My name is Mtoto. That’s what they call me – usually to order me to do heavy work. Mtoto in Swahili means “child,” or “kid”. My parents had left for heaven before I was grown and so I don’t remember them. Nobody bothered to give me a regular name, nor to my little sister.  I only remember that one day my mother’s cousin came and took us to live in the straw hut where she lived with her husband and their eleven children, my cousins. They had very little food, and now they had two more mouths to feed. We ate once a day...

The adventurous journey of a child without a name, deprived of his home and every sort of security. His life in Africa, the hunger, the sickness. But in spite of the difficulties, the hope which springs up, the faith which is born in the arms of  a new family, and the beginning of a new life…