Protests in Sierra Leone: Uproar against rising cost of living

On August 9th, it's a Tuesday and it's getting dark outside, the phones are ringing all over Sierra Leone.

Most of them have been waiting for this news, they bend spellbound over their mobile phones and quickly open the messenger service WhatsApp.

A man named Adebayor has sent out one of his infamous voice messages again, and it's spreading like wildfire, being passed on from friend to friend.

"I have an important message for you today," the message begins.

Then, after a few cloudy paraphrases, it becomes clear what is at stake: »The government does not pay any subsidies.

They do nothing for us in this country.

The price of petrol is high.

Nothing can stop us from taking to the streets tomorrow and demonstrating!«

This Tuesday, August 9th, many Sierra Leoneans have been sitting at home for two days.

They take part in a general strike, apparently co-initiated by that same Adebayor.

They protest against the government, against the rapidly increasing costs in the country, against the skyrocketing gas prices, against the rampant poverty - at least that's what they say.

Adebayor is an influential activist whose tool is social media.

Adebayor is probably not his real name. The government calls him a "puppet of the opposition," and his fans consider him the last independent voice in the country.

Apparently he doesn't live in Sierra Leone at all, but in distant and safe Holland.

His messages are often vulgar and quite loud, targeting the less affluent residents.

"He's our hero," says one supporter of Adebayor, who asked not to be named.

Because the government in the capital Freetown is not good to speak to his fans.

On August 10, after morning prayers, people follow the activist's call.

In Freetown and inland in Makeni, a stronghold of the opposition, they are taking to the streets.

An orgy of violence follows, on both sides.

Police officers are beaten to death and demonstrators are shot with live ammunition.

At the end of the day, according to the government, 27 protesters and six security forces are dead, 33 people.

It is one of the worst outbreaks of violence in Sierra Leone since the civil war ended in 2002.

A country that has been peaceful for 20 years suddenly descends into chaos in August because of rising prices.

Even if the government sees it differently.

In an interview with SPIEGEL, Information Minister Mohamed Swaray called the protests a "planned coup d'état by the opposition" and said they had nothing to do with the cost of living.

Accordingly, the police and the secret service are now proceeding mercilessly against the alleged agitators.

Three weeks after the days of turmoil, all is quiet again in Makeni.

The stillness feels spooky.

If you want to talk to residents about the protests, they initially turn around, unsure, on the lookout for possible dangers.

Then her voice gets quieter, her sentences shorter, and many say, "I'm scared." Since August 10, the police have been going around arresting suspected opponents of the regime.

Many are still behind bars in the capital, without trial and without the right to visit relatives.

The government denies that it is specifically on the lookout for members of the opposition.

After all, Sierra Leone is a democracy.

Many in Makeni see it differently.

Haja Aminata is one of the few who wants to speak under her real name - but after making sure that no strangers are listening.

She struggles through the dense crowds of Makeni's bustling market, past sacks of rice and shoe vendors loudly touting their produce, and finally disappears into a back-street storage room.

Here she feels safe.

Aminata is the leader of the Makeni Market Women's Association, a powerful organization with great influence in the city of 120,000.

The market women started the first small protests in July to express their frustration with the increased prices.

Aminata has a lot of authority in her voice, even when she speaks under her breath.

They used to send one of the traders to China or Dubai every month to get goods there: clothes, shoes, whatever sells well.

They then packed it in a container and had it shipped to Sierra Leone.

But that ended almost a year ago.

Freight costs have exploded, a container now costs three times as much.

Importing is no longer worth it.

Now the market women take the bus to neighboring Guinea - the goods are much more expensive there, which reduces profits and drives up prices at the market in Makeni.

Tomatoes, rice, onions and oil now sometimes cost twice as much.

"I haven't sold anything since morning," Aminata complains, "the people don't have any money, they can't afford it any more."

And the saleswomen are already faced with the next problem: Since the outbreak of war in the Ukraine, petrol prices have exploded, and even a trip to Guinea now costs twice as much.

Sierra Leone has one of the highest inflation rates on the African continent, and the currency is losing value every day.

The government recently deleted three zeros from the banknotes, but the problems have not gone away.

"It's desperate, how are we supposed to survive like this?" asks Aminata.

The 50-year-old has had to support seven children since her sister died of Ebola eight years ago.

They have already reduced their meals, from three a day to a maximum of one serving of rice with cooked cassava leaves.

"The children complain about hunger," she says.

It's a new experience for the proud market woman who used to jet to Dubai and send her offspring to renowned boarding schools.

Today the eldest son is at home, he will probably not return to school.

Regarding the protests, Aminata says cautiously: »I understand that people are angry.

You have nothing to eat.

There are no human rights in Sierra Leone.” Her own nephew, a well-known national opposition activist, was shot dead in cold blood shortly after August 10.

The government holds criminals responsible for the murder, Aminata and many others in Sierra Leone are certain: the state killed him.

Nobody expects an independent investigation.

The trader herself experienced the civil war from 1991 to 2002, the darkest chapter since the country's independence.

Tens of thousands of people lost their lives.

There was hunger back then, too, Aminata remembers, but at least a missionary from abroad would have brought food to the people in Makeni.

Today they are on their own.

The Citizen Advocacy Network office is located on a busy main road in the capital Freetown, a three-hour drive from Makeni.

It is one of the few active civil society organizations in Sierra Leone and its leader, Thomas Conteh, has seen a lot: after a demonstration for student rights, for example, he was put in solitary confinement for days.

But he has never experienced anything like the August protests.

"Our country is deeply divided," says Conteh, "the causes of the war have never been eliminated."

The desire for peace has covered a lot in recent years, and the economy has also been on the up.

But in addition to the ethnic and political divisions, there is now the gap between the "haves" and "have-nots", between the few privileged rich and the many poor who have no chance.

A slew of polished Land Cruisers and Jeep Wranglers pass under his office window, new imported cars that cost a fortune here in Sierra Leone.

In between, street children beg.

“The rising cost of living has brought the old conflicts back to the surface.

That can destabilize the whole country,” Conteh fears.

And so a social media activist from abroad manages to heat up the mood with vulgar WhatsApp voice messages.

Above all, Adebayor repeatedly raises the issue of the rise in petrol prices.

When the government had to cut subsidies because of tight budgets, the price for a liter of Super rose to the equivalent of 1.56 euros, a record sum for Sierra Leone.

In the meantime it has fallen again somewhat, but is still significantly higher than before the Ukraine war.

The price crisis is eating its way through all areas of the country, in all sectors of the economy.

At the same time, Sierra Leone is in the debt trap, and the International Monetary Fund has confirmed that there is a high risk of default.

So the government has little financial leeway to respond to global crises like the one we are currently experiencing.

During the corona pandemic, access to low-interest loans was simplified and subsidies were introduced, but this cannot work in the long term.

Freddie Coker puts on his pink doctor's suit, puts on his stethoscope, takes a deep breath and then walks from his office towards the intensive care unit.

He runs the acute care department of Freetown's Ola During Children's Hospital, you could say he manages the shortage.

“Almost none of the relatives can afford treatment here,” says Coker.

Although the basic medical care for small children in Sierra Leone is officially free of charge, it is usually only enough for the makeshift first steps.

“After that, we doctors have to decide: Do we throw the patients out or do we pay for the treatment out of our own pockets?” Coker pulls out his wallet often enough.

Most of his college friends from back then have left the country and are now working in hospitals in Europe, the USA, India and South Africa.

Coker stays, he's an idealist.

Recently, the senior doctor also organized a strike; he was, so to speak, the forerunner of the big protests.

In June, the government secretly canceled the corona allowance for the doctors, up to 30 percent of the measly salary.

And a fuel allowance, which should be an integral part of the salary, has not been paid in full for years.

"The gap between the soaring costs and our incomes kept widening," says Coker.

Some doctors now spend a third of their salary driving to work.

So he got together with his colleagues and they stayed at home for a week.

A rare act of disobedience in Sierra Leone.

In the end, the Ministry of Health reintroduced the corona allowance.

Freddie Coker picks up one of Zainab Kamara's patient files, and sweat stands out on his forehead.

It is unbearably hot in the intensive care unit, the air conditioning is no longer working properly and the energy costs are too high.

12-year-old Zainab has been here for three months, she came to the hospital with a body swollen from face to toe and in severe pain, diagnosed with kidney failure.

"Her condition is not improving because there is no money for further treatment," says Coker.

Zainab's mother sits next to the hospital bed and cries.

She has just returned with her daughter, they were out for hours, like every day.

She tells the doctors and nurses that they are going into town for medical tests.

Of course, everyone here knows that's not true.

"I was actually begging with my daughter, it's our last resort," says Fatmata Kamara through tears.

Zainab stares into space while her mother speaks.

The two have given up hope of raising the money for the treatment, they are begging to at least have something to eat in their stomachs.

"But because of the increased prices, no one has any money left, today we didn't get anything again," says the mother.

Soldiers with steel helmets and machine guns are still roaming the streets of Freetown, the government doesn't trust the peace.

They check vehicles on the road to Makeni. A situation like the one on August 10 should under no circumstances be repeated.

In a hidden backyard, SPIEGEL meets several young men who took part in the violent protests.

They all eagerly await the next message from Adebayor.

"Our anger isn't gone," they say.

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