Showing posts with label slavery in Ghana. Show all posts
Showing posts with label slavery in Ghana. Show all posts
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Ghana Staff Training on Child Trafficking
I just returned from Ghana where one of my jobs was to train all our staff on issues related to child trafficking. As part of the workshop, the staff compiled a list of all trafficking situations they were aware of in each of their areas. It was a challenging list, indeed. We also role-played asking questions to investigate possible cases of trafficking. Now they have all been charged with watching for and reporting all possible incidents of child trafficking. Our organization, Every Child Ministries, hopes to get more involved and to help some of these children. Please pray that the staff will remember and actively use all they have learned.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Voodoo used to enslave girls & justify it
Yesterday a Togolese woman residing legally in the United States, Akouavi Kpade Afolabi , was found guilty on October 14 on 22 counts of human trafficking and obtaining US visas by fraud. She had been a well-to-do textile merchant in Lome, and a traditional or voodoo worshiper. Her name Afolabi, which is common in Nigeria, means "coming into wealth suddenly". But the wealth she gained by her trade in textiles was not enough for her. She took girls into her home in Togo and gained control over their lives. Parents even sent their precious young teenage daughters to her when she promised them a better life in America. They should have known something was wrong when they were forced to swear loyalty to her using voodoo curses. If they did not obey her, they would go mad. So she caused them to think. It's a ploy I've heard over and over in regard to the trokosi slaves of Ghana. In traditional families, these kinds of curses are the way things are done. So the girls accepted them. They were accustomed to seeing Afolabi pray and offer chicken sacrifices in front of the stone voodoo idol in her home.
They should have known something was wrong when Afolabi had to stage a fake wedding for one of them in order to get a visa to America. For sure, these uneducated girls did not understand American law, but at least one should have known something was fishy. But the pull of a new life in America was so strong, and her parents were counting on her to send money home from her earnings.
Once the girls got to America, they never got any earnings. They worked hard--14 hour days, six days a week, braiding hair in Afolabi's salons. Occasionally Afolabi sent some money home to some families. Best to keep them thinking everything was OK. The girls themselves never got any salary at all. Even the smallest tips given by customers were confiscated by the greedy trafficker.
As is the case with so many trafficking victims, the girls had their passports and personal documents confiscated. They were denied the right to call home or to call friends or anyone. They had to come right back to their room after work. If they didn't, or if they asked for their salaries or any money at all, Afolabi's husband Lassissi would beat them. He even beat the head of one of the girls against a table. That didn't stop him and their son, Dereck Hounakey, from raping the girls, nor did the fact that they were nearly all under the legal age of consent, ranging from 10 to 19 years.
Voodoo was used not only to enslave the girls, but also raised by her lawyer as a justification for her actions. He claimed that what Afolabi had done was admirable, saving the girls from poverty. Only a West African custom. Done all the time in Togo and Ghana, where the girls were from. It's OK, because it's her tradition.
Hmm. Now, where have I heard that argument before? I know! Isn't that the same argument the Afrikania Mission uses to justify trokosi slavery in Ghana? If it's their tradition, it's sacred, unquestionable, unchallengable.
Hogwash. Slavery was our (American) tradition. I'm glad we got rid of it. Every culture has traditions that need to change.
Hogwash. That's what the jury said in Newark, New Jersey. They quickly returned a unanimous verdict of guilty on all 22 counts of human trafficking.
And now some of the girls parents are upset, blaming their daughters for "telling" on their traffickers. Why? The pittance that Afolabi sent them on occasion, a very small percentage of what she stole from their daughters, I'm sure. Never mind that their daughters work without pay. Never mind that they have no life of their own. Never mind that they are beaten, have their heads bashed on tables. Never mind that they are raped. Just send us our little pittance.
Hogvomit.
They should have known something was wrong when Afolabi had to stage a fake wedding for one of them in order to get a visa to America. For sure, these uneducated girls did not understand American law, but at least one should have known something was fishy. But the pull of a new life in America was so strong, and her parents were counting on her to send money home from her earnings.
Once the girls got to America, they never got any earnings. They worked hard--14 hour days, six days a week, braiding hair in Afolabi's salons. Occasionally Afolabi sent some money home to some families. Best to keep them thinking everything was OK. The girls themselves never got any salary at all. Even the smallest tips given by customers were confiscated by the greedy trafficker.
As is the case with so many trafficking victims, the girls had their passports and personal documents confiscated. They were denied the right to call home or to call friends or anyone. They had to come right back to their room after work. If they didn't, or if they asked for their salaries or any money at all, Afolabi's husband Lassissi would beat them. He even beat the head of one of the girls against a table. That didn't stop him and their son, Dereck Hounakey, from raping the girls, nor did the fact that they were nearly all under the legal age of consent, ranging from 10 to 19 years.
Voodoo was used not only to enslave the girls, but also raised by her lawyer as a justification for her actions. He claimed that what Afolabi had done was admirable, saving the girls from poverty. Only a West African custom. Done all the time in Togo and Ghana, where the girls were from. It's OK, because it's her tradition.
Hmm. Now, where have I heard that argument before? I know! Isn't that the same argument the Afrikania Mission uses to justify trokosi slavery in Ghana? If it's their tradition, it's sacred, unquestionable, unchallengable.
Hogwash. Slavery was our (American) tradition. I'm glad we got rid of it. Every culture has traditions that need to change.
Hogwash. That's what the jury said in Newark, New Jersey. They quickly returned a unanimous verdict of guilty on all 22 counts of human trafficking.
And now some of the girls parents are upset, blaming their daughters for "telling" on their traffickers. Why? The pittance that Afolabi sent them on occasion, a very small percentage of what she stole from their daughters, I'm sure. Never mind that their daughters work without pay. Never mind that they have no life of their own. Never mind that they are beaten, have their heads bashed on tables. Never mind that they are raped. Just send us our little pittance.
Hogvomit.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Celebrating Day of the African Child
I was feeling a bit down yesterday, realizing that it was the Day of the African Child and we had been so taken up with the David Lubaale issue that we had not arranged any big celebration.
But as I thought about it, the Lord showed me that it was OK. Every Child Ministries has always been far more about steady, faithful commitment to African children over the long haul than it has been about big events.
It was the Day of the African Child. Our Gayaza sponsorship club met as usual in the garage of our National Ministry Center here in Uganda. In the afternoon, boys met for soccer practice. In Congo, orphans met for Bible teaching and a meal. Sunday school teachers prepared for their lessons in over 2300 churches. In Ghana, our Haven of Hope family played on the playground--50 of them rescued from slavery, street life, and all kinds of terrible situations. Yes, Every Child Ministries DID celebrate the Day of the African child!
But as I thought about it, the Lord showed me that it was OK. Every Child Ministries has always been far more about steady, faithful commitment to African children over the long haul than it has been about big events.
It was the Day of the African Child. Our Gayaza sponsorship club met as usual in the garage of our National Ministry Center here in Uganda. In the afternoon, boys met for soccer practice. In Congo, orphans met for Bible teaching and a meal. Sunday school teachers prepared for their lessons in over 2300 churches. In Ghana, our Haven of Hope family played on the playground--50 of them rescued from slavery, street life, and all kinds of terrible situations. Yes, Every Child Ministries DID celebrate the Day of the African child!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
The Day I Became an Abolitionist
The date was 1999. Boy, was I naive. I was training Sunday school teachers in Ghana with Every Child Ministries. At break time, a young man walked up and handed the members of our team t-shirts saying "Stop Trokosi Now" or something like that.
"OK, what's trokosi?" I asked.
He explained that it was a practice of slavery in his country whereby girls were given as slaves to priests in traditional shrines.
I hardly believed him. I thought slavery ended with the American Civil War. I didn't know there were slaves still today. Certainly not in a modern country like Ghana. Boy, was I naive!
When I got home, I began checking out "trokosi" on the internet. I was surprised by the amount of information I found. I made a trip back to Ghana and investigated the matter for myself. I talked with a former trokosi and with a priest who until recently kept trokosi slaves.
Since then I have talked with many former trokosi and many priests who have kept such slaves. I have learned that trokosi is only one form of slavery and that there are more people in slavery today than ever before in history.
But the day I become an abolitionist was the day I sat in Anna's* bamboo shelter and heard her story. She was 13, attending school and living a happy, normal life in the village when her parents announced that they'd be going to visit another village. It was a long walk, but as they got closer, Anna noticed that they were not really going to the place her parents had mentioned. Instead, somehow they ended up at a shrine. Her parents told her to wait outside. She was not too frightened until she overheard her parents talking with the priest and realized that she was going to be left there. Her parents left by another way without saying goodbye or giving her any kind of explanation. But then, what could they really say to explain what was about to happen?
The priest was an old man. He called her in, told her she'd be staying at the shrine, and ordered her to strip.
Now, I remember how shy and confused I was at 13. If the things that happened to Anna had happened to me, I don't think there's a chance in the world I ever could be normal once again.
Anna was paraded around naked and ashamed--a new wife of the gods. Her duties were to put white powder on the idols every morning, sweep the compound, work in the priest's fields all day, and serve him sexually at night. At least, whenever he wanted. There were lots of other trokosi, too.
"Anna, didn't you ever just tell him no?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she said. "We all told him no."
"What happened then?" I asked.
"Then," she said, "he laid two items in front of us--a leather whip made from the dried penis of a bull, and a bunch of sharp, broken bottles. That was the only time we had a choice in the shrine," she said.
"A choice?" I asked.
"Yes, we could be whipped. When they whipped us, several of the shrine elders came in and held us down. He whipped us long and hard, but it was forbidden to cry. If you cried, you just got more punishment."
"Or?" I asked.
"Or, we could kneel on the broken bottles and hold our hands up in the air for hours." She showed me cuts on her knees from doing so.
Anna's story was horrific, but the worst thing was her face. They had carved her cheeks at the shrine to show their ownership, but worse than those scars was the pain that still showed through so clearly.
When I went back to my hotel room that night, I sat in the dark and tried to absorb it emotionally. I felt as if I had lifted just a corner off the lid of the pit of hell and looked in.
I didn't immediately see how I could get involved with all my other commitments, but I knew I had to do something. That was the day I become an abolitionist.
by Lorella Rouster
Every Child Ministries
www.ecmafrica.org
"OK, what's trokosi?" I asked.
He explained that it was a practice of slavery in his country whereby girls were given as slaves to priests in traditional shrines.
I hardly believed him. I thought slavery ended with the American Civil War. I didn't know there were slaves still today. Certainly not in a modern country like Ghana. Boy, was I naive!
When I got home, I began checking out "trokosi" on the internet. I was surprised by the amount of information I found. I made a trip back to Ghana and investigated the matter for myself. I talked with a former trokosi and with a priest who until recently kept trokosi slaves.
Since then I have talked with many former trokosi and many priests who have kept such slaves. I have learned that trokosi is only one form of slavery and that there are more people in slavery today than ever before in history.
But the day I become an abolitionist was the day I sat in Anna's* bamboo shelter and heard her story. She was 13, attending school and living a happy, normal life in the village when her parents announced that they'd be going to visit another village. It was a long walk, but as they got closer, Anna noticed that they were not really going to the place her parents had mentioned. Instead, somehow they ended up at a shrine. Her parents told her to wait outside. She was not too frightened until she overheard her parents talking with the priest and realized that she was going to be left there. Her parents left by another way without saying goodbye or giving her any kind of explanation. But then, what could they really say to explain what was about to happen?
The priest was an old man. He called her in, told her she'd be staying at the shrine, and ordered her to strip.
Now, I remember how shy and confused I was at 13. If the things that happened to Anna had happened to me, I don't think there's a chance in the world I ever could be normal once again.
Anna was paraded around naked and ashamed--a new wife of the gods. Her duties were to put white powder on the idols every morning, sweep the compound, work in the priest's fields all day, and serve him sexually at night. At least, whenever he wanted. There were lots of other trokosi, too.
"Anna, didn't you ever just tell him no?" I asked.
"Oh, yes," she said. "We all told him no."
"What happened then?" I asked.
"Then," she said, "he laid two items in front of us--a leather whip made from the dried penis of a bull, and a bunch of sharp, broken bottles. That was the only time we had a choice in the shrine," she said.
"A choice?" I asked.
"Yes, we could be whipped. When they whipped us, several of the shrine elders came in and held us down. He whipped us long and hard, but it was forbidden to cry. If you cried, you just got more punishment."
"Or?" I asked.
"Or, we could kneel on the broken bottles and hold our hands up in the air for hours." She showed me cuts on her knees from doing so.
Anna's story was horrific, but the worst thing was her face. They had carved her cheeks at the shrine to show their ownership, but worse than those scars was the pain that still showed through so clearly.
When I went back to my hotel room that night, I sat in the dark and tried to absorb it emotionally. I felt as if I had lifted just a corner off the lid of the pit of hell and looked in.
I didn't immediately see how I could get involved with all my other commitments, but I knew I had to do something. That was the day I become an abolitionist.
by Lorella Rouster
Every Child Ministries
www.ecmafrica.org
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