Kush Nation: Beneath the Smoke, the Wail.

There’s a boy — let’s call him Osman — barely 17. His eyes, once bright, are dulled now; his skin, ashen. He lies sprawled near Dove Cut, once known for selling cold sachets of water. Today, he scavenges gutters for remnants of kush.

Around him, Freetown sighs under the weight of a national sorrow. Young people collapse mid-sentence, their futures stifled. Entire neighborhoods reek of “aaaybo,” a scent now synonymous with despair. Kush. Cocaine. Tramadol. These are no longer just drugs — they are shadows, swallowing the last breath of hope whispered to the youth by the “Province of Freedom.”

This isn’t just a crisis. It is a wounding of our collective soul.

“Ayybo, aw we yone for tan so na dis kontri?”(Is this really how our country is meant to stand?)

International outlets like BBC and Al Jazeera, along with local press such as The Nationalist, Politico, and AYV, have reported the symptoms — a few arrests here, official statements there. From government offices to street corners, there are calls for prayer, proclamations, and promises. But none of these outweigh the sound of a mother’s voice cracking as she recalls the day her son traded his school uniform for smoked leaves.

Sierra Leone has declared war on drugs, but where are the alternatives? Where is the psychosocial support? The sustainable employment? The consistent, compassionate policy? Instead, we too often hear the same recycled rhetoric. And worse, we see violence — not against those who profit, but against the already broken, while the real suppliers disappear behind tinted glass.

This is not just about law enforcement. It’s about a generation desperate to feel less. Less hunger. Less betrayal. Less emptiness. In the haze of kush, there is a scream — muffled but unmistakably national.

Who is listening?

Osman may not survive the rainy season. A scholar in Lumley might sell her body to survive another day. We are losing them — not to bullets or bombs, but to neglect, to absence, to silence. And in that silence, Sierra Leone is folding in on itself — one high at a time.