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Awareness Against Human Trafficking: HAART - Awareness Against Human Trafficking
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Before I was anything else, a domestic worker, a migrant, a survivor, I was a little girl named Nancy. I grew up in Kisii, where the hills roll soft and green like those you see in a painting, and the air smells of tilled earth after rain. My parents didn’t have much, but they gave us what they could: food on the table, discipline, love, and the chance to go to school...
I was born in the cold hills of Limuru, the sixth child in my family, and given the name Helen Njoroge. When I was barely a year old, my father died in a road accident. I never knew his voice, his smell, the warmth of his arms. All I had were pictures of him, still faces of a man I longed for but could never touch. Sometimes I stared at those frames until my eyes blurred, try...
My name is Fridah Njoroge. I was born in Kenya to a single mother of six. Life was hard, and survival was all we knew. I remember the smell of smoke when we dried our clothes over the fire and the feel of the bare ground beneath our feet as we ran around all day, carefree and laughing . I left school in class eight. High school was just a dream. At fourteen, I went straight i...
The flight to Malaysia is comfortable and I’m using the time to plan. The changeover is in Delhi, but I should only be here for two hours. It’s quarter to nine at night and the sunset is burning through the airport’s glass ceiling. Deep green palm leaves rattle in the breeze outside and I slot two coins into the vending machine for some water. The walls above departures...