Hundreds of thousands of Togolese children are used for cheap and often unpaid labour every year human rights organisations estimate. A revolving door has formed of children leaving villages enticed by the promise of cash, and those who return deceived.
Roukeatou Tchadjobo, 16, left her village, Yelivo, in 2000 to work as a domestic worker in Nigeria. She and her mother, Rakiyetou Tchadjobo, told IRIN about the girl’s long road home.
Roukeatou, daughter
“Older girls told me not to go because it was really hard work, but I did not listen to them. I did not have money for school supplies and had dropped out of primary school. A woman [Berekissou] promised my family that she would provide me everything I needed for school if I went with her. Since we did not have money, my family agreed.
“When we approached the Benin border, if police asked me where I was going, sister [not blood relation] Berekissou said to tell them that I was going to Benin to pick up something and would come right back. She had a baby and told me I would live with her and take care of her child.
“But she ended up taking me to the home of another lady who was Nigerian. There was a girl in the house who spoke my language, Kotokoli [spoken by Kotokoli ethnic group in central Togo], who helped translate for me. I woke up every day at 3am to prepare rice by 4am. I swept, washed dishes, bathed the children and took them to school. I worked from 3am to 1am every day.
“If I wanted to eat, it had to come out of my monthly salary. I stole burnt rice if I got really hungry. I never knew how much I earned because I was never paid. Berekissou was given my money. I asked her after two months about my money and she told me she had sent it back to my family.
“I felt better. But then a girl from my village called my family for me and I learned that my family had never received the money. I could not work like that without being paid.
“I was tired but my boss told me I could not go back to Togo. So a girl I knew who lived nearby helped me sneak to a driver’s house one night when my boss was sleeping. I left Nigeria after working there for 10 months. My parents had to pay the driver US$30 when we arrived because I did not have money.
“I am now back in school. I would like to become a teacher.
“After all that, I was never paid.”
Rakiyetou, mother
“When Berekissou approached us, I told her that since I could not afford school supplies, I agreed to let her find work for Roukeatou. I trusted Berekissou who told us she could help. I did not think she might be tricking us.
“If we had not needed the money so badly, I would not have accepted. When the girl called us from Nigeria to ask us if Berekissou had sent us my daughter’s earnings - which we had not received - was the first time I pitied and feared for our daughter. We had no money to send her.
“I regret agreeing to let her go. Now life is even harder for us in 2008 [than in 2000 when her daughter left], but we manage and do what we can to send our children to school. We cut trees from our fields to sell the wood, which earns us up to $40 during the rainy season. If the buyers who come looking for wood have to go to our field [7km from house] to transport the wood, then we earn less.
“We also grow corn, yam, rice, millet and manioc. I pay $20 per year for the older children to go to school and until recently paid $3 for the youngest one [government lifted primary education fees starting 2006 school year].
“By our sweat, we will make it. I want my daughter to be able to read and write. If someone makes us more promises, I am more careful now and will not fall for it again. I see more clearly now. We want to keep our children close even if we suffer and have to eat sand. We will suffer together.”
See IRIN report on silence over trafficking here.
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Roukeatou Tchadjobo, 16, left her village, Yelivo, in 2000 to work as a domestic worker in Nigeria. She and her mother, Rakiyetou Tchadjobo, told IRIN about the girl’s long road home.
Roukeatou, daughter
“Older girls told me not to go because it was really hard work, but I did not listen to them. I did not have money for school supplies and had dropped out of primary school. A woman [Berekissou] promised my family that she would provide me everything I needed for school if I went with her. Since we did not have money, my family agreed.
“When we approached the Benin border, if police asked me where I was going, sister [not blood relation] Berekissou said to tell them that I was going to Benin to pick up something and would come right back. She had a baby and told me I would live with her and take care of her child.
“But she ended up taking me to the home of another lady who was Nigerian. There was a girl in the house who spoke my language, Kotokoli [spoken by Kotokoli ethnic group in central Togo], who helped translate for me. I woke up every day at 3am to prepare rice by 4am. I swept, washed dishes, bathed the children and took them to school. I worked from 3am to 1am every day.
“If I wanted to eat, it had to come out of my monthly salary. I stole burnt rice if I got really hungry. I never knew how much I earned because I was never paid. Berekissou was given my money. I asked her after two months about my money and she told me she had sent it back to my family.
“I felt better. But then a girl from my village called my family for me and I learned that my family had never received the money. I could not work like that without being paid.
“I was tired but my boss told me I could not go back to Togo. So a girl I knew who lived nearby helped me sneak to a driver’s house one night when my boss was sleeping. I left Nigeria after working there for 10 months. My parents had to pay the driver US$30 when we arrived because I did not have money.
“I am now back in school. I would like to become a teacher.
“After all that, I was never paid.”
Rakiyetou, mother
“When Berekissou approached us, I told her that since I could not afford school supplies, I agreed to let her find work for Roukeatou. I trusted Berekissou who told us she could help. I did not think she might be tricking us.
“If we had not needed the money so badly, I would not have accepted. When the girl called us from Nigeria to ask us if Berekissou had sent us my daughter’s earnings - which we had not received - was the first time I pitied and feared for our daughter. We had no money to send her.
“I regret agreeing to let her go. Now life is even harder for us in 2008 [than in 2000 when her daughter left], but we manage and do what we can to send our children to school. We cut trees from our fields to sell the wood, which earns us up to $40 during the rainy season. If the buyers who come looking for wood have to go to our field [7km from house] to transport the wood, then we earn less.
“We also grow corn, yam, rice, millet and manioc. I pay $20 per year for the older children to go to school and until recently paid $3 for the youngest one [government lifted primary education fees starting 2006 school year].
“By our sweat, we will make it. I want my daughter to be able to read and write. If someone makes us more promises, I am more careful now and will not fall for it again. I see more clearly now. We want to keep our children close even if we suffer and have to eat sand. We will suffer together.”
See IRIN report on silence over trafficking here.
pt/np
This article was produced by IRIN News while it was part of the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. Please send queries on copyright or liability to the UN. For more information: https://shop.un.org/rights-permissions
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