Voices of Survivors: Real Life Stories by Adults in the Dream On Program
Kofi’s Journey
I had a loving mother and father and a stable home life only until the young age of four. From the day my father died, I have suffered one tragedy after another.
My father had a good job and when he passed away his pension was given to my mother. It was the only money we had, but it would be enough to last us some time. Soon after my father’s passing, one of his friends began to pursue my mother. Once he became her boyfriend, he was referred to as my stepfather though they never married. In my mind, I only called him “The Man.”
In only a few months, my mother died of a mysterious illness. I was young and didn’t understand much about what was happening. I only knew that I missed my parents and found myself living with The Man who thought of me as a burden.
It was that day when I was told that my mother did not die of a disease and learned the horrible truth of how she came to pass.
The Man spent all of my mother and father’s money on himself and his own children. Instead of sending me to a good school, he sent me to a volunteer-run free school. He forced me to work hard, clean the house, and run errands. Sometimes, I would be given only one meal per day. My stepfather hated me and made it clear to me.
If I asked The Man anything about my mother or father, he would not answer. He warned me to stay away from the women in the compound where we lived and said they were witches. For many years, I did stay away; however, one day I talked with a woman who helped me to understand why I was forbidden to talk with any of the neighbors.
It was that day when I was told that my mother did not die of a disease and learned how she came to pass. It was believed that she had been poisoned and that it was my stepfather who had done it to steal my father’s money. Looking into The Man’s face and sleeping under the same roof with him after hearing the truth of my mother’s death was agonizing.
The free school attracted many volunteers from all over the world. It was where I met Jennifer, the president of Dream On. She and her husband were adopting two of my closest friends, Koku and Mensah.
I also met other families who were adopting children who were attending the free school. One of the children being adopted was a neighbor girl about 3 years old named Ama. She was frightened of white people so the adoptive mother, Susan, asked if I would be close by to help calm Ama.
I was invited to dinner every night and spent time playing in the hotel room where Ama slept with the American woman. I filled my belly with chicken and jollof rice every night. Susan had brought many clothes and toys with her.
She reached into her bags and pulled out new clothes and toys for me. I was very excited by all the love this woman was showing me. I believed that if I was a very good boy then maybe she would love me enough to take me to America with Ama. I had helped to calm Ama down and now it seemed she was not so afraid of Susan. I had done a good job. I had proven to be valuable.
One night after dinner, Susan told me it was her last night in town. Early the next morning, she would be leaving for Accra to go the airport with Ama. She sent me home that night. I felt a heaviness in my heart.
At home, I could feel the hatred from The Man. I had to try one more time to escape from him and see if Susan would accept me as her son. My six year-old legs ran as fast as they could into town. I knocked on Susan’s hotel room door and when she opened the door, I smiled hopefully at her.
I said, “Auntie Susan, I am ready to go to America with you.” Susan’s face fell into a frown as she leaned over to explain that she had only adopted Ama and she could not take me to America. I walked slowly home, crying the whole way.
A few months passed and I had fallen back into my routine of going to the free school and going home to be a slave for The Man until the day I was told I was going away. Uncertain about what was happening, I was put into a car and the driver took me a long distance.
After several hours, we stopped in Accra and a woman joined the car. I had never seen her face before, but I know it well now even 11 years later. I was so scared that I studied her face very carefully and put it to my memory.
This woman brought me to a building where I was locked in a room day after day, with only sunlight from the window in the room. I studied the view from that window and memorized the names of the businesses nearby.
The door to the room remained locked at all times except when food was brought in to the children. There were many children in that building. I knew it was an operation of some sort but I didn’t know what fate was intended for me.
After many weeks, the same woman came for me and brought me to another woman. I was told she would be taking care of me. She handed me the phone and said someone wanted to talk to me. On the other end of the line was the American woman, Susan.
She explained that she had gone to the orphanage director and had applied to adopt me but her application was denied. Susan told me that she had found another way to adopt me through another social welfare officer. I became hopeful once again.
Since I was a young child, I did not quite understand all that was happening. I knew that I did not like the woman who brought me to the building that was like a prison. I knew that it was wrong for so many children to be kept in such a horrible place. What I did not know is that Susan and the female social welfare officer had illegally trafficked me and that my stepfather had been paid money for me.
The Man should have been jailed … Instead, the social welfare officer punished me.
I also didn’t know until many years later that Susan wrote about her “adoption” journey on a blog and shared her triumphant story of adopting me with family and friends. I also didn’t know until later that Susan had attempted to bribe my older sister to sign the adoption forms. Even if Susan had good intentions to give me a home, she had illegally bought me from the man who allegedly killed my mother and also paid a social welfare officer who was trafficking many children.
I was also not aware that my sister had been looking for me and sought the help of the police. An article was printed in the paper about my story and because the authorities were searching for me, I was once again put in a car and taken back to my hometown.
I was taken to the social welfare office in my hometown and my stepfather was there waiting for me in the office. I was angry, scared, and confused. The officer talked to my stepfather. The Man should have been jailed for illegally selling me to Americans.
Instead, the social welfare officer punished me. He told me that I had to return to my stepfather’s house and that I was legally bound to him until I was 18 years old. In other words, I was his property, his slave until I turned 18 years of age.
The Man kept abusing me for many years and when I graduated from junior high school, he told me he was finished educating me. His own children continued on with school, but I had to stop. I had earned excellent grades on my national exam and was placed at a very good senior high school. I deserved to go to school.
I lost one year of schooling because The Man refused to send me. I finally found the phone number to contact Jennifer, the woman I met many years ago, who had adopted my good friends. When I called, Jennifer was very happy to hear from me and said she had been searching for me and asking others about me for many years.
Jennifer enrolled me into senior secondary school. On my 18th birthday, I quietly left my hometown without telling The Man. I removed my belongings from his house knowing it would be the last time I would exit the door never to return again. I boarded a bus and headed to the Dream On Residential Home where I joined my new family.
It was there that I enjoyed my very first birthday cake to celebrate my freedom, my new life without The Man. It was there that I could exhale and lay my head down without worry. It is in the Dream On Home that for the first time since I was four years old that I feel human, I feel loved.
I will soon be graduating from senior secondary school. I feel hopeful about my future. It is an unusual feeling for me but one that I will hold onto forever.
Dream On International is a 501(c)3 nonprofit organization in the United States that facilitates rehabilitative care for children in Ghana who have been rescued from human trafficking, sexual violence, and child labor. Kofi is one of many children who has been rescued by a system that is rife with corruption and severely lacking in resources to adequately protect children who are victims of abuse in the home or have become victims of human trafficking. To support children in our program, kindly go to dreamon.org.
