By Alvin Lansana Kargbo
More than 20 years have passed since Sierra Leone’s bloody civil war came to an end in 2002. The guns disappeared, but the pain remains. Thousands of lives were lost, families broken, villages burnt, and communities fractured.
The country’s formal transitional justice system, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) and the Special Court for Sierra Leone, delivered historical documentation and criminal accountability. But beyond the walls of Freetown’s courtrooms, a quieter, more personal justice system has been at work in the rural corners of the country: customary community reconciliation through ritual and dialogue.
While often omitted in national policy documents, traditional forms of justice, rooted in Sierra Leone’s cultural fabric, have proven to be an indispensable part of the healing process for thousands of war-affected citizens.
In 2007, human rights activist John Caulker founded Fambul Tok International, a grassroots reconciliation movement that would come to redefine the notion of transitional justice in Sierra Leone. The name means “Family Talk” in Krio, and the concept is simple: bring communities together around bonfires to openly discuss wartime wrongs, promote forgiveness, and re-establish social cohesion.
During the Fambul Tok early days, John Caulker noted:
“After the TRC report was published and the Special Court had started its trials, many people in the villages were still waiting for justice. But not the kind you find in courts. They wanted truth, apology, and dignity. That’s what our ancestors gave through ‘palava hut’ dialogue, and that’s what we brought back.”
He noted that international donors initially struggled to understand the purpose of such community-based justice.
“I told them, ‘Justice cannot just be about locking people up in buildings with no windows. Sometimes it’s about sitting together, crying together, and forgiving.’”
The Fambul Tok process usually begins with months of community sensitization and the establishment of Reconciliation Committees made up of respected elders, youth leaders, and women’s representatives. These local committees are trained to handle sensitive cases and provide trauma-informed mediation.
In a typical village like Kailahun’s Kongbora or Bombali’s Wusum, hundreds gather at nightfall. Accused perpetrators stand before their victims and confess to war-time acts—looting, rape, killings, or forced recruitment. Victims respond, sometimes with tears, sometimes with rage, and sometimes with silence. But more often than not, the event ends with symbolic acts of reconciliation: hugs, shared meals, ritual cleansing with water, and dancing around a communal fire.
In 2011, a deeply moving story emerged from a village in Kono District. A former child soldier named Nyumah confessed to burning down the home of his childhood friend, Sahr, during the war. At the bonfire ceremony, Nyumah wept as he apologized, and Sahr, now a father of three, embraced him.
“We were both victims,” Sahr said. “He was forced to do what he did. I have forgiven him.”
Their story was captured in the award-winning documentary Fambul Tok (2011), which has since been screened in over 40 countries and praised for spotlighting alternative justice paths in post-conflict societies.
Yet, this kind of justice, built on truth-telling and public emotion, is not without cost.
According to a 2014 field experiment by Innovations for Poverty Action (IPA), which tracked over 200 communities that held Fambul Tok ceremonies, researchers found both positive and negative outcomes. Trust and civic engagement measurably improved, but participants also reported higher levels of post-traumatic stress and depressive symptoms than those who had not participated.
“It’s a paradox,” said Dr. Rachel Glennerster, co-author of the IPA study. “The process creates stronger communities but also reopens wounds for some individuals. That’s why mental health support is crucial alongside reconciliation.”
Chief Ibrahim Dumbuya, a traditional leader in the northern town of Kamakwie, shared his experience with customary justice during a recent interview at his chieftaincy court.
“Court justice is for the city,” he said. “But in our villages, people know each other. If a man kills your brother during war, and now lives three houses away, what can a court do for you that a cleansing ceremony and apology cannot?”
The chief has presided over more than 10 reconciliation ceremonies, many involving ex-combatants and victims of sexual violence.
“Some things must be spoken in front of the ancestors,” he explained. “Only then can we move on.”
He believes that had it not been for these traditional mechanisms, “many villages would still be at war with themselves.”
Despite its success, Fambul Tok and other customary justice initiatives remain underfunded and undervalued by the central government.
A 2023 report by the Human Rights Commission of Sierra Leone (HRCSL) found that only 7 percent of the country’s transitional justice budget was directed toward community-based reconciliation programs. Meanwhile, more than 60 percent went to formal judicial reforms.
Patrick Fatoma, Outreach Focal Person for Special Court for Sierra Leone said the lack of integration between traditional and formal justice is “one of the greatest blind spots of Sierra Leone’s post-war recovery.”
“The formal system may deliver verdicts, but the informal system delivers healing,” he said in an interview. “If the two aren’t working together, justice remains incomplete.”
He also advocates for a national policy framework that formally recognizes customary reconciliation as part of the justice architecture—complete with guidelines, training, and funding.
In February 2025, Fambul Tok International launched its new “Peace Tree Fellowship” program, which trains young community leaders in conflict mediation, trauma healing, and human rights. The goal: to blend traditional practices with modern principles of justice and equity.
“We’re not against the formal system,” Caulker emphasized. “But we need to stop pretending that it reaches everyone. Customary justice fills that gap—and it does so with compassion.”
As Sierra Leone prepares to mark the 25th anniversary of the end of the war, calls are growing for the government to formally integrate customary justice mechanisms into its broader transitional justice strategy.
For many Sierra Leoneans, healing will never come from The Hague or Freetown—but from the firelight of truth, forgiveness, and family talk.
This story is brought to you with support from the Africa Transitional Justice Legacy Fund (ATJLF) through the Media Reform Coordinating Group (MRCG), under the project ‘Engaging Media and Communities to Change the Narrative on Transitional Justice Issues in Sierra Leone.’
