(written by )

to say that sleep was a clean rehearsal to death. May her soul rest in peace. I have also realized that death comes to those who fear it, not those who need it. I woke up the following morning lying on a bench in front of someone’s shop right on the streets of Koforidua. Thirst and hunger eluded my mind. I had nothing to do than to continue walking. Blood stains from my menstrual cycle painted my dress. I had no sanitary pad but just a piece of folded fabric. As I wandered the next step to take I heard a call behind; “Kayayo bra ha” meaning head Porter come here. I turned myself and it was a young gentleman. He approached me and wanted to know whether I was a head Porter. I replied yes; but he wasn’t too much convinced looking at my appearance. He asked why I was covered with stains all over. He didn’t even allow me to explain myself; immediately he called a lady who was standing right behind him to take me to her house. She took me home, bathed for me, clothed me and finally, fed me.

but wandered why I had those favours. Auntie Jackie drove me to a big Church compound where I met the very young gentleman who asked Auntie Jackie to take me home. He turned to me and said: “you look good, Adobea.” I was then taken to a big hall where I met other unfortunate street children. Auntie Jackie immediately gave me a placard with the inscription: “I need a home. I am a Street Child.” I got confused but she told me not to worry and that we were going to march on the streets of Koforidua to solicit for funds to help the street child. We were arranged in queues. All the other kids had placards with different inscriptions denoting the suffering of the street child. I followed them like a zombie. Cameras were all over; taking pictures of every move. The sun didn’t spare our effort. I had to work for the favours done me. The other kids were happy but I wandered. At age eleven I had gone through enough to know that not all favours were for free. Life with Uncle Jake taught me a bitter lesson. The street walk was over and all the supposed street children all convened at the Jubilee Park. We were refreshed and asked to go back home. I mean back to the streets because we had no home. All these demonstration of gestures were simply for the cameras. Oh heavens! Please come to our aid. I understood why our forefathers sold us into slavery; greed.

heart broken. To them, it was betrayal; but to me it was mere drama. I had nowhere to go yet I moved out of the place with one life left. I sat at the bus stop in front of the Jubilee Park and silently thought about my life. I had every good reason to say God had forsaken me; but deep within my soul I knew it was my life test. At this stage I knew there was no way I would ever pass. Again, suicide was the only best option. As I buried myself in deep thought, I heard a sharp tap on my shoulder. I turned and it was this blind man begging for arms. I had not eaten that afternoon but I decided to give him my packed food. He looked at me as if he could see. With a soft voice he asked me to follow him. I did with no hesitation as if I had been hypnotized. I followed this blind man and he never missed his steps. I wandered if he was really blind. We walked for fifteen minutes and finally got a house that looked like a haunted one. I wanted to run away but I couldn’t. He asked me to sit down. I didn’t object to it. He went inside and brought out a jute - woven bag. He handed it over to me and said, “Go”. I told him I had nowhere to go. He insisted, and asked me to open the bag. I did open and goodness! I saw money in bundles; real money. I shivered and cried like a baby. I lifted my head up and I saw him walk away. I hurriedly left the place.

I and was so excited. I had money but where do I start from. I was too young to handle such money. I needed an older and trusted person to lead me. The root of all evil might not be money after all, but poverty. I protected the bag with my life and went to the Jubilee Park to look for Auntie Jackie. She was happy to see me again. I called her aside, showed her the money, told her the story and asked her to protect me. She was such a kind fellow. She promised to take me home. She asked me to wait for her at the bus stop. I was just excited. I sat there for almost twenty minutes and two heavy body-built men came to sit beside me. One lifted his shirt and I saw a gun. He politely said, “Give me the bag.” I had no time to think. Gently, I did just that. They thanked me and left. In some few seconds Auntie Jackie arrived. I told her what had happened and she got angry; why I had been so careless. I wept as she spoke. She held my hands and said, “Adobea, I will help you.” She took me back to the Jubilee Park and we met one Mr. Hackman. He was a bearded old man. Auntie Jackie told him my story and he promised to help me. “You are lucky, Adobea. I am taking you to Burkina Faso. You are going to be rich very soon. I have limited seats and people are paying for them. Auntie Jackie is a good friend so I will let you in for free. We are leaving early tomorrow morning. Auntie Jackie will bring you to my end this evening.” Mr. Hackman ended and I felt confused than happy. Hours ago I had money and now back to poverty, starting all over again. I pondered endlessly.

I got Mr. Hackman’s house. I saw other innocent girls whose destinies were tied to Mr. Hackman. They were happy but ignorant. Life has taught me not to trust anyone but I had no option. It was early morning and we were all set to go. Names were mentioned but my name wasn’t part. Mr. Hackman pulled aside and said he was sorry; the vacancies were filled up. I begged him. He agreed but asked me to follow him to his bedroom. I had no choice …