Wata Na Life
Climate change and community resourcefulness in Sierra Leone
Visual artist Ngadi Smart travelled to Sierra Leone between July and September 2021 for WaterAid. Her images bear witness to the ingenuity that communities deploy every day to survive the ongoing water crisis.
“Wata na life“ – “water is life“ – is a phrase Ngadi Smart heard time and again in Sierra Leone. “Water is also currency,“ she says. The Sierra Leonean photographer, illustrator and collage artist spent three months in the country of her heritage exploring the link between water and our changing climate. What she found were communities adapting as best they could to the fall-out from climate change.
Hers is the first of three joint commissions by WaterAid and the British Journal of Photography, which showcases new voices telling powerful stories about the impact that climate change is having on people's access to clean water.
“The Guma Dam to the west of Freetown is one of two main dams that supply water to the capital city,“ says Ngadi. “This photograph from early July shows it less than a quarter full. By this time of year, the dam should be full.“
“Climate change is causing a rise in temperatures which is depleting natural water resources and is basically causing a drought,” says Ngadi. She points out that overpopulation puts further pressure on water sources, while logging and de-forestation causes mudslides and other disasters that exacerbate the issue.
"People don’t have water for simple things such as cleaning and washing. They have to travel further to natural water sources that might not be clean, and if they’re women, they might also come across sexual violence.”
From the young people who must wake up at 1AM to collect water, to politicians using water to win votes, water scarcity affects everyone and everything. “It’s such a layered, complicated issue,” says Ngadi.
Rugiatu Davies, Fanta Sesay, Josephine Sandufou, Mariatou Mundah, Mabinti Kamara and Teneh Kidjah on Police Beach, Goderich, western Freetown. “Because of the dwindling water from the public pump,“ says Ngadi, “they are sometimes forced to use the sea water.“
Those layers and complications are evident in the intricate collages that Ngadi has created. Not only do they capture the reality of life without freely flowing clean water, but they also celebrate the tenacity of communities as they grapple with a deep and devastating problem.
Sierra Leoneans are very – I don’t want to say resilient because that’s what is always expected of Black communities… and we are. But it’s a shame we always have to be. We can never really rest. In Sierra Leone, a lot of people are doing things themselves, working as a community to improve the situation as much as they can with the small means that they have.
This ingenuity is reflected in the portraits that Ngadi has created, built from the environment surrounding each individual and community.
“I’ve always been interested in what makes a person,” says Ngadi. “For this project I focused on photography mixed with collage. I took pictures of elements around each location and used them to add to the portraits so that they’re a true representation of each person.”
“Lamine Kamarra, pictured here with his palm nut kernel, is a farmer in Tombotima in northern Sierra Leone,“ says Ngadi. “He has noticed for the past two years that their water sources have dried out faster during the dry season, and the rains have not come as often during the rainy season. This ruins his crops.“
Below and in their own words, Ngadi and the people she met take us on a journey in real-time to the very heart of this truth – revealing communities united in their desire to find a way to survive today’s most urgent crisis.
“The Guma Dam to the west of Freetown is one of two main dams that supply water to the capital city,“ says Ngadi. “This photograph from early July shows it less than a quarter full. By this time of year, the dam should be full.“
“The Guma Dam to the west of Freetown is one of two main dams that supply water to the capital city,“ says Ngadi. “This photograph from early July shows it less than a quarter full. By this time of year, the dam should be full.“
Rugiatu Davies, Fanta Sesay, Josephine Sandufou, Mariatou Mundah, Mabinti Kamara and Teneh Kidjah on Police Beach, Goderich, western Freetown. “Because of the dwindling water from the public pump,“ says Ngadi, “they are sometimes forced to use the sea water.“
Rugiatu Davies, Fanta Sesay, Josephine Sandufou, Mariatou Mundah, Mabinti Kamara and Teneh Kidjah on Police Beach, Goderich, western Freetown. “Because of the dwindling water from the public pump,“ says Ngadi, “they are sometimes forced to use the sea water.“
“Lamine Kamarra, pictured here with his palm nut kernel, is a farmer in Tombotima in northern Sierra Leone,“ says Ngadi. “He has noticed for the past two years that their water sources have dried out faster during the dry season, and the rains have not come as often during the rainy season. This ruins his crops.“
“Lamine Kamarra, pictured here with his palm nut kernel, is a farmer in Tombotima in northern Sierra Leone,“ says Ngadi. “He has noticed for the past two years that their water sources have dried out faster during the dry season, and the rains have not come as often during the rainy season. This ruins his crops.“
Water isn't free in Freetown
You can't be in Freetown and not have a problem to do with water. When I arrive in July, my cousin tells me she's had no running water since March. More than 1 million people compete for the capital's dwindling water supply. Demand and climate change have depleted the natural water resources here. Together, they make it even harder for Freetown's residents to access water – let alone clean water – during the dry season.
Abdulrahman, 15, lives in Kroo Bay, one of at least 61 informal settlements in Freetown. He tells me: “I have been in Kroo Bay for four years. It is hard to get water here. Sometimes we go two to three weeks without running water from the tap. Here we pay 1,000 Leones [around 7p] for a single jerry can of water. I collect water five times a week. Each day I carry six jerry cans to the tap. I used to sell cassettes, but [now] I am a dancer. We have won four competitions, two certificates and a trophy. I have been dancing for two years.”
Kadiatou Kamarra, 25, has lived in Kroo Bay for eight years. “It is difficult to access water but everyone in the area will have enough water when it rains,“ she says. “We suffer a lot from the water [situation]. We fetch water from the back of our yard or when the [community] taps are running. The tap normally runs here on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays. Apart from that we have to buy a jerry can of water that costs 1,000 Leones.“
Here, Kadiatou stands for a portrait by her home. The textures I've used for this collage come from the polluted sea water which floods parts of the settlement during the rainy season.
Kroo Bay is located on the coastline of central Freetown. In 2009, it had an estimated population of 10,989 people.
The houses in Kroo Bay are all entirely made up of corrugated iron sheets, called “Pan Bodies”, creating a seemingly never-ending labyrinth of metal.
Here, I've used the colours, textures in the images, and the lustre of the Bay's thin water streams to camouflage and create something beautiful out of what is seen as unfavourable living conditions. I want to showcase the community's dignity despite everything.
Residents of Kroo Bay have poor access to sanitation and health services. Still, the community is thriving, and residents consider it their home and cherish it.
They use the waste that washes up on nearby shores as flood barriers. They also use some of the waste to map out foundations for new allotments and corrugated iron structures for new residents.
I find this ingenious because they’re just getting on with the materials they have.
Surviving mudslides
I meet 64-year-old Joseph Thulla in Ja Kingdom, an informal settlement in Freetown. Heavy rains caused a landslide and flooding in the area in 2017.
“I built a one bedroom flat here, but this was destroyed by the floods,“ he says. “I lost five of my kids... and my in-law. In total, I lost ten members of my family. I missed this disaster because I was sick and was hospitalized. When I was there I received a call to say that my house and everybody in the house was gone.“
Almost all of his neighbours – 43 people – died. This is a portrait of Joseph with the ruins of the house of one of his closest neighbours, Pa Unisa, who was also lost that night.
Pictured from left to right, Salimatou, 17, Kadijah, 18, Rebecca, 20, and Gladys, 16, say they can no longer drink from what's left of the neighbourhood stream after the mud covered it.
Recalling the landslide, Gladys says: “We were at home, then suddenly it started raining. We were told it was a hill that got cut down.“ Many body parts were found, but a baby was miraculously found alive, saved from suffocating because his fingers were up his nose.
“We cannot drink the water, so we have to go far up the hills to fetch water,” Gladys continues. “We have also seen the pipes connected recently, though we don’t know the source of the water, we still manage to drink it. The water here is not proper for drinking, because it is infected by the remains of the deceased.”
A community-dug well
Amarra Samura, David Moingeh, Aioh Mbayoh, and Alimamy Nehemiah Kargbo (pictured on the right in the image) spent almost six months digging a 30-foot well for their community in Dwarzack, an informal settlement in Freetown. When I meet them, they are testing the well’s efficiency – noting the intervals at which the connected 5,000-litre water container fills up. Other community members stand to their left for support.
Alimamy Nehemiah Kargbo (pictured large in the image) is chairman of the Dwarzack Police Partnership Board. “My dad was the former chairman for over 30 years and I am continuing the initiatives he had for the project, to make the roads, the well, taps and electricity,“ he says. “Where you currently see the well, there used to be a tap... I see that where the tap was... used to provide water for people, this is a culture you must not lose. So I organised my men and told them we need to have a well in this community.“
The YMCA provided 5 million Leones to help build the well, with which they were able to dig and concrete it.
“We have also bought a submassive [pumping] machine on our own as part of the community’s own contribution,“ says Alimamy. “We have another vision of having even bigger tanks of 10,000 litres. Our initiative now is to see how we can cater for the whole of Dwarzack.“
Adapting to changing seasons
Travelling to the provinces outside Freetown, I notice a lot of people are more aware of changes in the weather. During the dry season, they say their wells have less water because of rising temperatures. They're aware of global warming and the changes it’s going to bring.
Chernoh Sesay is a farmer from Tombotima, Port Loko, northern Sierra Leone. He's married, with five children. “I am a farmer and specialise in growing peppers as well as rice and cassava,“ he says.
“The water situation in town is very difficult as the water source [stream] is very far away. The water in the stream is white and we have to leave it for a long time until it settles properly. We use many methods to make it look OK for drinking.
“Most of the time I collect the water myself. It is a long way away.
“The lack of water affects the growing of our crops, especially peppers, as it requires a lot of water to survive. Even the rains are not as heavy as they used to be. For the last two years we have not had much rain, and this affects my livelihood in the community.“
For this community, I ask everyone to bring something they have planted. Later, I try to create an otherworldly, unique portrait of each person, using the product they are proudest to show off. In Chernoh's case, it's his pepper plant.
Like farmers Kadiatou H. Kamarra, Maa Kanu, and Mariatu Kanu (pictured left to right), most people I meet really want more water wells – that's their solution to the problem.
“We really need help to build wells, which will enable us to have clean drinking water and also decrease the pressure on our children,“ says Mariatu Kanu. “This water situation affects their schooling. The children have to wake up at 5:30 to 6am in the morning to go and fetch water before going to school.“
Mme Bindu Kamara is an elder in the Taninawahun community and is part of the water management community. She wears palm leaves on her head and a cocoa leaf on her mouth. Members of the community created masks out of leaves, a reflection of life during the pandemic.
Mme Bindu Kamara is an elder in the Taninawahun community and is part of the water management community. She wears palm leaves on her head and a cocoa leaf on her mouth. Members of the community created masks out of leaves, a reflection of life during the pandemic.
Denis is a pupil in the primary school of Taninawahun. He designed everything he is wearing in leaf form, from the cap made of cocoa leaves, to the glasses made of palm thatch.
Denis is a pupil in the primary school of Taninawahun. He designed everything he is wearing in leaf form, from the cap made of cocoa leaves, to the glasses made of palm thatch.
Moina (left) and Islai live in Taninawahun, and attend high school there. They have made hats out of cocoa leaves to signify their community’s most important product: cocoa. Their glasses are made of palm leaves. Everyone in the community made the most incredible costumes and props for our photoshoot that I knew in this instance, I didn't want to do any more to the photos.
Moina (left) and Islai live in Taninawahun, and attend high school there. They have made hats out of cocoa leaves to signify their community’s most important product: cocoa. Their glasses are made of palm leaves. Everyone in the community made the most incredible costumes and props for our photoshoot that I knew in this instance, I didn't want to do any more to the photos.
Growing communities
Much like Tombotima, the Taninawahun community (pictured above) in Kailahun District, eastern Sierra Leone, have noticed that their well water dries up quicker as temperatures have risen. They have a gravitational water system provided by WaterAid which has served them since the 1980s, but as the community has grown, so has their need for water. WaterAid aims to upgrade their system so it can serve the growing community.
In Pujehun District, southern Sierra Leone, the story is similar. Here, the Pewama community survives on farming, specifically palm nut, other vegetables and fruits, as well as fishing.
On the day of our shoot in Pujehun, community member Fatmata Koroma (pictured below) brings her fishing net as her favourite item. She and fellow residents are keen to display the skills they use to contribute to the wellbeing of their community.
It's this collaborative creativity that I find wherever I go in Sierra Leone, which helps communities survive the fraught reality of life under climate change.
My hope for this project is that more organisations will become aware of what’s going on and that hopefully they can empower – not just fund – but properly empower the people in Sierra Leone.
People do want to be helped but they also want to take part in improving their own lives. That’s the general consensus I got when I was photographing. People just want to have the adequate tools for them to work in their community to improve it.
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