By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura A young girl is held down, not by strangers, but by women she has known and loved all her life. They tell her to be strong. One day, they assure her, she will understand. She cries, resists, but the hands are too strong. Then, it happens...the pain – sharp, unforgettable, all-consuming. They still call it love. Because this is how it has always been framed. You believe that love protects, it does not harm, it does not leave wounds that linger long a

By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura So, I have dreams. I always thought we all did… I never stopped to consider what it truly means to be without them, to wake up each day not chasing your own future but fighting to secure someone else’s. To live in a space where hope no longer belongs to you, but must be transferred, protected, and paid for through sacrifice. By the time most of Freetown is still stretching awake, Mohamed is already on the streets, unseen, uncelebrated, yet essential

By: Augusta Osmatu Bangura We grew up believing education was the “master key”. Study hard, pass your exams, collect your certificate, and doors would open. Not someday, not maybe, just… open. For many graduates today, the key is still in their hands. The doors are real, but nothing clicks. Every year, Sierra Leone produces thousands of graduates. They leave university with transcripts that speak fluently and confidence that has been rehearsed for years. Yet, when they st