Our Sierra Leone: Part 2

Culture is the soul of a people. It is the rhythm of our existence, the heartbeat of our communities, and the memory of our ancestors echoing through generations. In Sierra Leone, culture is not just what we wear or how we speak. It is how we live. How we treat each other. How we gather around food, music, festivals, and tradition. It is the sacred link between the past and the present. But today, that link is breaking. Slowly. Quietly. Tragically. This past Eid ul-Adha, the celebration that once brought every household to life, arrived like a ghost. No excitement. No laughter. No overflowing pots or crowded verandahs. No boys in tailored rappels of caftans racing through the streets. No girls with braided hair and new slippers glowing in the morning sun. Instead, there was silence. Hunger. Emptiness. Eid in Sierra Leone used to be more than just a Muslim holiday. It was a national moment. Christians looked forward to it as much as Muslims did. It was a day of unity. A day of food. A day of dignity for even the poorest family. On that day, meat did not belong to the rich alone. It was shared. Across faiths, homes, and hearts. That was the Sierra Leone we knew. Children woke up with wide smiles and full stomachs. Neighbours exchanged greetings, plates, and prayers. You could smell celebration in the air, from Aberdeen to Kailahun, from Kenema to Kambia. Whether you had a cow, a goat, or a handful of rice, you shared it. Because Eid in Sierra Leone was a reminder that we are one people. And no one should be left behind. But that Sierra Leone is fading. This year, the streets were quiet. Many homes had no meat. Some had no rice. Children wore old clothes or stayed indoors. The joy that once danced through our communities has been replaced by worry. Parents whispered apologies to their children. Many cried in silence. The day that was once about giving had become another reminder of what we have lost. This is not about laziness. It is not about poor planning. It is about a nation where fathers can no longer provide, not because they do not want to, but because they are surrounded by closed doors. Men who once carried their families with pride are now broken. Not because they gave up, but because the system gave up on them. In Sierra Leone today, to get a job, win a contract, or access opportunity, you must speak a political language. Wear a political colour. Bow to a political godfather. And many fathers refuse to do that. Not out of pride, but out of principle. They were taught to work hard, to provide, to earn, not to beg or betray. But in a country where effort means nothing without connections, their dignity has become their downfall. And so, the mother steps in. Again. She becomes the provider, the planner, the peacemaker, and the priest. She roasts groundnuts, fries akara, sells soap, and does whatever she can to keep her home alive. Not because she wanted to replace her husband, but because hunger has no patience. The children must eat. The rent must be paid. The shame must be hidden. But even mothers are tired. They are not machines. They are not magicians. They are simply women caught in the storm of a failing society, doing what they can with what little they have. This year’s Eid was not just a religious occasion. It was a cultural mirror. And what it reflected back was painful. It showed us how deep the cracks have become. It showed us a Sierra Leone where traditions no longer bring joy, but pain. Where celebrations have turned into silent reminders of poverty. Where our culture is being buried under the weight of bad governance, corruption, and economic despair. We must not lose this culture. We must not allow our children to grow up without memories of real celebration. Without understanding the joy of community, the pride of tradition, the power of sharing. Culture is not just for the past. It is the backbone of our identity. It is what binds us even when politics divides us. Our ancestors built this culture with love and sacrifice. They taught us that on days like Eid, no child should cry. No stomach should be empty. No father should feel useless. No mother should carry the load alone. But here we are. Crying quietly. Living less. Losing meaning. We must ask ourselves hard questions. What kind of society have we become? What values are we passing on? If our festivals, once filled with colour and meaning, have become days of mourning, then what hope do we have? To restore our culture, we must restore our people. We must build a country where opportunity is not political, but personal. Where families can plan, celebrate, and dream again. Where hard work is rewarded, and tradition is honoured. Culture thrives when people are fed, free, and hopeful. It dies when people are hungry, silenced, and forgotten. Eid ul-Adha should be a day of renewal. A day of honouring sacrifice. A day of sharing joy. But in Sierra Leone, it has become a day that exposes how far we have fallen. Let us not continue this way. Let us reclaim the soul of our nation. Let us rebuild not just our economy, but our spirit. Let us return to the Sierra Leone where culture was not a luxury, but a way of life. Let our children remember joy, not lack. Let our fathers stand tall again. Let our mothers find rest. Let us return to ourselves. My Sierra Leone. Our Sierra Leone.