By Idrissa Sesay
Seven years after he first went into hiding, the name Muhammed Maju Alim Kamara continues to ignite tension in the Lungi community. What began in 2018 as whispers and unverified claims of his involvement in a same-sex relationship has now snowballed into a full-blown community standoff. To this day, his exact whereabouts remain unknown, but the pressure to find him has not eased—if anything, it has grown sharper with time.
The controversy erupted when Kamara, a young man once known for his quiet lifestyle at 33a Airport Ferry Road, Masoila, Lungi, was reportedly seen in compromising circumstances with another man. The discovery sparked fury among local youths, many of whom declared that such behavior was an “unforgivable violation of culture and faith.” Within hours, Kamara had vanished from the community, leaving behind an intensifying hunt for his location.
In August 2025, community elders, religious leaders, and youth representatives convened yet another tense meeting to deliberate on the “threat of homosexuality.” The session underscored the enduring hostility toward LGBTQ+ identities in Sierra Leone, particularly in deeply conservative areas like Lungi. Resolutions from the meeting included calls for heightened vigilance, increased moral policing, and stern warnings to families suspected of shielding individuals accused of same-sex activities.
Stakeholders urged parents to take responsibility for their children’s “moral conduct,” warning that tolerance of such behavior would not only shame their families but could also lead to harsh communal punishment. Some even called for state authorities to redouble enforcement of Section 61 of the Offences Against the Person Act of 1861, which prescribes life imprisonment for male same-sex activity—a colonial-era law that, despite international criticism, still hangs over Sierra Leone’s legal framework.
Rumors abound as to Kamara’s fate. Some claim he escaped abroad and is living under asylum protection, while others insist he is hiding somewhere in Sierra Leone under a new identity. Whatever the truth, what is undeniable is the community’s persistence in keeping his story alive. In Lungi, youths openly vow to track down anyone suspected of harboring him, and threats of mob justice remain fresh.
The uncertainty has created an atmosphere of fear. Young people accused—sometimes falsely—of same-sex relations now face harassment, expulsion from their homes, or worse. Human rights advocates argue that Kamara’s case represents a broader crisis: a society torn between traditional values, outdated laws, and international human rights obligations.
The government has maintained a careful silence on the matter, but critics argue that inaction only emboldens hostility. Civil society groups, particularly those advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, insist that Sierra Leone must reform its laws and work toward tolerance, warning that continued persecution only drives vulnerable citizens into deeper hiding.
International organizations, too, have taken note. Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have repeatedly flagged Sierra Leone’s criminalization of homosexuality as a violation of human rights treaties the country has signed. Yet, despite mounting external pressure, the social climate in communities like Lungi remains one of resistance, with calls for greater crackdowns rather than reform.
Nearly a decade later, Muhammed Maju Alim Kamara’s story remains unresolved—a chilling reminder of the risks LGBTQ+ individuals face in Sierra Leone. His absence has not erased the anger of his community, nor has it diminished the determination of those who want him found. For many, his name has become a symbol: of fear, of resistance, and of a society struggling with questions it refuses to confront.
As 2025 closes in, the hunt for Kamara persists, a mystery with no clear end in sight. And in the streets of Lungi, one thing remains certain: the tension surrounding his story is far from over.
