Letting the light shine in Sierra Leone

The legacy of slavery still echoes across Sierra Leone, but discovering its history brings more than solace to the visitors and pilgrims to Freetown – it offers hope

Words Peter Moore

“This is where they heated the branding irons,” said Osman, my guide, pointing to the remains of a fireplace. “When the letters were red hot, they’d push them into your chest, right here, above your heart – R-A-C … the Royal African Company.”

We were standing within the walls of Bunce Island, a former slave-trading fort 30km up the Sierra Leone River from capital Freetown. It was built in 1670 and roughly named after Captain John Bence, a London merchant and notorious investor in places such as this. Inside, it was dank and oppressive; the dark walls soaked up all sound and there was no birdsong. The only colour was a splash of muted orange from a stand of Barbados lilies near the entrance to a yard where enslaved Africans were once left to the elements, naked and chained.

Established in 1670, Bunce Island was one of more than 60 slave-trading forts scattered across the West African coast (Shutterstock)

Established in 1670, Bunce Island was one of more than 60 slave-trading forts scattered across the West African coast (Shutterstock)

No one is sure how the name morphed from Bence to Bunce – a mispronunciation, perhaps, by the African raiders who kept it well-stocked with captives. Four separate London-based companies operated on this site down the years, but the most notorious were the Royal African Company (1678–1728), which introduced the practice of branding, and the Company of John & Alexander Anderson (1784–1807), which increased the turnover of Bunce Island exponentially. By the time the transatlantic slave trade was abolished in the US in 1808, more than 30,000 kidnapped and abused souls had crossed its gates.

Osman led me up the path that the newly arrived captives would have walked, shuffling in chains, terrified and exhausted. A fisherman in a pirogue tended his nets just offshore. He was focused on the task at hand, not us; not the island. He kept his back to it, a monster over his shoulder.

We passed a hand-painted sign that had been nailed onto one of the ancient baobabs: ‘Welcome to Bunce Island.’ There were initials and names carved into the gnarled trunk below, and I asked if they had been written by the people who were held captive here. “With what?” Osman chuckled, giving a mournful grimace.

“Sierra Leone is the most frequent result for DNA tests of African Americans”

There were reminders of Bunce’s horrifying past everywhere we looked: the graveyard where masters and enslaved people had been separated even in death; a dark, cramped chamber where “troublesome” captives were thrown without food or water; a freshwater well reserved solely for those who ran the fort (the captives washed in saltwater).

It would be tempting to just abandon Bunce Island and let nature cleanse it of its troubling past; however, for a large percentage of African Americans in particular, this tiny isle was the last place that their ancestors stood on African soil, and hence a vital link to who they are.

The American historian Joseph Opala once declared Bunce Island “the most important historic site in Africa for the United States”. He studied the links between the descendants of those ferried across the Middle Passage and their West African origins for over 30 years and discovered that Sierra Leone is the most frequent result for DNA tests of African Americans.

Actor Isaiah Washington, civil rights leader Andrew Young and even the Black Panther himself, the late Chadwick Boseman, all trace their roots back to here. So too can the Gullah people, who scatter the Atlantic coast between North Carolina and Florida; DNA has shown that they are the direct descendants of the Mende and Vai farmers from Sierra Leone’s ‘Rice Coast’, who were kidnapped for their prized rice-growing skills.

Osman picks his way past buttress roots to uncover the dark secrets of Bunce Island fort; a warm welcome to a chilling site (Peter Moore)

Osman picks his way past buttress roots to uncover the dark secrets of Bunce Island fort; a warm welcome to a chilling site (Peter Moore)

In recognition of this, the Sierra Leone government created the Sierra Leone-Diaspora Citizenship programme in 2019. If you can prove a link with Sierra Leone through your DNA, you can receive citizenship.

I spoke with Dr Gina Paige, co-founder and president of African Ancestry, a US company helping people trace their heritage. They have the largest database of African DNA in the world, and the Sierra Leone government insists that anyone applying for citizenship use their tests. She told me that while a passport was motivation enough for some, the main driver was the chance to find out who they are.

“African Americans are the original victims of identity theft,” she explained. “When you get this piece of your identity back, you can’t help but feel more complete.”

The quiet shores of Bunce Island barely even hint at the tragic stories that unfolded there (Alamy)

The path to freedom

That night, to lighten the mood, we headed to Lumley Beach, a 5km stretch of golden sand lined by lively bars, restaurants and clubs on the northernmost part of the Freetown Peninsula. We arrived to a cacophony of duelling
sound systems, hawkers selling grilled meats, and roving kekehs (tuk tuks) picking up passengers in search of the coolest spot on the strip. Settling on the Oshawa Hotcake Beach Bar, I went to fetch some beers and returned to find Osman dancing to a new track by local rapper Drizilik, known for his musical collaboration with British actor Idris Elba (who has Sierra Leonean heritage and citizenship).

“You know, not all our history is dark in Sierra Leone,” Osman grinned, energised from his time on the dancefloor. “Where do you think the name Freetown comes from?”

The story goes that Portuguese navigator Pedro de Sintra spotted the mouth of the river on which the city now lies in 1462; he called it Serra Leôa (Lion Mountains) because he thought the peaks that rose up from the harbour looked like lions. Freetown didn’t get its current title until English abolitionist Granville Sharp selected the site in 1787 to become a haven for enslaved Africans who had been freed but still lived in destitution in England. The name stuck.

“Did you notice what the suburb we passed through to get here was called?” continued Osman, warming to his theme: “Aberdeen!” There was also a Leicester, a Kent and a Gloucester. Not only did the city take its name from its newly emancipated citizens, but its suburbs bore the memories of the British cities that they had left behind.

“Freetown was the ‘Athens of West Africa’, with a literacy rate higher than that of England”

The next day, Osman was determined to show me the other side of his country’s history; it also gave me a chance to get a feel for life here. Freetown shares the characteristics of many other cities in West Africa: it is dusty, chaotic and irresistibly vibrant. We passed women in brightly coloured skirts selling delicious-looking pineapples from bowls resting on their heads and men wheeling unlikely items – from sofas to chest freezers – through a tangle of motorcycles, kekehs, poda podas (minivans) and buses.

Osman’s first stop was the ruins of Fourah Bay College, down by the Queen Elizabeth II Water Quay in Cline Town. Founded in 1827, this was the first European-style university in West Africa, and it remained the only one for more than 100 years. Back then, Freetown was regarded as the ‘Athens of West Africa’, with a literacy rate higher than that of England; its college alumni included Samuel Ajayi Crowther, Anglican bishop of West Africa; Sir Salako Benka-Coker, first Sierra Leonean chief justice of the Supreme Court; and Sir Henry Lightfoot Boston, the first African governor general of Sierra Leone.

Next, we saw the golden statue of Thomas Peters, the defacto founder of the settlement of Freetown and the man credited with giving the city its name. Born in Nigeria, then enslaved and taken to America, his statue stands on a traffic island in the middle of Wallace Johnson Street atop a black marble plinth listing the great and the good.

Slowly, we made our way to the waterfront and the city’s most uplifting story. It was here that we saw the Old Wharf Steps that lead up from Government Wharf; these were built in 1818 and are widely known as the ‘Freedom Steps’.

“This was where those who had been liberated would first set foot on Freetown soil,” explained Osman.

The staircase lies adjacent to King Jimmy Market, a jumble of tin shacks and narrow alleyways where hawkers sell fruit, fish and poyo (palm wine) under a sea of umbrellas. It tumbles down to a harbour, of sorts, where wooden boats disgorge passengers from all points up the river. Osman pointed out the route that the freed people would have taken from the waterfront to the King’s Yard where they were checked over medically, given documents and could then enter the city, passing through ‘Freedom Gate’.

In making the case for the gateway’s inclusion on UNESCO’s World Heritage list in 2012, it was likened to the Statue of Liberty as a symbol of ‘freedom, human rights, democracy and opportunity’. It was certainly a heartening sight when compared with Bunce Island, where hope had disappeared for so many.

After the slave trade was ended, the compound was turned into a permanent medical facility. Today this is the entrance to the ophthalmology department of the Connaught Hospital, though the original stone gateway remains, pocked and darkened with age. My attention was drawn to a banner draping its doors that declared, ‘Love your eyes’, while beside it stood a woman in a leopard-print shawl selling sandwiches made with Zwan luncheon meat.

Engraved onto a stone atop the gate was the date of its construction in Roman numerals (1817). Below, a more modern plaque honoured the West Africa Squadron, who scoured the Atlantic in the 1800s hunting for illegal slavers, rescuing their captives and bringing them back to Sierra Leone. Much like everything here, the gate was a history I knew little about, yet it opened the door to endless storie

Fourah Bay College was the first university of Western education in sub-Saharan Africa (Peter Moore)

The statue of Thomas Peters (Peter Moore)

King Jimmy Market (Peter Moore)

Osman explores his roots (Peter Moore)

Freedom Gate is still in use as an entrance to the Connaught Hospital (Peter Moore)

To the dear departed

I wasn’t sure if the gateway’s current anonymity was a good or a bad thing. After walking through it, most of the newly freed arrivals had headed to Freetown’s famous Cotton Tree, Osman told me. Legend has it that they spotted the towering kapok from the bay and made their way up there to pray and sing hymns as part of a thanksgiving service. We picked our way to it along cracked pavements, passing street-food hawkers and the intriguingly titled ‘Adventure Hair Salon.’
“Back then, this would have all been bush,” Osman explained en route.

The tree was as impressive as I had imagined. It stood over 70m high and was said to be over 400 years old. It towered over the buildings that surrounded it and formed a roundabout of sorts where Siaka Stevens Street meets Pademba Road and Independence Avenue. Even to this day, it was still a focal point for life here, as well as being a symbol of the city’s journey.

The Cotton Tree was the heart of Freetown before it fell (Peter Moore)

The Cotton Tree was the heart of Freetown before it fell (Peter Moore)

Across the road lies Sierra Leone National Museum and a busy park that was scattered with gatherings of amputees from a civil war that ended 20 years ago, as well as office workers on their break. A colony of fruit bats rested among the tree’s mighty boughs, squawking and squabbling, waiting for nightfall when they would fly off in search of food.

Not long after I left the country, I learnt that the Cotton Tree had fallen during a storm, causing a national outcry (see below). Looking back, I could see why its loss had been felt so keenly across the country. Damon Haley, an entrepreneur from Los Angeles who had traced his DNA through African Ancestry to the Mende of Sierra Leone, later told me that this was the place where he had heard the echoes of his ancestors the strongest.

“The Cotton Tree stood over 70m high and was said to be over 400 years old”

Our final stop was the St John’s Maroon Methodist Church, which was built in the early 1800s by Jamaican Maroons, descendants of enslaved Africans who had freed themselves from the Colony of Jamaica. This small, simple whitewashed structure sits in the heart of Maroon Town, on the corner of Percival and Liverpool Street, surrounded by tropical plants. It felt like an oasis in a chaotic part of the city.

The church appeared closed, but Osman rapped on the door and it was eventually opened by a man in a traditional shirt made from kpokpo (a thick, heavy cotton cloth).

“I am Mr Alieu Sesay,” he announced with a grin. “But not the famous footballer!”

The St John’s Maroon Methodist Church was founded by Jamaican Maroons (Peter Moore)

The St John’s Maroon Methodist Church was founded by Jamaican Maroons (Peter Moore)

Alieu was the church’s custodian and showed us in, explaining the building’s history and that of the Maroons, many of whom had been stone masons and metal workers.

“The roof was built with wood from the slave ships. Once they’d brought the people home, the ships were torn down and salvaged,” he said. This wood also accounted for two of the pews, the windows and an incongruous chandelier.
The church was cool and calm inside. It also seemed an apt metaphor for Sierra Leone itself: a place ravaged by slavery but rebuilt from the bones of its demise. Yet, for a country so inescapably bound to its history, from the darkness manages to emerge something bright and hopeful.

Alieu Sesay (not the footballer!) (Peter Moore)

Alieu Sesay (not the footballer!) (Peter Moore)

I thought about this more later, after I had returned home to find a video from Damon Haley, who had filmed his ritual on Bunce Island. I watched as he and his fellow pilgrim, Tom Bundy, stood before the Gate of No Return.

“This is where our ancestors began their… tortured voyage and had the strength to preserve and to bring us into existence,” said Tom, looking directly into the camera. “All those we lost between here and where we are now, we have brought back with us and they are at peace.”

“History and time shine a light on all dark places,” interjected Damon. “And on Bunce Island today, we got lit up.”

The Cotton Tree in better times (Peter Moore)

The Cotton Tree in better times (Peter Moore)

Rest in peace, Cotton Tree

At 9.40pm on 23 May 2023, the unthinkable happened: Freetown’s 400-year-old kapok tree was felled by a storm. The Cotton Tree, as it was known, was more than just a local landmark, it was regarded as a symbol of liberty by the formerly enslaved people who founded the city.

During the storm it was stripped of all of its branches by torrential rains and high winds, with only the base of its enormous trunk left standing. President Julius Maada Bio described it as a “great loss” and told reporters: “There is no stronger symbol of our national story than the Cotton Tree, a physical embodiment of where we come from as a country… Our challenge is to rekindle, nurture and develop that powerful African spirit it for so long represented.”

The tree was once visible from all parts of the city, and Freetown’s chief administrator, Festus Kallay, declared the “skyline will hardly be the same again”. Hundreds of Freetown residents gathered at the site to pray and mourn its loss.

Legend had it that a tragedy would befall the nation if the tree fell. Influential pastor Francis Mambu, who heads the Faith Healing Bible Church, was quick to blame wizards and witches, who he said used its roots for witchcraft. Calmer heads prevailed though, and as Sierra Leone’s history shows, the country has a knack for building from a place of tragedy. President Bio has vowed to create a monument on the site that will bear testament to the great Cotton Tree’s place in Sierra Leone’s history.