Drug Law Enforcement Boss Weeps Over Kush Menace

By Sahr Ibrahim Komba
The Executive Director of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency (NDLEA), Andrew Jaiah Kaikai, broke down in tears on Saturday, 25th October 2025, after witnessing firsthand the horrifying impact of Kush a synthetic drug destroying the lives of thousands of young people across Sierra Leone.
Kaikai, known for his composure, was overcome by emotion as he toured several drugs affected communities in Freetown. Surrounded by emaciated youth, scarred bodies, and hopeless faces, he bowed his head and wept quietly.
“This is heartbreaking,” he said. “We are losing our young people our future doctors, teachers, and engineers. If we don’t act now, we may lose an entire generation.”
The NDLEA, in collaboration with the National Public Health Agency, Sierra Leone Police, and military personnel, has launched a three-day nationwide operation to combat Kush and other harmful drugs.
The first two days focus on community sensitization and engagement, educating citizens about the dangers of drug abuse, the legal implications of harboring dealers, and the importance of reporting drug networks. The final day will see joint law enforcement raids to dismantle drug dens and transport victims to rehabilitation centers.
Mr. Kaikai emphasized that rehabilitation, not punishment, is the core of the Agency’s approach.
“We want to heal, not to harm,” he said. “Every user deserves a chance to recover. We are setting up more rehabilitation centers across the country to make this possible.”
In Dwazak, a teeming hillside community in Freetown, Aunty Aminata, a 43-year-old mother of three, shared her story of loss and despair.
“Kush has destroyed my home,” she said, her voice trembling. “My two sons were once hardworking and respectful, but after they started smoking this thing, they changed completely. They roam the streets half-naked, picking from trash bins. My husband blames me and left the house. He said I failed as a mother.”
She wiped her tears as she spoke, sitting in front of her small, dilapidated house.
“I cannot sleep at night. I hear boys screaming in the streets, fighting and running mad. Many parents are suffering in silence. Some have buried their children because of this drug. We need help serious help.”
At the Kingdom Dumping Site, where hundreds of young men now live among garbage piles, Abubakar Suma, once a machine operator at a manufacturing company, recounted his fall from grace.
“I used to earn a decent salary,” he said. “I could feed my family. But one day, a friend offered me kush to ‘relax’ after work. That was the beginning of my end. I started missing work, then I lost my job.”
Now, Abubakar scavenges at the dumpsite for scraps to sell. His hands are covered with sores, his clothes tattered, and his eyes vacant.
“Every morning, I fight pigs for leftover food,” he said softly. “I’m tired of this life. I want to change, but I’m afraid. Will the government really help us? After rehab, where will we go? I just want to learn a skill and start again.”
Twenty-three-year-old Salamatu Kargbo sat quietly under a makeshift shelter at the same dumpsite in Kingtom. Once a student at a vocational institute, she now struggles to survive amid violence and exploitation.
“I was raped twice since coming here,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “Most of us girls who live here are not safe. Men come here pretending to help but take advantage of us. Some of my friends have died some from overdose, others from abuse.”
She said she is willing to go to a rehabilitation center if she can be guaranteed protection and a chance to rebuild her life.
“We are not bad people,” Salamatu pleaded. “We are just lost. I want to go back to school. I want to be someone again.”
The scenes in the slum communities and dumping sites are scenes of slow decay. Youths lie motionless beside heaps of refuse, some with open wounds infested by flies. Others wander barefoot, mumbling incoherently.
In these communities, Kush has become a silent epidemic. Families are broken. Schools are losing students. Skilled workers have turned to scavenging. The future looks uncertain.
Mr. Kaikai, holding back tears, promised that the NDLEA will work with partners to intensify community outreach and medical care.
“Rehabilitation is not just about treating the body,” he said. “It’s about restoring hope, dignity, and belonging.”
Superintendent Sinneh Bangura of the Sierra Leone Police said the police are fully committed to supporting the NDLEA’s initiative.
“We will not relent,” he declared. “But the public must cooperate. Report those selling Kush. Protect your communities. This is everyone’s fight.”
He warned drug dealers that the law will be enforced without fear or favor.
“We cannot continue watching our youth perish while traffickers enrich themselves. The police are ready, and together with the NDLEA, we will act decisively.”
Experts warn that if the Kush epidemic is not contained, Sierra Leone could face a serious social and economic crisis. The country’s labor force is shrinking as more young people fall victim to addiction.
The NDLEA’s campaign offers a glimmer of hope but it will take sustained community involvement, resources, and political will to reverse the tide.
As Kaikai wiped tears from his face and comforted a trembling youth during the outreach, his message was simple yet profound:
“We cannot give up on our children. This nation’s future depends on saving them today, not tomorrow.”