L'INTERVIEWEUR: Pourriez-vous dire et épeler votre nom, s'il vous plaît.
MARY BATTAJA: Mary Battaja, pas de deuxième prénom. Mary Battaja.
Q. And that’s Reverend?
A. Um-hmm.
Q. Dans quel pensionnat êtes-vous allé?
Pensionnat indien A. Chooutla, à Carcross.
Q. Quelles années y êtes-vous?
R. Je crois que c'était de 1954 à 1958.
Q. Quel âge aviez-vous lorsque vous avez commencé?
R. Environ 8 ans.
Q. Vous souvenez-vous de la vie avant de vous y rendre? Pouvez-vous en parler un peu?
A. Yes. I was born and raised by my traditional parents, and my community people are very traditional, where we spoke the language and hunted, fished, trapped and lived 3 miles down the Spirit River, 3 miles from Mayo Town. We were located there in a small village where our people didn’t even speak the English language.
I believe the Anglican Church brought teachers to our village for Grades 1, 2 and 3. I still remember their names: Lillian Conner (sp?), Cindy Dougall (sp?) and Mr. Brownlee (sp?). We had school in the church for the children and we really liked it. We really liked the teachers and the children just loved going to school and going to the teacher’s house.
Then for some reason the government —
Je me souviens avoir parlé à mes parents, et je me souviens aussi, l'agent des Indiens à l'époque, comme on les appelait, un homme est descendu et a dit aux gens du village qu'ils devaient quitter le village aujourd'hui. Il y avait donc beaucoup de sentiments mitigés de tristesse et on pouvait entendre les gens pleurer et les enfants pleurer et les gens emballer leurs effets personnels comme de la nourriture et des couvertures. Vous ne pouvez prendre que ce dont vous aviez besoin car vous deviez porter ces 3 miles en remontant le sentier menant à la ville.
Once we moved to town, you could hear walking up the back route there, it’s a Cat road, you can hear people crying. It’s kind of like being sent away from your home. That was our home. My dad built the cabin and when we got to town we had no place to go. There were no homes to go to because it’s not like today where people have homes and Indian Affairs gave people houses.
Alors mon père est allé voir le commerçant qui possédait un magasin et a conclu un accord avec lui pour couper du bois pour qu'il puisse obtenir des tentes, alors il a obtenu 2 tentes. Il les a installés tout au long des saisons, comme les 4 saisons où nous avons vécu dans des tentes toute l'année. Je pense que nous avons vécu là-bas environ 4 ou 5 ans avant de louer notre première maison à ce vieil homme blanc qui nous l'a louée pour $15 par mois. À cette époque, mon père ne fabriquait que $13 vendredi en déchargeant des camions de fret parce qu'il n'y avait pas non plus d'emplois. Quand nous avons dû payer notre loyer à ce vieil homme blanc, nous avons pensé qu'il nous prenait vraiment notre argent. C'était beaucoup d'argent.
La vie était vraiment belle pour nous avant le pensionnat. Les gens étaient proches et s'entraidaient et vivaient de la terre. Ils savaient tout sur la terre et c'étaient des gens très forts. Ce sont des survivants, vous savez, même pendant les hivers rigoureux. Ils savaient ce qu'ils devaient faire pour survivre et vivre sur la terre. Ils enseignent à leurs enfants à un très jeune âge. Dans l'ancien temps, les tantes devaient enseigner aux filles et les oncles étaient chargés d'enseigner aux garçons, et ils avaient donc un système, leur méthode traditionnelle, qui fonctionnait vraiment pour eux. Ils ont pratiqué cela jusqu'à ce que les Blancs arrivent dans ce pays.
I remember when we moved to town we didn’t even speak the English language, but we spoke our own Northern Tutchone language. It was really hard. So we used to go into the stores and restaurant, and even though you didn’t have money you sat there and listened to the White people talking and ordering their food. So we would listen really hard and when we went home we copied them, as kids, you know. So that’s how we learned.
At that time I believe the Native kids weren’t allowed to go to the public school system, so that’s when they sent us off to the Residential School. Going off to the Residential School, I remember that, too, the first day we went.
Q. Pouvez-vous en parler un peu?
R. Je me souviens que ma mère et mon père nous ont dit que le gouvernement avait dit que nous devions aller à l'école et nous emmener loin de chez nous. Ils nous ont préparés à partir et je me souviens que nous avons quitté la maison, qui était Mayo, le 6 septembre, nous partions, puis nous revenions le 28 juin.
How we traveled to school from Mayo to Carcross was on Gordon Yardley’s big old horse truck which had just wooden railings around and a canvas over it. There was a little stepladder that we climbed up and we took our belongings with us in a little bag as we went along. I remember my mom would curl our hair and dress us up.
Nous allions chercher des enfants en cours de route.
— Speaker overcome with emotion
— A Short Pause
Then we went to Stewart, Pelley – at that time it was called Saw Creek – Carmacks, Whitehorse, and some of the kids from Haines Junction met us here. Then we went on to Carcross and we would arrive there about 7 at night. As soon as we got there they assigned us to supervisors. They assigned us our number. My number was fifty, and that’s how they identify you.
The first thing they did was take the children and divide us into Juniors, Intermediates and Seniors, so you were separated right away from your siblings or your older sisters and brothers. I had 2 other sisters who went to school and we had a little brother. He’s almost the same age as me. When we got to school they separated the kids.
Then they would give you your clothing, a nightgown, and a uniform and you would go off to the showers. At that time I remember rows of sinks in the bathroom and there was kerosene oil in them and you had to put your head in there to clean your head in case children had lice, I suppose. But we knew that we came from a very clean home and it was very hard for us to do this. But if you didn’t do it, you would be punished, you know, so it was not easy.
Pas de bons souvenirs.
Q. Et la nourriture? Comment était-ce?
A. We got breakfast, lunch and supper. It was very basic food. I remember if we got eggs it would be at Easter time and they were cooked in a big pan and just sliced in squares. A lot of time we had porridge, liver —
Surprisingly, I still like to eat these foods because they keep telling me it’s good for me!
Les enfants avaient des tâches ménagères dans la cuisine, et quand nous prenions le dessert, nous avions généralement des pruneaux, des figues ou des trucs comme ça, et il fallait compter 3 par enfant. Je me souviens que s'il en manquait, nous nous lèverions le temps qu'il fallait à quelqu'un pour avouer avoir mangé le fruit qui était censé aller aux enfants.
Q. Avez-vous travaillé dans la cuisine? C'était une de vos tâches?
A. Ouais.
Q. Quelles étaient les autres tâches que vous deviez faire?
A. We were assigned to different work, like cleaning the Dormitories, Play Rooms, Washrooms, cleaning the institution, the whole building. The best place to work we thought was working in the Staff Dining Room because they got the best food, and we managed to get some of that sometimes. I won’t tell you how we got it. But just don’t get caught!
Q. Are you sure you don’t want to tell us?
A. Well, they always had side tables with all this food that we don’t get, so there’s always 2 kids assigned to clean the Staff Dining Room, so we would help ourselves with a little dish and they had the side table with a long tablecloth and you would go underneath it and have a good little feast while the other kid is on the watch, and we would take turns. That way you can go back and tell your friends that you had a good meal.
Today I think to myself, children deserve all good things and we know that was stealing. Our parents always would teach us it is wrong to steal. It’s always good to ask. So we learned to do things that were not good.
Q. Qu'en est-il de l'éducation que vous avez reçue? Pensez-vous que vous y avez eu une bonne éducation?
A. You had no choice. When you went into the classroom you can’t talk, you can’t turn, you just get into your seat. Everything is timed and you have to have your assignments done. One of the things we were always so proud of was how well we did in our class because of the strict discipline. I believe the kids got really good grades. We used to be so proud of that.
But at the same time the teachers, some of the teachers were not always good to the children. I remember if I got into trouble the teacher would throw chalk at you, or strap you, and if you as much as turn around or whisper to another child you would get sent to the principal’s office and you could be sure at the end of the day you will get a strap. That happened quite often.
But for myself in some ways I’m grateful that I had the opportunity to have the education, but when I learned that there was so much abuse in the system, I asked myself, “Is any education worth it if you are going to abuse children to learn?”
J'ai appris de mes parents traditionnels que l'apprentissage est une bonne chose pour un enfant et qu'il doit être heureux et qu'il doit être capable de faire des erreurs, de ne pas être abusé et d'être puni. J'ai toujours pensé que c'était triste, combien d'enfants ont dû traverser ça.
Today there are still a lot of First Nations students who don’t like school and don’t want to get educated because I don’t think very much has changed. I always believe all children should be treated in a manner that they should come to love, and receive an education and everything that comes with it.
Q. Y a-t-il des souvenirs de l'école qui se démarquent vraiment que vous aimeriez partager avec nous aujourd'hui?
A. One of the things that I really find was sad was we weren’t allowed to talk our language. Today I speak my language very fluently. We weren’t allowed to speak with our brothers. They were separated from us. But some of us used to go in the bush and speak our language and meet up with our brothers, as long as you don’t get caught.
I don’t know why we had to be punished for speaking our language and keeping our traditional ways because that’s our identity. I don’t know if it was reversed, if I went to the teachers and said that they can’t speak English, you can’t eat your traditional food, you can’t wear your traditional clothing, I don’t know if they would like that, or if they would be able to live with that.
Also, when we used to write letters once a month to our parents, they would give us a sheet of paper, a stamp and an envelope, if they didn’t like one thing you said in the letter it went in the garbage can. I remember to this day my classmate, a boy, wrote home to his parents and he asked his parents to send him some dry fish and some dry meat because he missed his traditional food. And the teacher made fun of that. He said, “How can you eat that?” “It would smell up the place.”
I could see tears in the boy’s eyes. We understand where this child was coming from. You don’t make fun of them, so we supported each other like that because we knew better, how our ancestors had taught us.
Then when we received mail or parcels from our home, it was always first read by the principal and a supervisor, and if they didn’t like what was in that letter we never received it. I remember my mom and dad sent me a brown plaid dress. It was size sixteen. It still had a price tag on it, $13-something. And they showed it to me but I never wore it because I never saw it again. I suppose it got thrown out, you know.
My little brother – he’s not my brother by birth to my mother – but my aunt, when she gave birth to my little brother John, she died, so my mother and father just took him and raised him. So he is our brother. So we raised him up and he went off to school with us, too. One day I didn’t see him in class, or the next day, so I talked to my sister and we started asking where is he. And then the supervisor finally told us that he was sick in the Infirmary.
Nous avons demandé à le voir, puis nous avons dû demander combien de fois avant que l'infirmière ne nous autorise à lui rendre visite pendant quelques minutes. C'était la dernière fois que nous l'avons vu parce qu'ils l'ont envoyé, je crois, à Edmonton et il est mort là-bas. Nous ne l'avons jamais revu.
Q. Savez-vous de quoi il est mort?
— Speaker overcome with emotion
Q. Avant de passer à autre chose et de parler de la vie après les pensionnats indiens, vous avez quelques notes avec vous. Souhaitez-vous les regarder pendant une minute pour voir s'il y a autre chose que vous souhaitez partager?
R. Oui.
Q. D'accord. Prenez un moment et regardez vos notes pour voir s'il y a autre chose que vous aimeriez dire.
Q. Prenez votre temps. Est-ce que ça va?
A. Ouais.
— A Short Pause
A. I just need to get rid of this stuff, I think. It’s been a long time.
Q. Est-ce la première fois que vous partagez certaines de ces choses?
R. À peu près, oui.
Just about the spiritual part. When we were in the school First Nations people were always spiritual people. In the Western way I suppose they identify that as religion. It was never a form of religion to us. It’s a way of life, and the land and everything on it.
En ces temps-là, étant enfant, je me souviens du ministre et des gens partout où ils allaient, ils avaient des temps de prière, tout ce dont ils avaient besoin, cela faisait partie de leur vie quotidienne. Mais une fois que nous étions à l'école, quand nous nous levions le matin, nous priions, toute l'école. Nous partions à nos corvées, puis au petit déjeuner nous prions à nouveau avant le petit déjeuner, puis après le petit déjeuner, après tous les repas. Ensuite, nous partons à la chapelle avant les cours et nous avons une autre séance de prière. Ensuite, nous allons en classe et avant le début du cours, nous aurions une autre prière.
Après l'école, nous allons souper et avant le souper, nous prions à nouveau et après le souper. Ensuite, la nuit, nous allons à la chapelle pour les prières, puis le soir avant le coucher, nous avons de nouveau des prières. Nous avons commencé notre journée, chaque jour était comme ça.
I remember some kids, I guess it was too much for them, and then on Sunday we had services at least about 2 or 3 times a day. Everything you did was not by choice. I love singing. I always did. So my friend and I we joined the choir. But the choir leader didn’t feel we were singing high enough, or something, so he said we couldn’t sing for a period of time, and then we got punished. We didn’t know why.
Then we had bible studies. You had to do all these things. You can’t choose to or not. It’s part of the school.
The children used to sometimes play sick or hide when they didn’t want to attend church, or something. And that’s sad. It’s very different from how we were taught. Like I said, our Old People and my parents are very spiritual people and prayer time is a special time. We loved to come together to pray, sing and worship.
That all changed so a lot of us were turned away from —
Sometimes you would hear students talk about “if God is so good, why are things done this way because it hurts us more than it does us good?” So you just go along with whatever happens or you’ll be punished.
Many times if you’ve had enough and you don’t follow rules, at the end of the day you end up in the principal’s office and be strapped again, but that was worth it to many of us.
My sisters, both of them, they ran away from school, and when they came back they received harsh punishments. I remember my oldest sister – she died 2 years ago – when her and her friend Joan, who I spoke to today, came back, or were brought back to school, they had to dig a ditch from the school to the principal’s house with a shovel. We looked out the window and watched them. Right after that they would just get their meal and straight to bed, for a long time.
We thought it was funny because there was this girl from my home town. She has died now, too. She passed away. We used to call her the Runaway Committee because she was a funny girl. She had this long green coat with a little fur around, and she’s got this notepad and pencil and would say, “Who wants to run away?”, and she would take names down. Some of us, we don’t want to get in trouble, so we would hide from her.
Q. Avez-vous déjà essayé de vous enfuir?
R. Non, j'étais trop jeune et trop effrayé. Et à l'école aussi, vous avez été éloigné de votre communauté et des gens que vous connaissez et mis parmi des étrangers. Je croyais qu'une grande partie du personnel venait d'Angleterre. Ils étaient très étrangers et très différents.
You had to look out for yourself. You don’t know the people so you are always on the defensive, making sure that you take care of yourself.
La plupart des enfants fréquentaient des enfants de leur propre communauté. Parfois, les enfants se mettaient en colère et il y avait des bagarres, il fallait donc toujours être à l'affût pour se sentir en sécurité.
Today, often because I’m an ordained Anglican Priest, people ask me, “After going through all this, why are you a priest?” I said, “Well, I’m a priest who doesn’t abuse children.” “I love children and I love my work and I love helping people.” “That’s who I am.” And my Elders have been my mentors and they said there is a need for people like myself, if you have special gifts you have to use them. So that’s where I seek to work towards being a priest.
Je suis également retourné à l'école et suis devenu travailleur social. J'ai travaillé à l'hôpital, ici à l'hôpital général de Whitehorse pendant de nombreuses années, pour aider les gens. J'ai vraiment apprécié ça.
Q. Trouvez-vous que cela vous aide également?
R. Oh oui, cela m'aide. Les gens m'ont dit que quand j'étais très jeune, j'aimais toujours aider les gens et être avec les gens. J'étais très proche de mes parents et quand nous revenions de l'école, comme je l'ai dit, nous rentrions à la maison le 28 juin. Le camion arriverait à l'école. Les enfants prenaient leurs effets personnels et vous boucliez vos cheveux, enfiliez vos plus beaux vêtements et sur la route vous repartiez.
I remember the first year when we arrived home at Mayo, the truck pulls up on the front street. When we got off the truck we went the long way around to our houses. We were shy with our parents and I don’t know if we even greeted them. We knew that changes had taken place, I suppose.
And then some of us, like for myself, my last year at Residential School I think in 1959 was the first time the government had allowed the public schools to open to the Natives, so we went there. We tried to go to school there again but we had a hard time because there was a lot of racism against Native children and you can’t go to school. We were smart children and we really wanted to get educated and get good jobs. My dream was to be a nurse, but when you’re a child and young, it’s hard to do things if you don’t have the support —
— End of Part 1
At the end they took one of my sisters’ mukluks and threw it away, and I was scared to go home and tell my sister because she would keep asking me to bring back her mukluks. And I never did. So we used to say “I wonder if Residential School wasn’t so bad because at least we were there together and we didn’t have to go through this, too.”
Q. Alors, comment était la vie après les pensionnats indiens? Pensez-vous que vos expériences ont eu un impact sur toute votre vie?
A. When I came home from the Residential School my mom died very shortly after. So I kept going to school, but going through this with my friends we just felt it wasn’t worth it to go through another system that was not going to work for us. We would go to school, but we didn’t go to school.
And then my dad found out. He was very upset. But I told him, “I can’t go to school.” Then he said, “Well, you have to look for a job.” In them days there was always jobs working in the restaurant washing dishes, or in the hospital. So my first job was to work in the restaurant washing dishes.
After that I worked in the hospital washing dishes, so I thought I really had a good job so I didn’t have to go to school.
So I did that for a while and then I met my husband. I got married very young. He’s a wonderful husband. We are still married today, after forty-six years. Leo is a real wonderful man. He came up from Italy looking for a gold mine, working in the mines. That’s where I met him. We had a family and I lived and worked with him in the mines.
Q. Lui avez-vous déjà parlé de vos expériences au pensionnat?
A. Yes, he knows, because there were times when we were first married I wouldn’t sleep in the dark. I always had a light on and he always tried to figure out how that is. I was very private about a lot of things and I would just say “it’s because I’m young”, and then as I got to know him and I trusted him I started talking about my experiences in the Residential School.
He was my main support and he really cared and he’s gentle. He was part of my healing journey, I suppose. And today he still is because today he made supper when I came home. We had roast moose meat and gravy and potatoes. He’s really a good person. When I told him I had to go out again, he said, “Where are you going?” And I said, “Oh, I have to do an interview about Residential School.” He said, “Oh, good.”
Q. Et vos enfants? Leur avez-vous parlé des pensionnats indiens?
R. Comme je l'ai dit, après mon mariage, je suppose que j'étais sur des montagnes russes. J'ai rencontré cet homme merveilleux et ma vie va être belle et belle, alors j'ai en quelque sorte mis fin à toute cette expérience des pensionnats indiens. Une fois que je suis entré sur le marché du travail en travaillant avec d'autres personnes, j'étais tellement occupé à aider les autres et à faire les choses que je voulais faire, je n'ai jamais vraiment eu le temps de faire face à ma propre expérience résidentielle.
When the Residential School issues started to come out, even in the church, because I was a First Nations person I would be the one asked to speak to that, you know. And then when I started reading up on it and going to Conferences —
Comme je l'ai dit, nous avons AISEP (ph.) Qui est les peuples autochtones dans le
L'église anglicane, qui est grande à l'échelle nationale, travaille côte à côte avec les anglicans. Nous venons de nommer un évêque autochtone pour superviser toutes les églises autochtones du Canada.
It’s when I start going to these Conferences that they were doing workshops like we just did today, and that’s when I really started to deal with the Residential School Syndrome. Like I said today, when you hear the stories, people’s horror stories and the hurts and the cries, it just has an impact on you. Pretty soon you kind of get dragged into it with your own stuff and start to trigger some memories and some traumas.
So I thought, “This is not easy”, so you kind of try to avoid it, but then I said to myself, “Why did it take me so long to even talk about it, except to my husband?” I was talking to an Elder and I said that maybe God is giving me this time to have peace and heal until I’m ready. He said that it could be. “But Mary, you need to talk to somebody.”
Je parle donc toujours à mes aînés qui sont mes mentors et des personnes que j'aime vraiment et en qui j'ai confiance.
With my children, you know, you pass on what you learn. You heard the story today —
Jackie told the story about the generations of women cooking chicken who would cut the legs and arms off and put them in the pot. The grandmother did it, the mother, and the daughter, so I suppose that’s how it is with your children. When you have children, you pass on the teachings of what was taught to you because you were told it was the right and good thing to do.
Q. Prenez-vous du temps pour vous maintenant?
R Oui, c'est ma troisième année de congé.
Q. Comment vous sentez-vous?
A. Wonderful. I’m really glad I did. I spend a lot of time with my friends, my family, just doing things for myself. The thing I love doing the best is doing beadwork with my friends. I have wonderful friends and support people who take are of me. My friends will come by and take me for a ride. I don’t even have to drive, and they will take me for lunch. I just sit back. It’s nice that people care about you and do nice things for you.
With my children I was very strict with them. There were rules and you just model things you were taught, not knowing it’s not the way. We should have taught the traditional way, not the government or religion way. So I believe my children have the impact of that, too. So I had to sit down with them and talk to them. They understand.
Q. Est-ce quelque chose que vous avez fait? Leur avez-vous parlé?
A. Yes. And I’m still talking to them. I really love my children. I’m very supportive of them.
My son just had a baby girl, so that’s something to celebrate. She’s a beautiful baby girl. My husband and I are all excited about that. So something good comes out of bad things, I believe. There’s always a new start at the beginning of another day.
I try not to live in the past. I really believe that for myself my past is sort of a blueprint of my hurts and my pains to a brighter and a better future. I use that to make the changes for a better life for myself and whoever I help. But it’s not easy.
This is the first time I actually got to go to a Conference. In the past I’ve been asking around, “what do you do?”, “who do you talk to?”, how to even get information, and I’ve asked this at big GA meetings to my First Nations Band, but I never got an answer.
So I finally got bold enough and told my sister we’re going to this Conference because I’m going to phone the Band Office and tell them to put our name on the list like about a month and a half ahead of time. That’s how I came here.
Q. Etes-vous content d'être venu?
A. Ouais.
Q. Pensez-vous que cela en a valu la peine? Je sais que vous avez dit que c'était difficile, mais vous venez de dire il y a quelques minutes que parfois de bonnes choses viennent de mauvaises. Pensez-vous que dans quelques jours, cela vous a aidé?
A. Oh yes. And I’m going to take it from there. A lot of information they shared with the Elders asking about finances and taxes and all that, and I think those are very important questions that can better one’s life. We can go along every day in our life spending money, but in the end maybe we don’t know what we’re doing. So that kind of information is very useful to First Nations people. Because all my life growing up I know that money has very little value to Indigenous People because people say it is because we never had anything. I say, “How can you say that?” We were very rich. We had healthy food, natural food, we had the whole land. We had spring water. Now everything is contaminated. You go to the store to buy frozen foods. It’s not good for you. We used to grow gardens and store vegetables in the cellar. We didn’t have to go to the bars to be entertained.
Mon père avait une radio et il la passait tous les samedis et nous allions voir la station de musique jig d'Inuvik et nous, les enfants, avions l'habitude de danser et de divertir les aînés. Nous recevions notre friandise et nous allions au lit. Ils continueraient à visiter et à raconter des histoires.
Q. Bons souvenirs.
A. I still have photographs of my father when I was a child about 6 years old. My dad was an amateur photographer. One day when I went back to visit him in Mayo he was tearing them up and throwing them in the garbage. I said to him, “Oh, don’t throw them away.” He said, “They’re old people, just a bunch of ghosts and have no use.” And I said, “Well, can I have them?” So he said, “Yeah.” So I was trying to save an album full.
I got pictures of the way our people lived, how they did potlatches and ceremonies and family photos and burials. So I know the history of my people very well, and I speak my language very well, Northern Tutchone. I’m very fluent. I translate for people. It’s wonderful, but I have a hard time finding anybody to talk to, because people say they forgot how to speak their language.
I often hear people say, “Well, if there’s no money for language or culture, we can’t do it.” I said, “How did the Old People a long time ago speak the language and live traditionally when we had no money?” I think that’s something I always believe in is really belongs to us. It’s our heritage and our identity, and if we really want it, we can do it. We just need to do it. But if we don’t do anything we’re going to lose it. That’s why I keep speaking my language. Sometimes even when I’m home by myself I talk to myself in my language because it’s really easy to forget if you don’t communicate with someone. It’s really funny sometimes when you don’t hear the language being spoken, sometimes it is comical.
Q. That’s good practice.
R. Ouais, ça l'est.
Q. Nous n'avons presque plus de temps. Y a-t-il des derniers mots que vous aimeriez partager?
A. I would just like to say, as an Elder, I would like to encourage the children who went to Residential School and their families to continue to work on this because it’s not going to go away. I’ve said that to the Church, too. When we work together in unity for something that is good, in the end we will find the good.
I would also like to thank all the people who have gathered at this Conference which had also encouraged me and empowered me to continue to do my own healing and hope for the good in the end, and I’m sure it will happen.
Q. Thank you very, very much for coming today and having the courage. I know it was hard, especially at the beginning when you weren’t sure about it. So thank you so much for coming.
Un merci. Il me semble que cette heure est la plus longue période de la semaine pour moi.
— End of Interview
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