We could go for days without food or shower and that's okay! because at that age, the world is really too small and we trust everyone around us. Banished from my family, lost my mum, no food and no education at this age. The first time I heard about fasting, it was really funny.

In 2013, I managed to flee the camp and sought refuge in Sunyani, a city in the Brong-Ahafo region of Ghana. However, my attempt to obtain a Ghanaian passport led to my arrest a few days later. Subsequently, I spent eight months behind bars, where I crossed paths with Aziz, a compassionate Muslim serving a 45-year sentence for murder.

During the month of Ramadan, he told me it was time for them to start fasting. It was my first time in the city and my first time to hear the word fasting. I asked him what it was and he told me the month of Ramadan is a holy month where every Muslim must fast for 30 days from morning to evening. It was really funny to me. I laughed and told him about my life in the camp and how we go for days without food.

Aziz's kindness shone through in the bleakness of the prison. With no visitors, he selflessly shared his meals with me. My time in prison introduced me to modern amenities like television and electric lighting. In fact, it was my first time ever to see a TV and a light bulb. The daily provision of food, along with a new set of clothes, felt like a stark contrast to the deprivation I had known in the camp. Despite the circumstances, Aziz's generosity and the newfound comforts offered a glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak chapter of my life.

{ This is me in 2013 }

It was February 13th 2013 in the afternoon. One of the prison guards called me to the office with an unexpected news—I was to be released the following morning. Despite the glimmer of freedom, my heart skipped a breath burdened by the weight of uncertainty, fear and loneliness. However, I remained silent with a frowned face and walked back to my cell. Tears welled in my eyes as Aziz asked me what the officer said.

" You should be happy my friend! " Aziz shouted. I was already suffering from stress and social anxiety. I sat down for about 15 minutes and went back to the officer. I asked him if he could allow me stay in the prison for few more months until I find a place to go. I found peace in the prison than when I was outside so I was really sad I'm leaving.

Isolated from society, devoid of friendships and education due to the pervasive belief in my alleged witchcraft heritage, I faced a stark reality upon my release. The officer's initial offer of shelter and care dissolved upon learning of my birth in the witch camp, leaving me adrift once more.

{ This is me in 2014 }

The looming rains heralded a shift, prompting my reluctant departure to the city in pursuit of employment as a cleaner, However, the urban landscape proved unforgiving, demanding identification documents and fluency in the local Akan language, barriers I could not surmount. Rejected by prospective employers and viewed with suspicion by the city dwellers, my quest for a livelihood seemed insurmountable.

When people know you're not from the area, trusting can be a rocket science. Without any identity documents, no education, lack of language, my chances of getting a job in the city was a mission impossible. I stick around the city, moving from place to place trying to find a job, but I couldn't.

I had no birth certificate to apply for a passport and I really can't go back to the village. After sometime in the city with no luck of getting a job or a passport, I met some guys who were planing to travel to Libya and they convinced me to tag along as we spent some few weeks together

{ This is Agadez located in Niger }

We arrived at Agadez, located in Niger. We didn't really got to Agadez straight from Ghana. We actually traveled to Nigeria, stranded there for weeks before we set off to Niger. But I want to keep this article as short as I can; A lot of bribing, beating and deaths happened on our way from Nigeria to Niger. The guys really did a great job. They sponsored me from Ghana to Nigeria and from Nigeria to Niger. When we got to Niger, the money left on the guys was not enough to help me continue the journey with them.

They left me in Niger and moved on. I'm stranded again in a country where I don't understand their language. Yet, strangely, I felt no regrets. The conditions in Niger, though harsh, were an improvement from the struggles I faced back in Ghana. If I was still in Ghana, I would still come. At least here I don't have to compete sleeping space with snakes and no one bully at me as it was back in Ghana. I wondered around the city for days without food nor shower, but nothing could convince me to return back to Ghana even if I have the means to.

A man from the city convinced me to sell my kidney for $1,500. He told me that it's his business and he will guide me through the process. I had no idea what a kidney was, but he explained that humans possess two kidneys and selling one would not hinder bodily function as it would regenerate in a matter of months. I happily agreed and he invited me to his house, helped me showered and borrowed me some of his cloths to dress up.

He was not actually the buyer; he knows someone who buys. We arranged to go meet the person at his house, but at a distance we saw a lot of pickup trucks with big guns mounted at the back of the vehicles and people surrounded the house. upon seeing that, he took to his heels leaving me. I felt so disappointed and returned to his house to look for him, but I couldn't see him for days

I saw a group of migrants waiting to be transported to Libya. I joined the line boldly though I had no money. I really wanted to talk to one of them, but they were all speaking foreign languages. The pusher arrived few minutes later and started calling names; those waiting were already known to him because they had booked and fully paid. He talked to me in a foreign language. I couldn't understand what he was saying so I just replied " Ghana " As if he already know; he offered me water to drink and later brought a bread.

He had no idea that was a life-saving; I needed that bread than the journey to Libya. If I could sleep outside and get this bread at least once a day, I would cancel the trip. There were so many Ghanaian migrants in the city. He went and brought one man to help translate the language. But there was a little problem; I was born in the northern region so I speak Frafra and Kasem. However, the man he brought was from the greater Accra region and speaks Akan/Twi. He does speaks English as well, but I couldn't speak English at that time.

{ Me & a groupe of other migrants waiting for the pusher }

He managed to find a different Ghanaian man who speaks my language, but I became scared because I thought if this man can speak my language, he's probably from my region and he may bully at me. Once a Ghanaian knows you're born in a witch camp, they will bully at you or be scared of you. I didn't want to tell this Ghanaian man everything about myself. I just told him that I want to travel to Libya, but I don't have money.

I asked him to talk to the pusher to use me for any service in exchange for money to cover my trip and the pusher agreed to my request and sent me to his farm right away where I met four other farm workers from Chad. They welcomed me happily, but there was a problem; I'm used to staying alone so I was not comfortable with the guys. Besides, I don't understand their language and they were also smoking. I can't stand the smell of cigarette, alcohol or drugs

That's not all; these guys were involved in homosexual/gay. It was my very first time ever to know that a man can have sex with his fellow man. The guys knew it was my first time and I'm taking no chances. They overpowered me and go in turns. I was injured because one of them hit my leg with a wood as I struggled with them, but I manged to walked back to the pusher's house in the night when the guys were asleep.

With the dawn came a moment of unexpected compassion—a blanket of solace draped over my weary form by the pusher, a gesture of kindness amidst the chaos that enveloped me. In the hushed hours that followed, I unburdened my soul to this unlikely ally, recounting the horrors that had befallen me and the dreams that propelled me forward.

In a rare display of empathy, the pusher cautioned me against the perils that awaited on the treacherous journey to Libya, urging me to reconsider my path. And yet, the allure of hope beckoned me forward, drawing me into a realm of uncertainty and promise. I decided to tell him why I left Ghana and everything that happened to me. I need this journey.

Government officials and the European Union are actively engaged in combating human traffickers, investing substantial resources to address this pressing issue. However, a troubling realization has emerged from my experiences - the parallels between the actions of human traffickers and certain policies enacted by the European Union.

Human traffickers engage in the illegal transportation of migrants across borders, a reprehensible act that preys on vulnerable individuals seeking a better life. It raises a poignant question - if this conduct is deemed criminal, should not the European Union also be held accountable for their actions? The act of intercepting migrants and forcibly returning them to Libya mirrors the exploitative tactics employed by human traffickers. In essence, are they not both complicit in perpetuating a cycle of suffering and injustice?

{ We were 25 passengers on the pickup }

There's no network, no trees no rivers on the desert. Weeks went by and almost everyone was died except 7 of us. Fortunately, we were picked up by an unknown militias one night. They gave us water to drink and drove us to a different location. They told us to wait here and look for a different car because it was like a road applied by migrants. They returned two days later and we were still there because no car has passed by ever since they dropped us here. They drove us again to a different location and managed stopped a car for us.

{ This Image was taken in Al-Khums not Sabha }

The driver that took us from the desert drove us straight into a military camp ( That wasn't what we bargained for ). For my group, one other person died on the road so we were left with only six and one died few hours on arrival. The camp was not very far from Sabha and it was like a prison with more than 300 migrants. Only the strong and muscular can survive here, but it's negotiable if you don't have these qualities and willing to learn how to kill.... Yes, I mean kill not skill

Here, drugs like cocaine, marijuana, alcohol, hallucinogens are provided for free. There's plenty of food here as well and a variety of guns. My first week in the place was like heaven. Eat, sleep wake, repeat. But everything changed after one day a tall masked man opened our door and told us why we are here and what we will be doing. "You know why you're all here right? " He said with a rumbling voice. The room was full of vulnerable and helpless migrants so it was not threatening, but his hands was firmly on his gun ready to fire.

Looking at his height and fitness, this man could grab ten of us in his left hand, another ten in his right hand and the rest of us will shake the dust off our feet. He was right over me and I was gazing at his gun; It was my first time having a look at a real gun that close. But I was not afraid

The officers were very surprised about my progress in learning. There were other officers from Russia, Syria and USA who speaks English. I knew the only way I can escape the camp is to build a strong trust with these people. That way, I can move freely and they could even be giving me tasks outside the camp like they do with other migrants who spent years with them. The camp was like a workshop. Here, they have highly experienced engineers specialized in creating explosives, softwares and hacking. They trained migrants and deploy them to many different cities across Libya. The duration of the training depends on what you are being taught.

{ Me In Office }

Within the next two months, I learned HTML, CSS and JavaScript. I created my first website and this blew their mind. I was promoted right away to teach English and manage other stuff In English. They gave me my own office equipped with everything
For migrants who take drugs, smoke and drink, it was like a dream come true because they get all these for free plus guns that are bigger than themselves I don't drink, no drugs and no smoking. For me, I have been waiting for a day they will mistakenly take me outside like they do with other migrants.

After almost eight months in the camp, my patience begins to pay off. It was around 11AM and the temperature was already at 42 degrees. I was taking a nap because something terrible happened last night so I couldn't sleep. Two Russian officers walked to me and called me out. They ordered me to sit in the car without telling me where they are taking me to.
There were already two other officers waiting in the car. I got inside and they drove out. One of them asked me to calm down and assured me I'm safe. But where on earth are they taking me to? I have been waiting for a day like this, but it happened so spontaneously and I knew this is not the right time for me to escape so I had called off that plan ... at least for today.

They drove past Sabha township at top speed to a small city called Tamanhint. They stopped behind a house and two officers including the driver went in to the house. Few minutes later, I hear them shouting; perhaps there's a misunderstanding. The rest of the officers quickly got out of the car and joined them. It was now only me in the car. I thought of running away, but the place is too plain I won't be able to go too far and there's nowhere to hide. They returned shortly and we drove back to the camp without telling me anything

I didn't want to escape the first day because it was the first time they're taking me outside and I knew they will be focusing on me a lot. In fact, I didn't even try it on our second and third time of going out. I need to be extra careful. Few weeks later, the region was hit by fuel crisis as there has been no fuel for more than one month. One of the officers came to me for the key to their store room.
He wanted to take some gallons to go search for fuel. I went and opened the store, helped him grabbed some gallons and asked him if I could go with him. He said yes. I didn't want anyone to suspect me so I didn't take anything with me

{ This is just a demo image }

The shell was crowded after about one month of no fuel. He was on military uniform and quickly got out of the car to settle a quarrel at the gate of the shell. I really didn't waste anytime. I got out of the car and disappeared because it was in the city and I have many places to hide. I could hear my heart beating so fast and loud because I remember what happen to people who try to escape the camp

I run to a nearby construction site and tried to hide there, but I found three Nigerian men working there. They quickly rushed me home in fear because the site is very close to the shell so officers may come around. I stayed with these men for four days but I knew I'm not safe in this region. The guys helped me with a little money to travel to a city called Samnu, few kilometers away from Sabha. Since then, I have been moving from city to city. I have been in many different cities before I finally moved to Al-Khums a District on the Mediterranean coast of Libya

If all the risks I'm going through are making me stronger, by now I should boldly meet a tiger and tire it apart. What doesn't kill me absolutely doesn't make me stronger; it changes me physically and spiritually. In fact, I have seen many people that have changed from good to evil.
This is life and I really hope you learn from my life experience. It doesn't matter who you are. You could be white, rich or black. At the end, what is left is nature and everyday takes us closer to the grave where there's no difference between black, white, the boss, the employee, the beautiful and the ugly

That's me in the picture in front of my shop in a city called khoms in Libya. I learned how to change car engine oil, washing and volcanising within a month in khoms. I became specialized in working on both small cars and big trucks. I worked in this shop for five months and was attacked 4 times at night. The shop was just by the road and that was where I sleep too. I decided to move to Tripoli to find a job. At this time, I was already fluent in English and a considerable working experience in HTML, CSS, JavaScript and some PHP.

{ Me In Front Of My Shop }

Life in the city was not what I thought would be. I consider myself a very fast learner and just as I was a kid, I see every challenge in life as an opportunity to test my resilience, discover the world around me and learn something new. Life is full of obstacles; what you learn from each challenge depends on your personality.

My time in the camp has been a profound learning experience, shedding light on the dark underbelly of conflict and exploitation. Armed groups, preying on vulnerable migrants and refugees, abduct individuals and conscript them into their ranks. These captives are then subjected to rigorous training, honing skills that transform them into instruments of violence.

The insidious nature of these camps is evident in the gradual metamorphosis of those held within their confines. Over time, individuals undergo a radical shift, their innocence stripped away as they are molded into agents of destruction. Witnessing young men, once innocent and hopeful, succumb to the allure of violence is a poignant reminder of the insidious influence of these armed groups.

It is a tragic irony that these individuals, with the potential to contribute positively to society, are instead coerced into mastering lethal skills. The knowledge they acquire, from crafting explosives to engaging in cyber warfare, could be harnessed for innovation and progress. Yet, within the confines of the camp, these talents are twisted and perverted, used to sow chaos and despair.

In a world fraught with conflict and turmoil, the untapped potential of these individuals stands as a stark reminder of the transformative power of education and opportunity. If only these skills could be redirected towards constructive endeavors, the world could indeed be a better place. Do you really want to fight crime? Now I give you a clue; you can't kill a tree only by cutting off its branches.

Refugees and migrants should not be unjustly labeled as criminals or terrorists. Often, our journeys lead us into perilous circumstances beyond our control. In these moments of crisis, we are faced with harrowing decisions where the stark choice between life and death, survival and sacrifice, hangs in the balance.

It is crucial to recognize that the vast majority of refugees and migrants are individuals seeking safety, fleeing conflict, persecution, or dire economic conditions. Their plight is one of desperation and resilience, not of malice or ill intent. The complexities of their experiences defy simplistic categorizations and demand empathy and understanding.

{ This is just a demo image }

It is heartbreaking to hear about the harrowing choices and challenges faced by migrants and refugees, especially in the context of the dangerous journey across the sea and the difficult circumstances in Libya. The options presented to individuals in such dire situations are often fraught with peril and uncertainty, leaving us with limited choices, each carrying its own set of risks and consequences.

For me and my friends who tried crossing the sea but failed, it wasn't that we don't know the risks involved. Even if we can't read the news, we watch the TV and saw how other migrants die at the sea. For migrants like me in Libya, we have four options: 1. Stay in Libya and get killed or Kidnapped. 2. Join a military group and get paid for about LYD6,000 monthly 3. Cross the sea to Europe 4. Return to your country.

No doubt you've already ruled out option 1; unless you're part of the European union. I would definitely not go for option 2 either, but I have seen a lot of migrants who went for this option after a fail attempt to cross the sea and when the UNHCR fails to help or when the European union rescue and send them back to Libya. In Sabha, they often kidnap migrants into these arm groups. However, it's not like that in Tripoli; you can simply walk into the camp and join the militias. I have an audio recordings and images of a militia that is always convincing me to join them for a whopping LYD 8,000 monthly salary, a car and other benefits. Watch all the videos here

How about option 3 and 4? Due to my past experience in Ghana, I would rather join militias here in Libya than going back to Ghana. We chose option 3 because we may be lucky in crossing the sea. When our gently plea and cries for help are met with constant rejection and humiliation, then our desperation intensified. We all have limitations and we need to survive at all cost . That's why most prop into joining terror groups when everything fails. If someone can be so wicket to the extend of rescuing you on sea and return you back to Libya, you feel like there's no hope; there's no future and your right of living has been ripped off. the world becomes your enemy

It is crucial for the international community to work together to provide safe and legal pathways for migration, uphold human rights, and address the underlying issues that force individuals to risk their lives in search of safety and opportunity. Only through collective action and empathy can we hope to create a more just and humane world for all.

The image above shows how migrants struggle to survive daily on temperatures exceeding 45 degrees. We can easily be lured into these terror groups. Try to watch the short clips and the audio recordings that I will post under this article if you want to know how it's done and the rewards they often promise

{ Me Sitting in front of An Underground Prison }

Have you ever watched a news report on a terror attack and found yourself pondering the unsettling question of why a human being would resort to wielding a knife or a gun against their fellow humans? The unsettling truth is that we, as a society, may inadvertently contribute to the factors that lead to such acts of violence. Allow me to delve into this complex issue and shed light on the underlying reasons.

Developed countries are now shutting down their borders against vulnerable refugees who are trying to escape war, violence, near-grave risks and other dangers. This act is making refugees finding countless reasons to be hard on themselves.

We pick apart every mistake, every imperfection and every setback, treating ourselves with a level of harshness we wouldn't think of showing to someone else. Rescuing us at sea and returning us back to Libya and people calling us "illegal migrants", trying to convince us that we are only humans if we aren't black and if we can avoid showing any signs of our origins, demands and our rights.

We are constantly hit with reminders of who we are, what we don't have and why we should never fight for our rights. We all carry a voice within us. Sometimes it's a gentle, reassuring guide. Other times it can be surprisingly harsh and unforgiving. This inner voice show us how we see ourselves, our place in the world and the people around us. My imperfections make me a human. They are a testament to my journey, battles fought, lessons learned and the resilience I have built along the way.

In order to love and be kind to the people around you, you first need to be loved. However, refugees who fled war, danger and violence to seek protection in another countries are faced with rejection and humiliation. I entered Libya early 2014 and life in Libya was even more unbearable. I attempted crossing the sea to Europe, but we were rescued and brought back to Libya

Four rubber boats were rescued by the Italian coast guards that night and we were over 800 migrants. They sent us to a city called (Qarabulli), a Libyan costal city located in the northwest of the country, 65 km from the capital city of Tripoli. At the next morning around 9 am, armed men with over 5 hilux pickups welding heavy machine guns stormed the camp. It was remote farming area just right by the sea.

The armed men opened fire and started killing us. This is a situation no one would ever like to find himself in. Calm returned to the area at night so my friend and I went back there to document. We counted 126 dead bodies; watch the video below - I'm the one wearing the green shirt.

The place was very dark, quite and scary. I could't really believe I was watching dead bodies. But what have we done wrong to deserve this brutality? My 10 years experience in Libya has been really hard, but counting hundreds of dead bodies was devastating. The strange thing is that, the dead bodies were left unattended for days. We were stranded and scared to go to the city so we decided to remain in the farms for some time.