Bility Launches Regular ‘Letters from Saclepea’ Op-Ed -Maiden Edition on ‘Reflections: A Journey Back Home’

MONROVIA – As the Liberian media space blossoms – thanks to social media and ICT – citizens particularly those in leadership are finding innovative ways to communicate with the public, to report on their stewardships, influence public opinion, interact with constituents, mobilize support, amongst other things. After intermittently dropping his opinions on his social media pages, Nimba County District #7 Representative Musa Hassan Bility, is coming out loudly and sustainably with his “Letters from Saclepea” – poised to speak to social, economic, political and cultural themes provincially, regionally, nationally, globally – and he hopes to make the exposé permanent. In his media edition today, the ranking member of the 55^th House of Representatives, a progeny of Saclepea, mesmerizes followers on his first post-conflict journey to the homeland. See full text of the letter below.  

LETTER FROM SACLEPEA

Reflections from Saclepea: A Journey Back Home

By Musa Hassan Bility

There are moments when reflection becomes essential—a time to sit, breathe, and look back on the winding paths that have shaped who we are. For me, this moment came on a quiet morning as I sat in the middle of my bed, reflecting on a long and challenging week in Monrovia. I decided to retreat and take a moment for rest, a tradition that helps me reconnect with my roots, past, and the people who have influenced my journey.

I traveled to Nimba, where I stayed in Ganta, a city that holds a mirror of what Liberia could be. Over 80% of businesses in Ganta are owned by Liberians, a stark contrast to Monrovia, where the opposite is true. The spirit of entrepreneurship and self-reliance in Ganta is a testament to the potential of our people. Yet, this journey was not about potential—it was about reflection.

From Ganta, my team and I drove to Saclepea, my birthplace, along roads that told their own story of neglect and struggle. A 41-kilometer journey took us over two hours, a reminder of the daily challenges rural communities face. Arriving in Saclepea, I felt the weight of time. Thirty-two years had passed since I last stood in the place where my life began—a place forever marked by war, destruction, and loss.

Walking through Saclepea, I saw familiar faces, though weathered by years of hardship. Some were friends I grew up with, now frail and dejected, surviving one day at a time. The joy of being called by my childhood name, “Lyee,” was bittersweet.The next morning, I visited Nyasin, the hometown of my mother. This little town meant everything to her. It was her life. We lived in the New Town of Nyasin but spent considerable amount of time in the old town for trading purposes, where she carried her markets. I asked the folks to take me to the old town. When I visited the old town, I was struck by how little had changed. The roads were still impassable, the river still crossed on fragile rafts, and the people still living in conditions that seemed frozen in time. Stories of children losing their lives each year while crossing the river weighed heavily on me. Thirty-two years, and yet the suffering endured.

Standing by the water, memories of my childhood came rushing back—of my mother, my brothers, sisters, and my father. This was where life began for me, yet here I was, witnessing the harsh reality of those left behind. That night, I lay awake, reflecting on my mother’s passion for this town and its people’s love for her. It broke me to see the place she cherished in such dire straits.

But in that pain, I found resolve. I promised myself to do whatever little I could to bring any form of change to their lives. I returned to Nyasin to build a monkey bridge that would replace the dangerous rafts, It was a small step, but it allowed motorbikes to reach the town for the first time ever—a sign of progress in a long-forgotten place.

Rebuilding my connection to Saclepea was not just about infrastructure; it was deeply personal. Our family home, lost to war, had to be replaced. I acquired land, built a house, and began the process of reconnecting with my people. This was the beginning of a new chapter, one that would intertwine my personal story with my political aspirations.

Returning to Saclepea was both a triumph and a tragedy. It reminded me of the sacrifices my family and I made the hardships we endured, and the resilience we found in ourselves. It also laid bare the work that remains to be done.

This is where my story begins—not in the offices of Monrovia, but in the quiet, forgotten town where I took my first steps. Saclepea is more than a place; it is a testament to the power of perseverance, the value of community, and the importance of never forgetting where you come from.

As I move forward, this journey continues to inspire me. It is a reminder that progress starts with small steps, that change begins with a commitment to do better, and that the future of Liberia lies in the hands of those willing to return, rebuild, and believe in the potential of our people.

Saclepea is my story, my foundation, and my promise. From here, we build—not just bridges but hope for a better tomorrow.

Have a blessed week.