Living in an urban centre, a sense of community can be different for each person. Your neighbourhood, your peers, your friends, all play a part in making you feel like you belong. We create a sense of responsibility for each other that gives comfort, knowing that someone’s got your back. So how do you retain your sense of community? Especially in a marginalized city, split apart by divisions in class, separations of race. A city of “the haves” and “the have nots”.
Everyone knows that in a city at some point, you will be asked to help someone out. A guy on the street trying to bum a smoke, the lady swearing she just needs one more dollar to make her bus fare, teenagers asking for your spare change. So what do you do? Will your dollar make a difference? What if you needed that dollar because it was your last? It is so easy to not bother, but I would like to introduce you to someone who wanted to help, but couldn’t.
Althea Guiboche moved to the city of Winnipeg in 2012 after growing up in various locations around the province. Métis born and bred, she still has strong family ties to communities around Dauphin and Lake Manitoba. Her first months in Winnipeg were isolated and lonely, and she was finally forced out to reach out for assistance after a house flood left her in terrible living conditions and the media spotlight. However, she felt more and more like she was the one turned to for help. It seemed that everywhere she turned, there were people who needed money, food, assistance, hope, anything.
Being Indigenous in a marginalized city had been difficult for Althea. She felt disconnected from community and was frustrated that she was not able to find a way out of the cycle of poverty and isolation. Depression was an ongoing battle and this was a lonely time for her. Raising seven children on her own, and struggling to make ends meet, she felt helpless to make a difference to her new community.
It was January in Winnipeg, 2013. A long, cold, dark month of life in Manitoba. A time of year us prairie-folk are known for finding creative outlets for our energies: music, arts, cooking, theatre. Althea continued to work on her poetry, and is well accomplished in Canadian Indigenous artists’ circles. Her work has been published in various anthologies including Manitowapow: Aboriginal Writings from the Land of Water and Northern Writers Vol. 4. Her poetry flows gently over the land and its people, softly tugging at their stories while delivering a powerful message of living together in unity, in love, and in hate.
Aside from poetry, Althea was on a mission for a source of pride amongst Indigenous women everywhere. She was determined to make some damn good baked bannock. Fry bread was one thing, but the special touch it took to make perfect baked bannock is something that can bring any man, Indigenous or otherwise, to his knees.
That winter, she began to bake. And bake. And bake. Practice makes perfect, after all. She baked enough bannock to feed her kids, her friend’s kids, her friends, the birds, anyone who wanted it. Althea would bring bannock to potlucks and meetings. Even the mailman wasn’t safe from her fluffy, warm creations as she strove towards the perfect, golden treat.
In January though, even the poets and bakers still have to fill up their cars with gas, and Althea was at a north end Winnipeg gas station one evening. She and a girlfriend were approached by two men, asking for some money. Two men clearly not dressed appropriately for an evening of -35 degree celcius, kind of bitter cold. And Althea was saddened to know that the last $10 in her wallet was going into the tank of her car. As the men walked away slowly, she remembered the bannock and soup she had in her trunk, en route to a get together with friends, and offered it to the men. She wished the soup could have been warmer, but it was probably the best meal the men had had that week. She smiled and hoped they could find a place to warm it up.
A few weeks later, the Idle No More movement rocked the Manitoba legislative building. Over 500 people joined Buffy Sainte Marie in song and dance throughout lawn of the provincial government of Manitoba in the middle of winter. Althea speaks about this moment as only a poet can, describing wisps of sage smoke curling around dancers like the long grey hairs of Mother Earth. She was overwhelmed with the feelings of community, connectedness, togetherness she had been searching for for so long. That night she made a plan, and the next week was on the streets with 19 servings of chili and bannock.
The people who eat Althea’s food don’t have to be homeless. They don’t have to be Indigenous. They don’t have to be anything. She feeds people because it makes them feel good and it makes her feel good. She says if she had the money and resources she would do it every day.
Media coverage has been extensive, although unplanned. If it helps get the message out, she says, she’ll talk to anyone who wants to talk. After the provincial health inspector shut down Althea, now known as (The Bannock Lady)’s ability to serve hot soup, another local organization “Chili From The Heart” reached out to partner together. There just aren’t enough Bannock Lady’s in the world, and frankly, too many government departments.
Every Thursday at 1pm, a table pops up on the corner of Dufferin and Main street. A pot of chili arrives from Chili From the Heart, and some of the best bannock I’ve ever had courtesy of The Bannock Lady. A crew of half a dozen or so volunteers serves 300-400 people each week. A truck rolls up and man drops off a donation of clothing and bananas.
The crowd is all ages, from young families, teenagers, adults and seniors. White, black, red and yellow, these are neighbours having lunch together. Everyone is friendly and laughing, saying thanks for the tasty food and catching up on neighbourhood gossip. This is community.
In June, Althea was honoured for her inspirational leadership with the Oscar Lathlin Memorial Award. The late Minister Lathlin was well known for his recognition of the traditional role of women as being integral to healthy families and communities.
What a blessed life we live up here in the Canadian
prairies. I love winter, I love spring, I love fall and I love summer. There
just never seems to be enough days in the week to do everyone I want to do, and
the summer is the grand-daddy of them all. 
