One Week in Sierra Leone
Photos by John Sizemore
Sierra Leone is not your usual travel destination—at least not yet. The country has endured a fair degree of setbacks, from its role at the heart of the transatlantic slave trade, Ebola outbreaks, and a brutal civil war lasting through the 1990s that only ended relatively recently in 2002. Modern perceptions, assisted in popular culture by films such as Blood Diamond, have not been particularly kind, and undeservedly so.
The truth is that Sierra Leone is an extremely vibrant country that is actively reinventing itself, and the ability to witness this rebirth in real-time—alongside a pleasing year-round climate, fantastic food, friendly locals, and enchanting tropical scenery—makes it a compelling destination. Travelers ought to be mindful and respectful of this reinvention—and the context in which it takes place—when going there. Expect modern conveniences like cards, apps, and ATMs to be challenging to use or hard to come by. It is highly recommended to hire a tour guide to navigate the intricacies of Sierra Leone, such as getting around, making financial transactions, and handling any hiccups in your journey—in addition to having a local’s experience augment your own.
There was something about Sierra Leone that I couldn’t quite put my finger on at first. The trip started as many others in the past have—with an innocuous invitation in my inbox. I had never been to Sub-Saharan Africa, and my mind conjured images of dense jungles and rich wildlife along with the thrill of crossing another country off the list. Before long, I found myself on a plane crossing the ocean and, after a long trip, I arrived at the Freetown airport.
I met the rest of my group, and we piled into a couple of vans and made our way to Tariq’s Resort in the nearby town of Lungi. Tariq’s was a pleasant introduction to this slice of West Africa, with its thatched huts hidden under dense jungle foliage creating a lovely scene as the fading sunlight dwindled in through gaps in the leaves. I took time to meander about the property before I sauntered to bed, hoping to shake off the rest of my jet-lagged stupor.
We awoke the next day and, after a quick breakfast on the patio, hopped on a boat for our morning trip to Bunce Island. Barely more than a speck on a map, this tiny island has a heavy history—upwards of 80 percent of all enslaved Africans who were ever taken to the Americas from West Africa passed through Bunce, also known as the final “point of no return.”
As a white man who grew up in the American South, my first-hand experience with racism is essentially non-existent, exclusively taking the form of personal anecdotes relayed to me by friends of color, knowledge from books I’ve read, or my education in school growing up. As we traveled along the Sierra Leone River with the buildings of Freetown in the distance, I couldn’t help but think about how my passing knowledge of Bunce was not unlike this knowledge of racism—relegated to something I had heard or read about but had never fully experienced firsthand.
We landed on the shores of Bunce, walked past outer walls lined with old cannons worn down by time, and soon found ourselves in the center, from where it was almost possible to see the island’s entire perimeter. The dichotomy on display unsettled me—a gorgeous ocean scene, idyllic swaying palms, and a cordial sea breeze contrasted by stark, weathered remnants of an old stone fortress and the knowledge of what used to occur in and around those walls.
Our tour guide, Peter, told us the story of Bunce as we walked the grounds, and it was within the details that I found the most disturbing. A placard informing that Georgia, South Carolina, and my home state of North Carolina were among the primary recipients of enslaved humans from this very island. An unassuming patch of grass inside the fortress or a hidden nook beside a tree around the back revealed as former torture areas. A sunny outdoor space under a shady grove outed as a former exercise and training yard. Stones that seemed randomly positioned in the woods by nature turned out to be unmarked graves. Gaps in the bottom of walls that appeared to be poorly placed windows were revealed as the final exit points where enslaved humans were passed through and led down to the shore and into the westward ships.
Even with knowledge about the horrors of slavery, coming this close to it, setting foot on the soil of this place, and seeing it with my eyes and hearing these accounts made it all the more shocking and difficult to take in. I can’t possibly know what visiting Bunce as a Black American must be like. As a visitor whose race afforded me a great deal of privilege in my home country, even though it took me days to fully process everything I had seen, I immediately knew it was important to come here. It was precisely because of my secondhand and indirect knowledge of racism—especially as a person from a state with a direct link to Bunce—that it was necessary to visit. In a time where many in the United States can’t even agree on basic facts regarding racism, its legacy to the present day, and whether or not these things even exist, this island—the soil, buildings, the grass, those stones in the woods, those little gaps in the walls—was the truth, and no amount of politics, twisting, or revisionist history could ever change that truth.
We took a little more time at Bunce, letting the gravity of this past sink in, and then crossed the water to nearby Tasso Island. We met Patience there for a tour of the Tasso Ecotourism Project, and she led us down to an invitingly decorated dining area where we all enjoyed a hearty lunch with our now prodigious appetites after the sobering morning. We learned about the ongoing projects within the space, which included an amphitheater, library, workshops, and lodgings—all powered by green energy—perfect for learning about Sierra Leone’s nature and basing hikes into the surrounding trails filled with birds, beaches, and jungle flora. I was struck by this contrast between Tasso and Bunce—one island with a painful past, and the other symbolic of Sierra Leone’s transformation and bright future.
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