Sierra Leone: I Was Not Here When the War Tore Through Our Lives

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History revisited by YAME Digital Australia

The photo shows Mr. Stevens in a London hotel room during one of two visits he made to Britain. The first visit in February 1953 was related to the appointment of ministers in Sierra Leone—the second visit in November 1953 concerned diamond mining agreements. At the time, he held the position of Minister of Mines, Labour, and Lands in Sierra Leone's Sir Milton Augustus Margai SLPP administration. He later became the country's third Prime Minister and first Executive President under the APC.

The photograph featured in the West Africa Review of December 1953.

January 2026:

Since 1953, our diamonds have sparkled beneath our soil—73 long years of untold riches. Yet look at us, Salone. With all this wealth, why aren’t we shining like Dubai or other progressive nations? Where did we lose our way?

The rebel offensive brought to the capital the same class of atrocities witnessed in Sierra Leone's rural provinces.

In December 1998, following the capture of the diamond-rich Kono district and subsequently Makeni, Sierra Leone's fifth largest city, thousands of RUF fighters started moving towards the capital. By early January 1999, they had reached the peninsula on which Freetown is located and gathered less than twenty miles west of the capital city. On January 6, the rebels broke through the highly stretched and poorly manned ECOMOG defenses, ill-prepared for a rebel offensive in force, and proceeded to march through the eastern suburbs and straight into the city center.

What followed was that the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) launched an offensive against the citizens of Sierra Leone.

Video Courtesy: Al Jazeera

Entire villages were reduced to ashes, and farms—the heartbeat of rural life—were left desolate. Parents fled with their children clinging to their backs in search of safety across unfamiliar borders, while many others never made it. Innocent civilians were massacred, women and girls endured horrific sexual abuse, and countless young boys and girls were forced into the ranks of brutal militias. The severing of limbs became a horrifying hallmark of the conflict, transforming people into enduring emblems of fear. As violence spread, trauma took root, trust vanished, and the very fabric of Sierra Leonean society was shattered.

On January 18, 2002, President Ahmad Tejan Kabbah declared the Sierra Leone Civil War officially over. He used the Krio phrase "D War Don Don," meaning "the war is over," to mark the end of the 11-year conflict. This announcement followed successful disarmament efforts and followed ceasefires, signaling the restoration of peace after years of violence.

With the war over, Sierra Leone confronted an immense challenge: rebuilding a nation torn apart by profound divisions. Peace without accountability risked fragility, while reconciliation absent justice would ring empty. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) was thus created to chronicle the atrocities, amplify victims' voices, compel perpetrators to face their deeds, and guide the country toward understanding its traumatic history.

“The Truth and Reconciliation Commission pursued truth, accountability, healing, and national unity over retribution. It also recommended reforms to governance and institutions to safeguard against future atrocities.”

— Source: TRC

About National Remembrance Day: A state-sanctioned commemoration to honor victims and survivors of Sierra Leone’s civil war and other conflict-related violence. The date 18 January was chosen in line with a recommendation from the country’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which proposed a dedicated national day of remembrance. The government announced that 18 January 2026 will be the first time National Remembrance Day is formally observed nationwide.

In the words of Mallam O, a poem written on Sierra Leone’s National Remembrance Day.

Mallam O. Returns Home to Remember!

I was not here when the war tore through our lives, when childhood gave way to fear, and the nation learnt to mourn.

I was not here when Ebola emptied homes, when touch became a risk, and farewell was often final.

I was away when Sierra Leone bent under grief. Others stayed. By God’s grace, they survived where many did not.

Some fled. Some endured. Some fell.

I do not claim their courage. I honour it.

Though I lived beyond our shores, my thoughts never left. They remained here, with a wounded country, with a people carrying loss with quiet strength.

When the guns fell silent, when the virus loosened its grip, I returned. Not as a rescuer, but as a servant.

I returned to give back, to honour soldiers who never came home, to stand with those who fought Ebola, to remember children whose schooling was stolen, to rebuild institutions left fragile by disaster.

I did not despair at weakness. I chose to strengthen it.

At Statistics Sierra Leone, I worked to steady the foundations of truth, so evidence could guide recovery and planning replace guesswork.

Professor Osman Alimamy Sankoh, commonly known to most Sierra Leoneans as Mallam O.

At Njala University and the University of Management and Technology, I served to advance research and teaching, to link knowledge to community service, and to educate a generation shaped by loss but destined to rebuild.

At the Tertiary Education Commission, I support standards and quality, so higher learning might rise not in name alone, but in purpose and integrity.

Where capacity was limited, I brought commitment. Where systems faltered, I brought effort. Where hope was tired, I remained.

Today, I commend the wisdom of the State in setting aside this day, the eighteenth of January, so memory may be national, and silence shared.

May the resting places of the fallen be preserved and known, their names held with care, their sacrifice honoured beyond ceremony.

May those who live with scars, seen and unseen, be supported with dignity, and never forgotten when the flags are lowered.

This day of remembrance gives voice to what I carry daily.

Today, with the nation, I pause, I bow my head, I remember.

And when this day has passed, its meaning remains—guiding my work, shaping my service, anchoring my return.

At noon, when Sierra Leone stands still, I honour the fallen, stand with the living, and renew my pledge to serve.

Lest we forget, we remember together.

Bongolistically, Mallam O.