My name is Jocelyne, I am a beating Ghanaian girl. It was an aunt who took me to Paris by making my family believe that once in France, she would enroll me in a training school so that three years later, I would start working. That was not the case.
Rather, she made me her boniche by inflicting all possible tortures on me. From time to time she made sure that I could send a few euros to my family in Tamale to make them believe that all was well for me in the best of all possible worlds.
Know what? In her house, my aunt did not know that her husband was wooing me. I had no interest in revealing it at the risk of finding myself outside, homeless man. But in the end I do not know if I had opted for the best decision because this thug husband of my aunt had ended up forcing me to give up my charms to him.
Result: pregnancy. When tantie realized that I was pregnant and that i confessed to her that it was her husband who was the author, she immediately put my luggage outside. I am not telling you how much i suffered until childbirth. I didn’t say a word to my parents about my Parisian hell. Without knowing what I’m going through, they do not fail to harass me to ask me for money, interpreting my silence as selfishness.
I know the spirit of the African family. It’s difficult for a benguist to make him accept that Europe can be more hellish than Africa. Since then, i wander with my child living my homeless life with my child without a father under his arms, in the hope that life will smile on me, one day. Even in Tamale, in my little neighborhood, i was happier.
In the ten years since i arrived in France, i have not yet managed to integrate. Still undocumented, i wander here and there, sleeping in the kitchens of my employers who underpay me or spending the night in the subways, in the bitter cold.
You know, in Europe, when you are undocumented, you are prey to all kinds of exploitation and also injustices.
source: operanews
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