Why I'm Here

Written Wednesday, September 6, 2006

When I was in the fourth grade ‘field day’ meant for me a glorious day of sports and no classes (editor’s note: I was also voted captain – the official peak of my popularity). Now, in Ghana, ‘field day’ means a trip to one of the local markets littered with children who call a small space in front of an abandoned stall ‘home’. The only thing congruent with my fourth grade definition is the absence of school.

For my second day of work at Street Girls Aid (S.Aid) I followed Rose, a social worker, to Mallaca, a town just outside Accra. Several football-field sized roofed structures make up the central market in Mallaca. Decrepit wooden stands offering all sorts of curios, food, and services create claustrophobic aisles and the pungent smell of a nearby butcher lingers with you long after you’ve left. There is noticeably more people selling than buying and a white face is somewhat of an oddity here. Immediately after stepping into the market Rose stopped in front of a group of fifteen girls who were sprawled out in a spot long ago abandoned by a vendor. She pointed to a heap of clutter, the only thing distinguishing it from garbage was several white ceramic bowls, and explained that the mass of bags, collectively, was the girls only belongings and its presence was significant because it marked where the girls slept. Anywhere where there was a similar pile marked the sleeping quarter of another group of girls. Rose clearly knew the girls well and introduced me as a friend of hers, theirs, and S.Aid. I smiled and waved at them and their returned smile accentuated the traditional decorative markings that surrounded their eyes and forehead. They managed to reply with a shy hello. Unschooled, none of them spoke English. They ranged in age from infants to twenty – the majority younger than 16. Rose joked with them a bit and then reminded the girls the importance of getting free vaccinations for their children and discussed aids prevention and further child care. As she spoke more and more girls came over to listen. I have to admit I was surprised at how well mannered and friendly all of the girl’s were. They genuinely seemed to appreciate Rose and seemed receptive to her comments.

The girls from Mallaca almost exclusively come from the northern rural regions of Ghana. They all have their unique story but most of them have either been forced by their family to go to Accra to make money, submitted to peer pressure and allowed themselves to believe stories of greener pastures in the capital, or have decided to run away from their planned marriage; a 14 year old can be married off to a forty, fifty, or even eighty year-old. So they run and what waits for them is Mallaca.

The girls form small groups which they almost exclusively eat and sleep among. The groups are formed according to the particular area that they came from in the north. We visited a few more of these groups within the market and then headed out to the surrounding streets where most of the girls sleep. They live outside rain or shine congregating in front of abandoned shops occupying a small slab of concrete between the building and the sewer that runs along the dirt road. To earn money, the girls work as Kayayoo meaning they carry loads in their ceramic bowls atop their head for people for a mere pittance. It is painful to see five-year olds carrying these heavy loads that defy the frailty of their neck. The girl’s almost all complained that there is not enough work for them. The lure of prostitution is always prevalent and indeed, in many other markets that is the main source of income for most street girls. It goes without saying that it is dangerous to live in such a way. The girls are frequent victims of rape and theft. Their children risk exposure and malnutrition. Rose caught one girl eating a stick of clay as a snack and promptly grabbed the stick out of her mouth and warning her not to eat such filth. Even with the seemingly crippling hardships the most common sight is a girl with a pleasant disposition finding a way to enjoy the day with her friends. The resiliency of the human spirit is something to marvel at.

Rose and the other social workers at Street Girls Aid visit Mallaca and half a dozen towns just like it everyday. The towns are unique in that some host mainly boys (for which a sister organization Catholic Action for Street children works with them) or are dominated by street children from a particular region. The social workers educate the girls on healthy living, assist them in any problems that they encounter, and also encourage the girls to come to one of the S.Aid refuges around Accra to live and learn a trade that can enable and empower them to leave the streets. We visited over a dozen groups of girls in three hours, being able to see only a small percentage of the street girls of Mallaca. A sickening feeling boiled inside me as we walked out of town passing all the piles of bags with empty white ceramic bowls callously lying next to them.

400 children come to Accra only to become street children every day.