Orla Ryan in Ghana

GHANAIAN teenager Raymond Tchia remembers little, if anything, about the mother who sent him into slavery, the ancient and brutal trade that 200 years after its British abolition still survives in modern Africa.

Shaken awake one night when he was seven, she told him to follow the man who would be his master, fisherman Kofi Mensah.

For the next 10 years, Raymond worked on a boat in Lake Volta, a watery expanse that provides food and a livelihood to the thousands who lives on its shores in the west African country of Ghana.

Deprived of an education and pay, surviving on just one meal a day, at night he slept in a mud hut with 20 other boys.

Daily, he dived deep into Lake Volta's murky waters, untangling fishing nets caught in the lake's many stumps. Refusal to dive meant a beating from Mensah, sometimes with a paddle or the seat of the rickety wooden fishing boat they ventured out in.

"When I was small I was scared . . . he made me do things I didn't want to do, " the 17-year-old said at a centre for trafficked children in Madina near the Ghanaian capital Accra.

Heart of the matter Today marks the 200th anniversary of the British abolition of slavery but in pockets of Ghana, once at the heart of the transatlantic slave trade, slavery remains well and truly alive.

At its peak, this was a trade that spanned the globe. Millions of Africans were shipped from slave forts on the west African coastline to lives of slavery in Brazil, America and the Caribbean.

Often their fellow Africans were complicit in the trade, selling prisoners of war to European traders. Shackled and bound, they made their way to the coast where those that survived the fetid dungeons of the coastal slave forts were pushed from the door of no return into a waiting ship and a life of slavery.

It was a trade that changed not only the face of Africa but also the world. The descendants of those first slaves achieved freedom and made their lives in the countries where their ancestors had been forced to work on cotton, sugar and rum plantations.

Later today, South African musician Hugh Masekela and Senegalese singer Youssou n'Dour will take part in a concert at Elmina slave fort in Ghana to commemorate the British abolition.

Ghanaian president John Kufuor will speak to the gathered dignitaries. British prime minister Tony Blair will deliver a pre-recorded message and there will be a satellite link to the once-busy slave port of Bristol.

The irony is that throughout Africa thousands survive as indentured servants . . . working to pay off a debt or training . . . in forced labour or, more simply put, slaves.

Activists struggle over the definitions. Some point out that children in Ghana may graduate to freedom, maybe one day owning their own canoe, and this should be seen as indentured servitude.

But organisations such as Free the Slaves are unequivocal that this is slavery. In practice, poor parents are typically given a small sum of money, maybe $50, or a promise of regular payment for their child, the International Organisation of Migration (IOM) said.

Within Africa, it is not unusual for children of poor parents to be sent to more prosperous relatives, often doing household chores in return for their bed and board and, hopefully, an education.

Some parents genuinely believe they are putting their child on track to a better future, said Joseph Rispoli of IOM.

"They believe they will get a higher standard of living than if they stay with the parents, " Rispoli said.

But the promises of education and training are rarely kept and many exchange their childhood and labour for nothing more than a daily meal and a roof over their heads.

Human trafficking was made illegal in 2005 but few have been charged.

Some look to effect reunions between parents and the children they sent away.

At the centre for trafficked children in Madina, run by the Department of Social Welfare and the IOM, social workers piece together the family history of rescued children, their ultimate aim to initiate a reunion.

Often, these reunions are characterised by recriminations and guilt. In the small town of Sogakope, hawkers, many of them children, surround cars forced to slow at the police barrier on the town's edge.

Many here get by as subsistence farmers, growing just enough to eat and a little bit extra to sell at the market. The town's poverty and its trading links with the busy fishing towns on Lake Volta make it a prime source of cheap or free labour for fishermen.

For mother-of-10 Favour Azadavor, the decision to send two of her sons to work on the lake with her brother six years ago was motivated by poverty.

"I sent them away because their father was not taking care of them. Looking at the number I had, I could not take care of all of them, " she said. "I had no one to help or assist me."

At the time, Kofi was six and Mawuta was nine. Last year, local charities intervened and her children came home.

Seated near his mother, wearing a school uniform, her son Kofi describes a life which began at dawn and ended late at night, characterised by hard work and frequent beatings.

Asked if she has regrets, Favour nods.

She adds that she still struggles to provide for her children.

Local charities frequently provide help to families who take their children back. The day before, Favour had visited NGO Fysso to demand money, its officials said. They had insisted she take her sons back so they should offer support, she said.

"If we don't give them money, they will abuse you. They say that if you brought them back, you should care for them, " said Ameku Julius Kwadzo, who works at Fysso.

Poverty may be the reason parents send their children away but other factors also come into play, he said.

"They need proper education on the welfare of their children. Family planning has to be taken seriously. With very large families, you cannot take care of all of the children. You need to look at creating job opportunities, " he said.

But in societies where status is determined by the number of children you have, it can be difficult to persuade people to use birth control, he added.

"The more children you have, the more you are respected. The more children you have, the better off you will be, " said Kwadzo.

"Some of the parents say their tradition forbids the use of condoms. One man I met had 25 children."

The theory may be that these children provide security in an uncertain future.

The reality is that they form part of a lost generation, growing up without affection or education, with few tools to survive or contribute to their country's future development.

"They have not been to school, they have not learned a trade. They are aggressive, they have been beaten so much, " said Kwadzo.

These children often have no idea of what they have missed out on, said Sharon Abbey, assistant director at the Department of Social Welfare.

"They think this is life . . . you have to work hard, " she said.

Raymond is still savouring his first taste of freedom, having arrived at the centre in Accra just two months ago.

He had escaped once before but quickly fell ill. In a part of the world where illness is often attributed to spiritual causes or voodoo, he feared his master had cast a spell on him so he returned.

Now in school for the first time, he has learned to write his name and lives in a compound where children get to kick football on threadbare grass.

One day, he says, he wants to be an electrician. And at some stage, he nods, he wants to return to the mother who sent him away all those years ago.