"The first man that came was a white man. He was nice. I explained to him it was my first time and he said he'd show me how to do it and give me money." Kanika does not talk about other men who visited the brothel during her two-week stay; she seems unable to consider there was more than one. She recalls being checked by a woman when she arrived to ensure she was a virgin.

"She took me into a room and started touching my body. I said I didn't like it but she told me I had no choice. There were other girls staying there too. They were all Nigerian and some were my age.

Some of the people in charge were Nigerian, some were white. I kept asking when I could leave and go to Ireland.

I kept asking." Again Kanika stops but this time remains silent for longer, staring intently at the floor.

She looks no older than her years but her eyes are deeply troubled. As she tells her story, her demeanour jolts from detachment to emotional distress as her own words sink in. "A white man took me on the plane to Ireland. I don't know what country he was from. When we got here he took me into the centre of town and told me to ask someone where to go to seek asylum. I asked a bus driver and he helped me."

Tabari* was more than a little surprised to get a phone call from the immigration authorities saying a child had arrived in Dublin claiming to be her daughter. She travelled immediately from her asylum accommodation in the west of Ireland where she lives with her twins.

Their reunion was brief.

"When I saw her I was happy but I could see something was wrong. They would not let her come home with us.

We had to do blood tests to prove she was my daughter." Kanika remained in a hostel for unaccompanied minors for two weeks until the blood tests confirmed their relationship a week ago.

"I did not know she was coming to Ireland. I wanted her here but could not bring her with me." Tabari came to Ireland pregnant and seeking asylum in 2005. Originally from east Africa, she says her husband was promoted to chief of their tribe. When elders in the tribe said they thought she was pregnant with twins, it was believed this was a bad omen and she feared for her life and that of her unborn children.

"They gave me black powder to take so that it would terminate the pregnancy. I did not want to." Shortly before she fled, she says her husband and a group of men held her down and tortured her on two occasions. "They cut me with traditional razor blades on my back. I screamed it was so painful but they said it was to release demons, " she explains, as she pulls up her jumper to show a number of deep scars embedded in her back.

Tabari left Kanika and her two other sons, now aged 12 and 14, to live with her mother but didn't tell her where she was going. With the help of a friend, she left Nigeria and came to Ireland via Israel.

"But it didn't matter that I did not tell my mother. My husband and others from the village still came and beat her."

Kanika and her brothers ran away.

"We were scared. I don't know where my brothers went. I stayed first with a friend of my mother's but then another woman came along and said I should be in school so she took me away. I went to school then but only for a few days before she told me she was taking me to my mother in Ireland."

A week ago, Kanika was reunited with her mother and brothers and they all now live together in the west. Tabari is concerned her daughter is not eating much and has only recently come out of her bedroom. "At first, she didn't want to see anyone. She thought if she saw people, they would know what happened, " her mother explains. "She feels shame but it was not her fault. She comes out more now but still looks very sad." Nervous and withdrawn, Kanika smiles just once over the afternoon as she plays with her twin baby brothers.

Mother and daughter spoke to the Sunday Tribune on condition of anonymity to protect Kanika, who is deeply traumatised. "I feel very bad that I could not help her. I was brought up a Muslim and she should not have been exposed to that, " her mother adds.

Frances Joyce, who works at the dropin centre for migrants (open 3pm to 5pm on Wednesdays at the United Presbyterian and Methodist Church in Galway city) is organising counselling and medical tests for Kanika. She is also trying to enrol the teenager at a local school.

Tabari's application for asylum has been rejected. Separate applications for her twin sons are under appeal and Kanika's is being processed. She has told the lawyers handling her application about being kept in the brothel in Italy, so it will come to the attention of the Department of Justice. Under current law, Tabari cannot be deported while her children's applications to remain are still being investigated. "I want to stay. I thank God for being alive and having the kids here with me; I'm not afraid for their lives like I am in Nigeria. I miss my two other children but they are safer because they are boys. I would rather die here than be sent back. If I am, I will leave my children behind so they might have a better life."

* Names have been changed