By Kevin Lamin Lamdo (Op-ed )

When our leaders often repeat the phrase “Sierra Leone is a resilient nation,” it’s not just political rhetoric; it’s a verifiable truth. From the late President Tejan Kabbah’s declaration of “Di War Don Done,” to Ernest Bai Koroma’s announcement that “The Ebola epidemic in Sierra Leone is over,” and President Maada Bio’s lifting of all public health measures for COVID-19, each leader has leaned on that phrase to rally the nation. And rightly so.

These declarations were grounded in the institutional experience of government ministries that have battled social crises over the years. During the Ebola epidemic, ministries like Social Welfare, Health and Sanitation, Internal Affairs, and the Office of National Security (ONS), alongside civil society organizations, the media, and community members, played pivotal roles in curbing the outbreak. I know this because I was among the many Sierra Leoneans who joined the fight to beat Ebola.

When COVID-19 struck, my peers and I again stepped up, this time with mixed emotions. The world was locked down, and even resource-rich countries were overwhelmed. President Bio didn’t just declare a public health emergency; he outlined concrete measures for containment. National and inter-district lockdowns, community mobilization, radio broadcasts, and grassroots leadership all contributed to ending the pandemic. Again, ministries like Social Welfare, Health and Sanitation, and Internal Affairs led the charge, supported by ONS, the media, local leaders, police, and the military.

So if “we are a resilient nation” is more than just a slogan, then the institutions that helped us weather Ebola and COVID-19 already have a blueprint for public health emergencies and most of the architects are still alive and active.

I deliberately excluded the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency from this critique because they’ve already issued a disclaimer about being underfunded. But I must commend the Sierra Leone Police for their extra commitment in arresting drug traffickers, despite limited training and equipment.

Let’s be honest: KUSH isn’t sold in supermarkets or shopping malls. It’s sold and consumed in communities, by community members. That means the community knows the dealers, the locations, and the users. A powerful example comes from a neighborhood where a single mother discovered her son was deeply involved with KUSH. She enlisted the help of some “Benghazi” police officers, and the entire ghetto was demolished.

Household items were confiscated, and as of this writing, that area remains KUSH-free. That story proves communities have the power to eradicate KUSH if efforts are well coordinated and backed by state institutions like the Social Welfare Ministry.

So where are the district desk officers from Social Welfare? Where are the policy formulation and implementation officials? What about the NGO desks at the Ministry of Planning and Economic Development?

If our national leaders lead by example, communities can rid themselves of KUSH in record time. This doesn’t mean excluding local governance structures, it means activating them. We’ve got the power to end KUSH and other forms of substance abuse in Sierra Leone. What we lack is the will from those mandated to act. And if they won’t, they should step aside