While we were still asleep, my mother dressed me and my 12-year-old sister, and carefully put us in the back of the car. Then she started driving. 

It wasn’t until we were at the airport that I finally opened my eyes. 

It was 1986, I was 10 years old, and had been living with my family in Cote D’Ivoire. I didn’t realise it then, but my life was about to drastically change. 

With important documents strapped around our necks, our parents handed us and our passports over to two white women we had never met – then we boarded a plane to France.

I didn’t know what was happening but I remember thinking that my parents did not want me anymore, or were selling me. It was scary because I had never seen white people before.

When we landed in Paris, my sister and I were picked up by someone we didn’t know, and put on a two-hour train journey to the west of France, where we would be met by some of our relatives. 

We didn’t know it at the time, but the plan was for us to go to France to study (we were entering the country on a family visa), build a life for ourselves, and support our family back home. 

Unfortunately, the reality was different for us.

We ended up with an extremely dangerous relative, who would beat and emotionally abuse us as some sort of power trip. My sister would fight them to shield me and once she took a beating so hard that I thought her left eye was going to pop out.

When we tried to complain to our family back home, we were told just to respect our relatives. What choice did we have? In immigration terms, they were our sponsors and we were tied to them. In other words, we were trapped.

These family members were well-known and respected in the local community – it felt like there was nothing anyone could do for us.

On weekends and during holidays, we would work delivering newspapers, which gave us some freedom and at least allowed us to generate money. 

We’d have to carry heavy newspaper bundles – often in the snow – from a car to various houses. The money would go to our relatives to help with feeding us.

This wasn’t a problem for me, as I’d always worked hard as a child. Even as a baby, my mum would carry me on her back while working in various plantations, or put me next to her to let me play with whatever I found in the forest.

By the time I arrived in France I’d already worked in cocoa, coffee and pineapple plantations. I did not feel like a forced child labourer, rather a person doing manual work with his family to survive. 

My whole family – including my brothers – would wake up very early (around 4.30am), walk for about two or three hours and work on plantations of cocoa, coffee, pineapples, and rubber trees.

Most children in my village had a similar upbringing. I planted crops, then helped collect the produce. You may have even drunk your morning coffee with the beans I planted.

I would climb the cocoa trees to jump on the branches so the pods would fall off. I’d also cut the stubborn ones with a long well-sharpened blade to remove the beans.

Of course, accidents happened – I still have scars on my left knee and chest to prove it.

But overall, I was happy, which is why the treatment I suffered at the hands of my relatives was harder to take. I knew what families were supposed to look like. 

When my sister had enough of the abuse we faced, she ran away to live with other relatives in Paris. She could not take me with her because I was still tied to my family visa, but I never felt let down by her.

My turn came as soon as I turned 16. I left the house, went to stay in a hostel, and another family member looked after me financially for a couple of years until they couldn’t afford to anymore. At that point I became destitute and homeless – and as my visa had lapsed, I was at risk of deportation. 

I was scared and worried about what my future looked like when my best friend’s mum took me in without questions for a few years. Luckily for me, I made another friend who knew the law and gave me immigration advice. I don’t know what would have happened to me without the support of these two hugely important people. 

Thanks to their help, I managed to switch my immigration route to remain in France on a student visa, before going on to study modern languages at university. 

Throughout my education, I worked in various jobs just to provide for myself and my family back home – a cleaner, cook, farm worker, and construction worker – but it was hard to balance these two facets of my life. 

Even though I had the legal right to stay in France, the whole situation felt unstable – that was until, aged 27, I was granted indefinite leave to remain and was issued a document valid for 10 years. This gave me the right to apply for citizenship, which I submitted in 2002.

Waiting for a decision was agonising so I decided to take a trip to the UK in that period, to help me learn English. I’d already been once before in 1996, but this time I stayed in Brixton. 

I was in awe seeing a Black bank manager – as well as many Black people working in the bank. I’d never seen anything like it in France, where racism was rife. 

I felt such a connection with the Black British community in Brixton that I decided I would move there, as soon as I got my French citizenship – which I did in 2005. The feeling of relief was palpable, and knowing I was secure in my immigration status, I started to get excited about my UK move. 

Things went well for a couple of years. I worked as a security guard and loved interacting with the general public. 

Unfortunately, in 2009, my new employer – in a similar role – became anxious about my right to work because of my French citizenship. They requested I supply evidence of my work permit, which did not exist as I was an EU citizen. It gave me a taste of the difficulties migrant workers face in the UK. 

After a lengthy process, I was devastated to be made redundant in 2012 because of a contracting dispute.

A year later, I started volunteering at the trade union, GMB, before they offered me a job as an organiser – encouraging people of colour to join the union. I enjoyed it because, as a former child labourer, it was important for me to ensure that workers are protected at work, especially against exploitation and racism.

It was through this role that I realised how many migrants and people of colour like me didn’t feel properly supported at work. They had to represent themselves in their right-to-work disciplinary meetings and court cases. Inevitably, they were losing.

It inspired me to set up Migrants At Work – a labour movement that specifically caters for this demographic because we have been failed for too long. 

Looking back, I am so proud of all the progress I have made as an activist and as a voice for people like me. 

Our work specifically helps to provide labour migration information and source legal representation. We work across areas including homegrown and modern slavery,

As it stands, migrants are seen as victims who need to be saved, not as social innovators who are capable of standing up for ourselves. The advice of experts is valuable, but migrants who have lived experience are invaluable to workers’ rights.

It’s why I also believe that the UN’s blanket ban on child labour will only exacerbate vulnerability to the worst form of child labour in Cote D’Ivoire.

I am a former child labourer, with an experience similar to human trafficking. Like Sir Mo Farah, we all have our wounds and scars. We need to speak up when the time is right.

I am an anti-human trafficking award-winning activist. I have a master’s degree in international human rights law and I’m also currently training to become a qualified solicitor.

I want to get my PhD and grow Migrants at Work, Black Europeans, as well as Kids at Work – a project I started with my brother to tackle child labour in my home country.

I’ll continue to serve and empower my community because I know exactly how invaluable that support would’ve been for me. 

I also want governments around the world to know that we have the solutions to labour exploitation – we just need to be listened to.

Featured picture credit: Sono Circle Refugee Employment

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