Glenna Gordon

Elsewhere in Africa: Aging Alone

On an unpaved road past a large oil refinery in eastern Freetown, Sierra Leone, an imposing gate surrounds the King George Home for the Elderly. Inside, half a dozen buildings face a leafy inner courtyard. Inside these buildings, fifty-three senior citizens share rooms, meals and lives.

There’s a word – orphans – for children who lose their parents. It’s a word far too familiar in countries like this one, with a history of brutal war, but even here, there’s no word to describe another kind of tragedy – parents who lose their children.

Between 1991 and 2001, over 50,000 people died, and more than 2.5 million people were displaced, in a civil war sparked by regional conflict. That’s a lot for a country of just six million people. A simplistic narrative of cruelty in combat became notorious internationally: drugged up child soldiers wielding machetes, chopping off limbs and burning down villages.

The aftermath, however, is largely ignored -- as are the residents at King George’s. They are almost all parents without children, chance survivors of a war that their families weren’t lucky enough to survive. Or, they are the disabled and the impaired, tolerated when times are good and resources are plentiful, but left behind when things take a turn for the worse.

While in much of the Western world, the elderly often live in group facilities, in sub-Saharan Africa, it is an anomaly for senior citizens to live in a group home. Most of the time, the elderly stay in at home and are cared for by their children, their relatives, or the community. The elderly have always been considered a resource – their wisdom and knowledge guides younger generations. But the war here changed that. The numbers of dead and displaced can only hint at a way of life fundamentally different than just a

decade earlier.

The stories that the residents tell of how they came to King George’s are very similar: there was nowhere else to go. No one at King George’s really wants to be there, but they make do. With meager resources, the center provides one meal a day, and bread and tea in the morning, but cannot afford to offer the residents much more. The home gets occasional donations from individuals and NGOs, and some goods from the government, but it can’t pay a living wage to its staff or upgrade facilities. When residents fall ill, they must be cared for at hospitals or clinics nearby.

Some residents stay on their beds alone, lost in their own world of disability and isolation. The more capable and alert residents of the King George’s spend their days resting on the porches of their buildings, or lounging outside in broken down wheel chairs set up like lawn chairs. They listen to the radio and spend the day chatting. They do each other’s hair and laugh together in the warm afternoons before they retreat to their small metal cots when the sun starts to set. Without a generator or any municipal electricity, there’s no reason to stay up past dark. The day has simple and consistent rhythms: breakfast, prayers, sitting, eating, socializing, and sitting some more.

Santigi Sesay, who passed away in October, wasn’t able to talk much or leave his chair in his final days. He was cared for by the staff at the King George home to the best of their abilities. This is the last photograph of him ever taken. While the home is run without much support from the government or regular contributions from charities, the staff are very committed to the residents. It is rare for the elderly to live in group homes in sub-Saharan Africa, but most of the residents at King George Home in Freetown, Sierra Leone, lost their children, their families, and their communities during the country's brutal civil war.
   
  
Abu Kamara dons his finest robe for his portrait with his wife, Isatu Kamara. Like many residents, Abu has only two or three items of clothing and wanted to be photographed in his best outfit. Many residents are supported by family members who live outside the facility but cannot care for them full time. Abu has leprosy and it is slowly loosing more and more of his hands and feet. His wife visits him everyday and often sleeps next to him in his small metal cot.
     
  
   
Isatu Kanu enjoys some of the afternoon sunlight coming in through the newly painted window shutters at the King George Home for the Elderly in Freetown, Sierra Leone. It is rare for the elderly to live in group homes in sub-Saharan Africa, but most of the residents at King George Home in Freetown, Sierra Leone, lost their families during the country's brutal civil war.
  
     
  
Like many unfortunate Sierra Leoneans, Fatu Sesay Maya lost both of her hands during the civil war to fighters who asked victims if they wanted “long sleeves" or "short sleeves.” She speaks no English or Krio, a language common in the capital and elsewhere, but still spends her days saying "Hawa, hawa," meaning yes, yes, in Limba, a language from Northern Sierra Leone. Despite her disability, she is still relatively self-sufficient.
   
Charles Doe rests quietly one afternoon. He spends most days playing his guitar and harmonica, alone in the corner where he lives and listens to the radio. “It is my best friend,” he says of the guitar. “It can’t lie.” He once dreamed of being a musician. During the war, all of his children died and he lost track of his other relatives. King George’s has been his only home for the last decade. He says he would like his guitar to decorate his coffin.
   
Daniel Davis has a pet cat who keeps him company. The cat visits with other residents, but always comes back to Daniel in the evenings and for his frequent naps. "Mr. Daniels," as the other residents call him, lost both of his two children and his wife during the war.
     
  
Daniel Williams lost his family and his vision during Sierra Leone’s civil war. He plays harmonic, recorder, and he sings. His best friend lives in the bed next to him, and his also named Daniel.
   
Living conditions at the King George home are very sparse. Residents have a metal cot with a thin mattress and little else. It is rare for the elderly in sub-Saharan Africa to live in group homes, but most of the residents at King George's lost their children during the civil war and are left alone and without a family or community to care for them.
   
Like many unfortunate Sierra Leoneans, Fatu Sesay Maya lost both of her hands during the civil war to fighters who asked victims if they wanted “long sleeves" or "short sleeves.” She speaks no English or Krio, a language common in the capital and elsewhere, but still spends her days saying "Hawa, hawa," meaning yes, yes, in Limba, a language from Northern Sierra Leone. Despite her disability, she is still relatively self-sufficient.
     
  
Thomas Daniels is younger and more able than many of the residents at the King George home, but he is no less alone. He was working for an iron ore company in Liberia when war broke out in there and in Sierra Leone and he was never again able to locate his wife or children. He assumes they died in the war.
   
Charles Doe rests quietly one afternoon. He spends most days playing his guitar and harmonica, alone in the corner where he lives and listens to the radio. “It is my best friend,” he says of the guitar. “It can’t lie.” He once dreamed of being a musician. During the war, all of his children died and he lost track of his other relatives. King George’s has been his only home for the last decade. He says he would like his guitar to decorate his coffin.
   
     
  
Mariama Koneh is one of the more active of the 53 residents at the King George Home for the Elderly, though many others have severe physical and mental disabilities. It is rare for the elderly to live in group homes in sub-Saharan Africa, but most of the residents at King George Home in Freetown, Sierra Leone, lost their families during the country's brutal civil war.
   
Mamie Ballay gets her hair done by Baby Bundo. Though the King George Home is run on a shoestring budget, there are still people around willing to "plait hair," put braids in women's greying hair.
   
     
  
   
  
     
  
Many residents spend their days lost in their own thoughts. In a country with a history as gruesome as Sierra Leone’s, everyone battles demons. Some do so more successfully than others.
   
The King George Home doesn’t have the capacity to assist residents who are ill. Minor illness are endured, while anyone who has infections illness or serious medical need must be taken to a hospital or clinic.
   
Many residents spend their days lost in their own thoughts. In a country with a history as gruesome as Sierra Leone’s, everyone battles demons. Some do so more successfully than others.
     
  
Lucy Elizabeth Dacowah dressed up to go into town on the day of this portrait. She wore a necklace that said “Jennifer.” She asked, “What’s a Jennifer?” The residents have varying levels of ability and self-sufficiency, some leaving the home often and others barely venturing from their beds.
   
Charles Doe plays guitar and harmonica, but mainly sits alone in the corner where he lives and listens to the radio. "It is my best friend," he says of the guitar. "It can't lie." He once dreamed of being a musician. During the war, all of his children died and he lost track of his other relatives. King George's has been his only home for the last decade. He says he would like his guitar to decorate his coffin.
   
Though several residents are disabled, like Daniel Sulay Koroma, 70, who lost his leg during the civil war, all make do with minimal assistance at King George’s. It is rare for the elderly to live in group homes in sub-Saharan Africa, but most of the residents at King George Home in Freetown, Sierra Leone, lost their families during the country's brutal civil war.