though she rarely used full sentences. She would often tell us “EWE” (meaning “no”) when we
would run into the house telling her tall tales about what we thought were ghosts or mystical animals
outside. She would say, “You’re such a SPEX,” which meant “You’re full of it.” Because my parents
did not speak the language in our home, I only heard different words here and there growing up.

I know that deep down my mother and my late father wanted to learn their true languages, but, due to
the legacy of residential and Catholic day schools, they could not bring themselves to learn their languages.
Before my father went in for heart surgery and passed away in 2018, he talked about the dreams he was
having about his Elders visiting him and speaking Hul’q’umi’num to him. His goal was to sit with his
cousin and learn again. The direction that was given to him was to teach the young people the important
ways of life he was taught. My father grew up with his great-grandparents who only spoke Hul’q’umi’num.
Until the age of four, Hul’q’umi’num was his first language. Years later, I could see the frustration he
felt as an adult watching some of his cousins speak the language and knowing that his first language was
beaten out of him when he was at the Catholic day school.

My mother grew up hearing the SENĆOŦEN language but, because of my great-grandfather and late
grandmother’s experiences while attending the residential school, she would not teach her children the
SENĆOŦEN language. My mother and her ten siblings were not taught because my grandma did not want
them to experience any beatings for speaking SENĆOŦEN. I want to be a part of giving them healing by
returning to our teachings, traditions, and worldview as W̱SÁNEĆ people and by speaking SENĆOŦEN.
My family has suffered silently for so long, feeling ashamed for speaking the language that connects us to
every part of who we are as WILNEW (Indigenous) people.

I attended the ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱ Tribal School from 1988 to 1993, where I continued to be exposed to
the language. The Elders in our community worked very hard to apply for funding to build a school of
our own, where our SENĆOŦEN language, history, and culture could be revitalized. This school grew
to have Elders from our communities coming in and teaching the children the SENĆOŦEN language and
our ways of life. When I started attending the ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱ Tribal School, there were just one or
two language teachers for the whole school. I was able to learn the basic vocabulary and sounds of the

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mailto:bonnieseward12@gmail.com


The Arbutus Review • 2020 • Vol. 11, No. 1 Special Issue on Indigenous Wellness •
https://doi.org/10.18357/tar111202019458

alphabet, but there was not yet an immersion program implemented at that time.
When I was a teenager, I felt connected to our SENĆOŦEN language through my elders. When I was

surrounded by them physically to learn the language, I could fully engage in our culture and traditions. I
would listen to conversations between my paternal grandparents, who were fluent Hul’q’umi’num speak-
ers. I always felt a stronger connection between them when they spoke to one another in the language
about family connections, teachings, and the future. When they would try to translate, I knew that what
did not make sense in English would mean more in Hul’q’umi’num. Oftentimes, they would talk back
and forth in Hul’q’umi’num to discuss ways to explain the teachings or family connections in English. My
paternal grandfather always spoke about the younger generation losing the way of life because of the loss
of the language. He would say, “They [young people] are always in a rush and think they know it all!”
I knew he was speaking indirectly at us grandchildren, including my siblings, my cousins, and me. He
observed the overall respect for each other and our cultural practices diminishing in the community and
in our traditional longhouses, which are places for our cultural practices, a place to heal and teach about
the traditional ways of life. My grandfather’s wish was to have someone to pass down the language to
who could take over speaking at our traditional gatherings.

Later in her life, my maternal grandmother became a language teacher/mentor to members of the
W̱SÁNEĆ community. She found the strength to push past her fear for the young people of being hurt
or punished for speaking the language and was asked to join the language revitalization group that taught
language classes at the new ȽÁU,WELṈEW̱ Tribal School. Her everyday life was living and breathing
culture and tradition—longhouse, slahal (a traditional guessing game played with bones in which each
team sings songs to make the game more exciting) tournaments, and various ceremonies year round. I
was always fascinated by her vast knowledge of our cultural way of life. It was always fascinating for me
to watch her prepare and guide my aunts, uncles, and older cousins when our communities were getting
ready to gather for ceremonies or slahal tournaments.

When I was in my early twenties, I did not feel ready to decide what career path I wanted to take. I
thought I would find the perfect time to go back to school, slow down, and learn our language. Twice, I
made attempts to go back to school, but I struggled to find a program close to home that worked with my
home life. Ten years after these attempts to return to school, followed by the loss of my grandparents and
recent loss of my father, my path has led me back to my roots, to where I began my SENĆOŦEN journey
when I was eight years old.

Now, my dream is to graduate from the W̱,SENĆOŦEN IST program, continue on to the Bachelors of
Education in Indigenous Language Revitalization program at the University of Victoria, and begin to teach
my mom, siblings, and family SENĆOŦEN. The time I have spent in the W̱,SENĆOŦEN IST program—
learning each word of SENĆOŦEN, being out on the lands of our W̱SÁNEĆ people, and listening to
creation stories—has changed my worldview drastically. This is what I want for my family. I want each
of them to take back their power through the language. I want to give the light of life and healing to
our whole family through SENĆOŦEN. I feel that each year the SENĆOŦEN programs will grow and, as
more of the children and youth strive for cultural connection, we will see a thriving SENĆOŦEN speaking
W̱SÁNEĆ community. We will unite as one and speak our language once again.

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