We all have that one Aunty.

She shows up to every event or family gathering fully decked out in fox fur and head-to-toe beadwork, just asking to be roasted by her relatives for “acting good”.

She’s the one who buys you make-up and fancy hand bags that you can’t afford, because you’re only 12 years old and probably eat flavoured Lip Smackers for fun.

She will tell you to smarten up without hesitation when you’re acting up but keep all of your deepest, darkest secrets on lock.

She will answer the phone at 3 AM whether you’re having a meltdown or stranded at some after-party fighting off all of your distant relatives who claim, “We’re only cousins until midnight!”

She loves you fiercely and unconditionally and will be one of the first to say, “That’s my baby!” after every minor and major accomplishment in your life.

Aunties are raising the next generation of the Indigenous resistance to be proud and unapologetic and they’re doing it with sass and ferociousness. To all the Aunties out there doing the damn thing: I salute you and say,

“Long Live the Matriarchy.”