By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura There they were, begging on the streets of Freetown. No one stopped. No one really saw them. They hovered...

By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura She was born in innocence, believing she would be the master of her own life. Little did she know her path had already been carved by tradition. From the moment her tiny hands could grab tin cups for “play cook,” her parents—rather than handing her a pencil to write—offered her something they thought was better: an abackor to cook. When her innocent body began to change—breasts like calabash, hips swelling like cherries—they declared she was n

By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura She met someone she believed was the love of her life. They had dreams—not of riches, but of togetherness. To raise children, to walk through life’s hurdles side by side, to love each other through it all. They didn’t have much, but they had each other—and that was everything. With time, their love blossomed into a growing family. She was proud to raise their children in a home full of warmth and care, where both parents showed what it meant to love