v oices of child migrants - gov.uk...govinda 23 boureima 26 bakary and other shoe-shiners 30 zuera...

Voices of Child Migrants “A Better Understanding of How Life Is”

Contents 1

Introduction 02Children’s Stories

Ibrahim 04Wahabu 07Sohel 10Faisal 12Habiba 14Emina 17Lamoussa and Solange 20Govinda 23Boureima 26Bakary and other shoe-shiners 30Zuera 33Hawa 36Fatima 40Nataraj 42Umesh 46Samson 49

Conclusion 52Appendix 53

Voices of Child Migrants “A Better Understanding of How Life Is”

AuthorsJohn Anarfi, ISSER, GhanaSaskia Gent, Migration DRC, UKIman Hashim, Migration DRC, UKVegard Iversen, UEA, UKSumaiya Khair, RMMRU, BangladeshStephen Kwankye, RIPS, GhanaCynthia Addoquaye Tagoe, ISSER, GhanaDorte Thorsen, Nordic Africa Institute,

SwedenAnn Whitehead, Migration DRC, UK

Acknowledgements

Photos copyright Dorte Thorsen,2005 and Iman Hashim, 2005

The cover montage has beencreated to portray a range oftypical scenes encounteredduring the research covered inthe report. The photos of WestAfrican children may or may notinclude those whose stories arereported here, as they weretaken during the course of theresearch. However no photoswere available of children fromthe work in India and so wehave chosen an image thatrepresents a typical scene ofchild migrants in order to reflectthe balance of stories told here

The collation of this report wasmade possible by funding fromthe UK’s Department forInternational Development(DFID)

‘...when we walk around in search of customers, we see lots of things that we’d neverseen in the village and we also get a better understanding of how life is. If you’re hungryback home, you can make some tô [millet porridge] but here you’ll need to get out yourmoney, otherwise you won’t eat. In my opinion, this is why migrant life in the city is a wayto mature, because you’ll know that without sweat you can’t eat.’ Bakary, Burkina Faso

2 Introduction

This document is an attempt to imaginatively engagepolicymakers, and others working in relevant fields withthe lives and experiences of independent child migrants.Research carried out by the Development ResearchCentre on Migration, Globalisation and Poverty(Migration DRC) has identified a significant gap betweenhow children see their own experiences of migrationand the way that child migrants are often represented.The important child protection work undertaken withchild migrants in difficult circumstances emphasisestheir vulnerability and often dire situations. Their ageand immaturity is a specific source of vulnerability whichleads to representations of children as the passivevictims of difficult circumstances, including not onlyexploitative employers and middlemen, but alsoparents. Family relations are assumed to be ones inwhich parents are the main decision makers, withchildren compelled or coerced to move away to work byparents who are either portrayed as inadequate, or asfaced with unenviable decisions about their children’swelfare because of poverty. Children are often assumedto be unduly attracted by the ‘bright lights’ of cities orother places and inevitably corrupted if they work inpublic places like markets or streets.The story that has emerged from our research is notonly more complex than this, but the part played bychildren in assessing their own opportunities andresponsibilities within the family, in making decisionsabout their life trajectories and in negotiating difficultcircumstances is much more independent andthoughtful. Here we present accounts from 16 childrenwho were interviewed in the course of the MigrationDRC research so as to highlight what childrenthemselves think and say about their lives. Although wehave provided some commentary on these children’svoices, we have kept it to a minimum. There are manythemes in the stories that readers can pull out forthemselves but we have put them in a sequence whichillustrates the following broad themes:• Children’s aspirations and motivations for migration

and their negotiations with family members to do so • How they migrate, often using kinship and social

networks to find work and provide safety nets

• The difficulties and insecurities of working as childmigrants and the efforts children make to survive andovercome these

• Their own perceptions of the costs and benefits ofmigrating.

The Migration DRC projects have concentrated onchildren who are independent migrants from one part oftheir countries to another. They tend to come from poorareas where there are and have been high rates ofadult migration. They are ‘independent’ in so far as theymove without their parents or guardians. Studies inBangladesh, Burkina Faso, India and Ghanainvestigated their experiences, focusing on how and whythe decision was made to migrate; how they made thejourneys; what were their work experiences and livingconditions, and how migration was linked to schooling.The children’s stories from these studies that arepresented here move from those that show, in a simplerform how children can make decisions for themselvesand their motives for migrating, through others whichshow the influence of gender on children’s experiencesand the variety of links with education. The final storiescontain more nuanced accounts which show howcomplex the influences on the lives of child migrantsare, including the relationships between family andworking lives, and that the choices of work are rarelypurely economic. The independent child migrants in our research are notrefugees and they are not trafficked; only a minority ofthem are street children. Autonomous child migrantslike these constitute by far the most numerous categoryof independent child migrants and there is a generalagreement in the literature that there is a substantialincrease in their numbers. The needs of these childrenmust have a much higher profile in policy discussions.Work at the Migration DRC over the coming 18 monthswill look at how the experiences of independent childmigrants identified in our research can be taken intoaccount to develop policies to positively affect theirlives.

Introduction Voices of Child Migrants

Children’s Stories 3

Children’s Stories

The motives and reasons for children’smigration are complex. They are linkedwith the economic status of the familyand the child’s understanding about thisand influenced by shared cultural andsocial ideas about the kinds of work thatare acceptable for children at differentages and about children’s participation ineconomic activities. The motivation for achild’s migration often includes the child’sown desire to earn an income.

4 Xxxx Children’s Stories

1 Early in 2005 the exchange rate was951 Fcfa to £1.

2 A meal of beans or rice and saucecould be bought for 75-150 Fcfaand it was difficult for anadolescent boy doing physical worknot to spend 250-300 Fcfa on foodper day, that is, 7,500-9,000 Fcfaper month.

I was 14 years at the time and hadfound the job myself. I wanted to

earn some money because back home Ihad to ask my father to buy things for meand he couldn’t buy all the things I’d liketo have. Both my mother and fatherknew that I wanted to find work inTenkodogo and they didn’t mind. At first,I worked in a bar where the owner hadpromised to pay 3,000 Fcfa1 per month,but after two months I still hadn’t beenpaid so I quit the job and found anotherone where I helped grilling meat andreceived 300 Fcfa per day. Even thoughthis adds up to 9,000 Fcfa per monththe wage wasn’t that good because I hadto buy my own food.2 Nevertheless, Imanaged to save up some money whichI asked Larba to keep for me. Larba is adistant uncle of mine and I lived in hiscompound.” Ibrahim laughed and thencontinued: “I shouldn’t have trusted Larba, I’venever seen the money again. Bad luck!But, as a matter of fact, he was alwayskind to me.After that, an older [classificatory] brotherasked me to work for him inOuagadougou, and so I did. But I endedup working 11 months without anypayment. My boss had told me that hewould put aside my wages to help mesave up but the day I wanted to leave, hestarted an argument with me to avoidpaying me. I’d said that I wished to visitmy parents and he’d just shrugged andsaid that it wasn’t his problem, that Icould just get up and leave. My brotherused some of his savings to buy me a

Children’s Stories Ibrahim

Ibrahim, working in a restaurant in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso.Ibrahim was 17 years old when he was interviewed inOuagadougou. Both his parents were living in a compound sharedby his father’s younger brother and his wife and children, and byhis grandmother, in a small village around 120 miles south-east ofthe capital. They were all farmers and return migrants. BothIbrahim’s father and uncle had been migrants to Côte d’Ivoire for13-15 years and his mother had spent almost a decade abroadwith his father. Ibrahim had never been to school. Before he wentto Ouagadougou, he had worked in the rural town, Tenkodogo,about 12 miles from his village.

small portable table from which I soldcigarettes, candies, paper towels andthings like that, but one day when I triedto sell my things in ‘Zone Une’ [aneighbourhood in which many officesand small businesses are locatedinterspersed by the homes of better-offcivil servants], I was robbed of all mymoney by some young kids. Then I triedto stay put, sitting down with my tableoutside a bar but I could sit there theentire afternoon without earning onesingle franc. After two months, I gave upbut was lucky to find this job. Here I get 6,000 Fcfa per month but Ihope my boss will increase my wagebecause I work 7 days a week andusually from when I get up in themorning, that is, from around 6 a.m.until 11 p.m., sometimes even until 3a.m. I sweep the courtyard in themorning and wash the tables and chairs,then I take orders from the customers,serve their drinks and food and clear thetables afterwards. Since I started workinghere five months ago, I haven’t had aday off because there’s nobody to takeover my work. The young woman whoalso works here is the cook and theyouth is still at school. He is the boss’younger brother. In addition to my wage,my boss also buys soap for me and I eathere, so apart from buying a new pair ofsandals, I don’t need money foranything. Which is kind of lucky becauseI haven’t received my wages the pasttwo months. My boss works at thecustoms in Bittou and hasn’t been inOuagadougou for a while, but he came

“


back yesterday. I don’t know whether hewill pay me until I have the money in myhand. He hasn’t paid the cook for sixmonths, perhaps because she is hisgirlfriend.”Eventually, Ibrahim was paid 10,000Fcfa instead of the 12,000 Fcfa thathe ought to have received. About onemonth later, the restaurant closed buthe continued to live in the restaurant.“I’ve been out looking for another job buthaven’t had luck as yet. Since we lastchatted, the boss’ younger brother fellseriously ill and we had to spend much ofthe money in the restaurant to pay forthe hospital. I think we spent about75,000 Fcfa. On top of that, the cookalso took some money and left, but shetook less than 10,000 Fcfa.Nonetheless, with no money in therestaurant it’ll be difficult to reopen,especially because the rent, electricityand water adds up to a lot, so we’rewaiting for the boss to come toOuagadougou.”A few days later, when we againpassed by the restaurant to seeIbrahim, two men were doing up thecourtyard and whitewashing all thewalls. Ibrahim told us:“My boss has paid my wage of 6,000Fcfa for March but he never paid that2,000 Fcfa that he owed me for Januaryand February. He hasn’t got money torestart the restaurant but has turned itover to a relative of his who was born inEurope and is married with a Frenchman.She’s promised that I can stay on andshe’ll increase my wage to 7,500 Fcfa ifthings work out. Right now she’s lookingfor a new cook and she counts onrestarting the restaurant by the end ofthe month.”

With the change of ownership, thingsgot more difficult for Ibrahim.“You know, the former boss’ youngerbrother is giving me troubles: heconstantly talks to the new boss abouthow wicked we are, us, the young Bisa[ethnic group], and that one should payattention when we’re around. Because ofall his talk, the new boss is nowsuspicious of me. The other day he andhis friends sent me out to look forapples and meanwhile stole the freshfish that the cook had purchased. WhenI came back, they accused me of havingstolen the fish to bring them to mypugudba [father’s sister] who lives in‘Zone Une’. I’m afraid that they’ll steal alarge amount of money, call the policeand accuse me of the theft so I’ll beimprisoned. I heard about another joband went to ask them to employ me, butas the boss wanted someone who couldwrite the bills, I had no chance. Rightnow, I’m thinking of taking a break so Ican search for another job but as therestaurant has only just started again,I’m waiting for my wage for April.Please, could you write a letter for me,from my parents? If I can show a letterfrom my parents who ask me to comehome because my mother is ill, I thinkmy boss will pay me for the weeks I’veworked here.”Ibrahim did indeed leave saying hehad to return to his village because hismother was ill. The new boss gave himhis wage and even added 500 Fcfa asa gift. Ibrahim stayed with his pugudbafor a couple of days before starting anew job.

Children’s Stories Ibrahim

6 Children’s Stories


Ibrahim’s story introduces themes whichare found in many of the lives of childrenwho migrate to work. He presented hisfirst decision to work in Tenkodogo as hisown and then subsequently he movedaround seeking jobs and betteropportunities. His efforts to get work, toremain in work, to get his wages and toavoid being cheated or manipulated givesome indication of the vulnerabilities ofyoung migrant workers. They also give astrong sense that they are not passivevictims of circumstances but actively seekout better opportunities.Next, Wahabu’s story shows that manychildren who migrate understand that it isthe poverty of their home circumstancesthat drives them to earn money in thisway; that they must seek to make thebest of these difficult circumstances.


Children’s Stories Wahabu

Wahabu, working on farms in the Ashanti Region in Southern Ghana.

Wahabu was 18 when he was interviewed in a village in the fareast of the Ashanti Region of Ghana. Both his parents were aliveat the time of the interview, and living and farming in their homevillage in the Upper East Region. He had never attended schooland had been a migrant since the age of 14, working always inrural areas in farming.

Wahabu was quite clear about hisreasons for migration:

It was poverty that made me comehere. I wasn’t in school and I was

suffering there so my senior brotherbrought me here. I did not want to come,but poverty forced me out. … No oneinfluenced my decision. I decided myselfto come to see if I could get work tosupport myself. … I discussed this withmy parents and with my senior uncles,and they were all happy and agreed that Ishould come. My brother paid my lorryfare and I travelled here with him. I did not know what work I would bedoing. When I first came my brotherasked me to work for someone, but now Iam working with my brother farming corn;and tomatoes too…. I used to do onionsbut I didn’t get the money [to hire theland] to do that this year. … When I firstcame I stayed one week with my brotherbefore I went to work for an Ashanti man,in a nearby village … For the Ashanti manI was doing the same farming (as I amwith my brother) but also cocoa farming.... He treated me well. I had no problemwith food or where I stayed. … I stayedwith him for one year and at the end ofthe year he paid me ¢250,000.3 I sent¢150,000 to my parents and kept therest to buy my clothes and things. … Thecontract finished and I came back here tomy brother.”When I asked him what his brother waspaying him, Wahabu indicated that themoney his brother gave him was notpayment in the same way.“My brother sometimes gives me¢150,000. … You can say here that thework with my brother is for us. … Isometimes go by-day4 and get ¢10,000.Not frequently, maybe once a week or

every two weeks. … I haven’t saved anymoney. Whatever money I get I divideinto two and send half to those at homeand keep half for myself to buy mythings.”A variety of questions I posed toWahabu regarding his preferred placeof abode indicated that where he wascurrently living was far more conducivean environment but that despite this,overall he would prefer to be at home.“Here I work from six in the morning toabout one or two in the afternoon. …Here it is good because here I am gettingenough food to eat.5 And when I workedfor the other man, I had never [before]had in my hand ¢250,000, so I washappy. … Here you can farm withoutfertilizer and still you will get plenty. I have no problems with food. In Bawku6

you can eat only once or twice a day buthere you will always eat three times. … Ihave no problem with my health, orwhere I stay or the people I stay with. …I am treated the same as the housechildren.My father did not put me in school or putme in handiwork [apprenticeship]. If myfather was able to find work for me or ifour place was like here, where you couldfarm all the time, then I would not havecome.If I get money I will go home for the nextrainy season. … Because of the poverty[up north] I am delaying here. … I preferhome because I left my parents in thehouse. If I were to be there I would workto help [with the farming]. … I havevisited home once since I came. … I would have to discuss it with my brother before I go home because hebrought me here. … I have to tell my

“

3 In Ghana the exchange rateaveraged ¢16,000 to £1 in Mayand June 2004. The dailyminimum wage was raised from¢9,200 to ¢11,200 on 1 April2004.

4 Paid daily labour.

5 Wahabu, like most rural workersgets his meals as part of hisemployment or work within ahousehold. In 2005, the cost of abasic rice or banku bought on thestreet was about ¢1,000 andurban based children normally gotabout ¢2,500 per day for streetmeals.

6 Bawku is the capital of the districtthat Wahabu comes from and alsothe name of the district. Here it isused as a general reference forthe area from which he originates.

8xxx Children’s Stories

Children’s Stories Wahabu

brother anywhere I want to go; if not[then], no, I can’t go. … Because mybrother brought me he has to buy me mylorry fare back. … If I could get the routeI would go home.” On querying Wahabu regarding what“the route” was he explained:

“Enough money! … If I send money homeI will take some and give it to my parentsand the rest I will use to support myself to

do something that will not let me feel thepoverty to influence me to do bad things.[Something] that will keep my heart cooland not influence me to do anything bad.… I am hoping to do farming work and if Iget money I will do business so that it willalso help me. [Business] like onion tradingor any petty, petty business.

If I get money I will send, but if not I willjust take the lorry and go.”



The poverty that Wahabu referred to is notnecessarily the specific poverty of his ownfamily, so much as the general poverty ofthe area (Bawku) he came from, which,throughout the 1990s, had the highestrates of poverty in Ghana. His story showshow he learned from experience what thejob opportunities were for boys like him. He weighed his experience of working oncontract against what farming with an olderbrother offered him when deciding whatwas best for him and what he would preferto do next. Many of the boys working inthis area had one-year contracts of thekind Wahabu had.7 They were paid only atthe end of the year and most stated thatthey preferred this to avoid the temptationof squandering the money; as one boy putit “It is my opinion that it is best that it isnot in my hand because if it is I will misuseit”. In addition to this payment, Wahabuhad his accommodation and his foodprovided. To give an indication of the valueof this payment it is worth noting that abag of millet cost between ¢100,000 and¢120,000 in 2001, and that roughly sevenbags of millet are sufficient for a year for afamily of ten. Reasons for not renewingwith the employer could range from thechild migrants’ dissatisfaction with theirtreatment or pay, or simply because theiremployer no longer required them to work,or a family member required their labour. Wahabu had the great benefit of havingcome to live with a brother, with whom hegot along well. Generally, the child migrantswho appear particularly vulnerable arethose who arrive in the city alone and areunable to link up with kin or other migrantsfrom the area of origin, like Sohel.

7 The practice of one-year contractsthat are paid for at the end of theyear, usually once the harvest ofcocoa, rice or cotton is sold,appears to be common in WestAfrica; children working on cottonfarms in eastern Burkina Faso alsohad these types of contracts (deLange, pers.comm.), as didBurkinabè migrants working oncocoa farms in Côte d’Ivoire.


Children’s Stories Sohel

My father married twice. I amsecond amongst four children from

his first marriage. My father spends allhis earnings on my stepmother and hischildren through her. My mother livesseparately from my father in the samevillage with my brothers and sister. Sheworks part-time as a domestic help inpeople’s homes. She sews clothes onorder the rest of the time. She also runsa small poultry farm. My mother bearsthe sole responsibility of running thefamily. She gets no assistance from myfather.It may seem that my mother earns wellbut in reality she finds it difficult to copewith family conditions. My two brothersgo to school. I want to study, but mymother cannot afford to send me toschool. When I was home I had plenty oftime on my hands. I soon got involvedwith a group of village teenagers whowere engaged in bad activities. Thevillagers repeatedly complained to myparents about my involvement with pettycrimes. My parents punished me for myactions. One day, there was a theft in one of thehouses of the village. Although I was notinvolved in the incident, I was accusedalong with others by the villagers. Ashalish [arbitration] was convened toresolve the matter. My father advised meto leave the village. I agreed to hisproposal. My father gave me somemoney. I headed for Dhaka. My travel to Dhaka was not costly. Iboarded a launch and arrived here. Ispent the first night at the launchterminal at Sadarghat. I moved fromplace to place during the next few days. Islept under the open sky. The littlemoney I had was dwindling. I was

anxiously looking for a job. I soonbecame friends with a group of boys whowere engaged in loading/unloading/bearing goods from trucks for the marketin Kawran Bazaar. I joined them. I received nominal wages for a wholeday’s work. Once I was so hungry that Istole a watermelon while unloading itfrom a supply truck. I ate thatwatermelon all by myself. I can neverforget that experience. After that incidentI began to steal other things to sell anduse the money to buy food.I am now much wiser. I have developed agood understanding of my work. I earnapproximately Taka 60-1008 per day. Isleep during the day as I have to work atnights. I take my meals at the cheapesthotel9 in the bazaar. I try very hard tosave some money for the future. I sendwhatever I save to my mother.My life is not without problems. I amworried every time there is a hartal[general strike]; it means that there willbe no truck to unload on that day. Localhoodlums extort money from usregularly—they do not spare evenchildren when they are collecting tolls. If we put up a resistance we are beatenand tortured and threatened with evictionfrom the area. Despite all these problems I am happywith my life here. I believe that if I cankeep on working and earning at this rate,one day I will be able to study. I hope toeducate my younger brothers and sisterwith my earnings. I don’t mind thesacrifices I will have to make in theprocess. I dream of accumulating enoughcapital for setting up a store when I amolder. I earnestly believe that had I notmigrated when I did, my life would havebeen destroyed. I would have no future.”

Sohel, working in a bazaar in Dhaka, BangladeshSohel, who was 14 years old at the time of the interview, workedin a bazaar [marketplace]. His father earned his living by paintingbill boards and signboards in a village 60 miles from Dhaka. Hismother worked as a part-time domestic help and part-timeseamstress in the same village.

8 The exchange rate at the time ofthe interviews was approximatelytaka 112 to £1.

9 Café, or eating place – see alsofootnote 20.

“


Sohel emerges as a resilient migrant whohas come through difficult experiences.He explained carefully how the fact thathis divorced mother could not afford tosend him to school had turned him intosomething of a miscreant in his homevillage. The threat of community actionled his father to suggest he shouldremove himself and his father paid forhim to travel to Dhaka. He had nocontacts or help from friends, villagers orrelatives. He had to make his own way,sometimes by stealing. He had comethrough this dangerous period and hadfashioned a life for himself on the street,in spite of threats and various dangers.Sohel’s story shows different dimensionsof child migrants’ vulnerability thanIbrahim’s endeavours in Ouagadougou,namely the day-to-day insecurity ofcasual work and of living and working in asetting where theft and extortion arecommon. While Sohel did not dispute theuncertain employment conditions, hepointed to moral misgivings when sayingthat the hoodlums did not even sparechildren. Although he could not doanything against them, he was verypositive about being in the city and on hisown, despite the difficulties and dangers.Faisal, who also worked on the streets inDhaka had become quite tough fromsimilar experiences.



Children’s Stories Faisal

I migrated to the city with a relative.It was a sudden decision, taken on

a whim. I was tired of rural life which wastedious and joyless. When I reachedDhaka I was afraid. I regretted leavinghome. I began to cry and wished to goback. My relative explained that it wasnot possible for her to take me back rightaway or even in the immediate future.She had a job and she could not leave atwill. I was stuck.

At the beginning I stayed with myrelative. Subsequently, I started to roamthe streets. I soon got involved with badactivities. I once wandered into anunknown area in Dhaka where I cameacross a few child sex workers. I joinedthe group and engaged in sex work. I also carried drugs like heroin. Initially, Idid not get any work. I used to steal. I have given up stealing now. I lead arisky life. There is no way I can nowreturn to my parents. So I have decidedto stay on.

I did not complete my primary education.I don’t like studying. I have no interest init. I don’t get enough to eat. The water isnot safe to drink but I have no option.You can see my bones. I am alsosuffering from diseases.

I collect papers, plastics, bottles and rawvegetables from the market to sell. I earnan average of Taka 20-30 per week. Ienjoy my freedom, I like what I do.Currently, I am staying with children likemyself in a shelter provided by an NGOcalled Chinnomul Sishu Kishore Shanstha[CSKS] that works with street children. Iam also receiving vocational training fromanother NGO.

I have had many confrontations with thepolice. I like films. My future goal is tobecome a mastan [muscleman/hoodlum]or a policeman. I have no regrets. I don’tmiss my parents. I can’t tell whether theyare dead or alive. I am not even botheredto find out.”

Faisal, garbage collector in Dhaka, Bangladesh

Faisal, 11 years old, collected rubbish from city garbage spots atthe time when he was interviewed in Dhaka. His father worked asa security guard and his mother as a housewife in a village inMymensingh district. He came from a nuclear family comprising six members.

“



Faisal was one of the few child migrantsamongst all those contacted through ourresearch who had lost contact with hisfamily. For many of the other childmigrants contact with their families backhome was irregular, although they gotessential news through other migrants,and those who could afford to remittedcash or gifts. Faisal did not disclose muchabout his relationship with his family andhis story was full of ambiguities. On theone hand, his reference to his physicalcondition and the risks he incurred showthat he knew he was extremely vulnerableand felt his life was very far from the kindof behaviour that was acceptable in hissociety. On the other hand, there wasbravado in his account and pride in hisindependence, and he asserted that heliked what he was doing.Child migrants find themselves in a rangeof vulnerable situations that are not onlylinked with their working and livingconditions at the destination but also withtheir individual characteristics, inclinationsand choices. The children’s stories showmany gender differences in theexperience of migration, of work and ofworking and living conditions. Gendershapes girls’ experiences when theymigrate to cities and find work in marketsor as traders on the streets.


Children’s Stories Habiba

I came to Accra with my Auntie’s[mother’s sister] daughter and with

my parents’ consent more than a yearago. We came directly to Accra fromWalewale in the Northern Region withthree other girls who are also into thekayayoo business. I developed the desireto come to Accra after observing thosewho have returned to my home town fromAccra. They have nice clothes,straightened hair and a lot of things likeutensils and sewing machines. In our areaalso, when you are getting married andyou have ever been to Accra to work, youare expected to have some things to showlike three sets of utensils and basins. Ifyou don’t have these, you will be alaughing stock. I realised that those whogo to Accra get access to a lot of things,particularly money so I decided to comeso that I can also get these things. Myauntie’s daughter, who had already beento Accra and was back home then, saidshe would bring me here. So with myparents’ consent, I left for Accra with her.They even gave me the money for mytransport. We came directly to Accrawhere we stayed for four months doingkayayoo business and later left for Kumasiwhere we spent about six months sellingiced water for a certain woman. Themoney was not enough so we left forAccra again to do kayayoo which gave usmuch more than selling iced water.My accommodation, it is not comfortableat all. I sleep with about 50 other girls infront of a chain of stores (about five ofthem) near the market. Some of us sleepon mats, others on cardboards and otherssleep on the bare floor with just a piece oftheir cloth. Each person usually pays

¢1000 every evening with the exception ofSunday to the store owner before shecloses the shop and it is in cash. One ofthe older ones among us will collect themoney and hand it over to her. Ouraccommodation arrangement is notcomfortable because we are too many andwe are exposed to many things like thievesand murderers. The other time someonemurdered a kayayoo’s baby when theywere asleep. Some of us thought it wasfor ‘sikadro’11.”Habiba reports: “I eat 3 times a day andthe foods I take are banku,12 tuo zaafi13

and rice. I buy most of the food but I alsocook sometimes. I have some cookingutensils and a coal pot which I use in theevenings when I decide to cook. I have afriend I eat with and she is the only personI will ask for food when I don’t have any.We are from the same place. So when Ihave and she hasn’t got, I give her andwhen she has, she gives me.”She continues: “I bath twice a day andvisit the toilet once a day. I use the publicbathroom and toilet facility which we payfor. It costs me at least ¢250014 a day(¢1000 per bath and ¢500 for toiletfacilities). I also wash everyday using someof the bath water whereas back home it ismore on a weekly basis. I buy soap on myown and use it for the washing. You canalso buy some soap at the bath housebefore you enter.I have been sick only once. I had chickenpox. I went to the polyclinic near themarket and they gave me somemedication and some lotion for my body.Apart from body pains, I sometimes alsoget locked at the waist and have to remain

Habiba a market porter in Accra, Ghana13 year old Habiba was working as a kayayoo10 at the Mallam AttaMarket in Accra in 2004. She came from Tamale in the NorthernRegion of Ghana where she spent her childhood years until shewas ten. She came from a household of seven, with her father asthe head of the household. Other members included her mother,her siblings, one of whom was below 18, and a cousin. She haddropped out of school in primary class four, and when shemigrated to Accra some 13 months earlier, she decided to be akayayoo because this work did not require school exams.

“

10 A term made up of two words,‘Kaya’ and ‘yoo’ originating fromHausa (a foreign dialect) and Ga(a local Ghanaian language forpeople from the Greater AccraRegion) respectively for a femaleporter at lorry parks and marketcentres in the cities. Kayayee isthe plural.

11 Literally translated this means‘medicine money’ and is a termused for a ritual murder for thepurposes of acquiring wealth.

12 A local food made from fermentedcorn dough and moulded in roundor oval shapes. Mostly associatedwith people from the Volta Regionof Ghana, it is eaten all over thecountry.

13 A local food made from milledmillet and a staple for peoplemostly from the northern regionsof Ghana.

14 On average, at the time of theinterviews, the exchange ratewas ¢16,800 to £1.


Children’s Stories Habiba

in that posture for some time beforehaving some relief. As for getting pregnant,I cannot be pregnant now. It is notpossible. I’m too young.” 15

Habiba had developed ways of copingwith some of the risks she faced“Since we are sleeping outside, each of uskeeps either a blade or a small knifeunder the cloth when we are going tosleep which will be used in the event of anattack. Because we sleep outside, I onlykeep small monies on me and save therest with the susu man.16 On a good day, Ican save about ¢20,000 and ¢5,000 ona bad day. I don’t belong to any association but wehave a system of contributing towardssomeone’s need. If for example,somebody is sick and is from myhometown, we’ll all contribute someamount, maybe ¢2,000, to be used tosend the person home. But personally, Ionly have one person I ask for food from,so if for a day or two I have not earnedany income, I will get some food from her.We sometimes eat together so she willgive me and when I also get, I will giveher. As for the one in charge of thebathroom and toilet facilities, he will notallow me to bath if I don’t have the moneyto pay. So I borrow from a friend to repaylater. But now, I don’t have any problemwith food. Initially, I did but not anymore.The main benefit of my move here is themoney I get. But sometimes I get tootired. Feeding initially was a problem forme. Apart from paying for theaccommodation, bath and toilet facilities,we also pay the man who looks after ourwashed clothes, ¢2,000 a month and¢5,000 to the one who looks after oursmall property like clothes and otherthings.Since I left home and came to Accra, Ihave remitted once to my parents. I sent¢400,000 and a set of utensils to mymother and another for myself forsafekeeping till I return. They also sent mesome rice. This is not regular. I send themthings when I have something and I getsomeone who knows them and I trust tosend the things.When you work as a kayayoo sometimesyou get good people. Other times you get

bad people who will not even give youwhat you charge them. I have some goodones though – about ten regularcustomers. I have their phone numbersand so I call and find out their next marketday and what time they would be around. Ithen wait for them. That day, I will not takeanybody’s load till I see them. I’ll wait forthem till they come and I will follow themto do the shopping. Later, I carry all thethings to the vehicle for them and thenthey pay me. Some are very good.Sometimes, when you haven’t evencarried anything for them, they give yousomething. One day, I had a leg injury, oneof my customers gave me ¢150,000 toget treatment. That day, I thanked her verymuch. I couldn’t even finish thanking her.Last Christmas, one of my customers alsogave me a dress and ¢200,000. Thiscustomer has travelled out of the country.I also sometimes allow them to pay melater. You might get someone who wouldsay she has used up all the money to buythings and therefore has not got enoughto pay me. So I allow her to pay on hernext visit to the market.”In response to a question as to whethershe feared that the person would notpay because she may not come to themarket again, she said she did not thinkso.“I sometimes do some house chores likewashing clothes and cleaning utensils andsweeping for other people. Theysometimes pay very well. Even today, I didsome and was paid ¢10,000.As for my plans, I would like to go backwith some things like utensils, pieces ofcloth and basins, about three differentsets, and some money. In fact, I intendgoing very soon. But I’ll come back towork for more money. Life is difficult onthe street but rewarding. I hear some evenbuy cars so if I can work hard and getone, I will do so. I would want to buy a207 [i.e. a mini bus].I think you asked a big question when youwanted to know whether I consider my lifehere better than back home. It is becausethings are difficult at our end. If we getwhat is in Accra at our end, we will stay.”

15 This response may connote hernaivety about her sexuality or aperception of invincibility sharedwith other girls in her age group,10 – 14 years. Habiba in facthad little idea about when andhow she might become pregnant– a particular form of vulnerabilitygiven that she is not in the careof older women.

16 ‘Susu man’ is a person who actsas a local ‘mobile bank’ to whompeople pay daily amounts ofmoney which is paid to theindividual at the end of the monthless a day’s savings ascommission to the susu man.



Habiba is one of a number of NorthernGhanaian girls working in markets inAccra and Kumasi. They do their best toprotect themselves and one anotherthrough a variety of different strategies:not keeping their savings on theirpersons, sleeping in large groups andcoming together to provide financialsupport if one falls ill or simply does notearn sufficient money to eat that day.Their social networks are usually based onhometown relations and as such replicatethe social practices of older migrants.

Whereas Sohel was harassed by thugs inDhaka, one option for girl migrants inAccra is to pay a small sum to the shopowner who allows them to sleep in frontof the shop after working hours. Althoughthe living quarters in the streets areuncomfortable, they are affordable andpreferable to being without protection.

Bad living conditions were not confined towork on the street, however. Also inGhana a teenage girl, Emina, complainedof her accommodation, though what shefelt was most demanding was herworkload. However, like the otherGhanaian girls, her aspirations made herwilling to endure certain hardships.

In Emina’s case, her aspirations were tocontinue her vocational training. The linkbetween children’s work as migrants andformal and vocational education is acomplex one and varies from country tocountry according partly to the generallevel of educational enrolment and partlyto parents’ commitment to sending theirchildren to school.


Children’s Stories Emina

Emina’s reasons for migrating weremixed – she could not progress intailoring in her home community andshe was asked to help her brother.

My father died, leaving me with mysenior brother and mother. My

brother completed [junior secondary]school17 and is now in senior secondaryone and my mother let me join a tailoringapprenticeship. To find money for fees isvery difficult so my mother asked me tocome here to find money. … It was myown decision to come. When I waslearning the work I didn’t have a [sewing]machine so I came for that and to findmoney for my brother’s uniform. If Ididn’t get money to complete thistraining I would be in trouble because Ihaven’t attended school… I bought the lorry fare myself. When I wasworking I used to do some sewing forfriends so they gathered some small,small monies, and from this I bought thelorry fare.”Emina discussed her plans with friendsand family.“Me and my mother decided that Ishould come because there is a lot ofpoverty there. Although some of myfamily agreed for me to come here mysenior uncle didn’t agree because somegirls come south and find work and whenthey get money they don’t go back.…

My senior uncle didn’t agree but I toldhim that if I don’t go I will suffer. [I said]“You can’t get it for me, my mother can’tget it for me, so I have to go; otherwisewhen I marry I will have nothing.” In theend he agreed.A friend of mine influenced me that if Ididn’t find a good place it would be aproblem for me. … [When she came]she came to a relative and they didn’ttake care of her nicely so she had to relyon outsiders. She was helping to preparefood for sale and with fetching water andwashing.”Like others I spoke to Emina hadtravelled first to a relative beforefinding work.“I travelled alone. … When I first came toKumasi I was staying with my aunt for onemonth helping her but then an elder cameand said that there was a Kusasi18 whoneeded someone to work, so I came here.I got here before I knew the work. I amstaying with one woman who is preparingbeaufruits [a kind of doughnut] and I amselling for her in her shop.”At this point Emina began to cry;complaining of tiredness. On trying toestablish what we could do to help sheinformed us that she was planning toleave at the end of that month. “I start work at four in the morning and

Emina, a shopkeeper and domestic worker in Kumasi, GhanaEmina was 17 years old when she was interviewed in Kumasi, alarge city that is the capital of the Asante Region in Central Ghana.She was originally from a small town on the border of Bawku EastDistrict and Bawku West District in the Upper East Region ofGhana, where her mother and brother still resided in thehousehold of a paternal uncle, her father having died a few yearspreviously. She had attended school but dropped out some yearsearlier in primary class four. Recently she had begun a tailoringapprenticeship in a small town close to her village. This was herfirst experience of migration. She had been there only four monthsand was planning to return to her home village at the end of themonth. Emina began to cry at one point during the interview,because she said she was so tired.

“

17 The education system in Ghanaconsists of nine-years of free andcompulsory schooling; six years ofprimary school and three years ofjunior secondary school. Followingthis, students who qualify canproceed into three years of seniorsecondary schools.

18 The ethnic group to which Eminabelongs.


Children’s Stories Emina

close at ten at night. … Early in themorning I will get up and sweep thewhole house and bring out the items,item by item. I will wash the children’sschool uniforms and there is a man whocomes and brings his clothing for me towash. I take out the refuse and fetch thewater. Then when I close the shop I willbring the items back in.They pay me ¢5,000 a day,19 and theynormally give it to me at the end of themonth. So far I have collected twomonths’ money. I used some to buysandals and I used some to buy myclothes. I sent some to my brother athome. One time I sent ¢20,000 andanother time ¢30,000.I have no problem with food, or myhealth or the people I am staying with,but where I am sleeping is notcomfortable because the items they areselling are put in the same place sothere’s not enough room. The people aregood to me.”A variety of comments made by Eminasuggested that while on the whole shepreferred her home environment, theopportunity to earn an income in thesouth in order to pursue her intendedfuture livelihood made future migrationa possibility.

[The woman I am staying with] treats medifferently, because she thinks I amworking for money. She gives me only¢2,500 for food in the morning, and Iwon’t eat until night, but for her ownchildren she will give. … It’s different[here] because at home the yard issmall, but here I have to sweep all. Anywork they have in the house they will askme to do. I work more here … I prefer itat home, because if you are in your ownhouse and you are staying with yourmother you can ask her if you wantsomething, and she can give you if shehas and if she hasn’t it won’t disturb you.But if you are not at home anything youwant you can’t ask; it is only until thatperson thinks and gives.At the end of this month they will giveme ¢150,000 and I also have [saved]¢100,000, so I will cut for my lorry fareand go. … The apprenticeship place hassewing machines where you can buy ininstalments, so I will use this money tostart paying. Also the fee for the mistressis ¢200,000 so I will cut half and giveher, and half will be for the machine.If I could find money to learn my work[training] I would not have come. If Ifinish my apprenticeship I will come backand search for money to open a[tailoring] shop.”

19 The amount Emina is being paidis small by comparison with herrural counterparts who go by-dayand may reflect either the factthat she is from a small townrather than village and thereforeis not as accustomed to farmingwork, or that she prefers theregularity of a monthly wage tothe insecurities of irregular by-daywork.



Emina’s inability to earn the incomenecessary to continue her training in herhometown was a strong motivating factorfor her migration for both herself and hermother. Her uncle’s reservations give anindication of the different constraints girlsand boys face prior to migration.Nevertheless, the way in which Eminanegotiated his consent, by stressing theneed to obtain skills and household goodsthat could enhance her prospects both formarriage and once she had married andthe senior generation’s inability to providethese things for her, shows how Ghanaiangirls navigate such constraints.The educational aspects of migration arenot restricted to migrants’ objectives ofearning money for the fees to pursueformal schooling or vocational training.The two return migrants, Lamoussa andSolange, emphasised a different set ofskills that they had learned through livingaway from their families.


Children’s Stories Lamoussa and Solange

Lamoussa had been in Côte d’Ivoirewith her parents when, at the age ofseven or eight, she began to helpbaby-sit the twins of her father’sbrother’s wife, her na guta [oldermother], who also lived in Côte d’Ivoire.Lamoussa explained:

I helped my na guta with herchildren for two years in Abidjan. As

she’d given birth to twins, I helpedcarrying the children, so she was free tocook. After she’d had another child sheleft for Ghana and I went with her to helplooking after her newborn baby.Sometimes I also did the laundry,collected water at the communal tapnear our house and helped to cook, butmostly I looked after the children. I waswith my na guta for two years in Ghanabut once the children were a bit older,my pugudba [father’s sister] brought meto her house, so I could help her sellfood in a restaurant. I served thecustomers, did the dishes and in themornings I helped cooking. I didn’t get aproper wage but my pugudba alwaysgave me small gifts such as clothes,shoes and all the things I needed. I reallyliked being there, but at one point myfather asked his sister to send me backto Burkina because my family wasmoving back to the village. I was obligedto come back since my father asked meto, otherwise I would have loved to stay!”

Solange, on the other hand, had beenin the village with her parents when herfather fell ill and died. Her mother’syounger sister, her na puure [youngermother], had come from Côte d’Ivoireto visit her mother and had offered totake care of the then 4-5 year-old for acouple of years. Solange talked abouther stay in Côte d’Ivoire as follows:

My na puure brought me to Côted’Ivoire because I was suffering at

home. In the beginning I looked after herbaby and when the child had grown alittle older, I bought cooking oil and soldthat in smaller quantities and I also soldeggs. As I was only small when I went toCôte d’Ivoire, I don’t know exactly howmany years I spent there but I oftenwanted to see my mother again. I cameback home because she had problemswith her foot and could barely get up tocook for my brothers. That’s the reasonwhy I came back. I was happy in Côted’Ivoire but as it was a health problemthat made my mother ask me to return, Ican’t say that I wasn’t happy to return. Ithad become an obligation. Anyway, Iwould have come back sooner or laterbecause I would return to get marriedhere.”

Lamoussa and Solange, reflecting on helping female relativesas foster children

16-year-old Lamoussa and 15-year-old Solange were both returnchild migrants, who had been away in fostering arrangements,though for different reasons. At the time of the interview, whichtook place in their village in south-eastern Burkina Faso, they livedin the same compound with their mothers, Lamoussa’s threeyounger sisters and Solange’s older brother. Lamoussa’s fatherworked in the gold mines in Côte d’Ivoire, her older sister hadmarried and her younger brother was in Côte d’Ivoire with anuncle, while Solange’s father had died seven or eight years earlierand her two oldest brothers were in Côte d’Ivoire. Neither of thegirls had been to school.

“ “


Children’s Stories Lamoussa and Solange

Both of them had been used tohandling money at the time they werewith their classificatory mothers, andthey spoke about the ways in which thethings they had learned could helpthem now and in the future.Lamoussa: “Even though I received thecustomers’ payments when I worked inmy pugudba’s restaurant, it’s a littledifficult for me to start trading herebecause the money is different.”Solange: “For me it’s easier, I stillremember how to calculate and trade.Just after my return I always spokeDioula, but my friends here told me that Ioffended them and often we didn’t getalong well.”Lamoussa: “Well, I didn’t have thatproblem because nobody here spoke thelanguage that I’d learned in Ghana, so Inever spoke that language. I don’tunderstand English because I never wentto school but I learned some Hausa,some Asante and another language.Although none of us have forgotten whatwe’ve learned abroad, our friends no

longer find us strange because we’vealready been back in the village for awhile.”Solange: “I’d love to migrate again and Ithink that if I found someone who wouldoffer to take me along, my mother wouldallow me to leave.”Lamoussa: “I’d love to go to Ghana, toBawku, or even to Bittou [border town inBurkina] because here in the village thesun is too fierce and the Harmattan20

dries out totally one’s skin!”Solange: “Anywhere would be better thanhere!”Lamoussa: “Yes, here, there’s nothing todo. We are pretty bored: the only thingsto do at this time of the year is to go intothe bush to collect wood and to walkdown to the pump to collect water, Idon’t find that interesting.“Solange: “And to trade, we would haveto walk to the market in Cuiella, which isfar [approx 3 miles], so it’s a bitdifficult.”20 A dry, dust-bearing wind that

blows in west Africa, especiallyfrom November to March.



Lamoussa and Solange were too young tohave had much influence on theirmigrations, and had they lived with theirmothers, they would probably have donethe same sorts of domestic work, as theyhave done as foster daughters. It was notthis that was central to how the girlspresented their experiences. They saw thefostering arrangements as a means toobtain skills and status. Not only had theylearned to trade and to trade goods thatwere not sold in the village, they alsoknew other languages and about life atcommon migration destinations. Theirmigration was for them a form ofeducation.The link between education and migrationvaries very much with the context, butmost children spoke about it. Evenchildren who do not migrate specificallyfor reasons related to education may haveeducational dreams for the future, asillustrated by Sohel above. However,formal education could work in other waysto encourage children to migrate,especially where parental aspirations arehigh. In rural Karnataka in India, whererural school enrolment is high and whereparents are committed to sending theirchildren to school, several child migrantsare ‘educational misfits’. Theirunderperformance in school is acontributing factor in their migration, as inthe case below of Govinda.

Xxxx Children’s Stories 23

Children’s Stories Govinda

While in school, I worked as alabourer in local cashew farms

during school holidays. I failed my 7thstandard – I had high hopes of passingand was shattered to receive my results.I felt humiliated and ashamed and didnot want to attend school any more. Mymother insisted that I should continue myeducation but for me it would beembarrassing to sit in a class withyounger students. I also thought that myfriends would taunt me [for sitting withthe younger students]. I told my motherthat I wanted to take up a hotel21 job inMumbai where my elder brother Ramawas already working in a hotel. I spoke tohim over the phone, when he calledmother as part of his weekend routine.He suggested that I work in a hotel nearHalthor for about 4-5 months whileawaiting his next visit to Halthor.Meanwhile, a local hotel owner, aKonkani Brahmin, approached my motherwith a job offer for me, so I joined thishotel in Halthor as a cleaner and startedliving in my workplace. My brother hadworked in the same hotel for nearlyseven years.

After six months, I left this job: the ownerhad promised me a salary increase fromRs 300 to Rs 400 per month22, butdidn’t give it – he also failed to pay mefor two-three months of work. My nextjob was in Shimoga, northeast of Udupi,where I moved to take up a job as anassistant in a hotel after a co-villagerfrom the carpenter caste had approachedmy mother on behalf of a friend, whoowned a hotel in Shimoga.

I worked in Shimoga for six months andwas paid Rs 800 per month and thework was very intensive. Work hours werefrom 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. with a 15 minutelunch break on all seven days of the

week. The working hours in the villagehotel had been shorter, from 6 a.m. to 7p.m., with work being moderatelyintensive. In Shimoga, I fell sick withfever and had to be taken to the localhospital. My employer covered the costs.When the owner closed down the hoteltemporarily because his wife delivered ababy, he paid us one month’s salary. Ileft the job because the work was heavybut also because I didn’t like the food,the employees were always served coldleftovers that had been stored in therefrigerator and the owner would noteven bother to know whether we hadeaten or not. I then returned to Halthor.

My friend’s maternal uncle from aneighbouring village approached mymother at the behest of a friend runninga hotel in Bangalore’s Magadi Road. Mymother agreed and I joined this newworkplace as cleaner come counterassistant for a salary of Rs 1,360 permonth. I left six months later because ofhealth problems [severe and persistentheadache] and after someone had stolenmy clean clothes. The work wasmoderately intensive (10 a.m. to 11p.m.) with a 2 hour afternoon break. Wewere also given a bonus of Rs 200 forDiwali [a festival]. Before leaving, acustomer, a driver from Halthor,suggested I join a dosa stall inVijayanagar, owned by an acquaintance,for a month as an assistant. In this newworkplace, work intensity was very highon all seven days of the week with amonthly salary of Rs 1,000.

Although the employer was willing toextend my contract, I refused to staybecause of the poor pay and because mywork tasks were not clearly defined (I hadto do cleaning, packing, assisting thecook etc). I then approached a cousin

Govinda, working in a bakery in Bangalore, southern India Govinda was 17 years old when he was interviewed in Bangalorewhere he worked as an assistant in a bakery. He had left his homein Halthor village, Udupi district in coastal Karnakata at the age of13. Govinda has three elder sisters and two brothers, one youngerand one older.

“

21 Hotel is the local word for asmall, vegetarian South-Indianeating place; these do not takeovernight guests.

22 In August 2000 the exchange ratewas 68 rupees to £1.


Children’s Stories Govinda

who was working in another hotel in thesame neighbourhood for help. My cousintalked to the hotel owner who, in turn,spoke to his distant relative, running abakery in Maratahalli [Airport Road] andfound me a job as an assistant for asalary of Rs 1200/month. This work isvery intensive, from 7 a.m. to 9.30 p.m.,on all seven days. The owner haspromised me a salary hike.”

Govinda had no plans to return toHalthor – he wanted to settle down inBangalore, work with the sameemployer and save money for starting asmall business enterprise maybe in 2-3years where he could become anemployer.

“I’m in the city to make a living and notto make friends. I don’t keep in regulartouch with other migrants from my native

place. The advantages of life as amigrant include good food, life in the city,increased income, business contacts andthe opportunity to search for alternativeoptions in the future. There are nodisadvantages.

You migrate in search of a good futureand you should always keep that in mind:friendships may even turn out to becounterproductive at workplaces. Eventhough I have a dream of establishing agood hotel in Bangalore in the future, Iwould prefer to start a pan beeda stall[chewing herbs/tobacco] and then thinkof the dream since I believe that evenwhen dreams are big, one must startsmall. You must not try to lie downdirectly when you’re standing – youshould first sit down and then lie on theground.”



Govinda justified why he had wanted toquit school by emphasising his shame atfailing his exams. In spite of his mother’sambitions he managed to get her sanctionto take a job. Like Ibrahim, Wahabu andHabiba, Govinda was keen to earn money.This motivation prompted a search forbetter-paid jobs that reveals the ways inwhich child migrants negotiate wages andworking conditions.Govinda looked at both the salary paid incash and food, expenses for healthcaremet by the employer and bonuses such asgifts at special occasions. Where the levelof the wage in cash and promises offuture pay rises were decisive for hisaccepting a job, the way he felt treated atthe workplace shaped his choice ofremaining in the job. Ibrahim and Wahabuhad made similar trade-offs between thetypes of work that would earn them thebest remuneration and workingconditions, while keeping down theireveryday costs of living.Boureima had similar reflections but, as acontrast to Govinda and Ibrahim, whoseemployment mobility was between small-scale food businesses, and Wahabu, whoremained in the agricultural sector,Boureima tried out different types of work.


Children’s Stories Boureima

I came to Ouagadougou on my ownabout one year ago. Until then I’d

lived with my maternal grandmother andhelped my dayar [mother’s brother]selling clothes in town and in the villagemarkets. I ate with them and he alsogave me some clothes for my work.When I first wanted to go toOuagadougou, my dayar thought it wasbetter if I stayed a little longer beforegoing, so I helped him for a while andthen left.In the beginning I lived with my na puure[mother’s younger sister] in aneighbourhood in central Ouagadougou,where I walked around to sell water. Shesold water in a small shop, but in theevenings I took her place in the shop.Her children are still small, too small towork, so I was the one who worked whileher children went to school. I came toOuagadougou to work but my na puuredidn’t pay me. I didn’t even ask formuch, just that she would buy me someclothes, but she said she had no moneyfor clothes, so for that reason I left herhouse.I went to the Sankariaré Market [one ofthe busiest markets in centralOuagadougou] but the only kind of workthat I could find was to sell iced water: ifyou sell water for 500 Fcfa you’ll earn100 Fcfa. Even though I slept and ate inmy employer’s household, I didn’t evendo this work for one month. In fact, myemployer gave me sufficient food and ifthey didn’t cook, they gave me money to

buy a meal somewhere. I could make3,000 Fcfa or more in one month but Iquit the job because a cousin told methat I could find work here in Zabtengawhere I could earn 6,000 Fcfa per monthfor digging sand and making bricks. HereI also live and eat with my employer.Compared to back home, I find thatthings are a little better, because backhome I lived with my grandmother andwhen I farmed it was for her… What Ifind difficult here, is that my employerasks me to collect four carts of sandevery day; that I find difficult andexhausting. I start between 6 and 7 a.m.and usually I dig enough sand to fill threecarts before midday, then I break duringthe hottest hours of the day and startagain in the afternoon where I’ll fill thelast cart. Usually I have two days off permonth. Anyway, I’d earned 25,000 Fcfaand after having bought a pair oftrousers, I asked my employer to keep15,000 Fcfa in safe for me. Recently, Iwanted to take my money and travelback home with my older brother,because we’d decided to go home tobuild three houses: one for mygrandmother in my mother’s village, onefor my brother’s mother and one forourselves in our own village. But due tothe fact that everything has slowed downthis year [because of a bad harvestcountrywide and subsequently high priceson grains] my employer had used the15,000 Fcfa and asked me to wait untilthe economy picked up again and he

Boureima, a brick-maker in OuagadougouBoureima was 14-15 years old when he was interviewed on theoutskirts of Ouagadougou where he worked for someone whomade bricks. The mainstay of his work was to dig sand in oneplace, load it on a donkey cart and bring it to the place where heand two or three older youths made the bricks. Boureima was anorphan; he had lost his mother when he was only two-three yearsold and his father a few years ago. He had grown up with hismaternal kin some 120 miles south-east of Ouagadougou. He hadnever been to school. During the interview he was about to cryseveral times, especially when he spoke about his parents and alsothe disappointment of having been cheated of his entire savings.

“


Children’s Stories Boureima

could give me my 15,000 Fcfa as well asthe money I earned in the meanwhile.My brother left yesterday while I’ll waituntil I’ve got my money.”Boureima’s grandmother, Boureima’solder brother and Karim, a long-termmigrant to Ouagadougou from hisvillage (and his former employer) werealso interviewed and gave a somewhatdifferent view of his experience ofmigrating and working. Hisgrandmother, for example, explainedthat Boureima had not travelled toOuagadougou on his own:“My daughter, Boureima’s na puure,brought him to Ouagadougou to takesome of the burden off my shoulderssince I was looking after three orphans,and besides she needed someone tohelp her sell cakes. She has no idea asto why he ran off despite the fact thatshe paid his bus fare and took good careof him. In fact, she’s rather angry withhim for having absconded in that way, soif she finds him, she’ll send him backhome!”Karim said that he did not know thatBoureima had been with his mother’ssister before, he only knew that theboy had sold cakes for someone.“One day Boureima’s older brotherbrought the boy to me and explained thatthe boy wanted to work but that he wasstill very young. Nevertheless, I acceptedto take him on and we helped each otherdo the work; he drove the donkey cartand I did the heavy work myself. Aftertwo months, Boureima quit his job withme to work with one of the others in thearea who make bricks. He told hisbrother that he’d quit his job because Italked too much. You know, he’ssomeone who doesn’t like to wash or towash his clothes. If I gave him a shirt, hepreferred to wear it all the time until itliterally fell off his body, so I told him thathe needed to take off the darn thingonce in a while to wash it! Moreover, I’dgiven him a house where he could sleepand invited him to come to my house towatch TV but the boy went to the videoclubs and stayed there until 11-12 p.m. Ididn’t agree to that because he needed

to get up early the next morning to starthis work.After he’d quit his job with me, his newemployer came to ask if I minded that heemployed the boy, but why should Imind? Boureima has worked with theother one for about six months but thepast five months he hasn’t received hiswages: his employer owes him 25,000Fcfa. Recently, his employer sold hisdonkey cart, so I told Boureima to go askfor his money but the employer said he’dsold his cart as a credit, so Boureimadidn’t get a penny.Now he’s changed job again. He stilldoes the same kind of work but this timewith someone who lives here in Zabtengabut works at the Wesin market near theairport. He found this job himself and justleft without telling anyone. One day whenI met him, I asked whether he’d told hisnew employer who his parents were, buthe hadn’t told anything to anybody. Iplainly told him off! How can we help himif problems arise?”His older brother felt that Boureimalacked the experience and maturity todeal with his life as a working migrantto his best advantage.“Boureima has already had many jobs:between the time when he worked withKarim and the employer who spent all hismoney, he had another job. As he has noclue about saving up money, I’d takenthe 5,000 Fcfa that he earned whenworking for Karim. I gave Boureima 500Fcfa and put aside the rest in order togive it to him when we were ready to goback home. As I’m a bricklayer, I went toanother town to work for a little while. Onmy return I discovered that Boureima hadtaken out his entire wage of 5,000 Fcfaand wasted it all on dεggε23 and videoclubs. While I was away, he’d alsochanged job and had started to work forthe one who cheated him for money. Itried to put some sense into his head tomake him understand that he needed totake into consideration his youngerbrothers. Then he finally started to saveup, but with the employer who ate all hismoney!”23 A cold yoghurt drink with

fermented millet.



Although Boureima had not migratedentirely on his own but had been sweptinto a fostering arrangement by hismaternal kin, clearly he had wanted tofind work himself. He turned his back onbeing incorporated into a family where hiswork was not rewarded in a formalisedmanner. Similar to Faisal, he had his ownideas of what he wanted to do andexplored the immediate neighbourhood tofind work, shelter and food. Nonetheless,he remained in the network of kin. Hisolder brother provided the way into abetter-paid job that was commonlyperceived as the beginning of the informalpath to becoming a brick-layer, his olderbrother’s trade. The interviews with other family membersand an older migrant from his home areagive us additional insight into Boureima’schoices. They are very concerned that heis rather immature and headstrong, butBoureima sees himself as striving tonegotiate the difficulties and insecuritiesof informal sector jobs and to livesomething of a city life. When he choseagain to change employers, like Govinda,he assessed the way he was treated, andleft the employer who had cheated him ofthe saved wages.



Ibrahim (above), too, had had similarexperiences, although at the hands ofrelatives; first one distant uncle spent hismeagre savings, then another distantuncle failed to pay his wages. He hadfound a new job, but was very anxiousabout getting paid. However, Boureimahad only recently been cheated of hissavings, so other criteria affected hisdecisions about whether to remain in hisjob or not. It may well be that he wantedto avoid relationships where the employertook on a parental role and expected thatas a junior he should behave in particularways.Work can be very hard to find, as thestories of Sohel and Faisal also show andsome of it provides very little in the wayof income.


Children’s Stories Bakary and other shoe-shiners

We grow a lot of cotton in myvillage but it isn’t quite enough to

satisfy our needs. The money isn’tsufficient because they have only justcollected the cotton so they won’t pay foranother one or two months, and at thattime the prices on grains have alreadyincreased so if you need to buy food,you’ll spend a lot of your cotton moneyon that. Moreover, you may have smallcredits to pay up for soap and the otherthings you’ve bought so once all thosethings have been paid, there isn’t muchleft.” Bakary and his brothers giggledand he continued: “If only we getenough money for a bicycle, we’ll goback to the village. And if we find a smalljob that allows us to save up a bit tobring back to the village, it’ll be verygood!In the first years I came to Ouagadougou,we lived in the house of an older brotherwho had a small laundry service.Nowadays we stay in the house of adayar [mother’s brother] in Zabtenga.Every morning we get up early and set offon foot towards the city centre to findcustomers, who demand our services.Usually we walk on our own or with justone friend, but today we’re four becauseDjibril and Bawaya have only just arrivedin Ouagadougou.”Jean-Paul, an 18 year old shoe-shinerfrom a neighbouring village who haddropped out of school after only threeyears, described how he started hiswork at 7 a.m. and finished at 5 p.m.

every day, and how he, during the daywalked long distances to find hiscustomers. He lived with relatives butnever ate at home, instead he spentsome of the money he earned onbuying food. This was common amongthe young migrants - although theycould make claims on accommodationwith older kin, they were careful not toexploit the hospitality.Bakary continued his story:“Last year I had a job in a small bar inDassasgo where I lived in, ate andearned 5,000 Fcfa per month. When Iwanted to return home, I found a stand-in to take my place while I was away butas he stole some money the owner senthim away and found another youth towork for him. When I came back lastweek to take up my work again, my bosstold me that he’d taken on someoneelse, so I’d have to search for anotherjob but if I didn’t find anything I couldcome back to see if he needed someonethen. I hope I’ll find another job but untilthen I’ll shine shoes. If I work hard, I canearn up to 1,500 Fcfa in one day.”A 15-year-old shoe-shiner explained: “It doesn’t take much to learn to shineshoes: it’s sufficient to look at the colourof the shoes, find the same colour shoepolish and polish the shoes. When Icame to Ouagadougou and saw that allmy friends were shoe-shiners, I toobought the necessary things to do thiswork.”

Bakary and other shoe-shiners in OuagadougouBakary was about 18 years old when I interviewed him inOuagadougou together with three younger brothers. Both hisparents were living and farming in a remote village some 135miles from the capital. Several of their elder brothers weremigrants to Côte d’Ivoire. Like many other itinerant shoe-shiners,Bakary came to Ouagadougou a couple of months after theharvest. At this point in the annual cycle they had finishedthreshing the millet and they had also cut all the grasses that wereneeded to make new roofs. He had first migrated five years earlierwhen he was around 13 years old but each year he had returnedhome in time to help farm.24 He had never been to school.

“

24 While many of the itinerant shoe-shiners spoke of their annualreturn home to farm in early2005, follow-up interviews inFebruary 2006 revealed that theyhad remained in the capitalthroughout the farming seasonbut were called home by fathersand older brothers to helpconstruct houses and in a fewcases to meet a possible fiancée.The 2004 farming season wasexceptionally bad, most localcrops failed due to lack of rainand infestation of larvae, and aslocust swarms in the Sahel furtherdestroyed crops, the grainmarkets slackened. In thissituation it was better for theboys and for the food security athome that they continued to earnmoney for their own upkeep.


Children’s Stories Bakary and other shoe-shiners

“What is difficult about shoe-shining,”Bakary said, “is the long distance thatyou walk every day.” “Yes,” added 18-year-old Dasmane,“and even though you walk and walk, youstill don’t earn much!”The other boys said that it wasbecause he was new but they alsotalked about customers who did notwant to pay the 50 Fcfa that was theaccepted rate for a pair of shoes.Dasmane, who had been in Qur’anschool for a short while and had grownup with his dayar [mother’s brother],the Imam of Kabri, explained in moredetail:“Some people are like that. You shinetheir shoes and now they’ll say that youhaven’t done it properly and they leavewithout paying. Others, who are sitting ina bar somewhere, just take their shoeswithout a word and when after a littlewhile you come back to get your money,they’ll say that the shoe polish you usedwasn’t moist enough. All in order not topay their 50 Fcfa! The most frustratingthing is that you’re obliged not to say athing, despite the fact that that you knowyou’ve done your best to shine theirshoes, and now they won’t pay. But ifthey don’t pay, I’ll leave them to the goodGod who will decide how they are goingto pay because I, I’ve already used myshoe polish! If I was in the village, Iwould react because my parents werethere, so if the other one would beat me,my parents would probably intervene, buthere in Ouagadougou we are likeorphans.”

The shoe-shine boys’ accounts of theirearnings differed a great deal; the1,500 Fcfa that Bakary had mentionedwas probably somewhat of a record.16-year-old Bawaya said:“Some days you don’t even have 1 francto put aside once you’ve eaten but otherdays you can save up 2-300 Fcfa” 15-year-old Augustin noted: “I still haven’t reached 1,000 Fcfa in oneday, but I’ve gotten 500 Fcfa.” 18-year-old Jean-Paul, explained:“Every so often you make 750 Fcfa inone day and every so often 600, but itstill adds up to around 10,000 Fcfa amonth once I’ve spent money on food. Ihope to send some money home to mymother soon” [he had lost his father].Bakary too had come to Ouagadougouto look for money.“I’ll save up to be able to buy someclothes, to be able to change my clothes,and when I’m ready to return to thevillage I’ll try to have enough money tobuy some clothes for my mother and myyounger brothers. The time inOuagadougou has also taught me andthe other shoe-shiners other things: forexample, when we walk around in searchof customers, we see lots of things thatwe’d never seen in the village and wealso get a better understanding of howlife is. If you’re hungry back home, youcan make some tô [millet porridge] buthere you’ll need to get out your money,otherwise you won’t eat. In my opinion,this is why migrant life in the city is a wayto mature, because you’ll know thatwithout sweat you can’t eat!”



Despite not relying on kinship networks tosecure work, boys’ relations with familymembers had an impact on being able towork. On the one hand, the shoe-shinersmight not rely on kin for food, but beingable to secure housing was a positiveoutcome of kinship networks, enablingthem to stay in the city while earning verylittle. At the same time obligations toparents might prevent them working -such as those which called Bakary to hishome village and lost him a good job. Frequent job changes and being cheatedof wages are themes that run throughoutmany stories.25 In the case of Zuera, theyare linked with pursuing higher socialstatus, as well as better wages.

25 These are also often typical ofadults’ experiences, for bothmigrants and non-migrants.


Children’s Stories Zuera

I came to Accra with my father’sfriend’s nephew and his friend three

years ago. They were both males. Beforethen, I did not have much knowledgeabout Accra. I only heard that there weregood opportunities for education and jobsfrom my father’s friend’s nephew whenhe was coming for me. With theexception of my two older sisters who aremarried and living at Sunyani with theirhusbands, none of my father’s childrenhas left the house or travelled beyondKumasi. I am the first to do so and totravel as far as Accra. When I finished my JSS [junior secondaryschool] examinations in 2003, I was notdoing much so my father’s friendsuggested to my father to let me helphim with his drinking spot. After eightmonths, my father’s friend’s niece (whowas then 24 years and married to awhite man) came over and wanted a girlto help her with the house chores and Iwas suggested by the uncle. On herreturn to Accra, she sent her brother andfriend to come for me from Bawku. Myparents were told of the educational andjob opportunities I would have when inAccra. My mother was against it but myfather agreed because of theopportunities that he was told would beavailable to me. My father is someonewho, despite our number, made sure thatwe all had education. Those before mewere educated and those after me are inschool. He used to say that none of his

children would leave Bawku so all myolder siblings were educated in Bawkuand so are the younger ones. But thistime, since it is education, he agreed. SoI was told of my trip to Accra and leftwith the men to Kumasi from where weused motorbikes to Donkorkrom [in theEastern Region] to stay with the motherof the woman in Accra. We stayed therefor a week before we left for Accra tostay at Lapaz where the woman lives. Ialso liked the idea of coming to Accrabecause of the hope of taking advantageof the opportunities that exist in Accra. Though I’m unemployed now, I haveworked as a nanny and house girl forabout four different families for aminimum of three months each. On myarrival in Accra, I stayed for a month withthis father’s friend’s niece at Lapaz. I wassacked from this house after one monthbecause of a funny incident with asecurity guard at the house. From there, Ihad a temporary stay at Sarpeiman [asuburb in Accra] for four months beforegetting a three-month contract with awhite family of seven members (parentsand five children) at New Town. I waspaid ¢250,000 a month then and waseating once a day in the evening. I leftthere because the work was too muchand got another family of four (parentsand two girls) at ‘American House’ [EastLegon] who later moved to Lashibi[another suburb in Accra]. I stayed withthis family for five months. They paid me

Zuera, unemployed nanny and domestic worker in Accra, GhanaZuera came to Accra from Bawku in the Upper East Region ofGhana three years ago and was 19 years old at the time of theinterview. She had completed the junior secondary school level ofeducation and resided in the Ministries Area in Accra. She camefrom quite a large household. Her father, whose age she could nottell, was the head of the household and he lived in the householdwith three of his six wives, 24 children, two daughters-in-law andtwo grandchildren. Zuera was the last of the seven children of hermother who was the first wife. She was currently unemployed buthad worked as a nanny and a house girl for various families. Untiltwo months previously [December 2005], she was a telephoneoperator.

“


Children’s Stories Zuera

¢300,000 a month and treated me verywell, like a member of the family. I hadto leave when this family relocated to theUnited States of America and I went tostay with another family (a sister to themother in the relocated family). She hadthree children (two girls and a boy) at theSpintex Road. I was to be there until shefound another person. But then I had a‘spiritual attack’.26 I did not understandwhy and so wanted to go home and findout why things were happening that way.My madam understood and even gaveme some money for transport to go andcure ‘my illness’. But I thought about itand decided I did not want to go backwithout any skills or job. I thereforedecided to look for a job and got thechance to operate a ‘space to space’telephone business for about fourmonths until December 2005 when theowner took it away from me because hesaid the sister also needed a job. That’show come I got here.27

As for my accommodation, it is notcomfortable at all but I have to make dowith it since I have no choice. I sleepwith about six other persons on theveranda in front of the offices at theMinistries. We don’t pay anything toanyone. My friend’s uncle is the securityman in charge of the block of officesthere, so we don’t pay. Sometimes whenit rains, the veranda gets wet so we haveto stand until it stops raining and evenafter that, the veranda is too wet for usto sleep on. Sometimes, if the key to thetoilet is available, we go and wait thereuntil the rains stop. When I was staying with the families, Idid not have any problem with feeding. Icould eat three times a day in some ofthe homes. But now, I eat either once ortwice a day. Sometimes, it is reallydifficult for me. I have a friend who isstaying with the boyfriend, so sometimes,I go and visit her and we cook and I getsomething to eat. Otherwise, most of thefew times I get food, I buy more than I

cook. I sometimes will buy banku, tuozaafi and rice. When I don’t haveanything at all, I try to get some transportto my father’s friend’s niece who broughtme to Accra and she will give me somemoney. I sometimes visit my friend toalso eat at her end. I also met a cousinwho is a Pastor but lives in Nima. I thinkI can call on him when in trouble.I have been sick only once. I had astomach ache after eating some kind offood late in the evening. My friend’suncle, the security man, gave me somemedicine he said was given to his wifewhen she also had a stomach ache.28 Lifein Accra is much better than back homebut it is difficult when you are notworking. When I was working, I sent¢100,000 to my parents once but now, Ineed to help myself. I think there ismoney if you can get a job. If not, lifehere can be difficult. I’m really feeling itbecause I am not working now and haveto rely on other people who also havetheir own worries.”To a question on why she does not alsoget into the kayayoo business shereplied: “I’m not a Dagomba but aKusasi.29 Some Kusasis do kayayoo butthe Dagombas are more. And besides, Iintend continuing my education! I wouldlike to go back but not without any skillsor a proper job here in Accra either in thecomputer business or sewing. Even if Iget money now, I will not return until Ihave had some skills. If I return withoutany skills, I would have wasted my timehere.If I had known that things would turn outthis way, I would not have come in thefirst place. I look back on my life hereand I feel sad thinking that I could havebeen a better person if I had stayedhome. I think it is better to stay backhome and help there than to move toAccra and do nothing, especially if youdon’t know anybody and you don’t haveany aim for coming.”

26 This term is used to refer to abelief in the fact that an attackon a person comes from externalspiritual forces. In her case, afterconsulting a medicine man, shewas of the view that herstepmother was behind anunexplainable change of charactershe experienced towards theperson she was living with, in abid to ruin her chances of makingit in the city, since she is the onlyone who had come this far andshe is the daughter of a rival (co-wife).

27 At the time of interview, she wasagain staying with the family shehad spent time with atSarpeiman. They had relocatedto the Ministries Area where themale head of the householdworked as a security guard

28 Self medication is common inGhana, reflecting poor and costlyhealth services. Public awarenessneeds to be raised about itsdangers.

29 Dagomba and Kusasi are twodifferent ethnic groups in theNorthern and Upper East regionsrespectively



Zuera’s choices of work were embeddedin her pre-existing level of education, aswell as her sense of social status and heraspirations to a better future; she refusedto engage in manual kayayoo work andonly took work as a nanny with white ormixed couples, or work that resembledwhite-collar jobs. It had been much moredifficult to get secure high statusdomestic work than she envisaged andher dreams of bettering herself have beenbitterly disappointed. Up until this time,however, her motivation for migrating -the prospect of furthering her educationor acquiring some training - remains andshe is choosing to suffer on a minimumrather than give up her dreams. Her abilityto call on a variety of social and kinnetworks to keep down living costs easedthe hardships of holding out for herpreferred work.

The wide diversity of types of work in thechildren’s stories is not so different fromthe work that non-migrant children do inrural and urban areas. The differences liein their living conditions, which also differwidely from one migrant child to another,and who children work for: whether forthemselves, for a family member or for anemployer.


Children’s Stories Hawa

Hawa’s reasons for migrating weremixed. Initially there had been a dualpurpose, but her mixed views probablyalso reflect the length of time she hadbeen a migrant and her changingperceptions over that time.

When I was there [at home], therewas a lot of poverty. We were two,

so it was decided my mother should takecare of one and I should go with mybrother for him to send me to school. …My brother decided I should come; heasked me to come and take care of hiswife’s child. … Because of the poverty Iwasn’t going to school well, so I decidedto come with my brother. But when Icame here he didn’t put me into school. I was helping his wife while she wasfarming. After three years of being herethey sent me to an Ashanti30 lady and Iwas working for her for four years.I was sitting with a woman from thisvillage by the roadside selling vegetablesand the Ashanti woman stopped andasked her, won’t you give your sister tome. … The woman used to come andbuy from our village … I didn’t just golike that. At that time my brother wasn’tthere, but his wife agreed that I shouldgo.I was staying with the Ashanti woman inKumasi and selling soap, milo [a maltdrink] and that type of small thing from atable. … I would open around seven inthe morning and go home at three toprepare soup. On Sundays I wouldn’t goto work but I would wash their clothes.

“Sometimes she would take up to oneo’clock before she gave me chop31

money. And if nobody bought [anythingfrom me] she wouldn’t give me chopmoney. … When I was sick, if you askedher for money to buy medicine, if shewanted she would give, if she didn’t shewouldn’t give. … The place where Istayed [her accommodation] was fine.Some people were good and somepeople weren’t.”

On trying to clarify who wasn’t good toher and what they did, Hawa explained:

“When someone dashed [tipped] me thewomen’s children would say I had stolenfrom their mother. … She was nottreating me the same as her children. …They were going to school and I was not… Now I am not with them anymore Iam happy.

I decided myself to stop [working for her]and the Ashanti woman brought me backhere. … When I left there she bought mea sewing machine. … Now I haveentered into apprenticeship work.”

When I asked Hawa who she wasworking for that day, since it was aweek day and she was not at herapprenticeship but farming, sheexplained:

“The work I am doing today is just a help.They asked me to help and tomorrowthey will come and work on my brother’sfarm. … I sometimes go by-day andcollect my ¢10,00032 but I am only freeon Saturdays and Sundays.

Hawa, farm worker in Brong Ahafo, GhanaHawa was about 15 years old when she was interviewed working ina cassava field, where she was weeding with a group of otherteenage girls, in a farming village on the border of the Brong Ahafoand Ashanti Regions. Both her parents were alive and farming in avillage in the Upper East Region. She had migrated south at theage of seven. She had been in the south an unusually long periodsince most of the children interviewed averaged only three yearsaway from home. At home she had been attending school and wasin primary one, but she had dropped out in order to migrate south.

“

30 The dominant ethnic group of theregion.

31 This is a Ghana-wide term thatrefers (amongst other meanings)to the money to purchase foodwith when outside the house.

32 At the time of the fieldwork inMay/July 2004, the exchange ratewas ¢16,000 to £1. The dailyminimum wage was raised from¢9,200 to ¢11,200 on 1 April2004.


Children’s Stories Hawa

I also help my brother’s wife with herwork … like fetching water and cooking. Ihave no problems here. … They aretreating me fine. … They are not treatingme like their children [because] they maybuy clothing for them but not for me. … Ihaven’t paid any apprenticeship fees yet,but I am hoping my brother will helpme.”Possibly reflecting the long time Hawahad been in the south, she was amongthe few children interviewed whoexpressed a preference for the southrather than her originating village.“Sometimes they [my parents] sendmessages that I should return home; butI have never visited. If I get a chance

I will go home, I just want to finish theapprenticeship. … My brother will decideif I go home and he will buy me theticket. If I finish my apprenticeship I willgo home and use my sewing machine towork. … If I go into the bush I will getmoney and send it home [i.e. returnhome with money]. … Now when I getmoney it doesn’t stay with me because Ispend it.I prefer here because if you get up andgo into the bush you can get money bygoing by-day. … Here is better becauseat home there is poverty.”



Although Hawa did appear displeased thather brother had not placed her in school,she did not appear put out about the factthat his wife purchased items for herchildren but not for Hawa, reflecting thefact that Hawa was of an age wherechildren are expected to provide personalitems for themselves such as clothing,soap, etc. However, there was a generalexpectation that when young peopleresiding with family members returnhome, the relative with whom they hadbeen living would give them some moneyor, in the case of girls, buy them itemssuch as sewing machines or pots andbowls. As Hawa had already earned hersewing machine, she hoped that herbrother would pay for her apprenticeship. As with Ibrahim’s and Boureima’sexperiences above, Hawa’s storyillustrates the ambiguous nature of kinrelations, where working for a familymember, as compared to an employer,does not necessarily guarantee thatchildren will be better provided for. The children, perceiving themselves asworkers, may have expectations of being



remunerated in particular ways that are notdiscussed openly but are asserted in subtleclaims for clothing, money or vocationaltraining, while their kin feel they meet theirobligations to the children by feeding andhousing them. At the same time, children living with theiremployer frequently describe theirrelationship with an employer in terms ofbeing treated as a family member or not.Zuera, for example, was content when shefelt treated like one of the family and Hawaexpressed happiness to no longer beworking for her employer who treated herdifferently from her own children. Bycontrast Fatima does not complain of anyill-treatment at the hands of her employer.


Children’s Stories Fatima

I am the oldest in a family of sixchildren. My father was afflicted by

various diseases. He soon becamedisabled and could not support us. It wasimpossible for my mother to manage thefamily on her own. When I was ten yearsold, my mother sent me to Dhaka with awoman. This woman’s business was totake women and children from the villageand place them in people’s homes inDhaka as domestic help. My family did not want me to work in agarment factory. They had heard manystories regarding factory jobs. I had noeducation, no skills. Consequently, myjob options were limited. Moreover, myparents were convinced that domesticwork was safer and more appropriatebecause I am a girl. I was placed with a family in Rampura.There are five members in that family. I work from 6 a.m. in the morning until11 p.m. at night. Sometimes I stayawake until midnight. My main choresinclude cooking, washing clothes andcleaning the house. The mistress of thehouse often helps me in the kitchen. I am allowed to watch TV in my leisuretime. I am reprimanded for my mistakes

but I have never been beaten.Sometimes, I am scolded for no reason;nonetheless, I remain silent. I am afraidto protest.I sleep on the floor in my mistress’sroom. I have no problem with that; ratherI am happy as I am able to sleep underan electric fan. I wear clothes that arehanded down to me by the daughter ofthe house who is only a few years olderto me. Since we are of similar build,there is no shortage of clothing. I alsoreceive new clothes during Eid. I amgiven sufficient food. I earn Taka 600 permonth. I send the money to my motherthrough the woman who brought mehere. My mistress takes care of me whenI am ill. The family I work for is generally kind tome. Nonetheless, I miss home and I amlonely. I feel I have no one to turn to, noone to share my feelings with. I feelparticularly depressed on days when thewhole family is out working or visiting. Ihave no idea how long I will be able tocontain myself in this mechanicalenvironment. I realise that my family’ssurvival depends on my ability tocontinue with my job.”

Fatima, a domestic worker in Dhaka Fatima was 13 years old when she was interviewed in Dhakawhere she worked as a domestic worker. Her father was disabledbut was formerly a farmer. Her mother was a housewife.

“



Like some of the other girls featured,Fatima’s options for work were curtailedby adults’ concerns about her safety.However, unlike, for instance Emina, whohad been able to negotiate in her favourwith those senior kin who did not wish herto migrate, Fatima’s young age andreason for migration meant that she wasfar more constrained in the nature of thework available to her. Fatima’s mothermay well have been right in her rationalefor choice of work for her daughter, sinceshe did not complain of ill-treatment.Nonetheless, she was sad at being awayfrom her family. Like many of the otherchild migrants, going home figuresprominently in her hopes for the future. Incontrast with Lamoussa and Solange whowere of a similar age as Fatima when theylived with their classificatory mothers inGhana and Côte d’Ivoire respectively,Fatima did not emphasise the skills shelearned but the lack of warmth and thepressure of providing important incomefor her family. For her, migration was notan opportunity but a burden. Her storythough, illustrates just how importantsome children’s work can be for theirfamilies’ survival. Nataraj had also been sent off to work tosupplement his family’s income, but forhim his workplace provided a kind offamily.


Children’s Stories Nataraj

My father was an alcoholic, awaste-body. My mother was working

as an agricultural labourer during themonsoon and as a construction workeroff-season and was the only breadwinner.Her daily wages, 1.5 kg of rice, wereinsufficient to provide square ganji33 on adaily basis. I attended school only for oneyear and was not regular. Instead I spentmy time playing with friends. Besideslack of interest in the pursuit ofeducation on my part, my mother foundit extremely difficult to arrange for a newslate and a schoolbag made of cloth.She decided to take me along to work forhalf-wages. I worked as an assistant to my motherand earned half a kg of rice extra, whichwas still not enough to feed thehousehold. After almost two years, mymother decided to send me for work as acleaner in some hotel. The two majorconsiderations were that there would beone mouth less to compete for food andthat I would earn extra money that wouldhelp my mother to purchase groceries.My mother approached her employer MrShetty for whom she was doingconstruction work on his new house. MrShetty was also the owner of UdupiBhavan, a vegetarian hotel in Sircilla. Heagreed to take me along and I feltobliged to follow my mother’s order. I worked as a cleaner for two years. Thedaily work hours were from 6 a.m. to 6p.m. with two hours of rest in theafternoon. The work was highly intensivefor seven days a week. Initially I got Rs250 per month but this increased to Rs300 after one year.34 Apart from freeshelter and meals, the employer alsoprovided free health care. He took me toa physician on two or three occasionswhen I was down with fever and cold.

The other perks included new clothes forDiwali and 15 days paid leave every year.This was my only job. “For 15 days in June-July [during thetransplanting of paddy saplings] Ireturned to Haladi and gave money to mymother. I also sent money through myemployer when he visited. For the rest ofthe year I sent money through moneyorders equivalent to Rs 500 every twomonths.My employer was kind and looked afterme very well. Rama, a 29 year old ofBillava caste, was the manager cumcoffee/tea cook and my best friend andguardian in the hotel. There werealtogether seven workers of which twowere cooks, two suppliers and threecleaners. All my colleagues were from thecoastal belt and life was harmonious. Iknew the caste background of my othercolleagues and also that I was the onlyHarijan in the workforce. However, apartfrom Rama none of my other colleagueshad any clue about this. The owner haddeliberately concealed my castebackground and asked me to say that Iam a Dev-Adiga if anyone asked aboutmy caste. He had also told Rama aboutthis ‘agreement’ and told me that at thepersonal level he did not believe in castehierarchy and that such practices hadlost their relevance. In our discussions at work caste neverfeatured as an important matter. Insteadour discussions would revolve around theday to day experiences of the workplaceand life back home. Many days we wouldalso not find time to chat. Even after thehotel had closed for the evening, theother cleaners and I had to clean andwipe the floor, tables and the counter inpreparation for the next day. After that I

Nataraj, a contract labourer in a tiles factory in Haladi village,Udupi districtAt the time of the interview Nataraj was already 29 years of agebut he had first migrated to Sircilla near Hyderabad in AndhraPradesh at the age of ten to work in a small, South-Indian eatingplace [hotel]. He is of schedule caste [Harijan] background and theeldest of three sons. He also has a younger sister.

“

33 An amalgam of boiling water withcooked rice, salt and pickle.

34 Nataraj’s wage rates are notcomparable with those of Govindaor Umesh, as aged 29 at the timeof the interview, he is reporting onhis work history which began inthe 1980s.


Children’s Stories Nataraj

would have a bath, eat the meal that hadbeen freshly prepared and go to bed.Work pressures the following day wouldoccupy my thoughts. My experience inSircilla enabled me to overcome myshyness, my outlook towards lifechanged.I believe that my future opportunitieswould have been better if I had stayed inthe same job but I decided to return atthe strong insistence of my mother, whowanted me to work in nearby places. Sheasked whether it was possible to make aliving out of my earnings as a hotelworker once I grow up and whether Iplanned to marry. She also askedwhether I, as a hotel worker, would beable to support my family in Haladi onsuch meagre earnings and reminded meof my responsibilities towards my siblingsas the eldest son.I am currently working as a contractlabourer in the local tiles factory andearn Rs 442 per week with Sundays off.My present aspirations and plans for thefuture: firstly, to earn money to marry off

my sister and later buy a piece of landfor cultivation and support the highereducation of my younger brothers, if theyare willing. One of my younger brothershas repeatedly threatened to leave Haladito take up a hotel job somewhere. Bothmy mother and I have spent considerableenergy trying to dissuade him frommaking such a move.” When asked about the advantages anddisadvantages of working in Sircilla,Nataraj said:“Exposure to city life, money for thehousehold, no schooling and no caste-based restrictions at the workplace werethe main advantages. The maindisadvantage was that I had to stay awayfrom my mother. The quality of theshelter in the workplace was much betterthan what we have in the village. Foodadequacy and variety were also muchbetter and I put on a lot of weight. In theworkplace my employer behaved like afatherly figure, while Rama treated melike a younger brother.”



As the eldest son of a poor scheduledcaste woman solely responsible for herchildren’s food and welfare, Nataraj hadtaken on many responsibilities in hisfamily and had gone away to work at hismother’s request. The benefits of beingtreated as a son, as a brother and as anequal, though a junior equal, with nomention of his caste and his family’spoverty was key to Nataraj’s positiveexperience of working away from home. The caste issues are particularlyimportant, first because in the hotel andrestaurant industry where many childrenwork in South India, prevailing normsrestrict members of lower castes frompreparing, handling and serving food tothose of higher caste, and secondbecause Nataraj himself had gained akind of freedom from his low caste statusby ‘passing’ as a Dev-Adiga.Nataraj’s mother had, as had Fatima’sparents, been obliged because of povertyto send a child to work at an early age.They were however careful to do sothrough channels that protected theirchildren. Although it is not always a safebet, these cases show that non-kinemployers may take good care ofchildren. Many of these stories raise questionsabout how to think about children’srelationships within the family, especiallyin conditions of poverty and difficultaccess to schooling. The accountssuggest that age-related responsibilities



for children are flexibly negotiated,depending on family circumstances andchildren’s own wishes. It is also clear thatmostly children are not understood associal and economic dependents who canbe protected from the harshcircumstances that their parents orresponsible seniors face.Young children generally move in responseto requests from parents – as was thecase for Hawa, Fatima and Nataraj,although none of them expressed a viewthat they did not wish to migrate. In somecases then, children may migrate as partof their obligations to their families. Theyrespond to requests for their assistanceby extended family members requiringtheir labour, such as in the case ofLamoussa and Solange, or the need torelieve their immediate households of theburden of responsibility for their care, asin the case of Hawa and Wahabu, or takeup paid employment not available in theirhome villages to support their family, suchas in the case of Fatima, and Nataraj. The sense of responsibility that childrenhave towards their parents and siblings isclearly seen in the frequency with whichchildren remit a proportion of theirmeagre incomes home. A few children,nevertheless, appeared to be in severe orconsiderable conflict with their parentsbecause of the life decisions they hadmade, among them were Faisal in Dhaka(above) and Umesh in Bangalore (below).


Children’s Stories Umesh

I was a regular student, but wasoccasionally beaten for lack of

punctuality in completing homework. Iwas good in sports, but mathematics wasa tough nut to crack and in my eighthstandard I failed in this, my most fearedsubject. My parents insisted that I shouldresit the exam, but I refused because itwould be humiliating to sit with youngerstudents while my peers and friendswould be studying in a higher standard.My father beat me and told me that if Irefuse to heed their advice I would haveto take care of my own life. Thisprompted me to run away. I was aware ofhotel work and the opportunities in thehotel sector in Bangalore after listeningto senior migrants from my village. The same afternoon I had been beaten, Istole Rs 60 from my father’s shirt andboarded a bus to Bangalore. This wouldbe my first visit to Bangalore andthroughout the journey I kept thinkingabout my future course of action whenreaching the city.I decided to approach hotels and ask forjobs and after getting out at Majestic[Bangalore’s main bus station] Iapproached the owner of HotelRaghavendra Krupa at the bus stand. Iwas hungry and food and finding shelterwere my main concerns. The owner, anUdupi Brahmin, enquired about mybackground and I narrated everything –unedited. The owner took objection tothe fact that I had committed the twinblunders of stealing money and runningaway without intimation, but appreciatedmy honesty. He told me not to resort totheft at any cost and sent me to thekitchen after asking his employees togive me some food. He spoke to meagain and informed me that I would beworking as a cleaner for a salary of Rs500 per month35. He also mentioned that

although he was against hiring childworkers, it would be his moral duty tooffer me a job in the larger interest sinceI otherwise may resort to anything toensure food. The work hours were from 6a.m. to 11.30 p.m. with 10-15 minutebreak for breakfast and lunch. The workwas highly intensive. There was no leisuretime at all. Continuous contact withwater resulted in whitening of my skinand cracks appearing on my palms andfeet. There were 20-25 workers, but verylittle to learn about anyone. Scoldingsand beatings by the kitchen supervisorwere to be expected if we [the cleaners]were reluctant to get up at 5 a.m. orfailed to pay proper attention to our jobs. After I absconded my parents arrangedsearch parties – consisting of closerelatives. While one party headed by myfather went to Nagamangala [the talukheadquarters], the other went to Mandya[the district headquarters] and then toMysore. Meanwhile, my brother-in-law,Venkatesha, working as an operator in agarment factory, was asked to search forme in Bangalore. Venkatesha enquired atmany hotels in Peenya and Majestic andalso in Bangalore Railway station using aphotograph of me. The search endedwhen Venkatesha visited RaghavendraKrupa and the employer summoned meand offered to let me go. This was twomonths after I had absconded. I refusedto return to Alisandra out of fear ofbeatings and humiliation. My brother-in-law offered to place me as a cleaner inthe canteen of his factory and I agreed toaccompany him there. The same day, wewent to his house in Peenya and the nextday approached the canteen owner whoagreed to hire me as a cleaner with asalary of Rs 1,000. There are about 350 workers in thefactory, SEG Clothing and most workers

Umesh, working in a factory canteen in Bangalore. Umesh is 15 years old and he left his home in Holihallivillage, Mandya district at the age of 14. He has oneelder sister and a twin brother. He is currently working inthe canteen of SEG Clothing, a factory in Bangalore.

“

35 The exchange rate for theapproximate period Umesh isreporting on was 84 rupees to £1.


Children’s Stories Umesh

are women. In the canteen, the ownermanages the cash counter, his brotherworks as a cook and a Lingayat fromMysore works as supplier. The work hoursare from 7.30 to 10 a.m. and 11.30a.m. to 3 p.m. and from 5 p.m. to 6.30p.m. on six days a week with Sundaysoff. Our other perks include free food,shelter, uniforms and free clothes(leftovers in the factory). Besides, theemployer has promised to hike my salaryby a considerable amount every year.Further, I also get a month’s salary as abonus for Ayudha puja [during Dussehra,a festival].At the first workplace, there was no timeto learn about anyone – work, work andwork was the mantra. I had no specificfriends – “Good to all – and good withall” - was my policy. Vulgar language wasvery common among the cleaners. Othersenior colleagues would discuss movies –life was very mechanical. You are in thecentral heart of the city, but in a cagecalled a hotel from where you couldhardly get to go out, or get to knowabout what is going on outside. At SEGClothing, I have ample spare time and allthe 350 employees know me.” Hebeams with pride when making thiscomment. “They make it a point to greetme whenever they visit the canteen. Ispend Sundays with my sister’s family

watching TV and playing with the kids.Occasionally we all go out for a movie.” On advantages and disadvantages tohis migration, he said:A main advantage of migration was toavoid the humiliation of having to do theresit. Other advantages include higherearnings, a sense of satisfaction, varietyand adequacy of food, making contacts.The basic amenities and shelter are verygood. Exposure to city life and learning ofhotel work are other advantages. I havealso learnt to be more patient. There areno disadvantages. You should not leave home prematurely.If you do, you must not returnprematurely.I have yet to visit Holihalli but I amplanning a visit during the coming Ugadi[major festival]. My parents have visitedonce after I started working for SEG.”He explained his aspirations were towork with the same employer for somemore time, earn confidence andthrough him secure a contract to run asimilar canteen elsewhere. The ownerhad also promised him to be of help.



Umesh’s leaving home was a majorrupture with his parents, brought about byconflict with his father. He was broughtback into the family by a successfulsearch by his brother, who had beenasked by their father to look for therunaway.Samson too was a ‘runaway’.


Children’s Stories Samson

I came here with my friend and hisfather. I first passed through Obuasi

to visit my uncle and to ask him for somemoney for my travel down south. Thefriend I came with was about 15 yearsand the dad about 75. People who havebeen to Accra all say life is good here.Some friends also told me there is workhere and this influenced my migration toAccra. My maternal uncle encouragedme when I told him of my intentions. Idid not tell my parents I was going toAccra. I told them I was going to Obuasito visit my uncle. I knew my parentswould not approve of my decision. Ispent five weeks in Obuasi helping myuncle to take his child to school. He evengave me ¢100,000 for my transport. Idid not go to Kumasi because I did notknow anybody there.I sleep with nine other boys in front of acold store which is not big enough. Someof us sleep on mats while others sleepon benches. I don’t pay for where Isleep. Sometimes so many boys come tojoin us and this makes sleepinguncomfortable. Where we sleep is not bigenough.I eat three times a day when I haveenough money. At times when I cannotafford three meals in one day I have toskip breakfast. I often eat ‘omu tuo’37

and buy most of the food I eat. It issometimes difficult to get money to buyfood and I depend on my brother duringsuch times.

I bath twice a day, visit the toilet once aday and wash every week. We have apublic bathroom and toilet facility, whichwe pay for. It costs me ¢1,000 for abath, ¢1,000 for washing and ¢500 fortoilet facilities. My personal hygiene hasbeen affected by migration because backhome, I do not have to pay for thesefacilities while over here, I have to pay¢2,500 a day. With respect to my health, I do not oftenget sick although I have body pains andstomach aches at times. Then I usuallybuy medicine from the pharmacy to treatmy pains. I do not face any health threatconsidering my situation as a childmigrant. One time I remember having asevere stomach upset and had worms inmy stool. My friends took me to thepharmacy and bought me some drugs.My condition did not change. My friendadvised me to drink petrol. According tohim, he has suffered the same problembefore and his father made him drinkpetrol and he became better. I heeded tohis advice even though I was afraid butfelt better when I took in the petrol. Ihave not made any girl pregnant and thiswill never happen because I do not likegirls. Abortion is not good and so if bymistake this happens, I will keep thebaby.My security concern is the fear of ourmoney being stolen by some ‘junkies’from Nima. They cut our pockets with ablade while we are sleeping and steal our

Samson, a food-processor in AccraSamson is a 14 year old boy from Bolgatanga in the Upper EastRegion who currently lives and works in Accra around the MallamAtta Market. He has been in Accra for two years now and is workingon wele.36 His work involves scraping and cleaning the hide. Beforehe left his native region in the North he went to school and hadcompleted class six. At the time he left home to come to Accra hewas living with both parents and his stepmother. In total there were13 people in the household that is headed by his father, ninechildren under the age of 18 years. Out of the nine children in thehouse, three were his biological full siblings.

“

36 Wele is a delicacy prepared fromthe hide of the cattle to go withwaakye, a locally prepared dish.

37 Omotuo is the local name for adish of rice balls.


Children’s Stories Samson

money. I keep my money with my brotherand belongings with a woman from myhometown. I belong to the Duame Groupand this group assists members in timesof need. My brother also assists mewhen I have no money. I remember oneday when one of my friends stole anotherman’s phone and the case was taken toa ‘juju’38 man. We were all rounded upand asked to pay ¢60,000 each and toldthat we will go mad if we do not pay. Iffor a day or two, I have not earnedenough income, I will plead with theowner of the bathroom and toilet to usethe facilities and pay next time.

I have not remitted any money home. Asa migrant I have been able to earn about¢300,000 and some few things formyself which I am happy for. However,my future plan is to go back home andcontinue my education or engage myselfin skill training. I have come here to workto make some money to make thesefuture plans a reality. I consider life betterat home than in Accra and I miss the funand entertainment back home. I wouldnot advise anyone from home to come toAccra because life is difficult here. It isespecially hard to find accommodation.”38 A traditional medicine man or

witch doctor.



As Samson’ and Umesh’s storiesillustrate, to run-away does notnecessarily entail losing touch with one’sfamily altogether. Moreover, even thoughSamson had not informed his parents ofhis intention to migrate, like many of theother children, he drew on family andother social networks to facilitate hismigration. Which networks were availabletended to influence where children endedup and consequently the nature of theirwork. Samson, for instance, as with thehead-porters and other urban dwellers,experienced relatively harsh livingconditions and had to spend valuableincome on food.

52 Conclusion

Conclusion Addressing Policy

In the course of their studies Migration DRC researchersspoke to several hundred children and young peoplewho were either then working as migrants, or hadworked as child migrants. These conversations areused to generate information which is mainly used inresearch reports, which draw together individual piecesof information to find commonalities. A large part ofthe process of research analysis consists incontextualising in various ways that body of data. Thewider context can be information for example aboutschool enrolment rates, or about the informal labourmarket or rural poverty and it can also be analysis andthemes linking with the research literature. So, thefindings in research come to look very different from anyone child or young person’s specific experiences. Andso they need to. The researcher, however, hascumulatively had more direct access to theseexperiences through the individual conversations than isapparent in a research report. Researchers are trainedto avoid letting any one story or conversation play amore significant role in their analyses than any other,but the specific stories and individual children are notthereby blanked out. In the best research these act asa sounding board and touchstone in the process ofanalysis.This account attempts to share more widely the contentof our conversations with individual children. It does sofor two reasons. First because there are very few publicfora in which children get to express their views, locally,nationally or internationally. Reproducing theseconversations is no substitute for proper considerationof how children and young people’s views might beheard, but at the very least the active, often thoughtfulways in which the children in this account negotiate theconstraints and responsibilities of their lives is apowerful case for the need to address that lack ofpublic voice.Second and more specifically, addressing the policyneeds of this category of child migrants should startfrom a much better understanding of the children’slives, including their own perceptions of these. Thereseems to us to be a gap between these lives andperceptions and much of the policy advocacy literatureabout child migrants. Partly this is because policy islargely concerned with children in more vulnerableabusive or exploitative conditions than the ones in our

studies. Partly it is because concern over this abuseand exploitation of children has lead to the adoption ofa series of international protocols and conventionswhich inevitably use age cut–off points to define who isa child and establish specific rights that children shouldhave as a category of citizens. The treatment of allchildren as one category fails to acknowledge that theconceptualisation of childhood and of acceptable formsof work for children at different ages might vary overclass and space, and it fails to distinguish between thedifferent needs, capabilities and preferences of youngchildren and of almost-adults.International advocacy has focused much neededattention on exploited and abused child migrants, buthas also made it difficult to address the very real needsof other child migrants. Improving the well being of andopportunities for child migrants requires measures in anumber of broad policy areas:• programmes that alleviate the regional and rural

poverty that trigger high levels of adult and childmigration.

• open and sensitive national and regional debates toestablish what is locally acceptable and unacceptablechild labour, and to mobilise discussions about youngpeople’s working conditions and rights.

• systems of support and recourse to be built for allworking children in hardship, not simply those whohave been trafficked.

• measures to ensure that education is a universal rightfor all children, regardless of work status and/ormigrant status, and to institute measures to allowworking/migrant children to access school, non-formaleducation and/or training.

• reassessment of international definitions of traffickingand the dominance of this category in the debatesabout and the interventions around children’smigration, as studies indicate they can increase childmigrants’ risk of harm and exploitation.

The Migration DRC is embarking on a programme ofengaging with policy makers in this area to refine itspolicy recommendations and further synthesise findingsfrom its research culminating in a policy workshop to beheld in 2007. See http://www.migration drc.org/news/drc_events.html for updates on this.

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Appendix 53

Appendix The Research Projects

The Migration DRC research on independent childmigrants consists of five separate projects undertakenin rural and urban Ghana, in rural and urban BurkinaFaso, in rural and urban sites in Kanakata, India and inDhaka, the capital city of Bangladesh. They wereplanned to be broadly comparative in the analyticalframework adopted and in the themes pursued,although each has its own individual focus and range ofmethods. Several of the projects have arisen out ofprevious research carried out by the authors. Somedetails for each project are given below.When comparing the children’s accounts, differencesbetween the research countries need to be borne inmind. The child migrants in India and Bangladesh leavefrom rural areas with marked economic inequality andsignificant landlessness, so that the rural poor aredependent on employment for income for food andmost other requirements. The Burkina Faso andNorthern Ghanaian rural areas are very poor with semi-subsistence farming the predominant form oflivelihoods. Getting the cash for non-food requirementssuch as clothes and school fees is very difficult. Indiahas very high rates of school enrolment, while those inother countries are significantly lower. Schoolattendance in the Burkina Faso villages and in theGhanaian Upper East villages is very low.Here we outline details of each of the five researchprojects and identify further reading.Whitehead, A., I. Hashim and V. Iversen (2005) Childmigration, Child Agency and Inter-generational Relationsin Africa and South-Asia, Paper presented at theConference Childhoods in Oslo in June 2005Iman Hashim: Independent Child Migration inGhanaThis research was carried out between May and July of2004 and is based on interviews in a farming village inthe north-east of Ghana with parents and returned childmigrants and on interviews with boys and girls who hadmigrated to the cocoa-growing areas of southern andcentral Ghana. The Migration DRC project aimed tobuild on research conducted with children in 2000-2001 in the farming village in the North East. One ofthe findings of the earlier research was that 77 children(41 girls and 36 boys) from the village were livingand/or working outside the village without their parents.This amounted to 15% of the child population and 50%of the 96 households in the village reported having achild currently away. However, the issue of migrationwas an unexpected finding of the initial fieldwork. As aresult only some children who had migrated into thevillage and some of those who had returned wereinterviewed in 2000-2001. The purpose of the 2004 research was to build on whatwas found then in two ways. Firstly, the aim was to

explore in greater detail the nature of the processesinvolved in migration. This means both the socialnetworks that come into play in the movement ofchildren and also the household negotiations that areinvolved in children’s movements. The second purposeof the research was to broaden the scope of thechildren considered to include children who were at thetime living as independent migrants. Thus, fieldwork wascarried out in several sites; in the village in which theinitial fieldwork was carried out in 2000-2001 and inthe places where children had migrated to and werecurrently living as independent child migrants. In thesending village a total of twenty parents (ten mothersand ten fathers) were interviewed regarding theirchildren’s migration. In addition, ten interviews werecarried out with return migrant children. Sixty interviewswere carried out with thirty girls and thirty boys in ruraland urban areas in the southern and central areas ofGhana. Contact with the migrant children was established eitherby going through existing contacts made in earlierresearch, or through influential community members.Often this was done by visiting a town or village andfinding the Zongo or ‘Stranger Place’, where mostmigrants were settled. There the chief of the Kusasi(the ethnic group the research focused on) would besought out to explain the purpose of the research andto seek his permission and assistance; on occasionreturning at a later date to conduct the interviews.Interviews were in the Kusasi’ language, Kusaal andrecorded verbatim as translated to the researcher byher translator. The interviews were semi-structured,children responding to open-ended questions posedthroughout the course of the interviews.The case studies from this project are those of Wahabu,Emina and Hawa. So as not to interrupt the flow of thechildren’s narratives the questions put to the childrenhave been removed.Hashim, I. (2005) Exploring the Inter-linkages betweenChildren’s Independent Migration and Education:Evidence from Ghana, Migration DRC, University ofSussex, UK (http://www.migration drc.org/publications/working_papers/WP-T12.pdf).Hashim, I. (2005) Independent Child Migration inGhana: A Research Report, Migration DRC, University ofSussex, UK (http://www.migration drc.org/publications/research_reports/ImanReport.pdf).Whitehead, A. and Hashim, I. (2005) Children andMigration: Background Paper for DfID Migration Team,Department for International Development, UK. Hashim, I. (2006) The Positives and Negatives ofChildren’s Independent Migration, Migration DRC,University of Sussex, UK (http://www.migrationdrc.org/publications/ working_papers/WP-T16.pdf).

http://www.migrationdrc.org/publications/working_papers/WP-T12.pdf


http://www.migrationdrc.org/publications/research_reports/ImanReport.pdf

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54 Appendix


Vegard Iversen: Child Migrant Workers in SouthIndia The Migration DRC research on this migration flow ofchildren builds on previous research in South India. Historically, migrants from Karnataka’s Coastal belt, ofwhich Udupi district forms an important part, haveestablished a large number of small, South-Indianeating places (popularly known as Udupi hotels) inMumbai, Bangalore and in other cities and smallltowns. At present individuals from the Bunt-community,the predominant peasant caste of the Coast is believedto control as much as 70% of Mumbai’s more than12,000 eating places. The ownership structure inBangalore’s Udupi hotels is distinctly different, with KotaBrahmins from Kundapura in the northern part of Udupidominating among owners. There is a long history of themigration of children for work in such eating places inMumbai and Bangalore. In the 1950s for example thearea known as Fort Mumbai in Bombay had fiveKannada (the language of Karnataka) Night Schoolsthat primarily catered for the educational needs ofchildren from the Coastal belt working in the city’s, bythen numerous, South-Indian eating places.In 1998 research was conducted in a dryland areaaround 130 kms west of Bangalore in Northern Mandyadistrict in Karnataka state, South-India on child labourmigrants (all below the age of 15) from 21 differentvillages. We interviewed the parental households ofthese migrants and most of the migrants themselves.There were 146 boys and 23 girls among these migrants– a large majority of the boys were working in small,South-Indian eating places in Bangalore, while the girlsprimarily worked as domestic servants. The studyshowed that entirely autonomous child labour migration(including running away from home) was confined toboys (Iversen 2002) and often was a response toconflicts and fights with their fathers. We also found thatautonomous child labour migration was more likely forboys from the dominant Gowda community. Girls,working as domestic servants were found to be morevulnerable to abuse (beatings) from employers. While providing original evidence that formed the basisfor a critique of the existing economic literature on childlabour, the 1998 study left a number of questionsunanswered, which the new Migration DRC researchwas designed to answer. The 2004-5 study coveredUdupi district in coastal Kanakata where most owners ofsmall South Indian eating places are from. Themotivation for this choice was the scope for makingcomparisons of central and coastal areas of the stateand to examine whether the concentration of ownershipof small, South-Indian eating places among nativesfrom the Coastal belt translated into a higher incidenceand different patterns of child labour migration from thisarea. Another aim of the study was to improve our

understanding of the role of caste and the nature of theuse of social networks for gaining access to jobs in theSouth-Indian food industry. We also wanted to learnmore about the experiences and career trajectories ofthese young migrants. The data collection in the 2004-05 project covered fourpurposively selected villages in the Coastal belt andrevisits to six of the villages from Mandy – from whichhouseholds were randomly sampled – data from thissurvey sheds light on the relative importance of childand adult labour migration. The sample survey iscomplemented by in-depth interviews of 98 individualswho left home for work before the age of 15. Many ofthe interviewees from the Coastal belt are now adults,giving these interviews a useful, longitudinal dimension.Govinda, Nataraj and Umesh were 15, 17 and 29 yearswhen they were interviewed, but all three left home forwork before the age of 15. A striking finding from thislast round of research is that recent child labourmigrants often are educational misfits. Conflicts arisewhen they fail exams, or have a strong dislike forschooling, or a combination of the two, despite parentalcommitment to education. Our findings also suggestthat many of our interviewees have had what theythemselves describe as very interesting working liveswith migration being a transformative and critical event.Iversen, V. (2002) Autonomy in Child Labour Migrants,World Development, 30 (5): 817-34. Iversen, V. (2005) Segmentation, Social NetworkMultipliers and Spillovers: A Theory of Rural UrbanMigration for a Traditional Economy, Migration DRC,University of Sussex. http://www.migration drc.org/publications/working_papers/WP-T9.pdfIversen, V. (forthcoming) The Economics of UrbanMigration in India, Monograph, London: Routledge. Iversen, V. and P. S. Raghavendra (forthcoming) Whatthe Signboard Hides: Food, Caste and Employability inSmall, South-Indian Eating places, Contributions toIndian Sociology.Sumaiya Khair: Child Migrant Workers in theInformal Sector in DhakaThis study has sought to understand independent childmigration and related family dynamics throughinterviews with child migrants working in the informalsector in Dhaka, the capital city of Bangladesh.Interviews were also conducted in selected rural areaswith parents/ guardians whose children migrated bythemselves. Dhaka is a favourite haunt for most migrants, whetherchildren or adults, due to its centrality and importanceas a manufacturing, administrative and commercialcentre. When children migrate they are deemed to doso in the company of their families. This is not always

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Appendix 55


the case. There are numerous instances where childrenmove through social networks of friends, relatives andneighbours or at times, entirely on their own, as whenthey run away from home. Although children constitutea significant proportion of the migrant population inDhaka, their position in the migration paradigm islargely unacknowledged. Following a review of existing literature on the subject,primary research was carried out in Dhaka, a majorurban centre attracting child migrants, who werecontacted purposively at bus, launch and trainterminals, in places of their work and in their residencesin the slums. Using a combination of formal andinformal techniques, interviews were conducted with105 children who had migrated from their homes bythemselves, and with 50 parents whose children hadmigrated independently of their immediate families.Fifteen further in-depth case studies of child migrantswere also undertaken to acquire a detailedunderstanding of the specificities of the position of childmigrants and their chosen way of life. During the qualitative interviews tape recorders wereused to capture their stories. Permission was soughtfrom the children before using the recorder; although itwas initially thought that they would be uncomfortablespeaking into a recorder, the children seemedunperturbed and at ease during the whole exercise.Important observations in terms of facial expressions,gestures, and overall body language were noted down.The conversations with Faisal, Sohel and Fatima were inBangla, heavily supplemented by local dialects thatwere subsequently transcribed and converted intoEnglish. While existing literature on child labour tends to singleout economic factors as the principal determinant ofchild labour, there exist other dynamics that are oftenequally critical, which induce children to join a highlydiversified labour market from an early age. Despiteabsence of adequate policy and legal protection andinstitutional support, the research finds considerableevidence of children having actual control over theirlifeworlds. This is manifest in the various strategiesdevised by them for surviving the odds at the place ofdestination. Khair, S. (2005) Voluntary Autonomous Child Migration:Perspectives from Bangladesh, Paper presented at theConference Childhoods in Oslo in June 2005(http://www.migration drc.org/news/reports/oslo/khair2005.pdf).

Stephen Kwankye, John Anarfi, and Cynthia Tagoe:Independent North-South Child Migration toGhanaian CitiesThe case studies used here arise out of a MigrationDRC project looking at the migration of children andyoung people to urban southern cities from Ghana’snorth. There is a long history of out-migration from thenorthern regions, particularly of men to work in ruraland urban areas. Recently many more children andyoung people, especially girls, have been moving,usually to work in the informal economy in Kumasi andAccra. Typical of these migrants are female adolescentswith little or no education and few employable skillswho work as head porters popularly called kayayee atmost of the transport stations and market centres.The project collected data from a survey of 450independent child migrants aged between 10-24conducted in the first quarter of 2005 in Accra andKumasi. In addition, in-depth interviews were held withparents of current migrants, opinion leaders and somereturned migrants in the origin areas in the north. Somefocus group discussions were also organized amongpotential child migrants and other adults on their viewson migration. Other methods adopted to gatherinformation included the use of key informants at theplaces of origin and destination of the migrants, basedon a snowball approach to identify the child migrantsfrom the northern regions. Children were initiallycontacted through key informants who introduced theresearch team to boys and girls aged below 18 yearswho had come down from the north to the cities, andto young people who had come before they were 18.Information was collected through in-depth interviews inthe Twi, the Dagbani and Frafra languages, after whichthey were transcribed into English. Interviews notrecorded on tape were written down very fully, takingcare to record the statements and words used by thechildren and young people. The case studies in this paper come from in-depthinterviews with a small sample of the migrants whowere aged 19 and under. The interviews were wideranging in content, covering for example reasons forleaving and details of how the decision was arrived at,employment histories, information about currentconditions of work and about living conditions.Although there was a focus on the coping strategieschild migrants adopted to cope with their difficult livingconditions, the research seeks to uncover the negativeand positive aspects of the children’s experience ofmigration and to explore the risks attached to thesekinds of migrationKwankye, S., J. Anarfi, and C. Tagoe (2005) Costs andBenefits of Independent North-South Migration ofChildren in Ghana, Paper presented at the ConferenceChildhoods in Oslo in June 2005.

http://www.migrationdrc.org/news/reports/oslo/khair2005.pdf

http://www.migrationdrc.org/news/reports/oslo/khair2005.pdf

56 Appendix


Kwankye, S., J. Anarfi, and C. Tagoe (forthcoming)Coping Strategies of Independent Child Migrants fromNorthern Ghana to Southern Cities, Migration DRC,University of Sussex, UK. Kwankye, S., J. Anarfi, and C. Tagoe (forthcoming)Independent North-South Child Migration In Ghana: TheDecision Making Process, Migration DRC, University ofSussex, UK. Dorte Thorsen: Child Migration, Poverty andLivelihoods in Burkina FasoThis research was carried out during the four monthsJanuary - May 2005 where material about children’smigration from the Bisa region in south-eastern BurkinaFaso was produced in semi-structured interviews,through a series of visits and informal chats with 60child migrants in Ouagadougou and two rural towns inthe south-east and with their parents (n=45) infourteen different villages. The Migration DRC projectbuilt on detailed knowledge about the rural socialsetting and the pervasiveness of migration in rurallivelihoods and, more importantly, on a network ofpersonal relationships created in a total of 18 months’fieldwork in the region since 1997 and having lived inone village in 2001-02. The purpose of the research was to explore how thenormality of departures and homecomings linked withhigh mobility and the importance given to migration inlocal discourses influenced both children’s and parents’ideas of the benefits and disadvantages of migration. Itsaim was to increase our understanding of thecomplexities underlying rural children’s migration andwork. This involved unpacking the incentives for childrento migrate, for their parents/families to allow them toleave or to send them to kin elsewhere, and thehousehold negotiations preceding children’s migration.Furthermore, the research aimed to explore the actualexperiences of independent child migrants, theirstrategies to improve their situation and the linksbetween child migrants, their families in the village, andkin based at the destination.People were generally careful not to disclose detailedinformation to strangers, hence contact with childmigrants in rural towns and the first contacts inOuagadougou were made through my existing socialnetwork. The number of contacts in Ouagadougou wassystematically built on by meeting the friends of the firstmigrants interviewed. Moreover, adult migrants from theregion were traced in marketplaces and theneighbourhoods where many of the Bisa migrants live

and after thorough introductions and explanations of theresearch they were asked to mediate contact with thechildren they knew. Finally, a similar approach wasapplied in a screening of marketplaces, restaurants andbars for young itinerant traders speaking Bisa. With thepermission of the migrant children in Ouagadougou,visits to their village of origin were made to interviewtheir parents. Interviews were semi-structured and mostwere conducted with the help of an interpreter whotranslated between French and Bisa, though some wereentirely in French. While the first interview wasrecorded, subsequent conversations were informal anddocumented in a research journal every night.The case studies from this project are those of Ibrahim,Lamoussa and Solange, Boureima, Bakary and othershoe-shiners. The children’s stories are a mix of whatthey said in the first interview and the information anddetails they added in subsequent conversations, and inBoureima’s case his story is contextualised byinformation given by rural and urban relatives.Thorsen, D. (2005) Looking for Money while BuildingNew Skills and Knowledge: Rural Children’sIndependent Migration in South-Eastern Burkina Faso.Brief Field Report, Migration DRC, University of Sussex,UK (http://www.migration drc.org/publications/research_reports/DorteFieldReport2005_English.pdfAlso available in French: http://www.migrationdrc.org/publications/research_reports/DorteFieldReport2005_French.pdf)Thorsen, D. (forthcoming 2006) Child Migration,Poverty and Livelihoods in Burkina Faso. ResearchReport, Migration DRC, University of Sussex, UK. Thorsen, D. (2006) Child Migrants in Transit. Strategiesto Assert New Identities in Rural Burkina Faso. In:Christiansen, C., M. Utas and H.E. Vigh (eds.)Navigating Youth, Generating Adulthood. SocialBecoming in an African context. Uppsala: The NordicAfrica Institute, pp. 88-114. Thorsen, D. (forthcoming 2006) Junior-Senior Linkagesin Migration. A Case Study of Bisa Migrants inOuagadougou, Burkina Faso. Working Paper, MigrationDRC, University of Sussex, UK. Thorsen, D. (forthcoming 2006) “If only I get enoughmoney for a bicycle!” A study of child migration againsta backdrop of exploitation and trafficking in BurkinaFaso. Occasional Paper, Centre for African Studies,University of Copenhagen, Denmark.

http://www.migrationdrc.org/publications/research_reports/DorteFieldReport2005_English.pdfAlsoavailableinFrench:www.migrationdrc.org/publicatio



v oices of child migrants - gov.uk...govinda 23 boureima 26 bakary and other shoe-shiners 30 zuera...

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