Through the Eyes of the Sierra Leonean

The first sound you hear as morning arrives over Freetown is the soft, rhythmic beat of a talking drum striking once, mingled with the distant cry of a seagull over the harbor and the scent of fresh cassava leaves (plassas) and palm oil drifting from a nearby home. That drum-sound carries our story back to a time of rivers and freedom, when we lived as the peoples of Sierra Leone: the Temne, Mende, Limba, Krio, and others. Our ancestors built villages along the coast and inland, fished with canoes in the Atlantic Ocean, grew rice and cassava in fertile soil. The Temne and Mende knew their secret societies (Poro and Sande) that passed on knowledge and initiation, the Krio – descendants of freed slaves – brought their Creole language and resilience. Every family knew the tales of the ancestors, the dances around the fire that filled the night with rhythm, communities where sharing was natural and respect for elders was the law. That was our golden time: a land of coast, jungle, and rivers, where people lived in harmony with nature as mother and the sea as father, connected by rhythm and survival.

But then came the wave from outside, like a storm rising from the Atlantic Ocean. The British colonized us in the 18th and 19th centuries, made Freetown a home for freed slaves but also a colony of diamonds and labor. Every family knew the loss: an ancestor who worked on plantations, a child who learned freedom was forbidden, a culture that had to adapt. Independence in 1961 brought Sir Milton Margai – hope that grew – but also the dictatorship of Siaka Stevens and the civil war of 1991 to 2002: tens of thousands dead, children as soldiers, hands hacked off by rebels, Freetown in ruins. Every family knew the fear, the disappearances, the emptiness in the streets.

From that depth rises a pride that is warm and resilient. The talking drum that still beats in the villages, the plassas prepared with love, the highlife and afrobeats that fill the night. Our people laughing through hardship, our youth rising for a better land, our bond stronger than the pain. We have found our voice again: peace after 2002, democracy growing, hope burning along the coast.

Yet the truth colors magenta like a sunset over the Freetown Peninsula. The scars remain: memory of the civil war, poverty in the slums, emigration of youth, pressure of climate change on our coast. The outside world buys our diamonds and our tourism, but often does not feel the depth of a people who never broke.

Still, we remember in silence: around the talking drum where stories are told, during Independence Day on 27 April when we raise our flag, in the villages where the spirits still speak – never forgetting who we were. We tell our children of the old kingdoms and of Margai, of the sea and the jungle, so they know: we were connected and strong before we were challenged.

And yet… the talking drum continues, deep and low, like a heartbeat that never falls silent. That is our secret: we have suffered under colonization, civil war, and unrest, but first we were a land of river and rhythm. For our children we build no walls, but a village square where everyone may dance. How do we let that drum-sound bring hope to everyone again? How does Sierra Leone remain a home of rhythm and resilience?

January 2026

Manna Ori

Through the Eyes of the Sierra Leonean (Krio)

Di first sound wey yu de yer as morning reach Freetown na di soft, rhythmic beat of one talking drum wey slap one time, mix with di far cry of seagull over harbor and di sweet smell of fresh cassava leaves (plassas) and palm oil wey dey comot from near house. Dat drum beat carry our tori back to time of rivers and freedom, when we dey live as di people of Sierra Leone: Temne, Mende, Limba, Krio and others. Our papa dem build villages along coast and inland, fish with canoe for Atlantic Ocean, plant rice and cassava for good ground. Temne and Mende sabi dem secret society (Poro and Sande) wey pass knowledge and initiation, Krio – pikin of freed slaves – bring dem Creole language and resilience. Evri famili no di tori of ancestors, di dance around fire wey fill night with rhythm, community where sharing normal and respect for old people na di law. Dat na our golden time: land of coast, jungle and river, where people dey live with nature as mama and sea as papa, connect by rhythm and survival.

But den di wave from outside come, like storm wey rise from Atlantic Ocean. British colonize us for 18th and 19th century, make Freetown home for freed slaves but also colony of diamond and labor. Evri famili sabi di loss: ancestor wey work for plantation, pikin wey learn say freedom no dey allowed, culture wey must change to survive. Independence for 1961 bring Sir Milton Margai – hope wey grow – but also dictatorship of Siaka Stevens and civil war from 1991 to 2002: ten thousand die, pikin as soldier, hand cut off by rebel, Freetown for ruin. Evri famili sabi di fear, di missing people, di quiet for street.

From dat deep place pride wey warm and strong dey rise. Talking drum wey still slap for village, plassas wey dem prepare with love, highlife and afrobeats wey fill night. Our people wey laugh through trouble, our youth wey stand up for better land, our bond wey strong pass pain. We don find our voice again: peace after 2002, democracy wey grow, hope wey burn along coast.

But truth dey color magenta like sunset over Freetown Peninsula. Di scar still dey: memory of civil war, poverty for slum, youth wey travel abroad, pressure of climate change on coast. Outside world dey buy our diamond and tourism, but plenty time dem no feel di deep of people wey never break.

Still we dey remember for quiet: around talking drum where tori dey happen, during Independence Day for 27 April when we raise our flag, for village where spirit still dey talk – we no go ever forget who we be. We dey tell our pikin of old kingdom and Margai, of sea and jungle, so dem go sabi: we dey connect and strong before dem challenge us.

And yet… talking drum dey continue, deep and low, like heartbeat wey no dey stop. Dat na our secret: we don suffer under colonization, civil war and trouble, but first we be land of river and rhythm. For our pikin we no build wall, but village square where everybody fit dance. How we go make dat drum beat bring hope come back for everybody? How Sierra Leone go remain home of rhythm and resilience?

January 2026

Manna Ori