A Kinaalda Blessing Inspired by My Grandmother

I listen quietly to the sound of my grandmother starting the woodstove to warm the house, smelling the coffee aroma circulate. She sits beside the woodstove with her drum, practicing her songs and says, “Shi’nali dii ni’bohoo’laah,” meaning, “Granddaughter, learn to sing the songs.” She hands me the drum, I start to hit the drum, trying to find a tune, and then she looks at me laughing with a big smile on her face. I can see the joy and happiness, that it made her happy.

She was a very strong and wise woman. At the age of 12, I was taught to make dough and to cook for my younger siblings. My childhood life span shortened because I had chores that kept me busy, helping my grandmother. She always told me, “You’re going to become a woman soon and you will have children of your own someday, become a grandma.” When that day came, she put together a Kinaalda ceremony and reached out to family and friends to help.

The Kinaalda began from the story of Changing Woman, one of the Holy People in Navajo belief. When a young girl transitioned into the shape of a woman, Changing Woman baked a cake that was made of ground white corn. The first piece was given to the Sun God, who is another holy creator.

Hours before the sun hit the horizon, burning wood crackled, soft voices drifted from the hogan, which is a home dwelling made out of wood and mud with a doorway facing the eastern direction. I was dressed in traditional clothing—a skirt and blouse made by my grandmother, moccasins, a sash belt, a turquoise concho belt, a turquoise squash blossom necklace with bracelets, as well as earrings. Later, my grandmother laid a blanket on the ground where she had me lay face down while she stretched my arms and legs for smoothed joints, muscles pressed to make me truly shaped, facing my head towards the doorway. Then, my long hair was tied into a ponytail with a deerskin string called a tsklolh, a hair-tie.

On one side of the hogan, a medicine man, also known as hatal, with a colorful cloth tied around his head was given gifts for his service, like blankets, robes, grain, or other things of value. On the other side, family and friends, some dressed in traditional clothing and some in comfortable clothing, sat on cushions along the walls.

The ceremony was conducted in four days. On the first day, all the women began to grind corn, and this continued until the night of the third day. I sat with my grandmother using a grinding stone called tse’daa’shjee, which is the bottom part of the grinding stone. I also used the tse’daa’shch’ini, the top part of the grinding stone, that grinds the white corn to make the cake, which also included germinated wheat, brown sugar, raisins, and boiling water. I ran every morning after the first day. On the second day, the corn husks were soaked for preparation. My grandmother had me sew each of the corn husks together to cover the bottom and top of the cake. Each corn husk had to be faced downward so that the inside of the corn husk was facing the Earth, and the outer layer was facing the sky. On the third day, I started to mix the alkaan, also known as Navajo cake, in a clockwise motion using an idistsiin, a stirring stick, which is made from seven greasewood branches tied together with a string. It’s the same motion as when entering a hogan—you enter clockwise, according to Navajo traditional belief. I used large mixing bowls, parchment paper, a large pot of boiling water, and corn husks to complete the Navajo cake. Then I added the germinated wheat, raisins, and brown sugar into a large bowl, together with the boiling water. The water must be hot so it comes out right and not clumpy. In the meantime, a circular hole was dug out into the ground where the fire was built to pour the alkaan. But first the parchment paper was soaked in water and placed as a bottom lining for the cake. I poured the alkaan on top of the corn husks, almost filling it to the top, then covered it with another layer of corn husks. To complete the alkaan, a layer of dirt was put on top. After that, the burning coal from the fire was placed on the dirt. At the time, my father was the fire chief. He made sure the fire kept burning all night so the alkaan would cook. Just seeing the excitement on his face, having him there to watch me during the Kinaalda ceremony, made me feel so special.

On the fourth day, before sunrise, the medicine man sang the 12 songs, hogan songs of the Hozhogii, known as the Blessing Way. His singing continued until sunrise when a bowl of yucca suds was used to wash my hair, after which my hair was dried with cornmeal. I then went up to the younger children, placing my hand under each ear, lifting by the neck to make them grow faster. I was told to run towards the East for about a quarter of a mile and then back for continuous strength and to be active during womanhood. I started running east, but this time I was followed by children. While I ran, the medicine man continued singing eight songs that represented the racing songs.

My grandmother told me, “The songs are about how the Earth, sky, and mountains are connected. When you run towards the horizon it is a great blessing to the Holy People.” She always told me never to cut my hair, as it represents growth and wisdom. Becoming a woman is a wonderful blessing and the traditional ceremony is something to be passed on forever.