By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
Author, Monopoly of Happiness: Unveiling Sierra Leone’s Social Imbalance
Recipient, Africa Renaissance Leadership Award 2025
Mr. President, can we talk? Yes, let us talk again. Not as political rivals. Not as critics and incumbents. But as two citizens of this great nation called Sierra Leone. I am talking to you today not from a party office, but from the heart of the people’s suffering. And as always, I come bearing questions. Questions, Mr. President, that you must answer.
Mr. President, I read the latest report from Statistics Sierra Leone, and I was stunned. Not because the economy is finally thriving. Oh no, that would have brought me joy. But because your government, through that report, claims that Sierra Leone has now joined the league of countries with single-digit inflation. Mr. President, are we talking about the same Sierra Leone? Are we even living in the same country?
Let me put it straight to you. Mr. President, are you aware that a bag of rice now costs over 900 new Leones in the market? A cup of oil is priced like a luxury commodity. Transportation costs are suffocating. Electricity bills are like punishment for simply wanting to see at night. And here you are, smiling with numbers cooked in air-conditioned offices, far from the smoke-filled kitchens of our struggling mothers. Mr. President, tell me, how does Statistics Sierra Leone arrive at single-digit inflation when nothing in this country has a single-digit price?
Mr. President, this is not mathematics. This is not theory. This is daily life. And the daily life of your people, Mr. President, is hard, painful, and degrading. So when your government releases such a report, it does not inspire hope. It breeds anger. It pours salt into wounds. It insults the intelligence of the very people whose taxes pay your salary.
Mr. President, I want to understand. Please help me. Are your economic advisors measuring inflation in Freetown alone? Or perhaps in the gated compounds of ministers and their cronies? Because if they were walking the markets of Kambia, Kenema, Makeni, Bo, or even Kissy Road, they would know that nothing is dropping, except hope.
I walked into a pharmacy last week, Mr. President. A man sat there with a crying child. He needed paracetamol syrup. Just that. The price was 35 new Leones. He brought out 20. The pharmacist turned him away. The child kept crying. I turned to that man and asked, “But the government says inflation is low.” He looked at me like I was mocking him.
Mr. President, are we mocking the people now?
Let us get serious. If Sierra Leone’s inflation is truly in single digits, then why is the Leone depreciating faster than trust in public institutions? Why are civil servants still chasing half salaries? Why are our youth unemployed in record numbers? Why is a bag of cement almost 200 new Leones? Why are we borrowing to bury our dead? Why are students studying under trees or with no textbooks while billions are allocated to presidential travel and publicity?
Mr. President, you must answer these questions not with spin. Not with jargon. But with honesty. Let us look each other in the eye, leader and citizen, and speak the truth.
Mr. President, even the International Monetary Fund, the same IMF your government is so desperate to impress, has warned repeatedly against manipulating figures for short-term gain. Is this what we are now? A nation run by benchmarks and statistics while the people choke on the realities those numbers hide?
Mr. President, in that very same report, it was stated that Sierra Leone has made significant progress in macroeconomic stability. What does that mean to Fatmata, who sells charcoal at Congo Cross? What does macroeconomic stability mean to a young graduate walking under the sun looking for a job that does not exist? What does it mean to the pregnant woman who died last week because there was no fuel in the ambulance?
Mr. President, you talk about progress, yet we regress. You talk about stability, but the people are unstable. Mentally, emotionally, and economically. The only thing stable is their suffering.
Mr. President, I am not your enemy. I am your conscience. I am the voice you hear when the praise singers go silent. I am the shadow that reminds you that power is temporary and history is forever.
Let me remind you, sir, that in 2023 your government claimed the economy was rebounding. Yet by December of that same year, the nation was reeling from post-election unrest, currency devaluation, and mass layoffs. So now in mid-2025, with no major policy change, with agriculture still underperforming, with mining revenues being smuggled away in private deals, we are suddenly to believe that we are doing well?
Mr. President, forgive my skepticism. I am merely reflecting what the people feel. They are not stupid. They know when they are being fed lies dressed as optimism. They know the taste of truth. And this one is bitter.
I challenge Statistics Sierra Leone. Go to the streets. Conduct a market-based inflation perception survey. Ask one thousand citizens randomly if they believe things are cheaper now than they were a year ago. I guarantee you, nine hundred and fifty will say no. The remaining fifty will be either your ministers, party loyalists, or the ones who believe silence is safer.
Mr. President, I ask again. How is this possible?
Is this the same Sierra Leone where fuel prices were increased silently just a few weeks ago? Is this the same nation where basic drugs in hospitals are scarce, yet ministers are flying abroad for medicals? Is this the same country where we are importing onions, tomatoes, peppers, rice, and even cassava leaves, while you preach about self-sufficiency?
Mr. President, the people do not want statistics. They want results. They want to eat without begging. They want to learn without bribing teachers. They want to give birth without dying. They want to live without fear. These are not big dreams. These are human rights.
And yes, Mr. President, I hear your defenders. They say the world economy is tough. They say every country is struggling. But not every country lies to its people, sir. Not every country publishes false hope in official bulletins. Not every leader sacrifices truth for political survival.
The role of government, Mr. President, is not to look good in foreign reports. It is to feel good in the eyes of its people. And if your people no longer trust you, no longer believe you, and no longer feel protected by you, then what is left of leadership?
Mr. President, there is still time. You can correct this. You can call your statisticians to order. You can order a real audit of the economic conditions. You can fire those who manipulate numbers to deceive the public. You can start listening. Not to those who clap in the front rows, but to those who cry in the backstreets.
Because history is watching. And so is God.
And when this term ends, whether you seek another or not, you will be remembered not for the numbers in a report, but for the lives you touched, the truth you told, and the legacy you left.
Mr. President, can we still talk?
