One chilling instance happened while I was a guest speaker at the University of Louisville in Kentucky. During a lunch break, a clergyman sent me a WhatsApp message. He threatened I would soon be killed, and buried. He described how my bones would then be exhumed and ground into powder.
PROVIDENCE, Rhode Island — From a young age amidst the harsh realities of poverty, my mother and uncle raised me. Where I grew up in Sierra Leone, many families lived in mud houses with thatched roofs. Ours was made of cement, creating a visible contrast. We adapted to the lack of basic services like running water, electricity, public transportation, and primary healthcare.
Growing older, I began to wonder why our village endured such underdevelopment. As my questions deepened, it drove me to seek out the roots our struggle. I began to uncover those responsible for perpetuating the cycle of poverty, but my investigation came with risk. High ranking officials I exposed began targeting me. Eventually, they forced me to flee my beloved Sierra Leone and seek refuge in the United States, but I continue to speak out.
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Growing up in the rural community of Manduri, Sierra Leone, neighbors supported each other, freely sharing their belongings. As the first child and only son in my family, I lived in a household dependent on agriculture, embracing a pastoral lifestyle. My father, the first in his family to receive a Western education, studied agriculture and rural development in Europe. He returned to Sierra Leone to work as an officer in the Agriculture Cooperative Department.
Sadly, my father passed away at 33 when I was just three years old. As a result, I learned about his life mostly from my family’s stories. From a young age, I embraced collective living and learned to prioritize caring for others over focusing on myself. Being rooted in a community without basic social services left a lasting impression on me. It influenced my worldview and shaped the principles that guide my actions today. Undoubtedly, my upbringing taught me to align my aspirations with the community’s progress, fostering selflessness and unity.
After a brief period of schooling in the village, my family moved to Makeni, the district and regional headquarters of the north. While Makeni offered more amenities than the village, the change felt barely noticeable. Life in Makeni mirrored an expanded version of village life, with limited social services. Poverty and scarcity still prevailed, especially in the school system, where many students struggled to access basic reading and learning materials. Owning a book to read felt like a luxury. I began questioning why our circumstances were so difficult.
Two years before I was born, a massive nationwide student uprising erupted, leading to the establishment of a brutal one-party regime ruled by ruthless kleptocrats. These politicians crushed all forms of dissent and democracy, leaving the economy in ruins. When I turned 10, political instability already engulfed West Africa. In 1989, rebels in Liberia rose against the long-serving military dictator, Samuel Doe, sparking war.
Within months, armed insurgents captured President Doe, brutally killing him in an act broadcast on television that shocked and terrified viewers worldwide. Despite the horror, people in Sierra Leone gathered in movie theaters and homes to watch video recordings of President Doe pleading for his life as rebels executed him. The violence impacted us so deeply that we, as children, naively reenacted the gruesome scene during playtime.
A year later, rebels brought the conflict in Liberia into Sierra Leone. Conversations about the impending changes to our world became common in the streets and dominated dinner table discussions, filling our homes with anxiety. The social and political conditions in Freetown [the capital of Sierra Leone] mirrored those in Monrovia [the administrative capital of Liberia], with insurgent groups in both countries consisting of exploited and abused youth. These young people were barely educated and deprived of opportunities and jobs, fueling the unrest. The war in Sierra Leone lasted 10 years, leaving a profound mark on the childhoods of thousands in my generation. Consequently, we grew up experiencing violence as both victims and witnesses, enduring its painful effects.
Throughout my childhood and beyond, various forms of authoritarian rule shaped my generation. We witnessed civilian kleptocracies to military regimes, from warlord-led governments to corruptly elected presidents. Dictatorship, civil war, and poverty politicized many of us, driving active engagement in our country’s historical events. The war forced countless children out of school, turned some into child soldiers, turned others into refugees, and displaced many from their communities. These challenging years changed my perspective, amplifying my passion and resolve to tackle my country’s issues.
In Makeni, as in the village, we embraced a communal spirit, sharing everything from books and clothes to water and food. When I started school, my enthusiasm for reading and learning grew. I captivated myself with stories about people and places. Gradually, I developed the habit of jotting down new words and exploring how to use them in speech and writing. My love for writing led me to carry a pocket-sized notebook everywhere. I documented new words with their synonyms, antonyms, and homonyms. This early fascination with words inspired me to create and regularly update my vocabulary book.
My teachers and friends often praised my brilliance, as I consistently ranked among the top students in my class. Earning two double promotions in primary school due to my academic performance, I regularly exceeded grade-level expectations. I completed primary school in five years instead of the usual seven and advanced to secondary school. However, only two years into secondary school, I dropped out and spent three years away from education. During that time, I ran away from home and lived on the streets as a teenager.
Life on the streets taught me invaluable lessons, combining suffering with courage, resilience, hope, and perseverance. Despite the harsh conditions, I survived and developed a deeper awareness of society and its many challenges. As I gained profound insights into people and myself, I began to shape my understanding of my place in the world.
Upon returning home, I found the lessons learned outside the classroom more valuable than formal education. I mastered survival, persevered through hardship, and held on to my belief in possibilities even when they seemed impossible. Unfortunately, when I returned, I did not go to secondary school again. By 1996, many of my former classmates had taken their O-levels and were preparing for university or retaking exams. Ironically, some relied on my help to succeed. Depressed, I struggled to converse with them as they advanced in their education, while I stayed behind.
Committed, I withdrew into solitude to focus and catch up on lost time. Driven to bridge the gap, I immersed myself in intense self-study for six months, day and night. The constant feeling of unpreparedness drove me to work harder, knowing failure was not an option. To fund this effort, I worked as a truck conductor and used my earnings to register for the West African Examination Council’s general certificate exam.
Unfortunately, that year proved to be one of the most challenging of my life. With six subjects registered, the exams began on May 23, 1997. However, on May 25, two days later, a radio broadcast announced the overthrow of the newly elected government, leaving us anxious. Just as hope emerged and I neared reclaiming my path after time on the streets, a military coup plunged the country into chaos. Despite the disruption, the examination council reassured us, coordinating with the new military leaders to ensure police protection at exam centers.
On June 2, 1997, when I arrived for my second paper, we learned the exam got canceled as the officers could not reach the center. Disappointed, we returned home. As the military escalated violence, killing civilians to instill fear, they postponed the exams, shattering my hope. When things calmed down, the regional examination council resumed the examination. Despite the ongoing violence, I sat for a few exams. Fortunately, I passed my O-levels, qualifying for university admission. Finally, after five years of instability and financial challenges, I started my undergraduate education and completed my bachelor’s degree in history and sociology at Fourah Bay College in 2008.
Today, my work and how I see my role in society stems from the power of historical insight. Deeply, I appreciate individuals who selflessly use their knowledge and skills to uplift communities. Their examples shape my perspective and inspire my actions. My intellectual upbringing included exposure to the Quran and the Bible, fostering an open-minded approach to learning. This environment nurtured curiosity and encouraged debate. It instilled knowledge, tolerance, and diversity, and fostered empathy, humility, and a commitment to selfless service.
Daily, I reflected on the pressing issues in my community and asked how I could help. During those harrowing years, I discovered how to write and developed a passion for finding solutions. I recognized the power of mass communication, including radio, newspapers, television, music, theater, and the internet. Captivated, I wondered how these tools could spotlight community needs, expose injustices, hold the powerful accountable, and mobilize society.
Soon after, I embraced journalism as a tool to advance society’s well-being, empower the oppressed, and express the collective aspirations of the people. I became committed to amplifying marginalized voices, confronting injustices, and exposing barriers that prevent communities from realizing their potential. At last, the media provided a platform to channel my passion for serving humanity.
I vividly remember reporting on disabled youth who stormed a local pastor’s residence, protesting the alleged embezzlement of relief supplies meant for them. Arriving in wheelchairs, they threw stones at the house and gate, accusing the pastor and his organization of diverting donations from a U.S. church group. As tensions escalated, the pastor fled through the backdoor to a neighbor’s house, while the community urged the youth to pursue legal action instead.
After I submitted the story to a local newspaper, I felt thrilled to see it published on the front page of Monday’s edition with minimal edits. My work impressed the editor who later encouraged me to keep writing. Inspired, I began submitting news reports and opinion pieces on various national events. In the late 1990s, I ventured into journalism when my country’s crisis gained global attention. Over the next 25 years, I independently wrote and reported on human rights abuses, corruption, multinational exploitation, and financial crimes involving presidents, ministers, politicians, and bankers.
In 2002, I co-founded the Africanist Press, an organization dedicated to independent investigative journalism. We focused on exposing corruption and organized crime while championing free speech and democratization across Africa. Since its inception, I led the organization’s efforts to address corruption and promote human rights. To advance their interests, various factions and groups used my work. During the Ebola outbreak [from 2014-2016], I documented the government’s response in a book.
This work contributed to the ruling party’s defeat in 2018. The opposition, who later gained power, used my reports on corruption and mismanagement of epidemic funds in their campaign. However, this led to intense harassment against me through text messages, phone calls, and other social media platforms. The new administration, once a beneficiary of my work, turned against me when I began exposing their corruption.
Opposition politicians and journalists who once criticized the government united to launch a media campaign against me. Ironically, the current president, who once led the opposition and whose newspapers republished my Africanist Press articles, frequently shared my work on social media as part of his political strategy. After taking office, he promised to tackle corruption, reduce wasteful spending, and address persistent issues. However, within a year, I began questioning whether his government was repeating the same troubling patterns.
To my dismay, I found it took an even more dangerous path than the previous administration, which I opposed for a decade. Soon, the entire government apparatus turned against me, but I stayed focused on the questions I raised. As the situation worsened, I reported on the high cost of governance using supporting evidence. Starting in 2020, I teamed up with other academics and journalists in a multiyear investigation, producing over 70 reports exposing widespread financial crimes in Sierra Leone.
Successfully, we uncovered unexplained wealth among senior officials, including President Julius Maada Bio and his wife. One report revealed they allegedly spent 7.89 billion Leones (over $750,000 USD) of public funds on personal shopping. Other evidence showed President Bio and First Lady Fatima Bio withdrew more than 71.4 billion Leones (approx $3,125,191 USD) in international travel per diem in 2022, violating legal procedures. Furthermore, we uncovered evidence that the electoral commission misappropriated public election funds. We also detailed how opposition parties and parliament compromised the June 2023 elections in Sierra Leone.
Our work led to significant consequences including scrutiny from the U.S. State Department over democratic governance and financial corruption. As a result, I received numerous death threats. One chilling instance happened while I was a guest speaker at the University of Louisville in Kentucky. During a lunch break, a clergyman sent me a WhatsApp message. He threatened I would soon be killed and buried.
He described how my bones would then be exhumed and ground into powder. This powder, he claimed, would be turned into Kush—a synthetic drug in West Africa allegedly made from human remains. Shockingly, this threat came from a Catholic priest. Over the past four years, an alliance of elites targeted me. I faced relentless harassment, including insulting phone calls and threatening Facebook messages. Cyberattacks hit our social media platforms as hackers repeatedly tried to access my email accounts.
Constant notifications overwhelmed my phone, intensifying the attacks and forcing me into lockdown mode. Simultaneously, unknown callers added to the pressure. The backlash deepened as a government-affiliated journalist published an article calling for me to be charged with treason for exposing salary discrepancies in the civil service. Alarmingly, all these threats involved foreign institutions and allies of the Sierra Leonean government in the USA, who prioritized protecting their corporate interests.
Distressingly, my investigative work on corruption and resource exploitation forced me into exile in the United States. Despite the challenges, I never lost faith in Sierra Leone. Rather, my commitment to my country runs deep, strengthened by each trial I faced. Before moving to the United States, I traveled extensively but never imagined leaving Sierra Leone without a way to return.
For years, I spoke at universities and community events worldwide, raising awareness about the urgent issues in Sierra Leone. I spoke of exploitation, oppression, deficient social services, and the need for development. At the same time, being forcibly separated from my homeland locks me in a state of imprisonment, with no end in sight. Meanwhile, the United States actively maintains a military presence in Sierra Leone, training the police and military for security.
Yet, individuals like me, who advocate for democracy and transparency, are pushed out. Nevertheless, I defined my life through unpaid advocacy, pursuing journalism as a sacrifice and unwavering commitment to my country. To help build a history school in Sierra Leone, I took on the role of a historian. I aimed to earn a PhD, return to teach, and donate my education and degree to the country. I even pledged to teach at the university for free, provided I could live and work in peace.
However, the university and academic community did not respond, while the U.S. embassy and local history departments continued recruiting foreign academics to fill teaching gaps. If the United States is truly committed to supporting democracy and investing in Sierra Leone, why should the country remain unsafe for pro-democracy activists and human rights defenders? Why should independent journalists and public intellectuals like me be forced into exile?
Sadness overtakes me when I think of my country and its people’s missed opportunities. The need for individuals like me to return is critical; our skills and knowledge are needed at home. My desire to return to Sierra Leone remains strong. Until that day comes, I will continue my work and my international campaign, seeking support from pro-democracy and human rights advocates to help pave the way for my return.