A short documentary of the atrocities commited in Sierra Leone over diamonds and gold, captured on camera by Sorious Samura, a native of the area who returned in January of 1999 as a cameraman to record what was going on. The children who were abducted by the Revolutionary United Front to fight the government for control of the region's diamonds and gold have not all been returned as of now. Visit www.cryfreetown.org for more information about the current status...

(note: see also Cry Freedom)

I sit in my warm living room, typing away on my laptop, munching on pretzels, watching cable t.v. My parents and sister are both alive, my grandparents have died of 'natural causes,' though one of cancer, but she had lived to the ripe age of 60-something. I remember when thoughts of Africa were fleeting glances: whenever one of those Christian TV Evangelists would come on during a program, asking for money to help those 'poor starving children who need your one dollar a month to survive.' Or it was part of a history lesson- the triangular trade, African tribal leaders selling their people to the Spaniards for guns and cotton, who then sold their human shiploads to southern plantation owners who gave them newly picked cotton and sugar cane...

My high school had a Black Student Union, and on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, they would retell his history, read aloud "Phenomenal Woman," and do that whole slap-stomp routine that requires ten times more rhythm than I could ever hope to have. No mention was ever made of Nelson Mandela, or anything to do with mainland Africa whatsoever. Sadly, watching movies like "Out of Africa," "Gorillas in the Mist," and "Born Free" were my only exposure to 'deepest darkest Africa.'

When I first watched Cry Freetown, I was sitting in a castle in a hall filled with people from all over the world. I sat next to my Ghanian friend, Sharon. We sat there, bracing ourselves for this film that we had heard was so disturbing.
We are both sensitive, especially when it comes to blood and pain and children. Halfway through the film we both look down, fighting back gasps and tears, letting out the anguish in our hearts by squeezing the life out of the other's hand...
Finally I look up to see the expressions on peoples' faces, as they watch what I don't have the guts to look at. My headmaster, a white South African, idealistic to the core, gulping quietly with a pained face. Students with looks of terror, disbelief... and then the film was over.

At the end of the discussion, which consisted of a stunned silence and an attempt to voice something somewhat intelligible, we all went to break, for coffee, tea, and conversation. And I felt ill, Sharon felt ill. We sat numbly at the tables, watching others talk, then we discussed what could be done, who was responsible, what do we do? Others joined in... we all felt helplessly indignant that something so terrible could have happened, without any of us ever hearing of it before. Over diamonds. And out of ignorance, hatred, and greed