It was just after 2 a.m. on New Year’s Day, 2023, when Hussein Fawaz joined the growing line outside Scarlet, an exclusive nightclub at a seaside resort in Freetown. The evening air was warm and humid, and the crowd at the entrance was growing thick. Fawaz, the nephew of one of Sierra Leone’s Lebanese tycoons, was tipsy after several rounds of toasts at a family party. When an athletic-looking white man in his early 30s began edging past the queue with his hulking bodyguard and entourage in tow, Fawaz made a stir. Voices were raised, punches thrown. Fawaz smashed a glass bottle over the bodyguard’s head. Bystanders joined the fray as the brawl spread, but the tanned, athletic man kept his distance.
Hours later, as Fawaz was leaving the club, he was attacked in the dim expanse of the parking garage. Who was there remains unclear. Several people at the club told New Lines that the perpetrator was the mysterious, taciturn white man, though police reports would name his bodyguard. Seven shots rang out. Fawaz crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony, with both his kneecaps shattered.
In a city largely free of violent crime, the shooting became major news, stirring a sense of unease and perplexity. Something, it seemed, wasn’t quite right. It was the first crack in a facade that was hiding a grisly truth: One of Europe’s most wanted men was hiding out in Sierra Leone.
Staff at Lagoonda resort, where the nightclub sits alongside a casino and other venues, also found the altercation confusing. One casino worker told New Lines that he had noticed the mysterious, restrained man months earlier, in August 2022, when he began frequenting the casino — soon becoming a regular. “He was a gentleman, soft-spoken and always very apologetic, following all our rules,” he said.
Flush with cash, he visited several times a week, burning through eye-watering sums in the casino pits. The staff member said that the man left tips of $500 to $1,000 for all the staff each time he visited and stressed that such displays of wealth are practically unheard of in Freetown’s casinos. Still, his personal habits were surprisingly restrained. “No alcohol. No women. His entourage was limited to his driver and bodyguard.” Other aspects of the man’s behavior were also curious: “Sometimes he pretended to be Turkish. Sometimes he implied that he was Moroccan, but spoke to his bodyguard in Dutch.”
Almost immediately after the incident, local media outlets published a series of puff pieces stressing the innocence of the alleged shooter, whom they named Omar Sheriff. He was a “Norwegian/Turkish mining investor,” with interests in “property development and charity work,” the reports claimed. “Mr. Omar Sheriff is in Sierra Leone to invest in the mining sector, thus creating jobs for young people and supporting economic growth,” it was reported.
A local journalist intending to cover the shooting told New Lines he was visited at home by an unidentified emissary. Refusing to give his name, he delivered a clear message — drop the investigation, the matter is “in the president’s hands.”
Thereafter, the incident quietly slipped from public view. Only two years later would its true significance become apparent. Though few realized it at the time, the shooting offered the public a first glimpse of a more pernicious reality. In January 2025, the man at the center of the shooting was discovered to be, in reality, Jos Leijdekkers, a Dutch cocaine king with ties to the world’s most powerful cartels. For several years, he moved through Freetown under the guise of Omar Sheriff, successfully corrupting state power to make way for his cocaine-trafficking empire. Leijdekkers ultimately embedded himself deeply within Sierra Leone’s political class, becoming engaged to the president’s daughter. He operated with impunity, in plain sight.
Drawing on months of reporting, dozens of interviews with sources inside and outside government, and exclusive access to leaked photos and videos, New Lines’ investigation traces how a drug kingpin captured the loyalty of Sierra Leone’s elite, and considers what this reveals about the architecture of an emerging West African narco-state. It also reveals how West Africa — once a peripheral zone for the global narcotics trade — is becoming a central artery in transnational cocaine trafficking.
In 2011, 12 years before the shooting in Freetown, 20-year-old Jos Leijdekkers was sentenced to six years in prison in the Netherlands for attempted double manslaughter.
The son of a local brothel owner and small-time criminal in the Dutch city of Breda, Leijdekkers was on a night out when a fight broke out with two Moroccan brothers, reportedly over a bar stool. Outside, he drew a pistol and opened fire, injuring both brothers, one critically. In court, Leijdekkers declined to explain what had motivated the attack.
Prison suited Leijdekkers well, enabling him to establish a network of invaluable contacts. Chief among these was the Afro-Surinamese criminal Piet Wortel, who made his name organizing the transportation of illegal drugs between Suriname and Belgium and the Netherlands. Once released from prison in 2015, Leijdekkers married and, in 2017, moved to Schilde, a wealthy municipality on the outskirts of Antwerp, where he lived a comfortable suburban life with his wife and children.
Yet the facade of middle-class banality hid a more sordid truth. Using an encrypted phone, Leijdekkers organized large shipments of cocaine from Latin America to Europe — something that only came to light several years later, when investigators hacked Sky ECC, an encrypted message app he used to coordinate logistics.
These deliveries entered Europe through Rotterdam and Antwerp — the continent’s two biggest ports, which stretch dozens of miles into the inland waterways of Belgium and the Netherlands, each processing over 10 million containers every year. This volume of cargo makes comprehensive screening logistically impossible. With only a small percentage of containers being inspected, the ports are ideal entry points for cocaine destined for Europe, the world’s largest market for the drug.
Cocaine was shipped from Latin American ports, with Leijdekkers then directing his men to retrieve the cargo from terminals in Antwerp and Rotterdam. Central to these operations were corrupt port workers, who allowed for illicit access to the cocaine-laden containers. From there, extraction crews would infiltrate the port, removing the carefully concealed narcotics before the authorities could intervene. Leijdekkers cultivated a distinctive brand identity, based on the indiscriminate use of violence. In August 2020, when a port security guard disrupted a 1,050-pound cocaine pickup in Antwerp, Leijdekkers sent in a group of heavily armed men to handle it. “Take him hostage. Shoot his knees if he struggles,” he instructed his cronies through Sky ECC. The man was savagely beaten and then dragged to a nearby container. Dutch authorities would later estimate that Leijdekkers’ operations during this period were grossing tens of millions of dollars each month.
The hacking of Sky ECC in June 2019 dealt a major blow to the cocaine underworld in Belgium and the Netherlands. With police gaining access to millions of messages, waves of arrests soon followed. However, by the time Leijdekkers’ prominent role came to light, he had already left the European Union and was living a life of extravagance in Turkey, which, despite being party to a mutual extradition treaty, is notably lenient toward international criminals.
Together with his wife, children and several key associates, he lived in a plate-glass villa overlooking the Bosphorus. From there, he sent photos of the Istanbul skyline to his subordinates on the ground in Antwerp — working from home while his children attended private school nearby. He laundered millions through sham companies and gold bullion, which he flew to Dubai on private jets, according to an investigation by BirGun, a Turkish daily, citing a leaked police file. Around this time, Dutch media started circulating sketches of Leijdekkers, drawn from mugshots snapped in his late teens. These images earned him the nickname “Bolle Jos” (“Chubby Jos”).
In May 2021, following pressure from Dutch authorities, Leijdekkers’ Turkish residence permit was briefly revoked, but only in June 2023 did Turkey clamp down on his network. In a series of raids, Turkish police arrested 25 suspects, including Leijdekkers’ brother Wilhelmus and brother-in-law Abdullah Alp Üstün, and seized 36 properties and millions of euros in cash. But Leijdekkers himself was nowhere to be found. There was media speculation that he could still be hiding somewhere in Turkey, or perhaps in Russia, or the contested Caucasus region of Abkhazia. In spite of the Freetown shooting incident, West Africa — a region offering little scrutiny and easily malleable institutions, occupying a growing role in the international cocaine trade — remained a blind spot.
The returns on a shipment of cocaine, if everything goes smoothly, can be astronomical. In coca-producing regions of Colombia, Peru and Bolivia, 1 kilogram (2.2 pounds) sells for around $1,000 but, once in Europe, can sell for 80 times that amount. The enormous potential for profit encourages risk-taking and creativity. In an attempt to evade authorities, cartels constantly update their methods. Recent innovations even include narco-submarines capable of ferrying cargo across the Atlantic.
For Leijdekkers, innovative technology and hardware were one thing, but regular old logistics were a growing concern.
The improved security in Rotterdam and Antwerp in recent years made West Africa — halfway between Europe and Latin America — an attractive trafficking hub. Containers arriving from obscure West African ports would face less scrutiny, and the region had overland access across the Sahara to North Africa — a convenient springboard from which to dispatch shipments to European shores.
And, it turned out, West Africa is very much open for business on this front. Lying at the periphery of geopolitical interest and perennially strapped for cash, these states have neither the willingness nor the capacity to combat drug smuggling operations. In a context where impunity is a commodity, traffickers collude with easily corruptible authorities and can bring shipments to unpoliced and sparsely populated shores and hinterlands. Since 2019, cocaine seizures in the region have reached unprecedented levels, according to a report published by the Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime. Smugglers have even delivered shipments to major logistical hubs. In September 2024, for example, authorities in Guinea-Bissau intercepted a jet at the country’s international airport carrying nearly 3 tons of cocaine and arrested five Latin American crew members.
It is unclear exactly when Leijdekkers arrived in Sierra Leone, but the nightclub employee who spoke with New Lines said that Leijdekkers began frequenting the Lagoonda casino in August 2022, suggesting he had moved to the country by the summer of 2022 at the latest.
Coming from Turkey, Sierra Leone would have seemed comparatively modest. Much of the country lacks access to an electricity grid, and paved roads are few and far between. Even in Freetown, rolling blackouts can last for months at a time. This hardship is worsened by the May-to-September rainy season, when heavy downpours can last up to 12 hours, rendering many routes — and much of the country’s interior — impassable. Stagnant pools of water left by prolonged rains create breeding grounds for malaria.
Nonetheless, Sierra Leone offered ideal conditions for Leijdekkers’ enterprise. The state’s presence is weak and inconsistent. It is unable to provide basic services, including security and the rule of law. Immigration and national security protocols are poorly and inconsistently applied. Anyone can move throughout the country as they wish, provided they are willing to hand out the occasional customary tip at police checkpoints. One police officer, who attends to one of the busiest checkpoints in downtown Freetown, told New Lines that her bosses would let anyone pass through — even those carrying drugs — for less than $10.
Though local media reports said he left the country soon after the shooting, Leijdekkers, operating under the guise of Omar Sheriff, set out to build the infrastructure for his growing enterprise, showering cash on those he deemed potentially useful.
Over time, he cultivated a loyal following among Freetown’s political elite. His first point of contact in Freetown was Alusine Kanneh, then the deputy whip in Sierra Leone’s Parliament. In his 20s, Kanneh claimed asylum in Norway, where he remained until he returned to Freetown in 2012 to take up a seat in Parliament. As a parliamentarian, he failed to establish an office in his constituency of Nomo, despite receiving government funds to do so. In 2023, he was involved in a scandal when a Norwegian charity seeking to establish a child hospital in Nomo was defrauded of tens of thousands of dollars by a contractor he had recommended. Kanneh also participated in a fraudulent gold mining venture in which a Norwegian farmer lost over $1 million.
Although the exact nature of Leijdekkers’ relationship with Kanneh remains unknown, the latter played a key role in facilitating Leijdekkers’ integration into Freetown’s most powerful circles. For this, Kanneh was rewarded generously. An investigation by Africa Confidential found that, starting in November 2022, he purchased three houses in Pennsylvania and Delaware for a total of $1.9 million — money for which he has consistently failed to account. A leaked video from Kannneh’s 50th birthday showed a joyful “Omar Sheriff” gifting him a golden Rolex watch. “If you give a Sierra Leone man a hundred thousand dollars, he’ll go crazy,” said a local chauffeur familiar with Leijdekkers’ movements during this time. “He came to the right place. You can buy anything in Freetown,” he told New Lines.
Leaked footage of Leijdekkers at Alusine Kanneh’s 50th Birthday
A similar pattern emerged with other powerful figures. Andrew Kaikai, formerly a practicing lawyer in Texas serving as the chief of immigration at the time Leijdekkers appeared in Sierra Leone, also featured in the birthday video. Kaikai would later face scrutiny over the ownership of three luxury SUVs, including a Mercedes G-Class. These, he claimed, were gifts from “a Lebanese friend,” whom he has never convincingly identified.
“He had everyone in his pocket, throwing around a lot of money,” a source closely familiar with Leijdekkers’ operations told New Lines. “That man bought expensive cars for ministers, the head of the military, the head of the police. They really benefited from him,” his former housekeeper told New Lines.
Security guards at State Lodge, the luxurious presidential residence, also noticed a particularly sharp dresser who visited the property periodically. Upon leaving the premises, he would often throw $100 bills to the crowd of security guards as he walked to his luxury SUV, according to a security guard’s account obtained by New Lines. Among the employees of State Lodge, the one known as Omar Sheriff came to be known as “Jagaban,” a local term describing a wealthy and influential man who commands respect — a king.
In August 2023, President Julius Maada Bio organized an intriguing reshuffle. Kanneh was appointed chief of immigration, despite having a checkered record as a lawmaker and no experience in immigration matters. Kaikai was appointed director of the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency.
Late 2022 onward saw a spike in cocaine seizures with connections to Sierra Leone. In November 2022, a Brazilian fishing vessel carrying 4.6 tons of cocaine, reportedly en route to Europe, was intercepted by the French navy off the coast of Sierra Leone. The following April, a fishing vessel flying Sierra Leone’s flag, also heading to Europe, was snatched by the Guinean navy, with 1.5 tons of cocaine found on board. In October 2023, Antwerp authorities seized 10 tons of cocaine hidden in soybean flour in a container from Sierra Leone. A heavily armed team of the cartel’s commandos subsequently attacked a shed where the container had been taken for inspection. When they found customs had already removed the cargo, a second team pursued the officials. According to the port spokesperson, this marked the first time “large quantities of cocaine entered Antwerp via Sierra Leone.”
Throughout this period, the mysterious Turkish entrepreneur became a fixture of Freetown’s exclusive restaurants and nightclubs, sometimes with bodyguards, sometimes alone.
Brash and ostentatious, LOR boasts of being Freetown’s most expensive restaurant. Just 55 yards from a coastal shantytown, a single diner can spend $100 a plate there — three months’ wages for the average Sierra Leonean. Leijdekkers typically dined at the restaurant two to three times a week, always leaving tips of $700-800, according to two staff members who spoke to New Lines. His behavior attracted attention, yet he remained known only as “a Turkish man,” one waiter said, though rumors swirled. “We thought of him as a drug lord, obviously,” the employee added. “A white man in Freetown, loaded with cash but without a business — what else can it be?”
Still, no one seemed particularly bothered. In Freetown, people are wise to the world’s strangeness — minding one’s business is key to navigating an unpredictable environment. In a lounge on Lumley Beach Road, a nightlife district where high society brushes against the underworld, Leijdekkers came off as a “low-key gentleman.” “He was very chill, yet somehow distinctive,” recalled a guest, struck by the sight of “the Turk” flanked by bodyguards.
In late 2023, Leijdekkers moved to Two Seasons, a beachside resort of eight villas tucked away in Tokeh, a quiet fishing village 20 miles down the Freetown peninsula. Though discreet, the property sits within walking distance of River Number Two beach, a lively weekend clubbing spot for Freetown’s cosmopolitan elite. Rami El Zein, the previous owner of Two Seasons, told New Lines that he sold the property to Hassan Salman, a prominent Lebanese car dealer reportedly assisting Leijdekkers with financial arrangements. El Zein claimed not to know the identity of the current occupant, but noted that the property had undergone extensive renovations. According to Leijdekkers’ employee who spoke to New Lines, he was a generous resident, flooding the nearby village with gifts: “He was really helpful. He sent so many bags of rice, gallons of cooking oil and onions.” Government ministers also benefited from his generosity: “They visited him every day. Do you know how much money he doled out to them when they visited?” the employee said.
Purely work-related matters were reserved for an office Leijdekkers maintained in a compound near Lumley Beach Road, the heart of Freetown’s nightlife. Images obtained by New Lines from one of Leijdekkers’ employees at the property show him in the yard heading to his car, wearing Birkenstock sandals and a rain jacket. Another photo from the property shows an official work vehicle belonging to Yankuba Bio, a close relative of the president and, since August 2023, director of Sierra Leone’s Ports and Harbours Authority, charged with operating Freetown’s container port, Queen Elizabeth II Quay.
Cocaine trafficking continued after the 10-ton Antwerp seizure in October 2023. Unmarked cargo would arrive at wharves around central Freetown, picked up by small boats from ships offshore, according to a source familiar with Leijdekkers’ operations who spoke to New Lines. Military convoys would then escort the shipments, often to Freetown’s container port. Other shipments arrived by air. In September 2024, for example, a private jet with a fake registration number and its radar disabled landed without permission at Freetown International Airport. The crew of five — four of whom were Mexican and one Dutch — initially refused to show their documents. The operation bore all the hallmarks of a transatlantic cocaine flight. Officials claimed that nothing was found, and the party was later released after paying a $100,000 fine for breaching aviation rules.
Yankuba Bio, the Ports and Harbours director, faced accusations of personally facilitating cargo loading at Freetown’s container port. In a written response to New Lines, Bio refused to comment, saying, “I regret to inform you that I am unable to discuss this matter further, as it pertains to my personal life and may infringe upon my fundamental human rights and privacy rights under applicable laws.” He added: “I know better than to discuss such matters publicly.” The harbormaster, speaking to New Lines explicitly on behalf of Bio, categorically denied that Freetown’s port was used for cocaine shipments. “We saw a video. They discovered cocaine in sugar on a ship coming from Sierra Leone. In Sierra Leone sugar is expensive, because we only import sugar. So how can we also export sugar? That’s ridiculous,” he said.
As state officials cleared the way for Leijdekkers’ operations, he began appearing around Freetown with Agnes Bio, a daughter of the president from an extramarital affair. Educated in France and Switzerland, she served as an adviser at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs after her father became president, before joining Sierra Leone’s U.N. mission in New York. In Freetown, she was a nightlife maven, partying alongside local celebrities. Although it is unknown when she and Leijdekkers first became acquainted, by mid-2024 they were seen in public as a couple. “The Turk” became known around town as her “white lover,” sealing his integration into the first family.
A video from October 2024, which surfaced on social media in early 2025, shows Leijdekkers — dressed in shorts and a baseball cap — attending a ceremonial rice harvest in Tihun, the president’s village. Flanked by the president and his daughter, he stoops to gather a bundle of rice as villagers look on. He smiles awkwardly as the crowd cheers. In another video that circulated on social media, he appears in the audience at an event hosted by the Agnes Bio Foundation at the Radisson Blu in Freetown. Surrounded by nongovernmental organization workers and diplomats, he turns away as the camera pans toward him.
By November 2024, the two were engaged. With his spot secured in the ruling family, Leijdekkers, who was growing less cautious, celebrated with a brazen move: flying in two of the most famous women in Africa, the Afrobeats stars Tiwa Savage and Ayra Starr, for a private concert for his fiancee and their friends at a blowout engagement party on the night of Nov. 29, hidden away at his Two Seasons resort.
The extravagant affair would have perhaps escaped scrutiny but for a grainy video that emerged the following day — a clip of the superstars performing Savage’s 2023 hit “Stamina” on an intimate outdoor stage, guests in high-fashion clothes swirling around them. The clip was captioned:
“Tiwa Savage and Ayra Starr perform in Sierra Leone.”
New Lines conducted a visual analysis of the footage and cross-checked it with the tail numbers of the stars’ private jets, thanks to posts and footage by the Nigerian streamer Peller, who joined Savage on the trip. We were able to confirm the location of the performance as Two Seasons, Leijdekker’s resort, on the date in question — a fact that has not been reported in local media.
The clips also provide insight into the exclusive guest list, showing just how entrenched Leijdekkers had grown within the highest echelons of Freetown. At one point, Zainab Kandeh, Agnes Bio’s mother, saunters across the stage, a wine glass in hand. Agnes’ colleagues from Sierra Leone’s U.N. delegation are seen in the crowd alongside major fixtures in the local party scene.
Having pulled off such a display of opulence, Leijdekkers may have felt untouchable — invisible, even. Just a month later, he volunteered for another risky undertaking. Each year, the president takes family and close associates to Tihun, his native village, for a New Year’s thanksgiving service. The president’s website describes the tradition as a reflection of his “connection to his hometown and his family’s commitment to celebrating significant milestones within the local community.”
The celebration was captured on a livestream by the social media team of Fatima Jabbe-Bio, Sierra Leone’s first lady and a prolific poster. The livestream began as the president appeared outside St. Joseph’s Catholic Church, where he shook hands with the priest and acolytes before proceeding inside to the front row. Behind him, a balding white man wearing an off-white kaftan entered the frame, sitting two rows back, next to Agnes. It was Leijdekkers. He appeared reserved, sporadically checking his phone as the service began. Throughout the service, he leaned over to speak to his fiancee, laughing and smiling as he did. Later, he rose to receive Communion, lining up with the other congregants. Leijdekkers’ face was intermittently captured by the livestream. He appeared unfazed by the presence of cameras, even maintaining unbroken eye contact with the lens at several points.
After almost two hours, the service ended. The president and his entourage returned to Freetown, and as usual, Leijdekkers’ presence quickly faded from memory.
But not for long. On Jan. 24, footage from the New Year’s service at St. Joseph’s — the first clear images of Leijdekkers seen by Dutch authorities in years — was picked up by Reuters and swiftly syndicated worldwide. Dutch authorities told Reuters they had confirmed his presence in Sierra Leone six months earlier. For the European press, the news marked the return of a familiar name in an unfamiliar place.
Despite his chiseled jawline and well-defined muscles, he was still “Bolle Jos.” Nicknames stick. But in Freetown, newspaper and radio hosts adopted a different moniker for him — “Bello Jos.” The variation likely stemmed from mispronunciation or unfamiliarity with the Dutch term “bolle.” In Krio, “bello” offered a comfortable linguistic compromise and quickly took hold. And much the better, perhaps: “Bello” means “handsome” in Italian, a fitting if unintentional update for a man once mocked for his chubby cheeks, now sporting a gym-toned physique.
Leijdekkers’ collusion with the first family triggered the country’s largest wave of international media coverage since the civil war. Many believed the scandal could destabilize Bio’s presidency. But business continued as usual. Two days later, the Ministry of Information released a brief statement: “During the festive season, the President attended numerous family events and public gatherings, where photographs were taken with many attendees. The President has no knowledge of the identity and the issues detailed in the reports about the individual in question.”
Eleven days later, the inspector general of the police, William Sellu, gave a public update on an “extensive open-source investigation into the so-called spotting of Jos.” “Through open sources, we were able to affix a name to that particular face and the name is Omar Sheriff,” he said. “On social media, they say he has been in the country for six months so as investigators, we go back six months and check formal entry records from all official border points but no such name was there.” Sellu never specified if they were searching for the name “Omar Sheriff” or “Jos Leijdekkers.” In April, Minister of Information Chernor Bah reiterated that Sellu’s “extensive open-source investigation” could not determine whether Sheriff was indeed Leijdekkers.
Authorities in the Netherlands, where Leijdekkers was sentenced to 24 years in prison in absentia in June 2024, submitted an extradition request on Feb. 6, but it was met with similar nonchalance. Sierra Leone’s minister of justice, Alpha Sesay, maintained that the extradition documents were being assessed, but later stopped answering calls from his Dutch counterpart entirely, according to the comments made by the latter at a Cabinet meeting in May. Likewise, no efforts were made to clamp down on Leijdekkers’ network — not even a token attempt to find suitable scapegoats for an institutional failure of such grandiose proportions.
As the scandal unfolded, evidence implicating Alusine Kanneh mounted. First, a video surfaced on social media showing Kanneh with Leijdekkers the night Hussein Fawaz was shot. Kanneh responded by denying all knowledge of who Leijdekkers was. Then came a report detailing his real estate purchases in the U.S. with unexplained wealth. It wasn’t until March, when footage emerged of Kanneh receiving a golden Rolex watch from Leijdekkers at his 50th birthday party, that he was dismissed as chief immigration officer. Andrew Kaikai, also in the birthday video, continues to direct the National Drug Law Enforcement Agency, while Kanneh remains a member of the ruling Sierra Leone People’s Party.
Meanwhile, local journalists have continued reporting on Leijdekkers’ movements in Sierra Leone. He apparently shuttles between the numerous properties he has acquired in recent years, now guarded by considerable military personnel. “I don’t think the government has a plan about how to handle this. They just want the guy to stay because he’s spending money on them,” said a local columnist who spoke to New Lines.
Unable to explain Leijdekkers’ continued presence in the country, the government has instead suppressed coverage of the issue. “Many journalists have been silenced because the government doesn’t want the story to stay in the press,” a newspaper editor told New Lines. Some were offered hush money in exchange for their silence; others were subject to more forceful methods. “My office was attacked in March this year by unknown people. They were looking for me. They forced themselves into my office, scattered my belongings looking for something, and then they left,” another newspaper editor told New Lines.
Sierra Leone’s social environment was once defined by relative openness and relaxed attitudes. Citizens voiced frustrations openly and journalists worked without fear. Now, things have changed. “There are lots of fears around. You don’t know even among colleagues who is speaking to whom,” said the columnist. “Jos has corrupted the whole business community, the whole political community. And Sierra Leone is a very small country.”
Having weathered the media firestorm after his identification, Leijdekkers has no good reason to leave. Nor does the administration have any incentive to act, having successfully waited out the scandal.
In late May, Bio appeared at Oxford University, where he was the keynote speaker at the Oxford Africa Conference 2025. Speaking at the Blavatnik School of Government, he delivered a milquetoast address about the need to transform Africa. Bio’s complicity in the scandal went unmentioned. Instead, he was praised for “ushering in significant governance reforms within Sierra Leone” and “exhibiting commendable leadership qualities” during his administration. In June, Bio was appointed chair of ECOWAS, a political and economic union of West African states encompassing almost 400 million p
eople.
In mid-July, a Dutch court ordered the confiscation of approximately $112 million in assets linked to Leijdekkers’ cocaine trafficking empire, the Netherlands’ biggest-ever identified proceeds from a criminal case. But he continues to enjoy apparent protection in Freetown. Even if Sierra Leonean authorities were to acknowledge Leijdekkers’ presence in the country, they face no legal obligation to act. Though convicted in absentia in the Netherlands, Leijdekkers is not formally suspected of crimes in Sierra Leone and thus not subject to arrest. Moreover, without an extradition treaty, Sierra Leone is under no obligation to honor the Dutch request.
Besides, Freetown’s extractionist elite have him exactly where they want him. With access to virtually unlimited funds, Leijdekkers is an invaluable asset. Whatever the case may be, Leijdekkers’ network remains loyal to him — if only in the interests of expediency.
