By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
Mr. President, welcome back home. As you step through the doors of the State House once again, the familiar refrain echoes from the lips of ordinary Nigerians: “Yeah, how far now?” But today, in Sierra Leone, the sentiment is not one of mere greetings; it is a call for accountability, transparency, and honest dialogue. I tell you this not merely as a concerned citizen but as a voice representing the hopes, frustrations, and resilient spirit of a people who have long yearned for leadership that reflects our shared values.
Mr. President, I want to ask you directly. Do you think Sierra Leoneans are fools? It is perplexing, and frankly disheartening, to witness how our advice, offered by well-meaning Sierra Leoneans and sagacious leaders from across the region, is repeatedly disregarded. There is a perception that you do not learn from the counsel of those who have your nation’s best interests at heart. It is as if our collective wisdom has been left to echo in empty corridors while you pursue an agenda that caters more to personal interests than to national progress.
Mr. President, allow me to speak plainly about what many of us have been whispering behind closed doors. The issue of “wife power” has become a source of public contention. The reference to a “drunk wife” is not meant to be an insult but rather a metaphor for the troubling display of undue influence within your inner circle. It is disconcerting to observe that power, which should be wielded in the service of the people, seems instead to be entangled in personal relationships and questionable alliances.
Take, for instance, Mr. President, the disturbing matter of Jos Leijdekkers, also known as Umaru Sheriff, and the intricate relationship that appears to involve your daughter. We have read between the lines. The videos and photos circulating in public view were not accidental; they were deliberately released by the First Lady, whose actions suggest she felt marginalized or perhaps even threatened by the clandestine dealings between you, your daughter, and your ex-wife, Zainab Kandeh. The latter, who was compensated with a consulate in Dakhla, Southern Morocco, appears to be yet another piece in a puzzle of dubious deals and personal favoritism.
In a further twist, Mr. President, it has been observed that, in an effort to appease Fatima, you went out of your way to secure her the position of President of the Africa First Ladies in Addis Ababa. This appointment, which many believe was purchased rather than earned, raises a critical question: What has the First Lady done to deserve such a prestigious role? For many Sierra Leonean women, already feeling more marginalized than ever in the nation’s history, this act is not a celebration of their achievements, but a blatant reminder that positions of influence are being allocated not on merit or dedication to public service, but on personal loyalties and ulterior motives.
Take a moment, Mr. President, to look around. Ask yourself: Is there any aspect of women’s advancement in Sierra Leone that is not led or co-opted by your wife, your daughter, or those closely associated with them? It is a troubling trend that reinforces the notion that the voices of the many are being drowned out by the interests of the few. When leadership becomes synonymous with nepotism and cronyism, the very foundation of democracy is undermined.
And then there is the matter of Jos Leijdekkers. Why, Mr. President, should his name be shunned in these discussions? Why does it seem that every time his involvement is mentioned, it is swiftly brushed under the carpet? The unfolding events, as they stand before us today, are intricately
connected to him. It is no secret, Mr. President, that you are taking serious advantage of his precarious situation, the extradition hanging around his neck, which has seemingly provided you with leverage. Every member of your team appears to be making promises of protection to Jos Leijdekkers, all in a desperate bid to secure his silence or cooperation.
I have also been made aware that Jos Leijdekkers has, in his way, been paying off influential figures. The fact that the first ladies of Gambia and Nigeria have allegedly been coaxed into giving their blessing to Mrs. President, Dr. Fatima Jabbie Bio, is a testament to the lengths to which these deals have been stretched. To think that such maneuvers have become a substitute for genuine governance is both ironic and infuriating.
Moreover, Mr. President, while you are busy buying accolades and awards as if they were childish trinkets comparable to a little child clamoring for a Barbie, you are neglecting the pressing needs of this nation. Your award in Liberia was not earned on the merits of service and leadership; it was bought. The presidency in Addis, too, appears to be a commodity acquired in a marketplace of influence. And while these celebratory fanfares are paraded before the public, tangible progress remains elusive. The Minister of Finance, for example, was recently elected as President of WAMZ, the West Africa Monetary Zone, a position that should reflect the strength of regional cooperation and economic stability. Yet, Sierra Leone remains mired in unfulfilled promises, barely meeting the benchmarks required to join the proposed ECO currency. In fact, Sierra Leone has been one of the countries obstructing ECOWAS from instituting the use of the ECO, further isolating our economy from regional progress.
Mr. President, all these awards, accolades, and ceremonial positions are nothing more than a ploy, a strategic diversion designed to shift public attention away from the elephant in the room: Jos Leijdekkers, also known as Umaru Sheriff. Every glittering trophy and every congratulatory ceremony will serve as a smokescreen, obscuring the murky realities of corruption, mismanagement, and the exploitation of power. It is a calculated distraction, one that seeks to make people forget the underlying issues that continue to plague our society.
Mr. President, these antics have not gone unnoticed. I can almost hear the exasperated cry echoing in the minds of the people: “Ehs Mr. President, why dem nor gi mi wata fo drink tidae?” a simple yet powerful question that cuts through the layers of political obfuscation. And while you may choose to skip over such inquiries, the truth remains that the people are not, and will not, be silenced by empty rhetoric. We are not, after all, thirsty for accolades and empty promises. Our thirst is for accountability, for clarity, and for results that uplift the lives of every Sierra Leonean.
Mr. President, while you continue to parade your awards and titles, the people are left to struggle with the tangible consequences of your leadership. The poor are being used as pawns, their energy and labor diverted to a spectacle of pomp and circumstance, a spectacle designed solely to prop up your image and deflect from the serious issues at hand. It is high time that we see past the fanfare and focus on what truly matters: the welfare, dignity, and progress of our nation.
So, Mr. President, let me be unequivocally clear: the people are fed up with the noise. We demand tangible results and genuine leadership that prioritizes the needs of Sierra Leone over personal aggrandizement. Until we receive a nationwide address from State House that addresses these serious concerns, we will continue to talk. We will continue to question, to demand, and insist on respect for our rights to freedom of expression as enshrined in our 1991 Constitution and the international protocols to which Sierra Leone is a signatory.
This conversation is far from over. Today, I have raised these questions, and I will persist until I am met with answers that resonate with truth and integrity. The mantle of leadership is not one that can be bought or sold, nor is it a badge to be flaunted in public ceremonies. It is a sacred trust, a promise to serve the people, to uphold justice, and to foster an environment where every Sierra Leonean can thrive. The time has come to put aside the distractions of personal gain and to focus on the pressing issues that demand our collective attention.
Mr. President, can we talk? The dialogue must continue, not as a series of rhetorical questions, but as a genuine, unfiltered conversation about the future of Sierra Leone. The people are watching, and the people deserve better. Let this be the turning point, a moment when leadership is redefined, accountability is restored, and the voices of the many are finally heard above the clamour of hollow accolades.
