Origin: A Genetic History of the Americas

Chapter 5
For an Indian, it is not just DNA, it’s part of a person, it is sacred,
with deep religious significance. It is part of the essence of a person
(1).
—Hopi geneticist Frank Dukepoo
The elevator ride down to the basement of Fraser Hall was excruciatingly
slow, and once the doors opened, I was immediately hit by the eyewatering
odor familiar to all ancient DNA labs: bleach. The smell intensified as I
walked down the windowless, dimly lit hallway to an unassuming metal
door, only made interesting by its thickness and the sign reading WARNING:
KEEP OUT! AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY! When I swiped my ID card, a green
light flashed, indicating that I was authorized, and the door unlocked. As I
turned the handle and pushed hard against the metal door, a fresh wave of
cold, bleach-scented air blew my hair back and wafted out into the empty
corridor.
Just inside the door was a white mat. I carefully stepped onto it,
transferring the dirt from my shoes to its sticky surface.
This white mat, which was already slightly spotted with the impressions
of several other sets of footprints—most pointing forward into the chambers
beyond, but a few pointing outward—marks the first step in series of rituals
starting from the basement hallway of Fraser Hall to the place where
ancient DNA is extracted and cataloged.
None of my own footprints from past visits to the lab were on the sticky
mat, whose surface is actually covered with replaceable gummy plastic
sheets that are changed when the surface gets too dirty. As one of the two
principal investigators (PIs) in our lab group at the University of Kansas, I
rarely get to work in the ancient DNA lab anymore; our jobs are to