By Alpha Amadu Jalloh. Author: Monopoly of Happiness; Unveiling Sierra Leone’s Social Imbalance.
For years, I have written, spoken, and stood on the side of justice, not because I enjoy conflict, but because I cannot sleep peacefully while my country bleeds. I have been called many names: the aggrieved, troublemaker, unpatriotic, and lately, the “misfit.” But let me set the record straight: I am the misfit no one can tame. I do not write to please political overlords or impress social cliques. I write to expose, to awaken, and to fight for the soul of Sierra Leone.
Ours is a country that should be flourishing. With our rich mineral resources, vast agricultural potential, and resilient population, Sierra Leone ought to be the pride of Africa. But instead, we are stuck in a cycle of poverty, poor governance, corruption, and betrayal—betrayal by those elected to lead us. From the political elites in Freetown to the entrenched rot within our civil service, the system is rigged against the ordinary Sierra Leonean. And yet, few dare to speak truth to power. I have chosen to be among those few, even when the cost is high.
Every article I have written, including my recent contributions under the Mr. President, Can We Talk series, has one aim: to challenge the status quo. I do not care about the color of your party. Whether you wear green, red, or blue, if you contribute to the suffering of our people, I will call you out. I am not here to polish your ego or clap for mediocrity. I am here to hold a mirror to the decay you have normalized.
We are living in a country where the civil service, once regarded as the engine room of national development, has been reduced to a marketplace of favoritism and nepotism. Promotions are not earned through merit but bought through loyalty to tribal or political gods. Ghost workers still haunt our payroll systems. Ministries are bloated with directors who do nothing but drain the public purse. And yet, when someone like me dares to say this aloud, I am branded as “difficult,” “angry,” or worse, “a misfit.”
Let me embrace that label with pride.
Because if being a misfit means refusing to remain silent while our health system collapses, then I am that misfit. If it means standing up against the theft of education funds while our children sit on cold floors without books or teachers, then I wear the badge proudly. If being a misfit means saying that our justice system is not blind but sold to the highest bidder, then so be it. I will not bow. I will not shut up. I will not conform.
The political class in Sierra Leone is a club of convenience. Today’s opposition is tomorrow’s government, and the cycle repeats. They pretend to be enemies on campaign trails but share drinks in elite clubs and divide our national cake behind closed doors. They weaponize tribalism during elections, only to forget the people once they ascend to power. And the masses? We are left to suffer, to beg, to migrate, or to die in silence.
I have watched Sierra Leoneans drown in despair because their hopes have been dashed repeatedly. We vote with the belief that change will come, but we get recycled promises wrapped in new slogans. “Agenda for Change,” “New Direction,” “One Country One People,” and Tolongbo, You Touch One You Touch All, each hollower than the last. Governance has become a performance, a parade of ribbon-cuttings, Facebook updates, and cosmetic reforms. Meanwhile, our roads crumble, our hospitals decay, our schools vanish, and our youth rot in idleness.
I am a misfit because I refuse to romanticize failure. I will not pretend that all is well when the average Sierra Leonean cannot afford a daily meal. I will not applaud the President for commissioning a single kilometer of road when entire districts remain inaccessible. I will not celebrate token donations to hospitals when our pregnant women still die due to lack of basic supplies. I refuse to normalize mediocrity.
But it’s not just the politicians; our civil service is complicit. These are the same “technocrats” and “permanent secretaries” who survive every regime change, not because they are competent, but because they know how to serve their masters. They advise governments into failure and then recycle themselves as “consultants.” They know the loopholes in procurement, the tricks of budget padding, and the art of killing policy before it is born. Their loyalty is not to the Constitution but to their bank accounts.
And yet, the people who speak out—journalists, activists, and writers—are hunted like criminals. Many have been jailed, silenced, exiled, or killed. But as long as I breathe, I will write. Because Sierra Leone needs more misfits. We need more people who disturb the peace of the oppressors, more people who will make the corrupt uncomfortable, and more people who will shake the walls of indifference that surround us.
My fight is not personal. I gain nothing from exposing the ills of society, except perhaps sleepless nights, threats, and isolation. But I cannot turn my back on the market woman who hustles daily only to be taxed to death by revenue officers from the NRA. I cannot ignore the young graduates who hawk recharge cards, ride Okada, or drive Keke because there are no jobs. I cannot remain silent while girls are married off at 13, while our youth are addicted to Kush, while our dreams are outsourced to foreign NGOs.
I write for the voiceless. I fight for the forgotten. I provoke for the purpose of awakening.
And yet, some say I am “angry.” Yes, I am. But it is a righteous anger. The kind that fuels revolutions. The kind that births new nations. The kind that refuses to die until justice is served. I am not angry because I want revenge. I am angry because I want redemption. I want Sierra Leone to rise, not as a donor-dependent beggar but as a proud nation of thinkers, builders, and leaders.
I am a misfit in a country where silence is rewarded and truth is punished. I am a misfit because I believe that our children deserve better. That our leaders must be held accountable. That our democracy must go beyond elections and slogans. I am a misfit because I do not fear titles or uniforms. I respect authority, but I will never worship incompetence.
And so, I say it again, loud and clear: I am the misfit no one can tame.
Not because I am stronger or smarter, but because I am stubbornly committed to the truth. I am not here to play politics. I am here to disrupt it. I am not here to join the bandwagon of sycophants. I am here to build a new road, brick by brick, word by word.
If Sierra Leone is to survive, we must breed more misfits. We must raise a generation that asks questions, that challenges authority, that refuses to sell its conscience for a seat at the table. We must teach our children that patriotism is not blind loyalty, but courageous critique, and that loving one’s country means being willing to confront its deepest flaws.
Let the record show that I did not keep quiet. That I did not fold my arms. That’s what I wrote. That I stood. That I refused to be tamed.
Because sometimes it takes a misfit to spark a movement.
