I lived in my mother's neighbourhood. My father died when I was two years old but I didn't find that out until I was seven. My mother remarried and her husband physically abused me. My grandmother would come and find me. On the streets, I was with young people like me: thrown out of their homes, treated badly or choosing to leave. When I left home for the first time, I was 11 years old. I spent a few months outdoors, then I came back.
But nothing changed so I decided to leave for good. With my friends on the streets, I felt fine, I felt free. We slept in sheds, under market counters, in booths Market traders asked us to unload the goods or to guard their stall at night.
During the day, we walked a lot, we went here and there, we had fun. Between the ages of 11 and 13, I alternated between the streets, my mother's house and my grandmother's house.
After that, it was just the streets. Some people from my village tried to help. I became attached to a man who considered me a little like his son. He was concerned about how I was doing and encouraged me to go to church. Some people tried to offer advice on how to protect ourselves on the streets. But we had to avoid getting too attached to people. Living on the streets, many of my friends disappeared. We were vulnerable and some people took advantage of that.
How did I end up outside Cameroon? He became like a relative to me. He had a shop in the market where he sold all kinds of things. He often offered me food. I had never been out of Cameroon. He suggested that I go to Chad. I had heard about it at school. He told me there was a family there with whom I could live a normal life. So I accepted. We left in March or April []. I was happy to go to Chad, even though I didn't really know where we were going.
