By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
Mr. President, I come in peace, but I am not sure if you will be happy after our usual discussions. In fact, I am almost certain you won’t be. But, as always, I am not here to please you. I am here to speak truth to power, to mirror to you what Sierra Leoneans are whispering in their living rooms, on street corners, in market stalls, and in taxis, Poda Podas, Keke, and on Okadas. I am here to ask uncomfortable questions because we owe it to posterity to hold you accountable.
Mr. President, it has been “seven years” since you were elected. Seven years since you carried the hopes and aspirations of a people desperately yearning for change. Seven years since you came to us with a beautifully packaged document called “The New Direction.” It was a manifesto full of promises, promises that raised expectations and reignited dreams.
But Mr. President, where are we now? Let’s start with “The New Direction.” In that manifesto, you pledged to fight corruption “with seriousness and impartiality.” You vowed to strengthen institutions, promote transparency, ensure justice, and reduce leakages. In those early days, many believed you. The Anti-Corruption Commission made a few bold moves, and you were hailed as a reformer. But seven years down the road, the stench of corruption has only grown thicker and stinkier.
Your anti-corruption tsar himself has become a symbol of opulence and arrogance. Lavish weddings, extravagant displays of wealth, all while civil servants go months without pay, while our teachers are underpaid, and while the people of Sierra Leone are still buying candles and fetching water from wells in 2025. How does one justify this? Is this the “new direction” you promised us?
And then came your second manifesto, “The People’s Manifesto.” You called it that as if to say you now understood the pulse of the people better. You wrapped it in inclusive language, called it progressive, and told us it was different. But it was a remix of old promises, slightly rearranged, sprinkled with cosmetic commitments, and shouted through political rallies and glossy posters.
Mr. President, let’s evaluate these promises through the lens of lived reality.
Education was your flagship program , the so-called “Free Quality Education.” We clapped for you. We hoped again. But today, that “free education” is being subsidized by struggling parents who must buy uniforms, pay for extra classes, and bribe teachers just to get their children promoted. Schools are overcrowded, underfunded, and crumbling. Teachers, the very drivers of this policy, are demoralized and poorly compensated.
Your government likes to show photos of schoolchildren in uniforms and colorful bags, but the system underneath is breaking. Quantity without quality is a recipe for future failure. Did we elect you to build monuments of mediocrity or institutions of excellence?
Healthcare was another cornerstone. You promised better facilities, improved maternal health, and access to affordable services. But today, even in the capital, patients are told to bring their own gloves, cotton, and medicines. Hospitals are death traps. Doctors and nurses are leaving the country in droves. A woman in Moyamba still walks miles to give birth on a mat because the health center near her has no midwife, no equipment, and no drugs.
Did we vote for death, Mr. President? Is this what your manifesto envisioned?
Infrastructure, another big promise. We’ve seen your government rehabilitate roads, some of them multiple times for the same stretch. We’ve seen flyovers promised in campaign videos, stadiums pledged in grand rhetoric, and bridges designed on billboards, but little in reality.
Mr. President, what happened to the “Lungi Bridge”? You told us everything was in place, the funding secured, the contracts signed, and the groundwork laid. You made a national announcement that it was coming. Yet, years later, there is not a single pillar, not a shovel of concrete. The people are still using ferries, still paying high fees, and still enduring delays. Where did the funds go? Who swallowed the bridge, Mr. President?
And what about the “Big Five” flagship projects? You launched them with fanfare promises of digital transformation, job creation, food security, education, and human capital development. But what have we seen? Of the five, not even one can be considered a success. They’ve become slogans for social media, not engines of real change. Your government talks about “progress,” but all we see are press releases, PowerPoints, and pilot programs that never go national.
Let’s talk about “Feed Salone,” your grand new agriculture initiative. You told us it would revolutionize farming and ensure food security. But the reality is that farmers still until the soil with cutlasses and hoes. Mechanized farming remains a myth. Access to fertilizers and improved seeds is minimal. The budget allocations go to procurement contracts that benefit cronies, not the average farmer. We’re still importing over $200 million worth of rice annually. Where is the food, Mr. President?
And the “MCC Compact,” Mr. President, the celebrated Millennium Challenge Corporation deal that you claimed was evidence of good governance. You flew abroad to accept the grant, posed with foreign diplomats, and broadcasted Sierra Leone’s selection as a success story. But where are the tangible benefits? The electricity sector is still in shambles. The water projects have stalled. The monitoring and evaluation systems are weak. The MCC was supposed to lift sectors; instead, it became a photo-op.
Electricity and water? Generator noise is still our national anthem. In 2025, how is it that a nation with hydropower potential and sunshine year-round still suffers daily blackouts? You said Bumbuna Phase II would be completed. You said we would export power to neighboring countries. Now, we can barely keep our homes lit.
There are entire districts where taps exist only as relics of a forgotten past. Women and children still queue with jerrycans as if we are in the 1800s. Yet you said access to clean water was a human right under your leadership. Were those just words?
Let’s turn to “youth employment.” The young people who chanted your name in 2018 are now the angry ones. The so-called “job creation” figures your government dishes out don’t match the economic reality on the ground. Most of our youth are idle, angry, and vulnerable to manipulation. Meanwhile, young graduates roam the streets, CVs in hand, looking for opportunities that don’t exist.
And what about “governance and justice”? You promised an independent judiciary. But your administration is accused of weaponizing the law against dissenters. Journalists are harassed. Whistleblowers fear for their lives. Civil society is sidelined. Elections are increasingly tense and militarized. What happened to democracy and transparency?
Even within your own party, there is growing discontent. Former allies are disillusioned. Senior officials resign quietly or disappear from public view. You have surrounded yourself with loyalists, not thinkers. You have created a small circle of praise singers, while genuine voices of reason are locked out.
And Mr. President, with all these failures, your travels continue unabated. You hop from summit to summit, collecting awards and funding pledges. But where is the impact of all this foreign aid, all these loans, all these partnerships? There is nothing to show for it but government per diems, consultant reports, and empty promises.
Mr. President, we do not need more manifestos. We need results. We need bridges that stand, not ones that live only in speeches. We need electricity that powers homes, not diesel contracts that enrich elites. We need schools that teach, hospitals that heal, and jobs that uplift.
You still have time, Mr. President. Time to make a U-turn, not toward another slogan, but toward measurable results. Cut the fat in your government. Fire the corrupt. Listen to independent voices. Reconnect with the pain of ordinary citizens. Reform institutions, not just press statements. Let your final years be about transformation, not reputation management.
Because when history comes to judge you, it will not read from your campaign flyers or your speeches at the UN. It will read from the lives of Sierra Leoneans who either rose with you or sank beneath your broken promises.
Mr. President, can we talk, seriously, this time? Because Sierra Leone deserves better. And so do you. Mr. President, Can We Talk? Can we really talk honestly?
