SECWÉPEMC GAMES
Please Consider Installing the Secwépemc (Secwepemctsín) Keyboard, this will make playing these games and typing the language much easier. You can find it here, under the ‘Salishan” section.
Games
Please Consider Installing the Secwépemc (Secwepemctsín) Keyboard, this will make playing these games and typing the language much easier. You can find it here, under the ‘Salishan” section.
| Band | 1850 (estimated pop.) | 1903 | 1906 |
|---|---|---|---|
| Xatsúll (Soda Creek) | 300 | 81 | 81 |
| Buckskin Creek | 501 | Extinct | Extinct |
| T’éxelc (Williams Lake) | 350 | 153 | 155 |
| T’éxelc (Williams Lake) | 350 | 153 | 155 |
| Eskét (Alkali Lake) | 175 | 159 | 172 |
| Xgát̓tem (Dog Creek) | 200 | 173 | 20 |
| Stswécem̓c (Canoe Creek) | 250 | 161 | 163 |
| Empire Valley | 100 | Extinct | Extinct |
| Big Bar | grouped with High Bar and Clinton | Extinct | Extinct |
| llenllenéytn (High Bar) | 625 | 52 | 55 |
| Pelltíq̓t (Clinton) | grouped with High Bar and Big Bar | 46 | 50 |
| Riskie Creek | 100 | Extinct | Extinct |
| North Canyon | 200 | Extinct | Extinct |
| South Canyon | 300 | Extinct | Extinct |
| Chilcotin Mouth | 100 | Extinct | Extinct |
| Lac La Hache | 100 | Extinct | Extinct |
| Tsq̓éscen (Canim Lake) | 350 | 83 | 77 |
| Green Timber | 100 | Extinct | Extinct |
| Upper North Thompson | 250 | Less than 70 | 70 |
| Lower North Thompson | 500 | 130 | 130 |
| Kinbaskets | 150 | 256 | 262 |
| Tskw̓éylecw (Pavillion) | 150 | 68 | 68 |
| St̓exwtéws (Bonaparte) | 400 | 158 | 160 |
| Main Thompson | 150 | Extinct | Extinct |
| Skítsestn (Deadman’s Creek) | 350 | 116 | 122 |
| Tk̓emlúps (Kamloops) | 550 | 243 | 242 |
| South Thompson | 400 | 154 | 152 |
| Cstélen (Adams Lake) | 400 | 189 | 194 |
| Skwlax (Shuswap Lake) | 200 | 83 | 88 |
| Spelemtsín / Splatsín (Enderby) | 300 | 140 | 150 |
| Arrow Lake | 100 | 26 | 25 |
| Grand Total | 7200 | 2185 | 2236 |
The government and missionaries, sought to colonize the “Indian”. The leaders of both wanted to control all First Nations’ in Canada. They wanted to place many laws against First Nations’ ability to fight the legal system that was put in place by the governments to freely take the lands, with all their resources.
In Secwépemc territory, the Oblates sought to establish religious dominions. In the 1880’s, the Oblates lobbied strongly for boarding and industrial schools where Secwépemc children could be supervised, disciplined, indoctrinated, and regulated in an environment completely controlled by the Oblate fathers. St. Joseph’s Mission was established 20km south of Williams Lake near the T’exelc (Sugar Cane) reserve. St. Louis’ Mission was established in Kamloops. The Oblates were not trained as teachers. Instead, their role in education came as an extension of their mission work aimed to consolidate a strong Catholic grip on First Nations’ communities.
The Government of Canada, in conjunction with the Catholic, Methodist and Anglican churches, opened the first three industrial schools on the prairies in 1884. Several industrial and boarding schools were subsequently built in B.C. in the 1890s. Industrial schools were to serve essentially as boarding schools where trades or ‘industries’ were taught. There was minimal focus on academic subjects.
The vulnerability of First Nations towards European customs justified more than a century of federal control over the lives of First Nations people. This racist assumption powered three significant policies: to civilize, to Christianize and to assimilate.
By the 1890’s, senior government officials saw education and other forms of assistance as a way of avoiding the unresolved question of Aboriginal title in 8.C. They argued that B.C. First Nations parents who had children attending schools or who were living on reserves had already accepted benefits similar to “treaty Indians” on the prairies. The First Nations could not conceivably gain any additional rights or benefits beyond what the Indian Act already extended to them. Thus, First Nations’ requests to negotiate a treaty were seen without purpose. Essentially, the government’s resistance to provide adequate funding for the schools resulted in extreme conditions for both the staff and students.
Boarding and industrial schools were favored so the government and missionaries could effectively separate the children from their parents for extended periods of time. In this way they could minimize the ‘uncivilized’ influence of First Nations parents.
During the early 1880’s, Secwépemc leaders, the Catholic Church, the federal officials and the politicians requested a boarding school be established at Kamloops. On the surface, federal officials and the church indicated that the best of interests of the children would be at heart. Yet the Secwépemc felt troubled that they were never taken seriously. Thus, the plans for the KIB residential school forged ahead. The Kamloops Industrial School (KIS) opened June 1, 1890.
When Williams Lake Industrial School (WLIS) opened in 1891, their resources were limited. The Oblates ran the school with limited resources and an iron fist. Six boys from T̓éxelc (Sugar Cane) and Tsq̓éscen̓ (Canim Lake) were brought to the school to be “broken in and trained” in the rules and “English” to assist the principal “to break in the others.”
Before school attendance became mandatory in 1920, parents were obligated to choose between unacceptable conditions at the schools, or the unacceptable prospect that their children would grow up without an education. This was a grim decision for parents, and horrendous for their children. Both for the parent and the child, the conditions and prospects were not easy.
Discipline and punishment were relentlessly routine measures to conform the ‘heathen Indian’ children. School staff openly devalued First Nations culture in hopes that the children would abandon their heritage in order to force them to embrace EuroCanadian social standards and values. These vile measures not only caused bodily harm, but were also attempts of genocide against the First Nations.
Protest and complaints by Secwépemc parents were ignored. Federal government policy dictated that First Nations parents were ignorant and incompetent. The children’s parents voices were never acknowledged and in doing so, two objectives could further be achieved. First, it could create an institute where secrecy and deception occurred. Secondly, it disarmed parents from witnessing any abuses that were inflicted which gave them power to operate with no restrains.
From the time the schools first opened in the 1800’s, pupils spent half their day at hard manual labor, and the other half-day learning religious and basic academic lessons. Either way, this system was rationalized by both the state and the church as a means to keep the schools financially feasible during periods of crisis and/or expansion.
The girls were trained to be domestic laborers. They cooked meals, washed dishes, scrubbed floors, did laundry, and baked bread. They also manufactured and mended clothing for pupils.
Boys spent a significant amount of time working on the school farm. They cleared and broke land, dug ditches, planted, irrigated and harvested crops. They raised livestock, erected new buildings while maintaining the existing ones. Wells were dug and the students spent at least two hours per day hauling water.
Child labour was common practice. The conditions children faced were partially due to the government’s failure to provide proper funds for adequate food, clothing or renovations. Instead of asking for funds to provide proper care for students, the school recommended the purchase of better equipment that would increase the child productivity for the overall operations of the schools. Even though parents complained about the excessive work demanded from their children, the DIA school inspector lectured both the children and parents on the necessity of “Indian” children being engaged in work.
In 1918, to prevent the school from closing KIS hired a new principal and installed a new hydroelectric irrigation station. Over the next two years, the children’s “industrial training” was geared towards agriculture. Because the school needed the children for production they cancelled summer vacation. The children worked long, hard hours to support the school operations.
Residential school recruitment evolved over time. The 1920 Indian Act amendment made attendance at day or residential schools mandatory. This change gave school officials a stronger legal position to quadrupal their attendance numbers. The new law gave officials the authority to take over the responsibility for the care and education of First Nations’ children between the ages of 8 and 14. In order to fill the schools, the missionaries paid parents $5 per child to send their children to the schools.
In the 1920’s KIRS under went new construction. Under Father McGuire’s supervision, the school became self-reliant and were able to purchase new machinery, a pumping station and sewing machines. Those ‘improvements’ increased production but further detracted students from their studies. Interestingly, student enrolment increased to 300 children that included students from the Kamloops and Okanagan agencies. It was the largest Indian residential school in the country.
WLIS also expanded from 50 pupils to 90 pupils by 1928. Through the 1930’s and 1940’s, child labor was used to expand the CIRS buildings.
By the 1940’s, government and church officials began to recognize that residential schools were failing to transform First Nations’ reserves into self-supporting Canadian communities. On the other hand, they began to lock First Nations’ people into a cycle of government dependency. While superficial changes to the curriculum came during the 1940’s, the schools remained unchanged until the 1950’s when DIA officials contemplated integration.
In 1867, Father J. McGuckin, built a residence and chapel and established St. Joseph’s Mission near Williams Lake. He operated the school almost singlehandedly until 1876 when three Sisters of St. Anns arrived to work as teachers. In the late 1870’s, the Oblates began to lobby Ottawa for funding to establish a residential school at the Mission site. In 1891, their efforts were taken seriously. Local Indian Agent, W. L. Meason, endorsed the Oblate’s request for the accommodation of 50 boys and 50 girls, plus received salaries, which were supplemented by an annual per capita grant.
Because of the severe forms of punishment and discipline at both schools, children responded by running away. Every year pupils attempted to escape knowing that they would face extreme punishment if caught. Indian Agents served as Truant Officers, arranging the arrests and punishments of runaways.
Runaways became regular occurrences at WLIS and school authorities feared losing control of the school’s operation. Like KIRS, the principal’s response was to severely punish all runaways. Parents consistantly voiced their concern to the school. The Oblates eased up slightly, but pupils continued to run away. In February 1902, nine children ran away, eight were caught and returned. The ninth child, Duncan Sticks, was found dead 13km from the school. The boy’s death led to an inquest that revealed the horrendous treatment of the children by the staff. However, the Church and government officials minimized the incidents, and they successfully concealed the brutality that was practiced.
DIA informed the school inspector that severe corporal punishment for breaches of discipline would not be tolerated. However, the Department did nothing to prevent such incidents from occurring. In 1922, the per capita grant was increased to support 80 students. By the end of the decade. the official number increased to 95 then to 135 through the 1930’s.
The parents were considered incapable of knowing what was best for their children. Thus, authorities saw no need for any formal mechanisms for parents to advise or make recommendations about the schools operations. Parents were deprived of involvement, control, decisions and/or governance concerning their children. Politicians weren’t concerned; they saw “Indians” as wards of the state who didn’t have political clout or credibility.
The first recorded concerns of Secwépemc parents and leaders were recorded in 1909. Secwépemc leaders gathered at the Bonaparte Indian Band on October 12, 1909, to address Department of Indian Affairs Commissioner, Dr. John MacDougall. At another meeting in 1913, in front of the Royal Commission on Indian Affairs, Chief Basile said,” 1O children from my community had been going to the school at Kamloops for seven to eight years, and when they come back it seems as if they don’t know anything…and my requests made four years earlier to the DIA commissioner for a day school had met with no response.” First Nations parents protested the inadequate education, living conditions and the lack of care for their children. Parents realized the extreme abuse that occurred, and wanted the schools to switch their children to day school operation. The Commission Chairman dismissed the complaints, telling parents that the former pupils who were able to read and write letters for the commissioner, were ample proof of the school’s beneficial effects.
Northern Secwepemc, along with Tsilq’otin communities were visited by the Royal Commission in 1914 to discuss the Cariboo School. At Williams Lake, a First Nations spokesman told the commission, “the people want a day school so they would know what was going on with their children (because) the only thing taught is religion”. The parents told Commissioners that they needed their children to work at home and that a day school would be desirable or they simply wanted the school to be improved. Most of the graduates couldn’t even write nor translate the Secwépemc language into English. Most parents were willing to send their children to a day school if it was provided.
During 1914-1918, funding shortages led to exceptionally severe conditions at KIS. Children experienced malnutrition and went without adequate clothing and footwear. Children were strictly forbidden correspondence with parents. Eventually news reached their parents and, once again they confronted the Indian Agent. The pressure forced the agent to inform Ottawa that, “if this school is to continue, some radical as well as practical assistance, must be forthcoming or its doors will have to be closed…if children are to be kept they ought to be reasonably clothed and fed, and this is utterly impossible to do from its present per capita grant unless facilities are given to bring the land under cultivation.” As the residential school system expanded and consolidated, it became more difficult for Secwépemc parents to evade government rules. Starting in the 1920’s, some parents tried to enroll their children in public schools. Some parents resisted and hid their children from school authorities or kept them at home as long as possible before sending their children off to school.
In 1896 DIA’s policy stated that boys should remain in school until they obtained a rudimentary education and some trades. The Oblates used this policy to their advantage and claimed that children should not be educated more than two grades beyond the school ing of their parents. Because parents received no formal schooling, their children would be kept in grade two until they were released. Very little progress was made in the next 50 years to ensure relevant curriculum.
Within a few years, as part of the residential school’s assimilation agenda, an English-only rule was imposed. Rigid measures prohibited pupils from speaking their mother tongue. A school inspector in 1945 described the curriculum materials as “foreign to the children’s experience and meaningless to them.” The inappropriate EuroCanadian curriculum being used combined with the government and church’s attitude was detrimental to Secwépemc and language.
The church and government wanted to keep as much control as possible. In order to do that, every day was almost the same. The schedule below was what most residential schools used. The scheduled may have started earlier in some schools.
| 7:00 AM | Wake up. Dormitory room unlocked. Wash and dress. |
| 7:30 AM | Bell rings. March downstairs to dining room for breakfast. |
| 8:00 AM | March to Church for prayers. |
| 8:15 AM | March up to dormitory to make beds and do chore assignments. |
| 9:00 AM | Bell rings, go to the classroom for lessons. |
| 10:30 AM | Recess |
| 12:00 PM | Lunch in dining room. |
| 1:00 PM | Work in the fields and gardens. |
| 5:00 PM | Dinner in dining room. |
| 6:00-8:00 PM | Free time, get ready for bed. |
| 8:00 PM | Lights out. |
This schedule was run like a prison. Worse than a prison in a lot of ways. What this schedule doesn’t tell you is what happens when you’re late, when the lights go out, when you try talk to a sibling or opposite sex, and when you sit down for food.
The stories that have been told will break a decent person’s heart. This section is more to tell you about the daily struggles of residential schools.
My mom always said to me, “You have to be strong.” You raise your children to be better than you. You raise them so that when they go off on their own, they are ready to face the world. You have to give everything you have so your children can be self-sufficient when you’re not around.
My mother went to residential school. She knew what was going to happen with me and my children. My father understood too, but he was off working all the time. He came home when he could. It wasn’t enough. I remember always wishing he was home more often. I understood though that he was providing for us the best to his abilities.
My first brush with finding strength was when my first born was almost at the age for residential schools. I didn’t want him to go. I knew what happened there from first-hand experience. I knew the religion. I knew the strappings. I knew the punishments. I knew the schedule. I knew the effects it left with me.
I had two choices. Both were wrong. Neither one should have been a choice. I cannot emphasize that enough!
My first choice was to send my child off to residential school. My second choice was to face jail time for not sending them.
I had many thoughts on going way up in the mountains where no white man could find me. They did not know our trails or our gathering spots. They could search for weeks and not find me. I could camp somewhere different every night. When it came time to come back down though sometime in October or November, they would be waiting for me yet. The white people always came back every few weeks just for this reason. In the end, my kids would forcibly be taken from me. I would then face a fine and go to jail for however long. There was no guarantee that I would make it to jail. Due to the cops or whoever takes me to jail would not be liable for me if I died or went missing.
My grandma’s sister was sent to jail for trying to hide her children. A couple of white men came to take her. However, when my grandma went to visit her, the white man said she never made it there. She died on the way. They didn’t even let the family know. My grandma asked questions but was told she had to leave, or she too would be taken to jail. My grandma asked many times what happened; however, the police and the kidnappers did not say a word what happened. My grandma believed the white men who took her killed her.
After listening to my grandma tell that story, I knew I could die the exact same way if I was taken to jail. I may never make it to jail. I may very well end up being raped, beaten, and/or killed.
There is no choosing a lesser evil. Either choice is evil. God would not ask a person to choose which evil. There was no greater good to sacrifice myself to here. I send my child off to face abuse in many forms. I get sent off to jail with a chance of no return.
My children will go to residential school. I will try to face the consequences of that. First, they will hate me for sending them there. Just as I hated my parents for sending me there. Second, in the face of abuse and discipline, they will take straps to the hand, arm, legs, bum, back, and face. The reasons for these straps range from speaking my language, talking to family, crying, wetting the bed, being late, trying to tell a nun or priest that a grown-up in the school has been abusing them or someone they know, to a plethora of reasons untold or unknown to many children attending residential school. After years of harsh punishment, they will begin to shut down and not cope properly to people trying to be decent to them. They will learn to try hide any good or bad feelings. There is no love in a residential school. I know they will not learn to love someone there. They are only taught the basics of living. They are not taught to be a decent humble person like we are taught in our traditional way of life.
The day they return is a joyous occasion. I shake with nerves and anxiety hoping against hope that they are okay. I fear the worst because I was there. I came home some years to be angry at my mom for making me go to residential school. My mother did not get mad at me for being angry at her. She understood. She empathized with me. I thought she didn’t know what it felt like. I was naïve though. She knew exactly how it felt. She hugged me for a long time. She cuddled me every chance. She held my hand all the time we walked. Every single day I was with her, she told me she cherished me more than anything. I always did this with my children. She helped me decompress from a lifestyle of abuse and discipline to being free and being able to be a person that can feel, think, and exist. I hoped it would give the same feeling to my own children when they returned home.
I find it difficult on a good day to forgive myself for sending them. I wonder every single day if I should just go to jail so they can stay home with someone who loves them unconditionally, provide for them, and help them become decent people. Would my children forgive me for leaving them if I was murdered on the way to jail? For trying to give them a good life.
How can I be certain that my children will have me around and ensure that they become a better person than I am?
I have to be alive. I want them to be alive. I must tell them that I want them to come home at the end of the school year. I must tell them to be good. I must tell them to give no reason for any kind of harsh discipline. I want them to know I want them home but do not try to run away. I do not want them to freeze to death, or worse, be taken by white people and not be returned to me, as my grandma’s sister was not returned. I want to be a good person above all. I want my children to be even more wholesome and humble than myself.
There is no goodness in seeing my children being taken. There is no goodness in me dropping my children off at residential school. There is no goodness in me trying to hide my children from being taken. There is no goodness in me going to jail for trying to be a better parent than any institution can be to my child. I had no choice. I had to be evil. I had to be…any way you look at it.
It was near the end of summer. The days were long, and nights were short. I remember going to bed thinking the next day will be fun because my mom said we were going to clean the horses. I did not know my life would change forever. I went to sleep thinking my world was safe.
I woke up the next day. My mom was already cooking. She asked me to go get water, so I grabbed the water bucket and put it near the door. I put on my shoes and walked out the door with the bucket. My thoughts were mainly on the task at hand. I walked to the creek just down from the house. The creek was maybe 75 ft from the house. It was down a bank about 5 ft high. There was a spot that we made a small standing board to scoop out the water. When I stood on the board, I couldn’t see the front door. With the creek running kind of low I didn’t need to worry about bracing so I don’t fall into the water from the stream speed. I stood on the board and dipped the bucket in. I pulled up hard as I could and put the bucket down in the sand. I stood there a few moments watching the water flow by. There were some birds chirping close by. I could see bugs flying near the water. I stepped off the board and into the sand by the bucket. I grabbed the handle and lifted the bucket. I could usually carry two, but mom already had the other bucket full in the house.
I climbed the bank of the creek to get back to the house and I saw some man standing at the door talking with my mom. She was waving her hand like to stay still. I was confused. So, I stood still then she looked straight at me. The man noticed her looking at something and turned to see what she was looking at. He saw me and my mom immediately ran for me. The man was wearing some kind of white collar. I couldn’t understand what he or my mom was saying at the time because I grew up speaking my own language.
My mom picked me up and said, “I can’t let my baby go to that school.”
The man said, “It’s the law that he has to go. If you don’t let him come with me, I will have to get the police. You will be charged and fined. I know you can’t afford to pay it so you will have to go to jail.”
“He’s too young yet. My husband died from the Spanish flu. I need his help around here.”, said Mom.
“He will get an education if he comes with me. I will teach him to become a strong worker”, he told my mom as he stepped towards me. My mom immediately stepped between the man and me with her arms out. I could barely peek around my mom’s dress to see him at this point. I became anxious and nervous.
The man stopped and said, “Look ma’am, I don’t have a choice here. It is my job to gather all the children around here. I don’t want to report you and get the police involved.” He waited a few seconds. “How about this? I have to go to a few other houses down the road. If you walk him down to the truck, it’s parked by the bridge, you can say goodbye there. If you aren’t there with your son by time I get back, I will get the police to come back with me tonight. You will be taken to jail, and your son will have to come with me because there will be no one to take care of him here, if you’re gone.”
At this point my mom froze. I looked up at her confused. She looked defeated. She put her arms down and knelt down to me.
With tears streaming down her face, she said, “You have to go with this man. He will take you to a place with other kids for you to play with.”
I was happy to hear I could play with other kids. However, I don’t understand why she couldn’t come with me.
She told the man, “I will be there when you return.”
He nodded and walked back down the drive. He turned down the road. After he was out of sight, my mom grabbed my hand and walked me back into the house. She sat me down in a chair as soon as we got into the house.
“Túllsen, I am sorry, but you have to go with the man with the other kids. All the other kids, including Meltík, have to go as well.”, she said.
“But why? How long do I have to go for?”, I asked.
Tears were flowing down. “You have to go for the winter.”
This confused me. I have never been away from my mom more than a night or two when she would go berry picking. It didn’t comprehend what it meant at the time, but I knew it was a long time.
“What do you mean? Winter doesn’t start for a long time.”, I replied.
“I know. It will be a long time. I will come see you as much as I can”, said mom.
She looked away and got up. She wrapped a sandwich for me in a cloth. She put it in my coat pocket then put the coat on me.
“Don’t let anyone see you have this”, said mom.
I was utterly confused. I was trying to wrap my head on how long I wouldn’t be able to see my mom. I loved being around her and helping her. The days were spent doing chore after chore, but it was fun because my mom made me laugh while working. She would explain that my help was needed and if I ever got too tired to tell her. She told stories of how when I got older, I would be able to work more and more because my body would get bigger and I would be able to lift heavier stuff. In my head, I would tell myself that I can’t wait to get bigger so I can be able to help my mom more.
She grabbed her coat and put it on. She grabbed my hand and we started walking down the road. We got to the bridge and there was a huge truck parked there with other kids in it already. I kind of got excited seeing them, but as we got closer, I could tell they all looked scared and looked like they have been crying. I looked up at my mom wondering why they were crying. I could see our neighbors there with their kids. They were a few years older than me. I looked around and seen the man walking towards the truck with six other kids holding hands behind him.
As he reached the truck he said, “Okay everyone, we have to go now. Get up in the back of the truck and we can get going.”
My mom gave me a long tight hug. I still didn’t know what was going on. At this point, I was thinking if these kids are here, I can play with them.
She said, “Túllsen, you have to go. I will visit you often as I can. I love you.”
Before I could say it back, she picked me up and stood me in the back of the big truck. It was so packed there was no room to sit down. I tried to push my way to see my mom but the other kids climbing aboard blocked her from me. By the time the kids stopped moving I could barely see over the heads of the other children. I stood on my tiptoes to see my mom’s head. The truck started to move, and the kids started screaming and crying for their mom and dad. I got so scared I started screaming for my mom.
“Mom!”, I screamed as loud as possible.
The truck was going fast now. I stood on my toes again to see my mom running and waving her hand. I reached up and waved to her as we turned the corner. I couldn’t see her anymore. I have never been more scared in my life. I was screaming for her with the other children calling for their parents. I tried to look around where we were going but the other kids were just too big to see over.
I don’t know how long it was before I stopped screaming. I was still crying from fear. I had exerted a lot of energy screaming for my mom. I was tired and wanted to sit down. I realized that I couldn’t even kneel down because if I tried to move, I would push into another kid. The kid beside me tried to move a little but we were squeezed together too tightly. I had no choice but to stand there. Every bump and turn the truck made barely made us lose our balance because we were so tightly together.
It was late morning when I last saw my mom. It was dusk by the time the truck had stopped. I was exhausted. The man opened his door and said, “We’re here.”
He opened the gate in the back, but no one moved. He had to grab a kid and lift him down from the truck. As each kid got off, I could move a little more. By the time I was pushed to the gate, a woman in a black dress and hood standing there gathering the small kids. The bigger kids stood off to the side. I kept staring at this woman. I have never seen someone with a dress like that. She was talking in English, but I didn’t understand a lot of it. I could make out only a few words here and there. I didn’t trust her or the man. I was looking around where we were. I have never been here in my life. I couldn’t recognize if I was close to home. I was shaking.
The other kids around me looked in the same state as me. They didn’t know anyone. I thought Meltík was supposed to be around. I looked but I couldn’t see him. I wanted to see someone I knew. There was no comfort anywhere around me.
When I didn’t see anyone I knew, I started to look around me and in front of me was the biggest house I have ever seen. I couldn’t tell where the front or the back was. It had windows all over it.
I have never seen a house so big. My house had a bedroom, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a closet. It had a window in each room. This house had a lot of windows. I couldn’t even count that high. The size struck me enough to make me forget how scared I was for a few moments.
When the woman in black grabbed my arm, I was pulled back into the fear. I immediately tried to free myself. I struggled while she pulled me to a line of other kids. She let go as soon as I lined up with them. She walked to the front of the line and we started following her. We walked to the front of the house. It had steps and two doors. It was huge. I got to the door and kids were in line going downstairs. One line was for boys and the other was for girls. As we went downstairs there was a huge room with tables and few other women wearing the black dress. The line for girls went into their own room. I could no longer see what was going on in there. I finally got to through the entrance, then watched in confusion as kids were having their clothes taken off. Then a woman was throwing a powder at them. The women were saying something and all I could make out was “name”. I reached the lady who was taking off clothes. I saw the other kids didn’t fight when they were being undressed so I followed suit. I just let her take my clothes off. When she was done taking all of my clothes off, she pushed me towards the next woman. She was scooping some powder out of a bag, and with no warning, just threw it at me. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was DEET powder. It got into my eyes and it burned. I could feel the powder on my skin and in my hair. My eyes were watering. I couldn’t really see. She pushed me to the woman down the line. This woman handed me some clothes. I could barely see but I could make out that the children were putting on clothes again. I wiped my eyes and put on the clothes I was given. I got dressed then the woman pushed me to another woman standing by some big board. She talked but I could only make out “name”.
I said, “Túllsen.”
She said no and then gave me a board that had a number on it. At the time, I didn’t know what it said. Now I know it said 108. I didn’t know what to do with it. She saw my confusion and reached for it. She put the string around my head and it hung it from my neck.
After all the kids were dressed and had a number around their neck, the women grabbed our arms and pushed us into a line. We started walking up these steps. I haven’t climbed as much steps in my life to this point. We walked up 8 sets of steps. There were beds all over. There was a woman waiting at the door who was handing out thin grey blankets. Every kid grabbed a blanket as they went by. I got mine and she pointed to a bed. After an hour of going to where they were pointing, I went to the bed she pointed at. I looked around and saw kids getting into bed. I got in bed and wrapped myself in this thin blanket. I was glad it was still warm out because this blanket would not keep me warm if it were cold.
The women who were all pushing us to do this and that had now left. One woman remained and went to a different room on the same floor.
I sat up and looked around. The other kids were doing the same. One boy was crying and calling for his mom. I shed a few more tears at this sight but I was cried out and screamed out, meaning I couldn’t cry or scream anymore if I wanted to. I realized I was alone. This will be the first night I slept without my mom or grandparents around.
I have never felt more alone. There were these kids around, but they didn’t offer any type of comfort. I could hear more kids crying. I heard a few of them call for their moms and dads.
I slunk down in my bed. I didn’t know what tomorrow was going to be like. I didn’t know when I was going to see my family again. I felt lost. I felt scared. I felt confused. I felt dread. I felt helpless, complete and utter helplessness. My world did not feel safe at all anymore. I curled up and cried quietly until I finally fell asleep.