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Part II: Escape to Uncertain Freedom
By Zaahida Abdul Wahid
In the midst of bustling Accra today, one woman’s story stands as a testament to the unyielding power of maternal love and determination. Salamatu, an 18-year-old who in 2022 dared to escape an oppressive, forced marriage in Damango, Northern Region, braved a daunting journey with her two children, driven by the unwavering hope of a better life. Followingis a story about how she managed to get away from her tormentor.
“I had suicidal thoughts many times because having my husband forcing himself on me every night until a bleed [sic] sometime was painful, and anytime I refuse, he will beat me to pulps and still have his way with me. And anytime I reported to my parents, all they did was shut me up and said I should try and make my husband happy,” explains Salamatu.
Forced into a life she never chose, Salamatu’s decision to flee Damango was a bold act of defiance against the stifling chains of tradition. With only 100 cedi (less than US$10) in her pocket, she boarded a rickety transport, braving hours of uncertainty and hardship with her infant children by her side. Her meager earnings from selling sheanut were a lifeline, a symbol of her resilience in the face of adversity.
Two years into her forced marriage, trapped by two children under two years old, she put her escape plan into action, following the advice of her school mate Saviour (not her real name).
“For the first time I felt a breath of fresh air when the rickety transport left the station. My children were so happy because this is their first time in a vehicle. And to me and my little children, I felt a sense of freedom at last”.
With her two infants and a savings of 100 cedis, Salamatu boarded a large truck primarily carrying cows destined for the unfamiliar city of Accra. After enduring the gruelling nearly 600-kilometre journey that lasted over 12 hours, Salamatu and her two children arrived in Ashaiman, a sprawling slum near Accra that was as foreign to them as it was overwhelming.
Salamatu’s voice trembles with emotion as she recounts the fear and desperation she felt.
“I didn’t know where to turn, and my children kept crying. People stared at us,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
In Ashaiman, they knew no one and had no place to stay. The harsh reality of their circumstances set in as they found themselves sleeping in a market shed at the lorry station, their only refuge from the bustling streets.
The next day, Salamatu and her children found themselves adrift in the sea of strangers, with no place to call home. The nights were spent sleeping in shop fronts in the Ashaiman market. The struggle for even the most basic necessities became a daily battle, with their 100 cedi quickly dwindling to almost nothing.
Their desperate situation meant that Salamatu and her children were penniless within three days and they did not take a proper bath for more than a week.
The thought of returning to Damango, where oppression awaited, kept haunting her.
“You have no idea how scared I was the first time I got to this Accra area. I didn’t know where to turn, either left or right and my children kept crying and everyone kept looking at us. A lot of them were rude and I couldn’t find a proper place to sit and rest until late in the night where I could sleep with my children in front of shops”.
Yet, in the depths of despair, a glimmer of hope emerged the week after arriving when Salamatu chanced upon two women speaking her dialect in the Ashaiman market.
“As we were walking in the market begging for food to eat, I heard two women speaking my Gonja dialect, so I got closer and stood beside them for a while, watching them sit on head pans whiles talking about home. I immediately went to them and said ‘hello’”.
Finding solace in their shared language and stories of home, Salamatu recounted her story and she was led to a communal refuge at Taabou line. where women and children sought shelter and support. There, amidst the solidarity of kindred spirits, Salamatu found a sense of security she had longed for.
“It was just a wooden structure with over 15 women and young girls the same age as me also sleeping with their children. I felt a little safe because I was in the mist of my kind”.
According to Caritas International, an organization that responds to emergencies and promotes development around the world, there are about 740 million people worldwide, including children under 18, migrating within their own countries. Young people account for about a third.
Migration can mean a better life, more opportunities or an escape from violence, poverty and abuse for many children. But child migrants can face exploitation and are vulnerable to child labour.
Child migrants often experience maltreatment – including suffering from isolation, violence, substandard working conditions, non-payment of wages and the threat of being reported to the authorities he concluded.
For Salamatu, it was the innocent gaze of her children that ignited an unquenchable fire within her to migrate to a city she was unfamiliar with. Despite the challenges and the haunting spectre of a return to oppression, Salamatu was driven by an unwavering resolve to carve a path to a better future for her beloved children.
Salamatu’s story echoes the plight of countless others, reflecting the staggering global statistics on migration and the challenges faced by child migrants. Pope Francis’s poignant words in 2014 resonate, reminding us that migrants and refugees are not pawns but individuals with legitimate aspirations for a life of dignity and fulfilment.
For those in similar circumstances, the Ministry of Gender, Children, and Social Protection stands as a beacon of support and protection. Should you find yourself in need, the Department of Children offers a safe haven for raising concerns and seeking assistance.
In the courageous struggle of Salamatu and others like her, we witness the triumph of the human spirit over adversity, reminding us that in the darkest of times, the light of hope and solidarity can guide us toward a brighter tomorrow.