My name is Eumelia. I am now seventy-three years old, but what feels like yesterday I was young, just like you. I loved art, canoeing, and anything outdoors. But, most importantly I loved spending time with my family! I was an only child, and had two incredible parents. I also lived with my grandmother, grandfather and Aunt Nadie and Uncle Askook.

Many, many, summers ago, when I was just a young girl, my parents got a knock at the door by someone who wanted to take me away and bring me to a residential school. I was trying to listen to the conversation from the other room, but it was very hard to hear. I heard footsteps towards me, and I ran as fast as I could to hide so that they wouldn’t take me.

This tall man with grey hair found me hiding behind my bedroom door, I was so scared! I didn’t want to go and my parents didn’t want me to leave either, but we had no choice. It was the law. I had to leave everything I knew behind, and I had no idea what to expect.

I was tossed into a cattle truck, and we headed to the school. A couple of hours passed, and we finally arrived at the residential school. I was so overwhelmed with everything, I couldn’t determine exactly what I was feeling, or what I was supposed to be acting like. I walked into a room filled with other kids who didn’t look very happy.

Since I didn’t know anyone, I thought I would tell a couple of the girls a little bit about me.I told them all about my culture, how I like to dress, my favourite hobbies, and of course about my awesome family back home! Unfortunately, that didn’t go so well. The teacher overheard, and told me to forget about all of the things I had just talked about and to get rid of it forever.

She made me get rid of my clothes and handed me another outfit to wear. She got scissors out and chopped my hair off. She told me that this was how I was going to dress and look from now on. She never wanted me to speak about my culture ever again. I was feeling very down. I was so discouraged that they wanted me to lose touch with who I was, my family, and my culture. I felt worthless.

It was time for dinner, and the food was absolutely horrible. The meal was so small and I was still so hungry! They showed us where we were going to be sleeping and it was in a very tight fitting room with beds lined up row by row. They told us that is we didn’t pray every night before we went to bed, there would be a punishment. I had a very bad feeling about this school.

I was feeling very lonely so I tried talking to other kids but they wouldn’t talk to me and kept looking at me strangely. It made me very upset that I couldn’t even make one friend at this school. Everyone seemed so sad, there were no smiles or laughter. Many kids were very sick and no one seemed to care about them.

The next day, we sat down and the teacher gave us some work to do. I finished very quickly just so that  I could have some time to draw. I have always loved art, it is very important in my culture, and it makes me feel connected. My teacher was walking around and saw my drawing, and yelled at me. She said my drawing was horrible, and useless, and then crumpled it and threw it in the garbage. That moment, and how I felt in it, is something I will never forget.

It was only the second day, and all I wanted to do was go home and be with my family again. I felt trapped at this residential school. I had made no friends, and no one seemed to care about me. I just wanted to be in the arms of my parents. I had never felt so alone.