Osiyo (hello), my name is Sequoyah. I am a member of the great Cherokee Tribe. I was born sometime around 1770 in Tuskegee, Cherokee Nation (near present day Knoxville, Tennessee.) My father left before I was born and I had no siblings, so my mother, Wut-teh, raised me alone.
As was the custom of my people, my mother taught me the Cherokee language. Neither of us ever learned English.
In my youth I spent time tending cattle and gardening while my mother ran a trading post. Even though I did not go to school, I had a high level of natural intelligence and designed and built milk troughs and skimmers to use in the dairy house that I built.
I learned how to be a blacksmith so I could repair the iron farm implements that the white traders had introduced to us. I also learned to draw and how to be a silversmith.
European Americans frequently came to me to repair their farm tools. Even though my family got along well with them, the white settlers continued encroaching on our native land, so we moved further south to Alabama. I do not remember what the area was called.
In 1813-1814 I served as a warrior in the Cherokee Regiment, part of the white man’s army. Our hope was that if we showed our willingness to fight with them, they might respect our right to live on our native lands. We fought against the “Red Sticks” (Creek, or Muskogee renegades) at the battle of Horseshoe Bend, (near present day Gadsden, Alabama.) The battle was part of the Creek War, launched by the Creeks during the War of 1812, to assert their power and expel the European Americans.
During this time, I noticed how the white soldiers could communicate with their families at home by writing letters, I called them “talking leaves”, while my people could not. I believed that the Cherokee should be able to do the same. It was about then that I began to conceive of a written language for my people.
In 1817 I signed a treaty that traded Cherokee land in the southeast for land in Arkansas but, seeing the evil designs of the whites, I backed out of the treaty in 1819. The result was the loss of my first home in Alabama and that forced me to move further south to Willstown (present day Fort Payne) Alabama.
As was the custom of my people, my mother taught me the Cherokee language. Neither of us ever learned English.
In my youth I spent time tending cattle and gardening while my mother ran a trading post. Even though I did not go to school, I had a high level of natural intelligence and designed and built milk troughs and skimmers to use in the dairy house that I built.
I learned how to be a blacksmith so I could repair the iron farm implements that the white traders had introduced to us. I also learned to draw and how to be a silversmith.
European Americans frequently came to me to repair their farm tools. Even though my family got along well with them, the white settlers continued encroaching on our native land, so we moved further south to Alabama. I do not remember what the area was called.
In 1813-1814 I served as a warrior in the Cherokee Regiment, part of the white man’s army. Our hope was that if we showed our willingness to fight with them, they might respect our right to live on our native lands. We fought against the “Red Sticks” (Creek, or Muskogee renegades) at the battle of Horseshoe Bend, (near present day Gadsden, Alabama.) The battle was part of the Creek War, launched by the Creeks during the War of 1812, to assert their power and expel the European Americans.
During this time, I noticed how the white soldiers could communicate with their families at home by writing letters, I called them “talking leaves”, while my people could not. I believed that the Cherokee should be able to do the same. It was about then that I began to conceive of a written language for my people.
In 1817 I signed a treaty that traded Cherokee land in the southeast for land in Arkansas but, seeing the evil designs of the whites, I backed out of the treaty in 1819. The result was the loss of my first home in Alabama and that forced me to move further south to Willstown (present day Fort Payne) Alabama.
By this time I had a family and I started trying to create a system of writing for my language. It was not easy. I initially tried a pictograph or logographic system, in which every word had a character or symbol.
Because I spent so much time working on this, I failed to plant my fields and to spend enough time as a blacksmith which caused hardship for my family. My friends and family thought that I had lost my mind. My wife even burned my first drafts, thinking they were witchcraft, yet I continued my work.
After failing in my first two attempts, I started developing a character for each syllable. By 1821 I had created a set of 85 symbols, each depicting a consonant-vowel sequence or a syllable of our language. I am proud to say that my six year old daughter, Ayokeh, was the first to learn it.
In 1825, The Cherokee Nation officially adopted my syllabary. By the end of the year, we had translated the Bible and even some hymns. Still, the white man continued to take our land even though we had helped them and fought beside them. It seems their greed has no end.
I moved my family again, this time to Cherokee lands in Arkansas territory. There I set up a blacksmith shop, but I continued to teach the syllabary to any who asked.
1829 brought the need to move again. This time to Big Skin Bayou, (near present day Sallisaw, Oklahoma). I built a cabin for my family and resolved to live there for the rest of my life. But I knew in my heart that I needed to continue teaching.
The 1830’s were difficult because my people were bitterly divided over land treaties with the whites. Because of those treaties, the government started the forced removal of Native Americans from the southeast.
By 1838, the whites had built a fort in my former home, Willstown, Alabama (present day Fort Payne) to hold the Cherokee as they forced them from their homes. Then, during the cold winter of 1838-1839, they marched them from Alabama and surrounding areas to land in Oklahoma.
During the march, these peoples suffered from exposure, disease and starvation. Thousands died and those who survived were forever changed by the hardships they endured. It is remembered as The Trail of Tears.
I have heard that some bands of my people escaped to Mexico. The year is 1842 and I am going to journey there and try to reunite my people.
Because I spent so much time working on this, I failed to plant my fields and to spend enough time as a blacksmith which caused hardship for my family. My friends and family thought that I had lost my mind. My wife even burned my first drafts, thinking they were witchcraft, yet I continued my work.
After failing in my first two attempts, I started developing a character for each syllable. By 1821 I had created a set of 85 symbols, each depicting a consonant-vowel sequence or a syllable of our language. I am proud to say that my six year old daughter, Ayokeh, was the first to learn it.
In 1825, The Cherokee Nation officially adopted my syllabary. By the end of the year, we had translated the Bible and even some hymns. Still, the white man continued to take our land even though we had helped them and fought beside them. It seems their greed has no end.
I moved my family again, this time to Cherokee lands in Arkansas territory. There I set up a blacksmith shop, but I continued to teach the syllabary to any who asked.
1829 brought the need to move again. This time to Big Skin Bayou, (near present day Sallisaw, Oklahoma). I built a cabin for my family and resolved to live there for the rest of my life. But I knew in my heart that I needed to continue teaching.
The 1830’s were difficult because my people were bitterly divided over land treaties with the whites. Because of those treaties, the government started the forced removal of Native Americans from the southeast.
By 1838, the whites had built a fort in my former home, Willstown, Alabama (present day Fort Payne) to hold the Cherokee as they forced them from their homes. Then, during the cold winter of 1838-1839, they marched them from Alabama and surrounding areas to land in Oklahoma.
During the march, these peoples suffered from exposure, disease and starvation. Thousands died and those who survived were forever changed by the hardships they endured. It is remembered as The Trail of Tears.
I have heard that some bands of my people escaped to Mexico. The year is 1842 and I am going to journey there and try to reunite my people.
Epilogue
Sequoyah never returned from this journey. According to historians, he died of a respiratory infection sometime between 1843 and 1845. His great legacy, his syllabary, was successful in his lifetime and enabled the Cherokee people to achieve a 90% literacy rate, far superior to the European Americans of that time.
In the 21st century Sequoyah’s Cherokee syllabary remains in use. It is very visible on street signs and buildings all across the Cherokee Nation (located in the northeast of the state of Oklahoma), where Cherokee is the co-official language alongside English. Also impressive is that the syllabary is taught to students of all ages in schools and universities in Oklahoma and North Carolina.
One man, who once lived in my area, changed the lives of his people, and enriched the lives of countless others. He is long gone, but his work will live forever.
Donadagohvi (until we meet again).
Sequoyah never returned from this journey. According to historians, he died of a respiratory infection sometime between 1843 and 1845. His great legacy, his syllabary, was successful in his lifetime and enabled the Cherokee people to achieve a 90% literacy rate, far superior to the European Americans of that time.
In the 21st century Sequoyah’s Cherokee syllabary remains in use. It is very visible on street signs and buildings all across the Cherokee Nation (located in the northeast of the state of Oklahoma), where Cherokee is the co-official language alongside English. Also impressive is that the syllabary is taught to students of all ages in schools and universities in Oklahoma and North Carolina.
One man, who once lived in my area, changed the lives of his people, and enriched the lives of countless others. He is long gone, but his work will live forever.
Donadagohvi (until we meet again).
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Lonnie McKelvey is a freelance writer from Fort Payne, Alabama, and is a regular contributor to Grandparents Day Magazine. |
