Trafficked for a bike

Hada,16, is from the prefecture of Blitta in Togo. He wanted a bike and a radio/cassette player; his family could not afford it so he decided, without telling his parents, to go with traffickers to work in plantations in Benin and Nigeria. There he worked long hours in difficult and hazardous circumstances; sometimes without getting paid and getting beaten.

Hada's story, below, is typical of many boys trafficked each year from Togo 

Hada

“I was 16 when I said to an older friend that I wanted a bike. He told me that for this I would have to go to Benin to work. I knew him well and I trusted him…

“I told my younger brothers that I would go to Benin but did not tell them it was to work for a bike. I left one Tuesday in August…we went in a car and then we had to walk from early morning until late in the evening. In Benin, we worked for two weeks and my friend negotiated the payment and got the money…I wanted to go home to tell my parents why I had left. He told me that if I went home now my parents would not accept me. We were then taken to Nigeria. That took three days in a truck without food. There were soldiers on the road. There were 200 of us. I wanted to go back but I had given my money to the traffickers for the transfer.

“Upon our arrival we searched for the man who spoke Bassar. He found us work in the fields. We worked from 6.00am to 6.00pm. We ate only after we had finished the work. We stayed two years. My friend said we would get the money when we left. He bought a bike and a radio cassette player but he resold them because we had not worked enough – to pay the traffickers for us to get away. We then worked again at Otou for eight months to buy the bikes.

"In Otou we were alone; we even worked at night. When there was no moon, we made a fire with straw. I was afraid. When we did not finish the work assigned during the day, we slept in the fields…

“The boss never came; otherwise we would have asked him for the money. The other one who came used to beat us with a stick. I was sad and felt very lonely. I was thinking about my situation and about papa. I used to cry, and wondered what to do to get back home.

“When we were finally able to buy the bikes, we went by bike into the bush. We were pedalling for three weeks; there were 65 of us. One of us died during the trip; the bike fell on him.

“I left in 1999. I returned in 2002. I regret that I left. When I arrived my father asked; “Who is there?” “It is me, I am ill because of riding too much on the bike.” I kept on dreaming about the kid who died, but this is over now. When I now talk to my friends I tell them to stay here, not to be tempted.

“I have changed. I have learnt many things about myself. I am calmer. Over there, what consumed me most was the wish to go home and what I missed most was my family.”