For the love of Dentalium

Dentalia, dainty elephant tusk-like shells, have been highly prized by Indigenous peoples in North America for centuries. Serving as currency, status symbols and sacred objects, they became a valued trade item from the Pacific Northwest coast that included Great Plains tribes. The smooth, white shells retain a deep cultural and spiritual significance today.

Pacific Northwest nations once held a central role in the dentalium shell trade network, harvesting the tusk mollusk from the ocean. Prized by many inland Native nations, a trade network led the tiny shells to tribes such as the Lakota, Mandan, Hidatsa, Arikara and Ojibwe. But that historic, traditional supply chain no longer exists. It’s been supplanted by new traders, not from the Pacific Ocean but from the Arabian Sea. Today, Native peoples are connected to fishermen in India who harvest the tusk shells to meet demand in the U.S. and Canada.

Buffalo’s Fire interviewed scientists, historians, vendors, and artists, all of whom explained how the long-prized dentalium shells remain in demand after centuries of use. They are used to embellish clothing and to make adorned items such as hair ties, earrings, and capes. We also traveled to India to visit the fishermen there who are now part of the modern-day dentalium trade network. Just as our Native ancestors coveted the tusk shells, the pursuit and use of dentalium shells lives on.

Harvesting Connection: Dentalium and the two ‘Indian’ worlds

Babita Patel
Contributor to Buffalo’s Fire

On my first day running a photography workshop on Lakota land, the first person I met told me something I’ll never forget: the new houses they built had the front doors facing east to welcome the rising sun into the home each morning. He said it carefully, as if bracing for pushback. But to me, it made perfect sense.

As a Hindu Indian, I grew up believing the same thing — that an east-facing home is auspicious, blessed by Surya, the sun god, every day. While you can find every major religion practiced in India today, Hinduism is the Indigenous religion of the land, with roots stretching back more than 4,000 years.

That moment sparked a realization for me: the two groups of people called “Indians” — one descended from the Indus Valley, the other labeled by colonizers — share more than just a name. There are real echoes between our worlds.

As I sat with that thought, another connection surfaced: dentalium — a highly prized item among Indigenous people in North America is exported, in vast quantities, from India.

I returned to my ancestral homeland to capture the story of the fishermen in South India who harvest dentalium — the first time I spent in the coastal fishing villages.

In India, much like the Indigenous tribes in North America, identity is local first. We don’t just say, “I’m Indian.” We say, “I’m Tamil,” “I’m Punjabi,” or “I’m Bengali.” Every region has its own language, food, wedding traditions, and even its own way of wrapping a sari, the traditional clothing worn by Indian women.

My roots are in Gujarat, a state in the western tip of India that juts into the Arabian Sea. I’m Gujarati, and we speak Gujarati.

Ironically, nobody cares that I’m Gujarati when I’m in northern India. They want to know if I’m an NRI (Non-Resident Indian), someone of Indian descent who lives abroad.

But it was different when I was with the fishermen in the southern state of Tamil Nadu.

When I said, “I’m American,” they weren’t satisfied. They would draw a circle around my face, saying, “But you look like you could be from India.” They wanted to know I was Gujarati. By naming my ancestral land, I was being claimed — a fellow Indian, even if from far away.

And yet, here’s where the paths of the two Indians diverge.

Dentalium — the delicate white shells treasured by Indigenous people in the U.S. and Canada — is virtually unknown across India. Honestly, most Indians probably wouldn’t even recognize the word. Only a handful of fishermen and traders down south know how valued dentalium is on the other side of the world.

And that contrast stayed with me.

In Hinduism, we believe the divine lives in every living and nonliving thing, including ourselves, and that everything must be treated with respect. I see that same reverence in Native culture, especially in how they care for the land.

Capturing the story of dentalium felt like bridging two worlds: one in which my own people might not place any particular value on the shells and one on the other side of the world in which the shells are deeply valued by people called by the same name — Indian.

Namaste*

*Sanskrit greeting interpreted to mean “the divine in me honors the divine in you.”