From Diamonds to Dirt: Sierra Leone’s Youth Dig Up New Hope from an Old Wound

The hills of Kono in eastern Sierra Leone once sparkled with promise, but buried beneath their red soil were diamonds that sparked years of conflict, corruption, and environmental destruction. But now, where deep craters once marked human desperation, something quieter but more enduring is taking root: life.

The sound of shovels breaking ground has returned, not to unearth gems, but to plant crops. And the young people leading this revival aren’t just turning soil, they’re rewriting the story of a place long defined by what was taken from it.

A Generation Reclaims Its Land

“There is life beyond mining,” says Sahr Fallah, chairman of the Youth Council in Kono. “But we all grew up with the mentality that diamonds were the only solution.”

Sahr is one of a growing number of young Sierra Leoneans helping restore land devastated by decades of mining. Once barren and bruised, these fields are now sprouting cassava, maize, and other crops. Bees have returned, too, nature’s quiet signal that something is healing.

This new generation of farmers is a mix of former taxi drivers, ex-miners, school dropouts, and college graduates. What binds them is youth and hunger. Not just for food, but for dignity, for opportunity, and for a different kind of wealth.

More Than Just a Job

Betty Seray Sam knows this hunger well. A single mother from Kono, she remembers when even her own family wouldn’t turn to her in a crisis. 

“They knew I had no money,” she says. But now, with steady work through an agricultural cooperative, Betty isn’t just putting food on the table; she’s helping others do the same.

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“This project has had a rippling effect,” says Abdul Munu, president of Mabunduku, a local farming group. “It’s improving the lives of youth and the families they support.”

That impact is part of a wider truth: according to the UN, more than 44% of the world’s 1.3 billion young people are already working in agrifood systems. Yet they’re often excluded from key decisions, sidelined from land ownership, and denied access to credit.

“We keep saying young people are the future of agriculture,” says Lauren Phillips of the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO). “But too often, they’re not given a real voice. They’re invited to the table but not heard.”

Farming the Future with Bees and Bandwidth

It’s not just happening in Sierra Leone. In Chegutu, Zimbabwe, a different kind of school is buzzing with life, literally. There, FAO has helped set up Bee Farmers Schools, where young people learn how to manage apiaries and produce honey.

“The idea is to turn an apiary into a classroom,” says Barnabas Mawire, a natural resource expert with FAO. “We want youth from all over to come and learn, hands-on.”

For young beekeeper Evelyn Mutuda, beekeeping isn’t just a job, it’s a launchpad. She dreams of exporting her honey, planting Jacaranda trees to boost quality, and building a sustainable business that creates wealth, not just survival.

“We want to become bigger and better,” Evelyn says, beaming.

In this emerging landscape, technology is proving to be an unexpected ally. From Facebook groups to TikTok tutorials, young people are connecting across borders, sharing farming tips, and inspiring each other to take action.

“They’re forming bonds,” Phillips explains. “Not just with each other, but across generations and geographies. That kind of solidarity is powerful.”

Old Land, New Roots

Still, the barriers are real. Land titles often sit with elders who are reluctant to pass them down, especially without strong social safety nets. Access to credit remains a challenge. And informal employment, which lacks basic protections, continues to dominate the sector.

But the optimism on the ground is hard to ignore.

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“Young people are integrating tradition with innovation,” says Venedio Nala Ardisa, a youth leader from the Asia Indigenous Peoples Pact. “They’re building something resilient.”

For Angeline Manhanzva, a young beekeeper in Chegutu, it’s personal. “This changed my life,” she says simply. One day, she hopes to own her own bee farm. A place of her own. Her own land. Her own future.

“I’ll be an old woman with so much wealth,” she says, smiling. “I’ll buy my own big land to keep my hives. I’ll process my own honey.”

In Kono and Chegutu, the old narrative of youth as victims is being replaced by one of agency, pride, and power. Where diamonds once defined destiny, it’s now soil and the hands that till it, that hold the real value.