Salone is my happy place. But it’s also the place where I’ve witnessed some of the harshest realities of life.

Every time I go back, I’m Aunty Femi in full effect — day and night. The children flood to me and I’ve built real relationships. They’re my people. And in that closeness, I’ve seen how volatile their lives truly are.

Orphaned at five. Raised by a teenage mum or an overstretched grandmother feeding seventeen mouths. Pregnant at 16 burying your child at 18. Sleeping on concrete floors in a room packed with family. Going to school hungry, or not going at all. 

But through all this — they still dream. And they still show up with open hearts.

When I’m there, I do what I can. I feed who I can. I comfort who I can. I listen. But every time I leave, I’m left with grief I can’t carry alone. Another child buried. Another parent lost. Another opportunity closed because of school fees or illness that could’ve been treated for £20. Sometimes £15 stands between life and death. Between a future or no future.

That’s not right. And I can’t ignore it anymore.

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Why I’m Fundraising

This isn’t just about a community “over there.” These are my cousins, my nieces, my people. In the last 5 years, I’ve buried two cousins, two uncles, and — earlier this year — my aunty. She was the soul of our family. We watched her fade slowly and despite our best efforts we couldn’t afford or even find the right care. At the same time, I was trying to keep my younger cousins in school. He had to drop out of university just so we could redirect funds, time and energy to her care, knowing it still wouldn’t be enough.

Now, my eldest cousin has been left to hold everything together. He’s raising the children in the home, supporting his sick wife, managing the church and grieving for his mother. While my younger cousin is finishing his degree, surviving repeated malaria and typhoid — and trying to stay hopeful under a cracked leaking roof we can’t afford to fix.

My uncle is left widowed with his own daughter and grandchildren, all under the same tin roof.

My nieces have just started secondary school. I want to give them a real chance — to graduate, to go to university, to become women who get to dream and thrive. I don’t want them stuck at home raising babies too young because school wasn’t an option.

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What Your Donation Will Do

This is not about big charity or flashy campaigns. This is peer to peer, heart to heart. This is about direct care, not red tape.

• £5 = Lunches or school books for a week

• £20–£30 = Covers test fees or basic medical treatment

• £60 = A full YEAR of school fees for one child

• £100+ = Can help repair the leaking roof, or help my cousin re-stock his shop so that he can begin to make profit again.

Being in debt and in poverty is crippling, and I alone can’t get my family unstuck. We need help.

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Why This Matters

Because no child should feel like their dreams are stupid.

Because no girl should be forced out of school.

Because we can’t keep pretending our community’s pain is separate from our own.

Sierra Leone is full of brilliance, beauty, and potential — but we’re still fighting the legacy of colonialism and economic injustice. NGOs and international orgs don’t understand our needs. They don’t reach our people. But we can.

This is about collective care. About returning to our roots — to an egalitarian way of living where we show up for one another. That is how we rebuild.

Please help me support my family, my friends, and my pikin dem. Even a small donation goes a long way. And if you can’t give, please share. The love goes both ways. And beyond.

From my heart to yours — thank you.

— Femi