Just over a year I had a business trip to America, specifically Philadelphia. At the finish I started to travel north and after arriving in Canada kept driving more and more miles in a blind desire to see a "northern lights". To go closer to the Arctic Circle paved roads gave way to dusty gravel roads and difficult driving. Many a vain dream away and helped give my tired bones to the "Cree Nation." Indian brave who once demonstrated his skills resistance to the white man on countless occasions. The people of Mistissini prefabricated houses equipped with pastel painted was as is usual on the edge of a large and beautiful lake embroidery Canadian thick pine forests. While wandering through the town after only stay at the hotel run by the Indians ("Gee, you're the first English man to see") I was fortunate to meet his boss. This is not dressed, as seems logical, no Indian attire, much less any plumage. Moreover, in addition to chief, Thomas Gunner that was his Westernized name, was also the fire chief and police. Quite a character. Some time later, as in an episode of Tintin, and although it is topical, I became friend of the chief of the tribe and a surprising burst of innocent exhibitionism of the people I ride in a huge fire truck with the siren at full blast frightening and entertaining, equally, each other. What had been fierce Cree Nation?. The many Canadian government grants facilitated that virtually everyone could live without working. No longer hunted or fished. Fed by a large supermarket where obese employees dispatched sebaceous grilled chicken wings and other foods that were never present in their diet. Refined flour breads caused disruption in the teeth and digestion that they had never suffered. Practically there was not a single Indian (excluding Gunner) to have a weight proportionate to height. The Indians had large American trucks and used them constantly to move from one house to another in a town that, at most, could be crossed from side to side walk in just ten or fifteen minutes. Some young people wandering from one place to another without knowing what to do and smuggling alcohol nearest Canadian town because they are prohibited. 
village on the outskirts of a "workshop-school" funded by the Canadian government promoted that knowledge of the elders were sent to the young. I went to see that happened there: a row of old men sitting in pathetic silence were staring while a young couple seemed to carve a bow and some arrows with some reluctance. One of them, to me abroad and some desire to know their customs wanted to showcase their skills with bow and arrows. He came out of the building and in a gesture similar to that surely many of his ancestors had been executed in the last century drew his bow to an imaginary distant object. Do not ask me how it all happened very fast: the arrow shot out vertically rather, bounced in the branch of a nearby tree and began to fall on our heads to the amazement of all present and elders that until a moment smiling proud of the feat of a native and that seemed to instantly recall the youthful agility. In an instant an arrow tip burdened by a heavy stone fell on my side without hurting anyone. The boy, about twenty years, picked it up and got embarrassed, not saying "moo" back in school. Moments later, possessed by a presentiment, I approached the village cemetery. My fears were confirmed: there were many graves of people who were around thirty to forty years. What killed them?, "Boredom," obesity? It the alcohol? The truth is, probably, a combination of several factors. They had "everything" except the essential: a clear reason to live. What does this story with us or educational issues? Draw your own your own conclusions.
