I was the last born of seven children on May 15, 1968, in Yokele (kloto) a small village about 120 km north of Lome the capital of Togo, West Africa.

When I was 10 years old, my mother left to join our father who was working in Ghana. My siblings and I were scattered to many tutors.

I joined my first tutor in Kpalime,’ the regional town, where I endured many abuses by my tutor’s wife. Every day I had to do all the house chores before going to school. If I made the slightest mistake, I would be bitten until I had no tears left to cry. I would not be given food for hours.

When classes were dismissed, I was scared to go home because I didn’t know what I would be accused of and the kind of beating I would have to endure.

When my aunt (my father’s sister) heard of my mistreatment, she decided to remove me from that wicked woman. Unfortunately, a year later my aunt would follow her husband to Lome, the capital.

I was left with another tutor as I began secondary school. Every day after classes I had to go with my tutor and work in the field, a one-hour walk away, to weed. Here, too, I had to endure many abuses.

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