You Claim Us But Not Our Struggles: The Paradox of Pan Fula Solidarity

 

 

By Alpha Amadu Jalloh

 

There’s a curious pattern that resurfaces time and time again across West African social media. Whenever a Fula individual excels in Senegal, Sierra Leone, Ghana, Liberia or elsewhere, some Fulas in Guinea are the first to shout, “That one is ours, he or she is Guinean.” It’s almost instinctive. An artist, a politician, a scholar or a business leader bearing a Fula name makes headlines in another country, and the clamor begins. “He’s from Labé.” “She’s from Pita.” “They’re Guinean by ancestry.”

 

This kind of ethnic enthusiasm may be well meaning, rooted in shared bloodlines and linguistic ties, but it often crosses the line from pride into possessiveness. What should be a celebration of shared identity becomes a weapon of exclusion, both for those doing the claiming and for those being claimed.

 

This very conversation was reignited by a compelling observation made by Chernor Pottal Bah, a proud Sierra Leonean of Fula descent. His comments struck a chord because they exposed the difficult and often dangerous implications of this kind of ethnic chauvinism. Fulas are found across Africa in Mali, Nigeria, Senegal, Guinea, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ghana, Niger, Burkina Faso, Mauritania, Cameroon and beyond. But in countries like Sierra Leone or Liberia, where they are a minority, they are also a crucial thread in the national fabric. Their citizenship, their belonging and their identity are rooted in these countries.

 

So when people, particularly those in Guinea, see a rising Fula from outside their borders and rush to claim them, it undermines the place of Fulas in their own societies. It feeds into a toxic narrative that Fulas are foreigners, loyal not to their country of birth but to some imagined Fula nation centered in Guinea. That claim may feel flattering on the surface, but it provides ammunition to those who want to question the legitimacy of Fulas in politics, business or public life in countries like Sierra Leone, Liberia or Ghana.

 

And here lies the irony. During Sierra Leone’s civil war, particularly between 1997 and 1999, many Sierra Leonean Fulas fled to Guinea seeking refuge, hoping that shared identity would mean shared humanity. What many of us found was quite the opposite. We were not embraced as Pulors. We were not treated like kin. We were regarded as strangers, as outsiders, as second class Fulas. The same people who today will claim a Sierra Leonean Fula’s success as Guinean heritage were nowhere to be found in our hour of need.

 

If we are kin, then kinship should be mutual. You cannot claim our glory but ignore our suffering. You cannot say he is ours when he wins, but say he is not one of us when he needs help. This performative kinship becomes dangerous when it interferes with how Fulas are perceived within their own countries, countries where they pay taxes, vote, raise families and build communities.

 

This kind of behavior doesn’t just distort national narratives. It endangers people. In highly competitive societies where jobs, political appointments or business opportunities are fiercely contested, any suggestion that a citizen’s loyalty lies elsewhere can be fatal. It can be used to disqualify them, to sideline them, to question their authenticity. And unfortunately, this is exactly what has happened too often to Fulas in Sierra Leone, Liberia and Ghana.

 

Fulas from these countries are constantly put on the defensive, having to prove they are not Guinean, that they belong here, that this land is as much theirs as anyone else’s. They are not immigrants, they are citizens. They are not guests, they are hosts. Yet, thanks to careless ethnic posturing across borders, their very identity is repeatedly thrown into doubt.

 

Fulas are not exclusive to Guinea. Nor are they exclusive to any single country. We are an African people, diasporic before the word became fashionable. Our roots spread wide, and our cultures have been influenced by the lands we’ve lived in. We’ve contributed immensely to the development of countries like Sierra Leone, Liberia, Ghana, Nigeria and Burkina Faso. Our loyalty to those countries is unquestionable.

 

But now we must address the bigger question. What is the purpose of this constant claiming? Is it really pride, or is it a form of denial and distraction? Guinean Fulas must reflect inwardly. If there is such a hunger to associate with excellence from outside, why not channel that same energy into transforming the social, political and economic position of Fulas within Guinea itself?

 

Rather than lay claim to a footballer in Senegal, an economist in Ghana, a politician in Sierra Leone or a musician in The Gambia, why not invest in unity and progress at home in Guinea? It is painful to say, but in many ways, Fulas in other countries have learned to coexist with their fellow citizens across tribal lines. In Sierra Leone, Fulas are increasingly involved in governance, intermarriage, civic participation and nation building. In Liberia, they are rising in business and advocacy. In Ghana, they have integrated into trade unions, educational systems and local governance.

 

Yet in Guinea, Fulas often live as if apart. There is a deep mistrust between tribes, a sense of alienation and even bitterness that has prevented the kind of integration that our ancestors would have hoped for. Guinean Fulas must make peace not just with their Pulor identity, but with their Guinean citizenship. They must rise to play a leading role in national cohesion rather than being isolated by tribal and political divisions. Unity is not just about being Fula. Unity is about being Guinean.

 

What makes the Fula community successful across Africa is not just their heritage, but their ability to adapt, integrate and contribute meaningfully to national life. In Nigeria, Fulas are not just pastoralists. They are governors, senators, entrepreneurs and judges. In Senegal, they are artists, athletes and spiritual leaders. In Cameroon and Mauritania, they are pillars of culture and education. They do not achieve this by standing apart, but by standing together with others.

 

So we respectfully say to our Guinean Fula brothers and sisters. Stop the endless claims. Stop shouting that one is ours when you have not been part of their journey. Stop centering Guinea in every Fula narrative. Celebrate with us, but do not erase us. We are not yours to possess. We are Sierra Leoneans. We are Liberians. We are Ghanaians. We are Gambians. And we are Pulor, yes, but we are Pulor who belong to our respective countries.

 

Claiming someone does not make them yours. Shared blood is not the same as shared responsibility. If we are family, then protect our dignity. If we are kin, then defend our legitimacy in the countries where we are born. Do not use our success as proof of Guinean greatness while failing to build that same greatness at home.

 

It is time for the Fula community across Africa to mature beyond tribal sentiment and into a stronger sense of purpose. We are not defined only by cattle, language or nomadism. We are defined by our resilience, our adaptability and our contributions wherever we settle. Let us build that spirit everywhere, not just in song and slogan, but in structure and service.

 

And to Guinean Fulas especially, we say be leaders in your own land.

 

Join hands with your Malinké, Soussou, Kissi and Toma brothers and sisters. Build Guinea, not just Pulor identity. If Guinea becomes strong and united, you will no longer feel the need to hunt for validation in the success stories of others. The greatness you admire abroad can be cultivated at home if you are willing to plant the seeds together with others.

 

Let us create a new form of Pan Fula solidarity. One that is not about ownership, but about openness. One that respects the sovereignty of Fulas in each country, while uplifting our shared values of justice, dignity and hard work. Let us have difficult conversations without defensiveness. Let us hold up the mirror and see not only what we love, but what we must change.

 

Celebrate us. Support us. But do not claim us. Because we know who we are. We are from here. We belong here. And we deserve to thrive without having to explain or justify our place in the land of our birth.

 

Kor En Goto Kono Kor Leydeh Gor Mehn Jibina. One heart. One heritage. Many homes.

 

Let this be the beginning of truth and reconciliation, not just among Fulas, but within all of Africa. Our identity must be a bridge, not a boundary.