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cut cocoa pods off trees? Even if you’re tired?” “He’s got a bandage round his leg,” someone pointed out quietly. Maya glanced round, surprised. Izzy was really mouse-like – she hardly ever said anything in class, even though Mr Finlay was always telling her how good her work was, especially when
they did science.
“And it looks all dirty,” someone said. “He’ll catch
something. He ought to get it checked at the hospital.” Mr Finlay nodded. “But I shouldn’t think there is one, Leah. Not for a few hundred miles, maybe. And the roads – this is in a place called Ivory Coast, it’s the world’s biggest cocoa producer – the roads there
are all falling apart. It’s difficult to get anywhere.” “So, he never goes to school?” Maya asked. The chocolate had left her mouth dry, and she swallowed. “That’s right. These photos are from a news website reporting on children who work. This boy, Sami, he works in his uncle’s cocoa grove. Only about half the people in Ivory Coast can read, because they’ve never been able to go to school. They’ve always worked, or
looked after their families.”
Maya looked down at the Fairtrade mark. “But
this chocolate – no children made that, did they?” Mr Finlay was silent for a moment. “No one can
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