Homeless woman charged for building her own home

A First Nations woman in Northern Ontario has been issued with a stop work order and faces thousands of dollars in fines for attempting to build a cabin in the place where she grew up.

DarleneNecanis a member of theOjibwaysofSaugeenFirst Nation, but she's been unable to acquire housing in that community, about 400 kilometres northwest of Thunder Bay, since the reserve was created in the late1990s.

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Last year,Necanbegan building with donated materialson land where her family home once stood, 20 kilometres south of herreserve, in the unorganized township of Savant Lake, Ont.

"This is my castle and I'm so proud to have it, even though it's not done yet,"Necansaid duringa recent visit to the one-room, plywood house she is not allowed to live in.

The Ministry of Natural Resources and Forestryhas charged Necanwith breaches of the Public Lands Act that carry fines of up to $10,000, and up to an additional $1,000 fineeach time she is caught continuing to build. Necan believes it is because somehow the place she grew up has becomeCrown land.The ministry did not respond to questions from CBC News about this story.

'A lot of times I cry'

As an unorganized township, Savant Lake doesn't have a municipal leader. DenisMousseauowns the only store, across the street from his hotel, on one of the community's two main roads.

"It's a common thing for First Nations people to do, is build their own house without title to the land,"Mousseausaid. "First Nations people have the right to do that and I don't see why [the Ministry of] Natural Resources should be hassling her over this."

Necanhas boarded up the unfinished doorway to her cabin for the winter, and saidshe feels "shattered"by the charges against her. Her next court date is Nov. 20.

"I still keep going with this fight no matter how awful it makes me feel for trying to house myself and help people,because a lot of people don't believe in themselves or that things can change if you fighthard enough," Necan said, her voice cracking.

"It's what I try to believe. I try to be hopeful. That'shard too and a lot of times I cry by myself here. But I talk to my [late] mom and my [late]dad and it keeps me going because I keep thinking of them."

'Not any better in the city'

Necan has spent much of her adult life couch-surfing among relatives andcamping out on the family trap line when the weather allows. The 55-year-old was looking forward to a differentlife, living in her own home and offering shelter tofamily members.

"This is exactly the same spot where we lived," Necan said. "We slowly started moving to the cities because we didn't have anything after my dad got hurt and we were pretty well desperate."

Necan'sfather was injured while working for the railway.

"My family...they're not any better in the city than they were here," she says. "Here, at least they were free to roam around in the bush and go hunting and all that, but in the city you need at least five, 10bucks to even live for the day."

'Aren't we under treaty?'

Fewer than 100 people live on the reserve up the road.Edward Machimity has been chief for nearly two decades, sincethe reserve was created.Necansaidhe refuses to help her, or even answer her questions.

"He has said that he has to be careful about how he helps the off-reserve peopleand that really got me confused because I thought, aren't we on Anishinaabe land right now? Aren't we under treaty?" Necan said.

"Isn't this why we elected him for, is to help all people, not only the people inside reserve?That is so crap because natives are scattered all over Canada. How can they say only the people on reserve have rights?"

Machimity did not return repeated calls from CBC News.