In the heart of Freetown stands Connaught Hospital, Sierra Leone’s oldest and most important medical institution. Commissioned in 1912 by the Duke of Connaught, it was envisioned as a place of healing, a lifeline for generations. For over a century, its walls have carried the stories of survival and loss, hope and despair.
Yet today, despite Connaught being the country’s main adult referral and teaching hospital—its nerve center for specialist care—many Sierra Leoneans still do not turn to it first when sickness strikes. Instead, they drift between small private clinics, drug peddlers, and traditional healers. Only when the situation becomes critical—when wata don pass garri—do they rush to Connaught. Too often, they arrive too late.
I have seen this story unfold again and again. Families, desperate to avoid what they fear may be poor treatment in a public hospital, cling to private clinics with limited resources. They place their trust in clean walls, quick consultations, and smiling staff. But behind that reassurance often lies a dangerous truth: few specialists, scarce equipment, and almost no capacity to handle emergencies that spiral out of control.
I remember one middle-aged man who spent weeks in a private clinic being treated for “stomach upset.” By the time he finally arrived at Connaught, his intestines had ruptured from untreated appendicitis. The infection had spread too far; despite emergency surgery, he was gone within 48 hours. His death was not because Connaught failed—but because Connaught was reached too late.
And yet, I also recall a young woman who came straight to Connaught after suddenly struggling to breathe. Within minutes, a team of doctors—cardiologists, emergency physicians, nurses—had surrounded her. They found a massive blood clot in her lungs, treated her immediately, and two weeks later she walked out alive. She trusted Connaught. Connaught saved her.
These two lives, these two stories, hold the same lesson: in Sierra Leone, where you place your trust can mean the difference between life and death.
The mistrust of Connaught is not without cause. For decades, patients have encountered overcrowded wards, long waiting times, and exhausted staff struggling under impossible patient loads. Stories of neglect, corruption, and broken equipment have lingered like ghosts, passed from family to family, sowing fear.
In contrast, private clinics—with lighter workloads and cleaner spaces—appear safer, kinder, more dignified. But appearances deceive. When emergencies strike, private facilities falter, and only Connaught has the specialists, the surgeons, the infrastructure to intervene.
The cruel irony is this: the very hospital that can save lives is the one people avoid—until it is already too late. And the numbers prove it. Nearly 60 percent of deaths at Connaught occur in patients who arrive in critical condition, dying within 24 to 72 hours of admission. Another 38 percent are brought in dead. The tragedy is not that Connaught cannot save lives—it is that Sierra Leoneans arrive at its doors too late for saving.
But Connaught today is not the Connaught of ten years ago. Change is happening. I have seen it with my own eyes.
• Staff are being trained in patient care and empathy.
• Hygiene standards have risen, and infrastructure has been upgraded.
• More specialists and subspecialists now walk its halls than ever before.
• New solar power systems keep the hospital running without blackout interruptions.
• And crucially, management is beginning to enforce discipline, restoring a culture of accountability.
I have felt the shift—nurses more motivated, doctors more hopeful, patients more grateful. Connaught is not perfect. But it is improving, and it is ready to save lives—if only Sierra Leoneans will trust it again.
The future of Sierra Leone’s healthcare does not rest in small private clinics or in the hands of unlicensed drug sellers. It rests in building strong public hospitals, and Connaught is the beating heart of that vision. If people continue to mistrust it, more lives will be lost needlessly. But if Sierra Leoneans begin to see Connaught as a first choice rather than a last resort, the tide can turn.
Connaught Hospital has stood for over a century. It has seen epidemics, wars, and political storms. It has failed before, but it is changing now. And the question that remains is not whether Connaught is ready—it is whether Sierra Leoneans are ready to believe in it again.
Because at the end of the day, it may not be just Connaught Hospital on trial. It may be our collective faith in Sierra Leone’s future.
By Joe Turay
