In Conakry, there are hundreds of them, sometimes invisible in the crowds of the markets. Young girls aged 10 to 17, whom everyone affectionately calls "little sisters." You see them under the scorching sun, a tray on their head, a baby on their back, or a bucket of doughnuts in their hand.

They smile, haggle, and shout to attract customers. But behind these courageous faces lie stories of survival, often marked by poverty, abandonment, and vulnerability.

Selling in order to exist

In the large Madina market, 13-year-old Aissatou wanders between the dusty aisles.

"I've been selling peanuts since 6 a.m. My mother is sick, and my father no longer lives with us. The money I earn goes towards buying rice for dinner."

At her age, she should be in school. But like many others, she left school very early.

According to the Ministry of Social Action, thousands of girls in Conakry engage in informal economic activity, often from childhood. They sell water, cakes, soap, or fruit to help their families.

"These girls are exposed to many risks: harassment, sexual violence, road accidents or economic exploitation," warns Fatoumata Camara, a social worker at the NGO Enfance et Dignité.

Between resourcefulness and danger

The “little sisters” work without protection, often in hostile environments.

In Kaporo or Matoto, some even sleep in markets or under makeshift shelters. Others live with aunts or "bosses" who exploit them under the guise of feeding them.

"I am given 10,000 GNF per day, but if I lose a sachet of water, I am beaten," says 12-year-old Mariam, her eyes filled with tears.

In the evening, these girls return home exhausted, sometimes after walking for miles. And many of them are harassed by adult men who take advantage of their vulnerability.

"This is a societal problem that we are trivializing. These children are left to their own devices, without education or protection. It's a silent social time bomb," warns sociologist Ibrahima Sory Bah.

Insufficient supervision

Guinean law formally prohibits the employment of children under 16 years of age, except in a light and non-dangerous family setting.

But in reality, checks are rare and families, often impoverished, prefer to send their daughters to “help at home” or “make themselves useful” in the markets.

"Poverty remains the main cause. Parents cannot afford to send their children to school, so they choose survival," explains Hadja Aminata Baldé, head of a shelter for children in difficulty.

Hope remains, despite everything.

Some NGOs are trying to change the situation. Organizations like Sabou Guinée, SOS Children's Villages, and Plan International are running school reintegration and training programs for these young girls.

They learn a trade — sewing, hairdressing, cooking — and sometimes find their way back to dignity.

"I want to become a seamstress to help my little sisters stop selling on the street," says Fanta, 16, with a shy smile but a hopeful look.

These “little sisters” of the capital are the courageous faces of a Guinea that fights in silence.

Their daily lives are striking, their resilience is inspiring, but their future depends on only one thing: society's ability to protect them and give them a place in school... rather than in the market.