Published: June 28, 2025
BONG COUNTY, Liberia — Tucked away in the overgrown outskirts of Suakoko lies the Suakoko Rehabilitation Center, a crumbling shelter for more than a dozen people living with leprosy. Surrounded by dense bush and far removed from government attention, the center tells a heartbreaking story—one of survival in the face of abandonment.
Inside its broken walls, tattered mosquito nets hang from rusted bedframes, and bags of rice sit nearly empty. For decades, the center has housed men and women pushed to the margins of society—many of whom fled civil conflict or stigma as far back as the 1990s and early 2000s. Despite the passage of time, residents say little has changed in terms of official support.
“We feel invisible,” said Moses Boimah, a 60-year-old resident. “They call us disabled, but we don’t see the benefits. We’ve never received anything from the Bong County disability budget. It’s like we don’t exist in their plans.”
One Man’s Compassion
While the government and local authorities remain largely absent, residents credit one man—Eric Hanson, head of Kwatekeh Africa—for keeping them alive. Known affectionately as “the white man,” not for his complexion but for his compassion, Hanson visits weekly with food and medicine, sometimes paying school fees for children and providing emotional support.
“If not for him, we would have perished,” said Bill Sackie, another resident. “He’s the only one who consistently comes here, talks with us, checks on our health, and even began building a school.”
Despite his efforts, Sackie said the government has yet to assign a single teacher to the school. “It’s just an empty structure. No learning goes on there,” he said.
A Life of Shortages
Life at the rehab center is defined by extreme need:
- Healthcare is sporadic, relying on occasional donations rather than a structured program.
- Education is inaccessible, as no teaching staff have been assigned.
- Food insecurity is a daily crisis. Most residents are physically unable to farm or earn a living.
“We sometimes survive on a handful of rice,” said James Flomo, an elderly resident. “We can’t move around looking for food. We’re living on grace.”
Political Promises, Forgotten Faces
Residents expressed frustration at being used for political gain, claiming politicians only visit during elections with rice and empty promises.
“We supported the current representative, but we haven’t seen him since the elections,” said Boimah. “It’s like we were good enough to vote—but not to support.”
They praised former President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf for visiting them personally and appreciated occasional aid from former President George Weah. Former Representative Edward Karfiah was also remembered for sending food regularly.
“When Madam Sirleaf came, she stood on the ground with us. That gave us hope,” said Sackie. “But now, it’s like we’ve been erased from the map.”
Left Out of Disability Support
One of the residents’ most painful complaints, according to Flomo, is their exclusion from Bong County’s disability budget. Though their names have been submitted multiple times, they say no aid has ever reached them.
“We keep hearing about money for disabled people,” Flomo said. “But not a cent has come our way. We don’t know if we were skipped or ignored—but we are still here.”
A few NGOs occasionally bring items, but there has been no long-term, reliable support.
“We need help—from churches, NGOs, anyone who has a heart,” Sackie pleaded. “Even if the government forgets us, we hope others won’t.”
‘We Are Liberians, Too’
Despite their circumstances, the residents maintain their dignity and call not for pity but for recognition.
“We may be disabled, but we are Liberians,” Boimah said. “We contributed to this country. We voted. We have a voice.”
Their greatest fear? That the only person helping them may one day be unable to continue.
“If Hanson stops coming,” Flomo said quietly, “we will be finished. Because there’s no one else.”
Editor’s Note:
The Suakoko Rehabilitation Center is located in Bong County’s Electoral District 5 and shelters more than 13 persons affected by leprosy and other disabilities. Despite repeated appeals and their inclusion in official records, residents continue to be left out of government assistance. Their plea is simple but urgent: inclusion, food, medicine, and education. Their call is not just for charity—it is a demand for dignity.
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