I didn’t think that a piece of information about children slaves found in a guide book by chance would lead me here. I’m not only thinking about the town Akua comes from but the fact that I can influence human fate. Because Akua’s life changed in an instant. Maybe she wasn’t exactly a slave but what was the difference between her life and a slave’s life? Away from her family, in a foreign country she worked hard all day, every day. How long did it last? Akua couldn’t say how many weeks, months and years had passed, just as she couldn’t determine her age. All she knew was that once she didn’t get paid. The money was probably paid out, however the girl never got it, nor did her family but the person who brought her here took the money saying it was to cover the cost of transport, food and accommodation.

Akua didn’t require anything, she didn’t care neither for money nor compensation for the misery she had suffered, she was simply happy she could come back home. ‘Home’ is a small room at her grandmother’s which is a kitchen daytime and a place of rest nightime for the grandmother, an aunt, Akua and a few more kids in not particularly interesting fishing surroundings.

About Akua’s mother I know only that she’s not here. Her father – fisherman, pops in sometimes but he’s not very interested in his daughter. To be honest Akua is like a mother to her younger brother and an even younger sister. In the local language ‘Akua’ meens Wednesday – it’s very conventional but also very common among children born on this day of the week. Her family impressed by her comeback to the village accompanied by a white person wanted me to give her a Christian name. Because my African name is Malaika and I know a beautiful song of this title I decided to give this name to my step daughter. Yes, a daughter, because quite quick she started calling me ‘mum’.

I took Malaika to school. It’s a small private school in the suburbs which surely will be more appropriate for someone who lost the few first years of education. A private school where tuition fee is a mere 10 dolars a quarter. The principal gave me a list of necessary books. I put them in the rucksack next to the things brought from Abidjan. I bought new trainers, a bit of pink fabric for the school uniform, I paid the dressmaker and after just 3 days Malaika went to school with everything she needed and dressed as the other girls.

I was worried, children in Malaika’s grade are younger than her, they can speak, read and write in English and Akua never held a pen in her hand before. I trust that with the goodwill of the teacher and her own exertion she will catch up, however I was worried how she would fit within the group. It turned out that I needn’t have worried as Malaika is very sociable and although she can’t tell the difference between A and B, she won them over with something else. She had been to a big city abroad while majority of the children hadn’t even been out of town. She speaks a bit of French and, what’s most important, she came back accompanied by a white person and this alone means that she’s someone special to them.

Now I want to tell you how you do homework the African way. Malaika sits on a low bench in the centre of the yard. She doesn’t pay attention to the goats trying to find some food nearby, to her naked little brother running after a chicken, to her cousins jumping on the bench from time to time, and the curious aunts gathered round her. She opens the notebook. Writing numbers in it proves to be still a bit too difficult so we try something else for now, slow, not all at once. I take a piece of dark stone and I write number three on it, I give it to Malaika so she can do the same. Malaika thinks it’s easier to write a 3 at a 90 degrees angle. One of the aunts corrects her with a slap over the head. Yes, I know it won’t be easy but she can do it.

I explained to Malaika’s family that my friend from America will support her financially she graduates. However I couldn’t stop thinking about other children which should attend school but don’t. At some neighbours' house I saw two little girls, younger than Malaika but who should already be at school, but the younger one spends her days running around half naked and half wild, and the older one carrying her baby brother tied to her back with a cloth. Why aren't they at school when they have a free, government one just five minutes away from the house? The reason is simple - the school itself is free, but parents can't afford the uniform or the books and pens. So I bought some more fabric, paid the dressmaker for the uniforms, I got notebooks, pens, pencils and colouring pens, I packed all of it in second hand rucksacks from Europe which I managed to buy cheap at a local stall.

I spent about...10 dollars for school equipment for one child. Now I’m already in Accra, and I have just picked up another money transfer from Jason. Jason worked here voluntary in the library in the past and he now wants me to buy something for his friends and kids he used to spend time with. As he said – he sent less money than he earns in a day and at the same time more than many Africans earn in a year. Passing a stall with imported second hand bags I chose a few pretty colourful ones from a big pile of them. I have exactly seven for about 1 euro each. I will buy school books as well. I am more than sure that when I visit Malaika before she leaves Ghana I will find kids that will be more than happy with such presents.

Kinga