Transformative Elsipogtog youth program needs funding

In Elsipogtog First Nation, on the land where trees remember and rivers carry stories, there’s a place where healing begins with laughter, trust, and connection. Nogemag Camp is more than just a summer program; it’s a space built on love, cultural knowledge, and the power of showing up.

Since 2000, the Nogemag Youth Program has been serving high-risk youth from Elsipogtog First Nation and surrounding communities. Rooted in Mi’kmaq values and meaning “relationship,” Nogemag offers more than just a program; it offers a sense of belonging.

But even the most sacred spaces need support to survive. Behind the warmth of campfires and the joy of shared meals, Nogemag is facing a difficult reality: the program is currently unfunded, sustained only through short-term partnerships and the sheer determination of those who keep showing up.

Full disclosure: I didn’t just come to write about Nogemag—I came through it. I was a camper once, and now I work here alongside the youth. I’ve experienced its magic both as someone who needed it, and someone who helps carry it forward. I can say without hesitation that this is where the heart heals.

At the heart of it all are Fredrick Soucy, Brooke Augustine, and Lise Arsenault, the guiding forces behind Nogemag. The name, meaning “relations” in the Mi’kmaq language, reflects everything the camp stands for: restoring relationships with self, with others, with culture, and with the land.

“We build trust through play,” says Soucy, one of the program’s leads. “Games, art, nature.”

“Nogemag means gathering in the hope of strengthening our connection to each other, our community, and ourselves,” Arsenault says. “And that’s exactly what we do.”

Whether it’s a quiet hike or a chaotic round of night games, every moment at Nogemag is a step toward something sacred: belonging.

A space to be seen and held

Nogemag is a trauma-informed space rooted in Mi’kmaq values, built with love for high-risk youth.

Here, healing starts with relationship. The focus isn’t on fixing behavior, but on meeting kids with care, consistency, and compassion.

“We ignore the behavior and see the child,” says Soucy. “Once trust is built, that’s when the real work begins.”

Through nature, culture, and connection, youth learn emotional regulation, how to cook, build fires, pick medicine, drum, and, most importantly, how to feel safe in their own skin.

During the school year, Nogemag runs weekly after-school programs. Middle schoolers build trust and resilience, while high schoolers step into leadership, giving back to the community through acts of service.

“Helping others builds self-esteem,” Soucy says. “And it changes how they see themselves; and how their community sees them.”

Earning trust from youth who’ve been hurt by systems and adults isn’t easy. Arsenault knows this deeply. “It can take one to two years of constant showing up. They’ll push you away. They’ll test your love. But our staff is trained to stay, to hold the container, and to never make them work for belonging. We’re not here to fix them. We’re here to stand with them.”

Helping kids who need it most

Augustine didn’t plan on working at Nogemag Camp — it found her. “I kind of just got lucky,” she says. But what began as a job quickly became a promise. “I told the kids I’d be there for them, and I don’t like breaking my promises.”

To the youth, Augustine is more than a staff member — she’s a parent, counsellor, chauffeur, and friend. Whether it’s late-night calls or early morning drives, she shows up. “They know I’ll be there for them, day or night.”

Her work is personal. Having lived through toxic relationships, she sees parts of herself in the kids. “I want them to know their worth. They don’t need that kind of pain in their lives.”

What makes Nogemag different, Augustine says, is its heart. “Even the kids who get kicked out of other programs are welcome here. We’re a family. That’s what makes it special.”

When asked what she hopes each child takes away — her answer is clear: “Self-love. I want them to know they’re human, they make mistakes — but that’s not who they are.”

Even on hard days, Augustine keeps her heart open. “I don’t always try to fix it — I just let them feel, and I stay beside them.” That, she says, is what makes it all worth it.

Mi’kmaq values

From preparing meals as a family to walking trails together and pausing to discuss the meaning of Mi’kmaq words, Nogemag reflects Indigenous ways of being. Elders and cultural knowledge keepers are central to the program; sharing teachings, offering ceremony, and reminding youth that they come from strength.

“We reconnect with nature as much as possible,” Arsenault says. “The youth gravitate to art, to the land, to each other. Some of our deepest healing happens around the table with markers in hand or in silence by a river.”

When a young person is struggling, staff act as loving witnesses rather than fixers, showing up in quiet ways that speak volumes.

Summer camp: sacred, messy, magic

If Nogemag runs year-round, summer camp is its heartbeat. It’s a whirlwind of hiking, canoeing, night games, Elder teachings, barefoot walks through Fundy National Park, and spontaneous laughter echoing across forests.

In summer, Nogemag transforms into a culturally grounded, nature-based camp. Staff, trained in trauma awareness and team building, welcome youth in three age groups for immersive weeks filled with day trips, overnight adventures, sharing circles, night games, and closing feasts.

Every detail, from meals eaten together like a family to quiet hikes through the forest, teaches one core lesson: you belong.

“We teach youth how to relax, how to regulate their nervous systems, and how to feel safe,” Soucy says. “Those are lifelong skills.”

“Summer is sacred for Indigenous youth,” says Arsenault. “Freedom is innate to them; but it’s been taken too many times, on too many levels. When they’re in nature, they remember. They walk barefoot, they jump in cold water, they reconnect to something ancient.”

Each camp week ends with an “honour chair” circle, where every child is showered with positive words and gifted a token to remember the experience. “We want them to leave knowing they are loved exactly as they are.”

The work that comes full circle

The impact of Nogemag reveals itself slowly, sometimes years later. Some youth return as staff, mentors, or just to say hello. But for Arsenault, the most profound moments are often quiet and unexpected.

When her grandson Macaïah, who grew up at Nogemag, died, she didn’t know if she could return to the work. But then, a former youth sent her a message. Just one line: “Mama Lise, I’m sorry for your loss. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

“It mirrored the very words I had once said to him,” she says, tears in her eyes. “That’s when I knew I had to come back.”

The legacy of love

When asked how she wants the youth to remember their time at Nogemag, Arsenault’s voice softens. “That they were loved. That they could be authentic and still be worthy. That nature will always be there for them. That they mattered.”

For some kids, Nogemag is the only place where that message lands.

And for Arsenault, watching a once-guarded child walk barefoot through the forest, laughing, connected, and free, is the reason she keeps showing up.

‘Mind over matter’

Félicitée Levi-Gangé was just a kid when she arrived at Nogemag Camp for the first time — nervous, unsure, and not knowing it would shape who she’d become. “I had lots of fun,” she says, but what stayed with her was much deeper than games.

She remembers the talking circles, the waterfalls, the freedom of being herself. She remembers how it felt to be respected. “My camp counsellors always taught me to be brave.”

Nogemag gave her what school and home couldn’t: a place where she felt safe, supported, and truly seen. It taught her how to love herself. It helped her grow into the woman she is today.

One phrase still echoes in her life: mind over matter. It’s more than a saying; it’s a way of surviving, of thriving.

If she could go back for one day, she’d choose the long canoe trip, paddling with people who felt like family. And one day, she hopes her kids will feel that too.

“I keep those words deep within myself,” she says. “Nogemag is still with me.”

Year-to-year funding

Today, the camp that has given so much is facing one of its greatest challenges: staying alive without consistent funding.

“At the moment, we’re unfunded,” says Soucy, who noted the program depends on support from the Eastern Door — a local outreach program in Elsipogtog that supports high-risk Indigenous youth and helps cover essential costs for community initiatives like Nogemag when other funding falls through.

“We’re staying afloat thanks to support from the Eastern Door program, which is currently covering salaries, food, and gas.”

Nogemag was previously sustained through Jordan’s Principle for two years, but no new proposals have been accepted since June 2024, according to Soucy.

That federal program is meant to ensure that First Nations children can receive government-funded health, educational and social services, regardless of where they live, without their cases being delayed because of disputes over jurisdiction between the provinces and federal government.

However, the program has been marked by a backlog of requests and the federal government has tightened the program, putting services in limbo.

Nogemag also benefitted from a five-year pilot project with consistent funding, a rare period of financial stability that ended over three years ago.

“Since then, we’ve had to reapply and search for new support each year,” Soucy explains. “It would be a game-changer to get back on a long-term funding model or to be core funded by an organization committed to our mission.”

Patchwork support, community partnership

Despite the financial uncertainty, Nogemag has found strength through a patchwork of community partnerships, notably support from the Eastern Door that keeps essential operations running.

Elsipogtog’s education authority pays the electric bill and helps with office needs. Parks Canada contributes through land-based programming, tree planting, and educational support. Organizations like the Food Depot Alimentaire and John Howard Society have stepped in to help, offering in-kind support, proposal writing assistance, and their name on grant applications.

Still, these relationships, while deeply appreciated, aren’t enough to ensure the program’s longevity.

The high cost of hands-on work

One of the greatest barriers to sustainable funding? Time.

“We’re so hands-on with the youth, there’s barely time to chase after grants,” Soucy admits. “We’re running the program, driving the kids, cooking meals, leading activities — fundraising often falls to the side.”

Despite the odds, the Nogemag team has always found a way to deliver. “We haven’t had to cut core parts of camp, but we’ve definitely been limited by what we can afford. We set an intention, and we push through to make it happen.”

What more could be done

More funding could allow the program to grow in powerful, transformative ways.

“With more resources, we could expand our programs, hire more staff, build infrastructure, and help more kids in more ways,” says Soucy. “There’s no shortage of need — only a shortage of capacity.”

His dreams for the future are bold and deeply rooted in community wellness: a horse therapy program, training in somatic trauma care, a wood mill to teach youth how to build tiny homes, and ongoing opportunities for skill building and job creation.

A dream on horseback

And while much of the focus has been on the youth, Soucy emphasizes the need for more family-centred support. Plans for the future include expanding partnerships, launching trauma training programs, and developing animal-assisted therapy.

When asked what she’d do with unlimited funding, Arsenault doesn’t hesitate: “An equine therapy facility. A healing farm. A place for the youth and their families to come together. Horses for healing. I’ve seen it: they carry grief in a way that helps release it.”

Nogemag is sustained by passion, teamwork, and lists — lots of them. Staff are former campers, high school students, university mentors, and community members who believe in the camp’s magic. “If the kids see us working hard and having fun, they stay engaged. We’re in it with them; swimming, hiking, playing, sharing.”

“Our biggest hope,” Soucy says, “is that the value of this work is recognized. That someone, some organization, sees what we’re doing and steps in to support it long-term. Not just year by year, but as a core-funded program.”

How to help

Beyond money, Soucy says cultural support is always welcome.

“We’d love to have more Elders and knowledge keepers involved regularly. Cultural teachings are essential, but often we need funding to offer honoraria. Even those willing to donate their time would make a huge difference. We can be the facilitators; we just need the people.”

Keeping the fire burning

Despite the obstacles, Nogemag’s purpose remains unchanged: to love, support, and walk alongside youth who deserve to know they matter. But that mission can only continue if the community — near and far — rallies behind it.

“We know this program is valuable. We know it’s needed. Now, we just hope others recognize that too, and help us keep the fire burning.”

Ampsit Nogemag: “All my relations.”

Haiti Augustine is a St. Thomas University student and a member of Elsipogtog First Nation. She wrote this article as part of JOUR 2033, Local Reporting, Global Media, in St. Thomas University’s Aotiitj program in Elsipogtog