When Hope Stops Dancing: A Nation’s Woes

By Alpha Amadu Jalloh

There was a time when hope danced in the hearts of Sierra Leoneans. Even after the guns went silent following our brutal civil war, even as Ebola ravaged communities, even as floods buried homes and dreams, there was still a lingering flame that maybe, just maybe, we could rise. That one day, this country, blessed with diamonds, rivers, and resilient people, would chart a new path. But today, hope no longer dances. It has grown weary. It has been suffocated by the betrayal of the political class and the silence of those who ought to be our moral compass. Sierra Leone is not just broken. It is bleeding from a thousand wounds inflicted by those sworn to protect her.

From State House to the Parliament, from boardrooms to pulpits, Sierra Leone has become a theatre of greed, deception, and dysfunction. The very people entrusted to rebuild this land have become architects of its decay. They gorge themselves on the nation’s coffers, singing loud anthems of patriotism during the day and signing corrupt contracts at night. They buy mansions in Ghana, Dubai, and America while schools in Kambia, Bonthe, and Kailahun crumble to the ground and children sit on bricks for desks. In a country where 60 percent of the population is under 25, our youth are left hopeless, reduced to Okada riders, criminals, or emigrants risking death in the Mediterranean Sea.

Education has become a political gimmick, not a sincere investment in the future. Our children are learning under trees. Teachers go months without salaries. Girls trade grades for sex. Boys drop out because they must hawk sachet water to feed their siblings. The so-called free education initiative, once hailed, has turned into a mirage, a photo opportunity for politicians while the reality on the ground reeks of neglect and frustration.

Hospitals are mortuaries in disguise. Women die giving birth. Babies perish from malaria. Doctors protest unpaid wages while government officials fly abroad for check-ups on taxpayers’ backs. Imagine the cruelty of it. A woman in Moyamba must sell her last bowl of rice to buy Panadol while her Member of Parliament debates allowances in air-conditioned chambers. There is no emergency line that works, no ambulance that shows up, no health center stocked with basic drugs. Yet we parade “health summits” with banners and empty speeches.

Corruption is not just a symptom. It is a culture now. The Anti-Corruption Commission has become a weapon of political vendetta. It barks loud when enemies are in sight but rolls over like a pet when allies are accused. Billions vanish from government accounts and no one is held accountable. Audit reports are published and then ignored. Contracts are inflated. Roads are poorly done and collapse with the first rainfall. The only constant is the luxurious lifestyle of those in power.

Our justice system has become a market. The rich buy freedom, the poor buy silence. Judges take bribes. Police officers extort. The very idea of justice has been prostituted and perverted. Sierra Leoneans no longer trust the law. They fear it, for it bends only in the direction of the powerful. And when injustice becomes law, resistance becomes duty, but even that is met with teargas, batons, and bullets.

The electoral process, once seen as a beacon of democratic promise, has turned into a ritual of manipulation. Votes are stolen, opposition members are harassed, and the people are left with rulers they did not choose. Political parties have become cults of personality where loyalty trumps competence and sycophancy is the currency of advancement. We no longer elect leaders. We endure them.

And what of morality? Our religious leaders, once the guardians of conscience, have become complicit in our national decay. Some are too silent, too careful not to offend their political benefactors. Others have joined the feast, blessing corruption with loud Amens and parading around with stolen wealth. They preach heaven while ignoring the hell unfolding before their eyes. Where are the Imams and Pastors who once cried for justice? Today, they dine at the tables of tyrants, their robes stained with complicity.

We have no national vision. We stumble from crisis to crisis led by men who think leadership means wearing suits and giving speeches. Meanwhile, the country burns, figuratively and literally. Landslides kill hundreds and nothing is done. Fires consume markets and nothing is rebuilt. Every disaster becomes an opportunity to beg for foreign aid which then disappears without a trace.

Look at our civil service. It is bloated, inefficient, and politicized. Promotions are based on tribal connections, not merit. Loyalty to the ruling party, not to the flag, is the fastest route to success. Our youth are demoralized. They see the corrupt rise and the honest suffer. So they either join the game or give up entirely. The best minds leave. The rest survive.

Our infrastructure is a laughingstock. Roads are potholes stitched together. Electricity is a privilege, not a right. Water flows only during elections. And yet, each year, the budget balloons. Loans are taken in our name for projects we never see. Debt climbs, yet progress is invisible. Where did the money go? To whose pocket? To what offshore account?

When hope stops dancing, people become numb. They stop dreaming. They stop fighting. They accept the unacceptable. And that is the greatest tragedy of all. The silence. The resignation. The surrender. A nation that once wept together now weeps alone in corners, in whispers, in graves.

But we must not allow them to bury our hope. We must not normalize suffering. We must not accept these thieves in suits as our fate. The political class has failed us. Our moral guarantors have failed us. But we must not fail ourselves.

We must name the rot. We must expose the hypocrisy. We must reject the bribes, the crumbs, the lies. Sierra Leone belongs to its people, not to the corrupt few who think our loyalty is for sale.

Let us demand better. Not with violence. Not with vengeance. But with an unshakable resolve that we deserve more than this.

Hope has stopped dancing, but perhaps, just perhaps, if we light enough fires in our hearts, if we speak truth loudly enough, if we stand together fiercely enough, it may begin to sway again.