Excerpt from Saints of the Household by Ari Tison, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

GRANDPA FERNANDO


Our grandpa on Mom's side is named Fernando Ortiz. He has a doctorate in art studies from the University of Minnesota. He likes jazz and speaks three languages. In other words, he can speak back through generations of colonization—through English, through Spanish conquest—to our people, among the first peoples of modern day Costa Rica, the Bribri. Before my father closed our doors to family, Grandpa would come over, sit on the couch, and tell us stories about our people, our ancestors. He'd tell us of tricksters, the Creator Sibö, and men who were cursed after selfishness. He'd explain why we wore long hair to keep us safe while walking in the rain forest, when we could be attacked from above. How our hair is an extension of ourselves. He'd tell us about his mother giving birth to him alone by the river. He taught us to call our traditional land Talamanca. The land of mountains and jungle. Grandpa Fernando reminded us that we are the people grown out of the earth itself. And how Bribri means just that—people of the uneven land.

Grandpa Fernando used to bring us pictures of his parents, his siblings, now all passed. They look like us—wide-cheeked, widenosed, smooth brown skin. In his favorite photo, our great-aunts and great-uncles wore thick rubber boots, thin cotton clothing, and our great-grandma wore her hair in two braids. Our people have a strength of continuance despite Spanish efforts. We continue to dance our dances. Our language is spoken, and our stories are still alive, even if I don't know them all yet. We have greetings like 'Ìs be' shkẽ̀na, Bua'ë Bua'ë and mountains like Kamu to hold us steady in the midst of sorrow.

I shame at my warrior tendencies. Our people are not known for using our fists; we are still here because we know who we are and lean on the stories to remind us. Have I shifted the balance? I already know Grandpa would shake his head at me if he knew what I did in the woods. Mom and the rest of us are good at keeping secrets, at hiding mistakes, but this does not feel very Bribri of us, either.

Excerpted from Saints of the Household by Ari Tison. Copyright © 2023 by Ari Tison. Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus & Giroux. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.