No one knows about me,
and the box I’m trapped
in, except for the people
who endure just as much as I do.

I sometimes have hope that someday,
my family will find me, and
they will tell me that everything
is going to be okay.

My bare black feet hit against
the dead leaves, fallen from the
cocoa trees. I often felt like them.

My reality is worse than any
nightmare, but no one else knows.

My machetes whisks against
my arm after I chop off
the cocoa pods. A line of blood
appears.

I wince, but I don’t dare to cry.

After I fill up my sack, I heave it
to the pile of cocoa pods. I’m
only nine, but I have to lift things
thirty-year-olds can’t.

10 hours, 2 bruises, and 15 sacks later,
I return to the pile of dirt which I use
as a bed. I always wonder what a real
bed would feel like.

After 4 hours has passed, I
leap off the ground before
the farmer sees me.

I notice that day that
Zanga and Yaya aren’t there.
I know that nothing would
posses the farmer to free them.

Maybe they escaped.

I want out, too. I can’t be in
my box another day longer.

That night, I run off into the woods
instead of falling asleep on the dirt. I’m
careful, though, because if
the farmer finds me I’m as good
as dead.

I run, and run, and sprint
so fast I didn’t even know
that I had this ability.

But my heart sinks when I hear my name, being yelled by the farmer, with the voice getting closer - and closer - and closer…