She ran until the sweat poured off her forehead, dampening her grown-out locks, as she dashed towards the border of Colorado and Utah. Candance Samora, aged 11, was in the midst of a centuries’ old tradition as girls enter womanhood. The soon-to-be-adult, Navajo on her mother’s side and a combination of Apache and Pascua Yaqui from her father’s side, was on the Utah Navajo Reservation completing her kinaaldá, a coming-of-age ceremony.

For generations of Navajo culture, days after a young woman starts her first menstruation, she is then invited by her community to begin her kinaaldá. This is a four-day ceremony, said to be four days long to represent the four sacred mountains in the Four Corners region and the four seasons. The multi-day ritual combines many elements sacred to Navajo and the entire community is invited to attend.

Samora’s greatest challenge during her kinaaldá was running. “After the sun had set on the first night, I began running, steady and far, as I had practiced before,” she explains. “I ran towards Colorado underneath the stars and alone.” Running is not only tradition to Navajo, but representative of many human characteristics. “We believe that you don’t just run on earth, but also in the sky. We are taught that to run is an honor, it’s a celebration, a way to learn, to heal and pray,” says Samora.

During daylight of the kinaaldá, Samora grinded corn, the way her aunties had taught her from youth. “I was expected to prepare the corn into a corn cake, alkaan, as an offering,” notes Samora. She buried the corn in a pit dug into the ground and heated from above with a fire. The alkaan was then taken out of the earth pit on the second-to-last day and offered to a medicine man who is brought in to lead the community in prayer and song.

Samora’s dark brown locks, which had not been cut since her first birthday, were of great significance in the ceremony. Navajo culture believes that hair is a reflection of ancestry and memories. A Navajo child will have his or hair cut on their first birthday, and then not again until a major life event. Cutting Navajo hair causes the soul and spirit to bleed. Samora’s hair was almost past her waist by the time her kinaaldá arrived, which was meticulously brushed and prepared with natural herb washes before she began her run.

The last evening of the kinaaldá is a singing culmination of the passage. “We stayed up all night singing and praying, until the sun rose the following morning. Throughout the night and journey, I was told important stories by my aunties and community to help shape me as a woman and prepare me for the next journey.

As the sun broke the horizon on the final morning, Samora, who had been up all night with her community, was now on the final stretch of the kinaaldá. She ran east as her community sang the final songs. When she returned, she was a Navajo woman. “Obviously, I was exhausted from the ceremony and days of exertion, but the journey and process gave me a deeper connection to Navajo culture and a renewed sense of energy and self-perseverance,” she shares.

Five years since her kinaaldá, Samora has become an auntie to others in her community, a name given to many Navajo women who help in the raising of younger generations. “When I return to the reservation in summer, I look forward to helping and participating in the kinaaldá tradition — it’s such a beautiful and sacred journey of my people,” she says.

Originally published in the Fall 2024 issue of Spoke+Blossom.

Kinaaldá, A Navajo Coming-Of-Age