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  • Everyday we wake up, the question is usually, "What does this day hold for me?" How often do we ask, "What does this day hold for the boys staring back at me....?"

    Yesterday I made the two hour train journey to visit my friend, Sasha and her family. I packed a rucksack with a change of clothing in case I decided to overnight at the camp site they were staying at for the weekend and I set out with my youngest.

    Sasha recently returned from Trinidad and I was going there to collect the crucial items requested from my homeland: two bars of blue soap and home-made pepper sauce. A Trini's life is in turmoil without these!

    The day was so beautiful and the bitter sweet feelings of returning to the county I spent eight of my years as the train pelted though the gardens of England, that for a moment there was nothing to be thought of but to just sit and feel.

    Sasha picked me up at the train station and we made our way, first to her home to get the items, then to her friend's place to pick up another child and then off to the camp site. It was in the car that she explained who we were on our way to collect.

    Although Sasha and her husband have two children of their own, they also are foster parents to two others; a young lady who is 16 years old and a boy who is 14. We were going to collect another 14 year old who was found and rescued with the boy currently in Sasha's care but who was being fostered by another of Sasha's friends. It was an arrangement so as, to not really separate the two.

    "Where are they from?" I asked.

    "Afghanistan." She replied. "M has been with me for five weeks now. Not a word of English and initially he refused to sit at the table with me. He is coming around."

    "And H?" I prodded.

    "H was found at the back of the lorry with M. They were trafficked all the way from Afghanistan and they insist they have no parents left."

    "How many children were there, Sash?!"

    "Five."

    We sat in the sun and talked about the tent, the children, more friends joined us and the children all played on the green and in the nearby woods.

    The boys clearly had a passion for cricket, Sasha and her husband discovered, and we brought out the bat, balls and stumps.

    We tried our utmost to be the West Indians we are, but the boys destroyed us! Talk about golden ducks.

    I promised to find out from local cricket clubs what they can do for these boys.

    Thank you Sasha and Q-Dog for your love and devotion in providing a safe and happy home to your foster children.


    Matthew and I boarded the train back to London. I tried explaining to my 9 year old the circumstances around how the boys he spent the whole day with, arrived in the UK. He understands what child trafficking, war and asylum are. I know when he is emotionally affected but he remains silent.

    He rests his head on my shoulder and falls asleep and I look out the window at the fields going past.
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