Held March 6-9, the conference brought together Indigenous artists, creators and mentors. They included hip-hop sensation Drezus, who led lyric writing and sound production workshops alongside DJ JayMak. Other presenters, like designer Scott Wabano, crafting artist Jomarie Einish and the Mukash Clan, ran workshops about their professions and life paths.
Drezus (aka Jeremiah Manitopyes) arrived from Muskowekwan First Nation, Saskatchewan. His experience wasn’t just about music – it was about his journey and how sharing it with youth transforms his life.
The Calgary-based rapper has spent years making music, but it wasn’t linear. Drezus didn’t always see his path as inspirational; just something he survived.
“I started writing when I was nine or 10 years old,” he said. “The first time I performed was at 17. And at 19, I made my first mixtape. In 2004, I released my first commercial album. That was 21 years ago – crazy to think how long it’s been. Back then, I wasn’t thinking about community talks or workshops, I was just there to perform.”
When communities began asking him to speak to young people, things started to change.
“Growing up I dealt with a lot of addictions, self-esteem issues, peer pressure and bad influences,” he recounted. “I didn’t always see the positive side of my story. When people started reaching out about speaking to kids, I didn’t feel worthy at first because I was still struggling.”
It took time to see that his experiences held power. His healing became a turning point not just in his life but in how he could impact others.
“I started to realize that I had more power within sobriety and more power within my lived experiences,” Drezus said. “In 2017, I quit drinking and gave up hard drugs and that’s when things started to evolve.”
Sobriety was just the beginning. He discovered it wasn’t just stopping bad habits, but about giving his life meaning, connection and a deeper sense of identity.
“I started getting in touch with my spiritual side and my culture,” he explained. “People giving me a chance to speak to the youth was the spark I needed. The more I spoke and opened myself up, I began to realize there was this flood of emotions, and these feelings opened pathways for learning. I started going to the sweat lodge, attending ceremonies, and learning about the ways of my people.”
His stay in Nemaska reinforced this connection.
“Before heading to the conference, we went out on the land for a few days and took part in a sweat lodge. It was my first sweat in northern Quebec, and even though the dialects differ, the messages remain the same. It felt like home.”
An unexpected moment of the trip was meeting Anderson Jolly.
“We met Anderson, who became known as Smudge Plug, because he had all these smudges. He had five different types of sage from around Turtle Island, like sweet pine, sweetgrass. I was like, damn, this guy’s the plug for smudge!”
Drezus had no idea their paths would cross again. “All this happened without us knowing that he was going to be our guide in Nemaska a few days later.”
Jolly led Drezus and his group through the community, taking them to the Elders’ lodges where traditional skills were practiced. “It was cool because we got to see women preparing, scraping and soaking hides,” he said. “I’ve never seen the entire process like that.”
As they traveled across the territory, ptarmigan dotted the landscape. “Anderson looked over to me and said, ‘You know we hunt those.’ Then a little later he asked, ‘You wanna go hunting?’”
Drezus had never hunted before. “I didn’t have that growing up. I didn’t have that kind of guidance to bring me out on the land and have those experiences.”
And it wasn’t just learning to hunt, but reclaiming something missing in his life. “There were little kids out there with us – 10-year-olds shooting already. So, when I got one, it made me feel like a kid. Here I was, finally learning to shoot birds and get around on the land.”
From snowshoeing to eating caribou cooked over an open fire, Drezus described the experience as something he wishes more Indigenous youth, especially those in urban settings, could connect with.
“I’m still coming down from the experience – so many emotions, so much love, and a bittersweet feeling now that it’s over. But we know the work doesn’t stop here.”
Music has always been his way of expressing himself, and hip-hop gave him a platform to tell his story. “Music runs in the family,” Drezus insisted. “My dad played in a country band, and my cousins play guitar. That creative side is in our blood.”
Hip-hop was a discovery that became a tool of resistance and self-expression.
“One thing that really stuck out to me with hip-hop were the beats, and the freedom of expression. A lot of hip-hop artists were talking about who they were, where they came from. That expressive freedom really resonated with me. I felt like I wanted that voice to let people know who I was.”
Hip-hop became more than just music. It was a form of education, a means of self-discovery. “Hip-hop became my mode of expression, my history class, my library, my life story.”
Now, more than ever, Drezus believes Indigenous voices are heard and valued in creative industries. “Indigenous people have such unique stories – stories that the world is literally They’re hungry for Indigenous storytelling – in all forms, not just in hip-hop music.”
For those who hesitate, Drezus has one message.
“They feel like their stories, or their voices aren’t important. But the only thing holding us back are ourselves. The world needs truth, more truth-tellers. And with moments like these – shared within community and across ages – I feel we’re heading to a good place.”