Today, another child is born. The offspring of a mother who just had her first menstrual period. I have known her for eight years and discovered that she may have been trafficking for at least half of her young life. Whenever I visited Eswatini, when she was around seven years old and still in Primary school, she would come along with her sister and they would sleep on the empty bed in my hotel room or on blankets on the floor. They would lie at the foot of my bed while I tried to compress half a decade of mothering into a few hours.