I entered the lavvu, the traditional Sámi tent, and was greeted by Juhán Niila Stålka. He was sitting on the left side of the kitchen – traditionally the place where the husband would sit, while the wife would sit opposite. I sat further down, in the area reserved for guests.

The tent had a central pole for extra support, standing between the firepit and a small wooden table topped with a wooden box and some bowls. The floor was made of twigs covered with reindeer pelts and rugs, which we sat on.

I had joined this gathering as part of a storytelling and joiking event that Juhán was hosting. It was a hot summer’s day, and the tent’s purpose – to keep warmth inside during the cold winter – meant the heat was palpable. Sitting inside, I felt like I had stepped into history, into a space where Juhán’s ancestors had once gathered.

Juhán began grinding coffee beans to brew in the traditional way, placing the pot over the fire he’d just lit. He also passed around thin slices of dried reindeer meat – a customary Sámi offering – to me and the other guests, and began to introduce himself and talk about his family.

Then, almost without warning, he began joiking – the traditional form of Sámi song, used to express people, animals or landscapes. I had never heard of joiking before. It was unexpected and unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

‘I grew up with joik’

Juhán Niila Stålka is a 27-year-old Sámi man who lives in Jokkmokk, a municipality in northern Sweden where 50% of residents have Sámi heritage. It’s known as the ‘Mecca’ of the Sámi people.

He explained that taking away someone’s ability to herd reindeer means stripping them of their main connection and contribution to the Sámi community.

Whenever he talked about joiking or began to joik, his eyes lit up with passion and pride, and a deep commitment to honouring and representing his people. He explained: “You don’t joik about something, but you joik something.”

“I grew up with joik. I learned it from my dad and he from his dad. I can’t imagine someone taking away my ability to joik,” he told me after the storytelling event.

Misconceptions and discrimination

Outsiders are unaware of the scope of Sámi history and reach, and often minimise or misunderstand their significance. The Sámi people live not only in northern Sweden, but also in areas of Norway, Finland and Russia; population data is unreliable, but it is estimated there are between 50,000 and 100,000 Sámi.

One problem that Juhán faces is the persistence of harmful misconceptions. “The view people have of the Sámi when they come here is that we’ve been living isolated,” he told me. “But we have been trading people. We’ve been communicating all over the world. That is one misconception I often encounter.”

Another major issue is land rights. There is a long-standing conflict between the Swedish government and the Sámi people over who has the authority to manage and make decisions about traditional Sámi territories.

But Juhán believes there are concrete ways to move forward and that ‘FPIC’ – free, prior, and informed consent – is the solution.

“If they’re using the land, the Sámi people should be free to choose, and that choice should come before anything happens. It should be consent, it should be informed and you should know the consequences. I think this is a super good way to work. If the Swedish government applies this principle in Sápmi, they’ll go a long way in building good relationships with the Sámi people,” he explained.

Pride for Sámi heritage

Spending time with Juhán and writing this article has only deepened my respect and appreciation for Sámi culture. Often, we do not realise how many Indigenous peoples around the world are still facing unnecessary struggles – simply for honouring their culture and traditions.

I am eternally grateful to have met Juhán and to hear not just his words and joiks, but to witness the pride he carries for his Sámi heritage – all beginning in the warmth of the lavvu, where our conversation first started.