By Alpha Amadu Jalloh
Mr. President, OBBA again? Mr. President, I repeat, OBBA again?
Why must everything about you be a constant reminder of privilege, arrogance, and provocation to the poor and suffering people of Sierra Leone? If it’s not the expensive convoys, the $150,000 Range Rovers, or the flaunting of wealth that you and your wife enjoy without shame, then it’s the constant rubbing of OBBA, Old Bo Boys Association, into our faces like it’s some divine anointing, a golden pass to loot with impunity and provoke the rest of the country.
Mr. President, what really is your problem? You have failed in every measurable aspect of leadership, from the cost of living to national unity to infrastructure to human dignity. And now, instead of humility and a desire to reconcile with the people, you’ve turned governance into some form of elite drama, where every opportunity is used to mock and provoke the struggling majority.
This time, it’s OBBA again. And again, you use your position as president not to unite the country, not to inspire a collective spirit, but to continue celebrating only one school, your school, as if Sierra Leone is a classroom, and the rest of us are just illiterate onlookers.
Why must every official function be turned into an OBBA reunion? Why should your loyalty to a school overshadow your loyalty to a nation? Why should the presidency of Sierra Leone be reduced to a platform for school nostalgia while the country burns?
Mr. President, are you intoxicated by crowds? Do you sit down after your careless speeches and reflect? Do you realize that when you are at so-called global summits, you behave like a polished diplomat, speaking with rehearsed civility? But the moment you face your people, your own Sierra Leoneans, your tongue becomes a weapon of provocation and insult?
Do you enjoy insulting your own people? We remember when your wife, Madam Fatima Bio, told our mothers and sisters in one of her political performances that their mouths stink. Yes, “unpleasant odour from the mouth,” “Una Mot Dem Dae Smel” those were her exact words, as if she was above poverty and as if bad breath was a crime committed by the poor against the rich.
And what did you say to her after that shameful display? Nothing. Because, perhaps, you agreed. So, what should we expect from you, Mr. President? A First Family who insults the poor at every turn?
Mr. President, remember the Bo cabinet retreat? Everyone was expecting updates on jobs, salaries, electricity, and water. Instead, you came out swinging with warnings, promising that “bullet will respond to bullet.”
What kind of head of state addresses his people in such a threatening tone? In a democracy, leadership is about persuasion, not provocation. It’s about compassion, not intimidation. But under your watch, the suffering of Sierra Leoneans has become your punchline.
Prices of rice, transport fares, fuel, medicine, and school fees—they’re all climbing while salaries stay the same. The health care system is collapsing. Our children sit on bricks in classrooms. Pregnant women sleep on hospital floors. Young men drown in the Mediterranean, looking for a better life abroad. And what do you do?
You hold OBBA celebrations and tell the rest of us to clap. Mr. President, OBBA is not a government, and the presidency is not a prefectship.
Sierra Leone is made up of children from all schools: Koidu Secondary, Kenema Secondary, Prince of Wales, Ahmadiyya, Holy Trinity, St. Edwards, Harford, Annie Walsh, UMC, and hundreds of others scattered across this country. And they all matter. They are all Sierra Leoneans. Why should Bo School be made to feel like the only school worth mentioning?
You were elected to serve everyone, not to reign over a school fraternity. Mr. President, this behavior isn’t just elitist. It’s dangerous.
It divides the nation. It creates the impression that power belongs to a clique of people who happened to share a dormitory once upon a time. It breeds resentment, fosters regionalism, and kills meritocracy. Your OBBA government has become a club of loyalists who qualify only by association, not competence.
And look at what it has produced: ministers who cannot answer questions in Parliament, ambassadors who embarrass us abroad, public servants who loot without shame, and a bureaucracy that no longer works for the people.
Mr. President, we are tired. We are tired of the provocations. Tired of watching our taxes fund Range Rovers and award ceremonies in foreign hotels while we can’t afford one decent hospital. Tired of First Ladies who fly private while women die in childbirth. Tired of being poor in a rich country.
Oh! Lest I forget, Mr. President, I have been awarded the Africa Renaissance Leadership Award, and Insha Allahu, I will be in Kenya this April to collect it.
Please don’t send your ambassador to the government of Kenya requesting my “extradition.”
Mek Ar LAF Smol Ba. Yes, let me laugh small, because in this country, if you speak the truth, you become the enemy of the state. And if you keep quiet, you die a slow death in poverty. So, allow me to laugh a little, because in the madness of your leadership, sometimes laughter is the only medicine left.
Mr. President, the people of Sierra Leone are not fools.
They see through the theatrics. They hear your empty speeches. They feel your absence when disaster strikes. They know that under your leadership, there is no plan, only pomp, parades, and press releases.
You have failed to deliver on the “Big Five.” You have failed to create jobs. You have failed to improve electricity. You have failed to reduce inflation. You have failed to respect freedom of speech. And most of all, you have failed to respect your people.
So, instead of more OBBA rallies and flag-waving, maybe you should try a national apology tour. Visit the slums in Kroo Bay. Go to Bumpe Ngao. Walk through the overcrowded maternity ward at Connaught Hospital. See the pain in the eyes of teachers who haven’t been paid in months. Listen to the youth who no longer believe in this country.
And then, maybe, you will stop provoking us.
Leadership is not a performance. It is a responsibility. And for five years and counting, you have led us nowhere but deeper into frustration. You mock the opposition, jail critics, and harass the media, and you expect us to clap?
No, Mr. President. We are done clapping. We want results. We want dignity. We want a president who respects the people. Not a prefect who thinks Sierra Leone is an extended Bo School.
Mr. President, take a break from the convoy. Cancel the next foreign trip. Walk through the streets without sirens. Eat with the poor. Listen to the unemployed. Then, and only then, will you understand how much pain Sierra Leone is in.
Until then, keep your OBBA songs to yourself. The rest of us are busy surviving.
And for the record, I am proud to collect my award without government help, without taxpayer money, and without a single red carpet.
Because unlike you, I do not need a crowd to validate my purpose.
Mr. President, Can We Talk? Or maybe you’ve stopped listening altogether.
But we, the people, have started talking.
And this time, we won’t stop.
