Sierra Leone: A Coffee Bean  

 

By Alpha Amadu Jalloh

 

Like a smooth coffee bean nurtured by the gentle hands of love, care and mercy, Sierra Leone was created. Not with vengeance or punishment but with grace. God, in His infinite kindness, carved a place of paradise and handed it to us, His children, not because we earned it but because He trusted us. Mountains that kissed the clouds. Rivers that sang lullabies. Forests thick with life. And beneath the soil, diamonds, gold and riches that the world kills for. The heavens whispered, “Take it. It is yours. Love it. Guard it. Let it thrive.” But as the angels watched, a voice asked, “Do they deserve such a coffee bean?” Another replied, “More than deserves. But watch. Just watch.”

 

Today, the coffee bean lies in ruins. Broken. Burnt. Bitter. Not because it was faulty. Not because God made a mistake. But because we, the very children who were handed this sacred gift, have crushed it beneath our greed, our indifference and our hunger for power. Sierra Leone bleeds. Not from war anymore but from neglect, betrayal and endless suffering.

 

Look into the eyes of a mother in Kroo Bay. Her baby clings to her breast, but there is no milk. Her eyes are hollow. Her lips tremble as she hums an old lullaby to calm the hunger that gnaws within her child. She did not choose poverty. She was born into it. She fights daily not to live but to survive. There is no light in her home. No clean water. No promise of tomorrow. Yet above her shack, the sky is beautiful. Sierra Leone is beautiful. But beauty does not feed the stomach.

 

Walk through the slums of Freetown at night. You will hear the silent weeping of men. Men who feel less than human because they cannot provide for their families. Men who once had dreams, now crushed by a system that only uplifts those who bow in shame or steal without conscience. These are not lazy men. They rise at dawn. They walk for miles. They labor under the sun. But at the end of the day, they return with empty hands and breaking hearts.

 

Our children sit on the bare floor in overcrowded classrooms. They chant multiplication tables as rain leaks through the roof. A teacher, barely paid and exhausted, tries to inspire hope though he himself has lost it. He hasn’t been paid in months. He skips meals. He borrows to pay rent. But still, he shows up, hoping that one day, one of these children will be the reason Sierra Leone rises again.

 

Our hospitals are graveyards. A pregnant woman arrives, bleeding. There is no doctor. No blood. No bed. She screams for help but help died long ago. In another room, a child shivers with malaria but there is no quinine. The nurse apologizes with tears in her eyes. She too is powerless. She too has lost a child. And as the child slips into the arms of death, we are reminded that in Sierra Leone, to fall sick is to gamble with your life.

 

And still, the leaders dance.

 

They fly first class. They pose for photos in foreign lands. They receive awards and accolades while their people drink water from drains. They build mansions with stolen wealth. Their children study abroad while ours rot in broken schools. They speak of digital transformation while entire communities have never seen a computer. They talk of agriculture while our farmers beg for seeds.

 

They stand on podiums and speak of peace, unity and development. But their words are empty. Their hands are not clean. Their hearts do not break when they see our suffering. They have mastered the art of deception. And we, the people, have become too tired to protest. Too hungry to demand justice. Too broken to hope.

 

Yet, Sierra Leone still waits. Like a wounded mother who still opens her arms to the children who abuse her. She waits. Bleeding but not dead. Betrayed but not bitter. She still believes in us. In our youth. In our conscience. In our ability to rise. She calls out, softly now, almost in a whisper, “Fix me. Don’t abandon me. I am still yours.”

 

And we must answer. Not with slogans. Not with campaigns. But with action. With truth. With sacrifice.

 

We must stop selling our votes for crumbs. We must stop worshipping politicians as gods. We must demand education, not handouts. Roads, not rice. We must stop allowing our divisions to blind us. Temne, Mende, Limba, Fula, Krio, Loko, Kisi, Kuranko, Kroo and Yalunka or Kono. It does not matter. We are one. We are Sierra Leoneans.

 

Our youth must rise. Not with stones but with purpose. Not with anger but with vision. We need thinkers. Builders. Patriots. We need young men and women who love this country enough to weep for it, to fight for it, to rebuild it.

 

Our diaspora must return. Not just with barrels and remittances but with ideas and integrity. We need lawyers, doctors, engineers, artists. We need people who have seen the world and are willing to bring its best home. Not to exploit but to uplift.

 

Our journalists must find their courage again. Report the truth. Make leaders tremble. Stop selling your pens for favors. Be the voice of the voiceless. Be the conscience of the nation.

 

And to those in power, remember this. Nothing lasts forever. One day, you will no longer hold the reins. You will return to the streets. To the people. How will you be remembered? As a thief or as a builder? As one who fed from the pot or one who filled it?

 

Sierra Leone is a coffee bean. It was meant to awaken the world. To energize our people. To bring warmth, unity, purpose. But we have let it rot. We have let the hands of greed and indifference scorch its soul.

 

Yet, the coffee bean still holds promise.

 

We can roast it gently. With honesty. With justice. With love. We can brew it into something rich and lasting. A taste of dignity. A symbol of rebirth.

 

We must. Because if we fail this time, Sierra Leone may never rise again.

 

And history will ask us. You were given everything. Mountains. Diamonds. Oceans. A people full of heart. How did you ruin it?

 

Let the answer not be shame.

 

Let it be redemption.

 

Alpha Amadu Jalloh

Author of Monopoly of Happiness: Unveiling Sierra Leone’s Social Imbalance

Op-Ed Columnist. Social Commentator. Advocate for National Integrity.