If I Were President of Sierra Leone

By Alpha Amadu Jalloh, Author of Monopoly of Happiness: Unveiling Sierra Leone’s Social Imbalance, Recipient of the 2025 Africa Renaissance Leadership Award.

If destiny were to entrust me with the sacred duty of leading Sierra Leone, I would accept it not as a title of privilege, but as a call to national healing.

I would wear the presidency not as a crown, but as a burden of love for a people whose cries have long echoed unanswered across hills, creeks, and market stalls.

I would lead not to rule over Sierra Leoneans, but to walk beside them, to kneel with them in prayer, to rise with them in hope, and to fight with them for dignity.

Sierra Leone is not a poor country, it is a mismanaged miracle. Beneath our soil lies treasure; in our youth burns brilliance; in our people dwells a kindness the world has forgotten. But how long must a rich country watch its people beg? How long must we bury potential in poverty?

If I were President, the deception would end.

The wealth of our land, our diamonds, our bauxite, our gold, our fertile soil, our fisheries, our sun, would no longer serve the greed of the connected few. It would serve the hungry, the broken, the voiceless.

Kono would shine for Sierra Leone, not for smugglers. Bo would build for citizens, not fund exile homes. Moyamba’s bauxite would power factories, not foreign mansions.

Our riches would no longer fuel corruption, they would build a nation.

My government would not be a banquet for political loyalists. It would be a communion of patriots, regardless of party, tribe, or creed, who dare to place a country above comfort.

Appointments would not be exchanged for allegiance but earned through merit, integrity, and love for people. In my Sierra Leone, a cleaner’s dignity would be no less than that of a cabinet minister.

From the swamps of Pujehun to the slopes of Kabala, every citizen would be seen, heard, and served. We would build not only a government, but a family, a nation where no one feels like an outsider in the land of their birth.

Parliament would cease to be a shortcut to overnight wealth. It would no longer be a marketplace where laws are sold to the highest bidder while the people starve. A public office would be a duty, not a lottery.

Legislators would be accountable not to party leaders, but to the people who gave them the mandate to speak, to protect, and to build.

Their assets would be declared, their perks stripped of extravagance, and their loyalty tied to service, not salary.

Under my presidency, private businesses would not exist to enrich cronies, but to stimulate innovation, jobs, and economic inclusion.

We would empower small and medium enterprises across the country, ensuring that entrepreneurship becomes a path to national development, not political manipulation.

Every contract would prioritize local content, every investment would produce local impact, and every tax break would yield public value.

Our schools would be temples of transformation. No longer would education be a recycled ritual of memorizing foreign histories while forgetting our own.

We would rewrite our curriculum to teach truth, courage, innovation, and unity. From the dusty classroom of a village primary school to the high-tech labs of a national science academy, we would raise dreamers, thinkers, builders, and leaders. Our teachers would become the backbone of nation-building, respected, well-compensated, and cherished. They would no longer strike out of frustration but teach with pride, knowing their worth has been restored.

If I were President, I would wage a relentless war against preventable death. No mother would lose her life giving life. No child would die for lack of a malaria tablet. I would build and equip modern hospitals in every district, staffed with trained and motivated health professionals. I would stay in Sierra Leone for treatment, or I would not deserve the title of President. Our people must not die while our leaders fly.

Corruption would be treated not as a moral failing, but as a national crime. Anyone who steals from the people would face the full might of the law. I would digitize all procurement, publish all contracts, and demand asset declarations from every public official, including myself.

The Anti-Corruption Commission would no longer serve the sitting government, it would serve the Republic. No more sacred cows. No more hidden hands. No more stolen futures.
But I would not stop at punishing the guilty. I would uplift the neglected.

Our youth, now drowning in despair and drugs, would become the engine of our rebirth. I would invest in youth-led enterprises, digital skills, green agriculture, the creative arts, and community leadership. I would make it clear: the streets are not your destiny. The gangs are not your family.

You matter. Your dreams matter. Your life is worth more than Kush.

I dream of a Sierra Leone where difference is not a cause for suspicion, but a reason to celebrate.

Where a Limba child can learn Krio, a Mende child can speak Fula, and a Temne child can dance to Susu drums. Where churches and mosques build schools together. Where Imams and Pastors pray together for rain, for peace, and for justice. That is the Sierra Leone I would nurture, a nation where unity is not a campaign slogan, but a lived reality.

Our civil service would be cleansed of mediocrity and infused with accountability. Police officers would serve with honor, not intimidate for bribes. Soldiers would protect the people, not political regimes.

Judges would rule without fear, not for favor. In my Sierra Leone, the law would be blind, but justice would see clearly and speak boldly.

No town would be too remote to matter. Every community, no matter how small, would receive clean water, reliable electricity, and passable roads. I would prioritize solar energy, rural electrification, and waste management.

The Moa River would not flow past thirsty villages. The sun that shines on Bonthe would power its clinics.

Every child would grow up believing their home is worth staying in, not escaping from.

Women would no longer beg for space, they would own it. At least thirty percent of all leadership roles would belong to women. Girls would be safe in schools, not afraid of teachers.

Wives would be protected by law, not silenced by tradition. Child marriage would be abolished with urgency. Every law that undermines the dignity of women would be repealed, rewritten, or removed. Because no nation rises without the rise of its women.

Children would be our national treasure. No child would sleep on an empty stomach. No child would drop out of school because of poverty. No child would work in the mines when they should be learning.

Our nation’s future would be built in classrooms, not on the back of child labor.
Security forces would no longer be feared, they would be loved.

Community policing would be the norm. Human rights would not be taught as foreign ideals but lived as everyday truths.

Uniforms would no longer signal oppression but protection. The people would sleep in peace, not in fear of the knock at midnight.
I would live modestly, spend transparently, and govern with humility.

The presidency would not enrich me, it would humble me. My family would not become a dynasty. My motorcade would not race past suffering. My office would be accessible, my budget visible, and my actions measurable.

I would not be judged by my speeches, but by the tears I wipe, the lives I touch, and the legacy I leave. When I leave the office, may it be said, “Here was a leader who did not steal, who did not lie, who did not forget.” A leader who returned power to the people.
I ask every Sierra Leonean to dream again.

Not passively, not conditionally, but defiantly. Let us dream of a nation that stands tall, not with foreign aid, but with the pride of a people united in purpose. Let us believe not in miracles, but in the power of collective will.

If I were President of Sierra Leone, this land would rise. And not just in name, but in hope, in justice, in peace, and in greatness. And when the final chapter of my leadership is written, let it read: “Alpha Amadu Jalloh did not lead us to him, he led us to ourselves.”