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s far as Alex Nelson can remember, there was always a soccer field in Kingcome Inlet. He was born in the village, part of the Musgamakw Dzawada’enuxw First Nation, on the west coast of British Columbia in 1946. When he was a boy, the field was in front of the chief’s home.
“He would go out so many times, cutting the lawn, cutting the [grass on the field] and he took pride in riding his lawnmower,” says Alex, whose Kwakwaka’wakw name, Ok’wilagame, means “the spirit that shows itself in the clouds, mountains, forests and the ocean.”
Soccer was an integral part of village life. On Sundays, the church bells tolled at 11 o’clock to signal the end of the weekly service. At two, another sound rang out: the whistle blown to let everyone know the soccer game was starting soon. The village coaches told their players the community’s involvement in the games was part of their success. Whether by playing or cheering from the sidelines, soccer brought everyone together. “The gathering starts to happen,” Alex recalls, of the moments after the whistle, “that whole field will be just packed with people.”
When Alex was nine years old, in 1954, he was sent away to St. Michael’s Residential School in Alert Bay, just off the coast of Vancouver Island. Even today, it’s a trip that can only really be made by boat. For Alex, the sense of separation included more than the physical distance from his family and community. He felt emotionally and spiritually disconnected, as well, apart from everything he knew and loved — soccer included.
