I do not have much to say as I am late in adding myself to the forum by a few months.

I am currently 27 (thank you November 27th). I am Cherokowa Apache and I was born on Turkey Creek Reservation which is part of the White Mountain Apache Tribe found in Arizona.

I was named after two great leaders in our history Lozen and her brother Victorio. I doubt your history books will give you more than a sentence, at best, on either. Most mention of Apache leaders in modern history books focuses on Geronimo whom we know as Goyahlka and his run-ins with the US Government. The pair I was named after held great responsibilities and it was felt I would or could follow in their proverbial footsteps. Like many of my age group, I rebelled against such lofty expectations. I left the reservation at 17 years old to search for my own calling. I haven't found it yet.

I spent the majority of my life as a dancer in clubs. I have seen all flavors from small seedy places to major places in Atlantic City. There has been a tale to tell regarding each but it is better to leave such stories and histories to those who live them.

In my ten years away from the reservation I learned more painfully wrought lessons than sweeter ones. They are carved into my flesh almost as intimately as the ritualistic scarification of my guide that I earned at the age of twelve when I came of age. Many assume that the hawks glimpsed upon my skin are ink until they are close enough; they are not. Keloid laden scars carved with intricate care, you do not have to stare. If you ask I will allow you to touch them and feel that they are indeed real. Some attempt to read their upraised flesh like braille; I do not ask what they seek. Those are mysteries to be left to them.

I did gain something at 19 years old I would have never expected. Within a marriage of His convenience at the time, I became an adopted mother to a young 8-year-old child from Moscow, Russia. I did as much as I could in the four years we were together. Life did what it often does and ripped us asunder. In those lost years many things changed. I became a widow, which I still consider a form of liberation. I lost track and contact with everyone I had known. I thought my adopted son had become amongst the Unnamed, our term for those who have passed on, for the longest time, but seven years later I found him again in Hathian, Lousiana. Our people call it the workings of other things, outsiders state anything from fate to destiny. In any event, we found one another again. Known as Shay Paine, many may have run across him as he loves to dance in the rain upon the street. While I originally was but four years in his history, he still claims me as his mother. I am but seven years his senior, but I still regard him just as fondly. I currently live in the guest house of him and his paramour.

You might find me in the Twister dancing as I have done for the last ten years. You may also find me utilizing my degree I earned in those lost years as I have recently been employed by the HPD as a Receptionist. In either case, I look forward to meeting others and seeing what more there is to this small Parish in Louisiana.

Lozen