The caseworker explained that I had two options. The first was to get a birth certificate from Ghana in order to prove that I was really seventeen years old. The Spanish government would be obligated to take charge of me until I turned eighteen, but the tests the doctors had given me in detention weren’t good enough. Of course, I didn’t have a birth certificate, it didn’t exist; they don’t issue documents like that in Ghanaian villages. The other option was for Montse and Armando to adopt me and become my legal guardians until I turned eighteen. They didn’t even hesitate. Like a miracle, they
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