Herrialde Number Eight

This has to do with the old Basque equation 4 + 3 = 1.

Meaning the seven provinces are one country.

Well, as it happens, there is one more province (herrialde). Where's that other province.

Simple, it is the one comprised by all the Basques that are members of the Basque Diaspora, the dispersion all over the globe (not only the USA).

This is a report on the issue that appeared at the web page for the Center of Basque Studies at the University of Nevada in Reno:

The Eighth Basque Province

By IEPA!

(One of the reasons I wanted to come to the U.S. was to see the Basque people here and get to know their way of life. I wanted to know if it is possible to call these second-, third- and fourth-generation Basque-Americans “Basques.” This article is my answer. In the Basque fashion, I sign with my pseudonym, Iepa!)

Does the eighth Basque province exist? If so, where is it? These are excellent questions. We are clearly Seven in One, but up till now we have fallen short of forming that One, that eighth province. Where can it be?

It is not easy to locate, not is it easy to explain, but even if it's not official, there is an eighth province.

Soon our time will be up and we will gladly set foot once again on the soil of Euskalherria.

You may be asking, what is she talking about? Where is this so-called eighth province? Well, this province cannot be located geographically or politically. It is a province of feeling.

We find it in the mountains of the American West, in the aspen carvings; we find it in the desert mine shafts and in the dances, in Gardnerville's Song Competition and in the summer festivals.

Yes! This province is made up of places in America! Here is Lekeitio Street, and there is Ascuaga's famous hotel, and here we have the dancers, whirling, twirling, jo ta ke. “Step, step, bat, bi, hiru, aurrera!” “Let's go, guys!” all mixed up together, dancing the Behenafarroa march and the Bizkaian expatadantza. The effort is there and you can't deny their energy. The dances express how Basque they feel, it's not a bad thing, and they demonstrate their inner being as best they can.

Not far away (in Reno, Nevada) is the Basque Studies Program, thousands of books and Marcelino Ugalde dancing among them, hau hemen and hori hor. And there are more people there. Jill Berner with her soft, calm voice saying, “Kaixo, zer moduz?” Joan Brick with her elegant earrings amidst the paper and the happiness she distributes with the mail between 10:30 and 11:00. And let's not forget Linda White, promoting euskera, the teacher with the heart of gold.

I must not forget to mention coordinator William Douglass, the one seldom seen and seldom spoken to. What can I say about him? Nothing that has not been said before, only to praise his work. Basque professors give glory to this university. In anthropology and history, they make their mark. Joseba Zulaika explains art and steles, and Jose Mallea follows the footsteps of the sheepherders through the peace of the trees and the mountains.

We are the noisy, chatty “Basque colony,” the young people who arrive every year, the ones studying English or Basque, the ones studying at the university.

Perhaps we come from different places in the Basque Country. Undoubtedly, often we would pass each other there and pay no attention to one another, but our language and the fact that we are in a foreign land soon unite us.

Farther to the north (in Boise, Idaho) we find the Bar Gernika and a lot of generous Bizkaians. They are all very happy to welcome people from the Basque Country, eager to hear the news from there.

The young people say they are Americans but they are different somehow from other people. What can it be? They master euskera, they spread Basque dances, and they long to go to the Basque Country. There must be something special there.

There are stonelifters and woodcutters there. Often there are sheepherders, and you can see ox-pulling contests. There is homesickness in the air.

Head for the warmth again, and in California you hear the voices of Iparralde. The txistu and the dance, pelota and trinquette. They are preparing for a Basque festival, having a big meal together.

How can we deny these people their Basqueness? How can we not say that they are building a little Euskalherria piece by piece, albeit a perfect one, an idealized one.

Their feelings are strong, and although their feet and finances are here in America, often their heads and hearts are in the Basque Country and with this, they earn the honor of being part of it.

.... ... .