By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
Mr. President, I am back again, and yes, I can already feel your discomfort. I know your men tried to stop me today from coming inside for our daily discussion. Perhaps you are tired of hearing my voice, but it is what it is. There is no other way around it: we must talk. You see, Mr. President, the only thing I have to give my fellow countrymen and women is my voice. “Mi Na Kerr Go, Bring Cam”. I carry the people’s concerns to you, and I bring back whatever answers or clarity I can get from your lips.
I sense that sometimes you are not happy or ready to talk with me. Maybe my constant arrival at your doorstep is a nuisance, a thorn under your skin. But, Mr. President, I have a responsibility not just to myself but to our people. I cannot relent. If I do, I will be failing them. Today, I must bring up something that many in the streets have been whispering, shouting, and complaining about. Trust me, Mr. President, “Man dem nor gladi o, man dem nor gladi!” The people are not happy at all. In fact, “pipul vex bad bad wan!”.
Let me not mince my words: the issue is with your family. Yesterday, in my rush, I forgot to ask you a few critical questions. But the people are depending on me to speak. So here I am, once more, doing my job. It’s about the recent announcement that your wife, our First Lady, is gearing up to do yet another round of sanitary pads distribution under the banner of her organization, “Hands Off Our Girls.” Mr. President, with all the funds she has been raising in the name of the women and girls of this country, how is it that all our girls and women can look forward to is a pack of sanitary pads?
Mr. President, let’s hold on to the funds she’s been raising for a moment. Let’s talk about our taxpayer money, yes, our hard-earned money, that has been used for her to travel all over the world making speeches, meeting with donors, and posing for photographs. If at the end of all those flights, hotels, and conferences, the only thing our mothers, daughters, sisters, and wives get is sanitary pads, doesn’t that seem like a misplacement of priorities? Couldn’t those resources have stayed here in the country to create sustainable solutions for girls’ education, healthcare, and empowerment, rather than ephemeral handouts?
Now, Mr. President, I can see you shifting in your seat, wanting to tell me not to speak about your wife like this. But please, let me finish. I am only voicing what the people are saying. I know some of your aides sitting around are raising eyebrows, wondering how I dare speak to you, the President, in such a manner. But as you well know, we have an agreement: when we meet, I bring you the unfiltered thoughts and frustrations of our citizens. I promised I would be straightforward, no matter how uncomfortable the topic.
I know you might want to call me a tattletale, a “Congosa”, but I wear that badge with pride. I am a messenger of the people. If standing up for the people’s grievances makes me a “Congosa,” then so be it. I will not back down, nor will I be intimidated or discouraged from coming here every day.
Now, Mr. President, let’s move on to the next topic, still within your household, I’m afraid. It’s about the role certain members of your family seem to be playing in the governance of this country. From the outside looking in, it appears your household is influencing decisions and policies far more than we can rationally explain. Is it not true that much of the Ministry of Gender
and Social Affairs’ initiatives, especially those concerning women and girls have somehow ended up in your living room instead of in the offices and desks where they belong?
I’m referring specifically to your eldest daughter, Agnes Bio, and her foundation. Mr. President, it seems that your family’s personal endeavours run parallel to state structures, overshadowing them or claiming credit for initiatives that ought to be carried out by government institutions. The lines between private charity work and the government’s official duty to the people appear blurred.
And then there is the matter of your niece, Amire Bio. The social media feeds were abuzz recently with images and videos of her flaunting a car that cost well over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, some say even more than that. In these tough economic times, when the average Sierra Leonean can barely put food on the table, can you understand how such ostentatious displays of wealth feel like a slap in the face? People are not just angry; they are resentful. They question how these lavish lifestyles are funded, and they are demanding answers from you, Mr. President.
I must confess, I too am frustrated. I’m fed up, Mr. President. One day it’s a scandal about questionable spending, the next day it’s an eyebrow-raising trip abroad. Now there’s talk of more travels, like your recent trip to Tanzania. Mr. President, you have capable ministers, do you not? For instance, our dear friend Kandeh is your “energy man.” Would it not have been prudent to let him handle such travels so that you can focus on pressing issues at home? Because, let’s be honest, it feels like you are evading the heat here, and the demands for accountability, the anger, the quiet protests, because no one dares as they will be faced with the wrath of your Inspector General of Police, our hopeless Faya Sellu.
I hope you do not think that my pointing out these matters means I do not respect you or your office. On the contrary, I want you to succeed. When you succeed, our country succeeds. But success must be measured in how well you address the needs of the people, not in how many foreign conferences we attend or how many social media photo ops your family engages in.
Mr. President, let’s circle back to the “Hands Off Our Girls” program. The initial sentiment behind the campaign, protecting and empowering girls, was a worthy one. But good intentions without transparent governance and measurable impact lead us nowhere. We are a country with countless challenges: poor healthcare infrastructure, high maternal mortality rates, rampant unemployment, and insufficient educational opportunities. While distributing sanitary pads may alleviate a short-term need, it does not address the systemic issues that keep our girls behind. We need scholarships, leadership programs, safe educational facilities, and job opportunities that nurture long-term development.
Moreover, Mr. President, the manner in which your wife presents herself traveling worldwide and giving speeches about raising funds raises obvious questions: Where exactly have these funds gone? Is there an audited report accessible to the public detailing every donor, every cent received, and every project executed? When the public sees only sanitary pads after all that global gallivanting, “pipul go vex bad,” indeed.
Mr. President, I want to remind you that every single action you and your family undertake is placed under the microscope. This is normal in a democracy where accountability is paramount. But it’s disheartening to see how many times the conversation centers around your immediate family, your wife’s foundation, your daughter’s initiatives, and your niece’s fancy car. All these overshadow legitimate governance policies and achievements that your administration might be accomplishing.
Let me give you a small piece of advice, Mr. President, friend to friend: draw a clear line between public office and private undertakings. If your wife wants to run a charitable initiative, let it be transparent, with strict and publicly disclosed accounting measures. Let the Ministry of Gender and Social Affairs do its work without undue interference or overshadowing by personal foundations. If your daughter has a foundation, let it collaborate with ministries in a way that is transparent and above reproach. Public trust is not an endless well; once it’s gone, it’s nearly impossible to replenish.
And please, Mr. President, be mindful of the optics. The optics, after all, are what the people see and interpret. When your niece posts about an extravagant car, while the rest of the country struggles, the question inevitably arises: Is the money that flows around your family truly separate from state coffers? “Hmmm, Mr. Jos Leijdekkers is in my mind.”. The average voter may not have a forensic accountant’s mind, but they do understand when something doesn’t smell right.
I also want to address those who might be present in our conversation: the cabinet ministers, advisers, and close confidantes. Do not be surprised at my tone with His Excellency. This is, after all, a candid discussion, as it should be in a democratic society. No matter how tough or uncomfortable these conversations get, they are necessary for progress. It’s when the President stops hearing from the people or chooses only to listen to sycophants that we should all worry.
But I am here, and I will come again. I will keep coming as long as I have breath and the trust of the people to bring their concerns. If you choose to brand me a naysayer or a troublemaker, so be it. I wear those labels proudly if it means standing up for the ordinary Sierra Leonean who cannot speak directly to power.
Mr. President, let me also touch briefly on the bigger picture. There is a growing sense among our people that we are sliding backward rather than moving forward. The cost of living is high, corruption allegations abound, and tensions simmer. Could we not channel all our energy into providing real services, improving public “hospitals—“Cannaught and Ola During Hospitals now dubbed death”traps”—building schools, investing in agriculture, and stabilizing our currency? Every time a new scandal erupts within your household, it distracts from the real work that needs to be done. It’s like a never-ending reality show, and the people are tired of watching.
I can see you know, maybe rolling your eyes, thinking, “This man again?” Yes, Mr. President, it’s me again. And tomorrow, or the day after, I will be back. Because these issues are not going away until you, as our head of state, address them head-on. It is not enough to remain silent or issue vague statements. The people deserve clarity, honesty, and a sense that someone is truly fighting for their wellbeing.
Before I go, Mr. President, let me say this: for our nation to rise, we need leadership that is beyond reproach. Leadership that does not tolerate a blurred line between private interests and public mandates. Leadership that invests in the genuine growth and empowerment of our women and girls, not token gestures that spark more questions than answers. Leadership that recognizes when it’s time to delegate or to stay home and fix problems rather than globe-trot to conferences.
Mr. President, I am tired of the repeated sagas, tired of the hush-hush deals, and tired of the swirling rumors about your family’s involvement in everything from charity to commerce. I am tired because the people are tired. They are hungry for something bigger than a short-term handout. They want a vision that includes them, an economy that supports them, and a government that respects them.
So, I am here, once again, to carry the voice of the people straight to your doorstep. If you want to make a change, now is the time. If you want to salvage your legacy, distance yourself from the controversies and let the institutions of state function without interference from family or friends. Let transparency and accountability be your watchwords.
And if you choose not to listen, then I will be here tomorrow and the day after, repeating the same message until it sinks in. I am the people’s messenger, “Mi Na Kerr Go, Bring Cam.” Whether you like it or not, this is my job, and it is your duty to hear it.
Until next time, Mr. President, thank you for granting me this audience, as tense as it might be. But we had to talk. We always will. And I remain hopeful that in the midst of these heated conversations, we can find a pathway to genuine progress for our nation.
