By Jariatu S. Bangura
Freetown, 28th January 2026- May 1998 remains one of the darkest chapters of Sierra Leone’s civil war. For me, it is deeply personal. It was the month my father and uncle were brutally killed by rebels after saving my life.
It happened on a rainy morning as we headed to the farm after a long-distance run. Unknown to us, rebels had mounted an ambush along the highway leading to Kabala. Some miles away from our village, civilians were already being captured. At the time, I didn’t know that my uncle was among the first that were captured.
Not long after, I too was captured.
The shift from routine to terror was sudden. One moment, we were villagers going about our daily lives; the next, we were prisoners of war. Confusion and fear set in as the rebels tightened their grip.
From a distance, my father saw me—much like the biblical father who saw his prodigal son from afar. What followed was an act of courage that has defined my life.
In a display of extreme brutality, the rebels chopped off his hands. Yet even in unbearable pain, he intervened to save me and others from my village and nearby communities. He placed himself between me and death. By signaling my disappearance in the twinkle of an eye, he spared my life—and paid with his own.
That moment revealed who my father truly was. He left behind an eight-months-pregnant wife and his siblings, choosing instead to rescue his child.
The rebels destroyed his body, but they did not break his spirit. His final act was not one of surrender, but of love. In a time ruled by violence and fear, he chose sacrifice.
I am alive today because of that choice.
Growing up without my father has been a lifelong loss. I missed his guidance and his presence at the milestones that shape a child’s life. Yet his sacrifice became my strength. It taught me resilience, purpose, and the meaning of courage in the face of cruelty.
This is not only a story of personal loss; it is a reminder of the human cost of war. Behind every statistic from Sierra Leone’s conflict is a family torn apart, a child left behind, and a parent forced to make an impossible choice.
My father was not a soldier. He carried no weapon. Yet he fought one of the bravest battles any human being can fight—the battle to protect a child.
He saved my life.
My father is my hero.
