WE PRAY LIKE SAINTS, STEAL PROFESSIONALLY

By Mohamed Ismail Kamara

Executive Director
EcoProbe Africa
The Netherlands

Last week, I wrote “Surviving Freetown: A City That Refuses to Grow Up.” The response was overwhelming. People read it, nodded seriously, complained passionately, and then returned to business as usual. Which, if we are being honest, is perhaps the most Sierra Leonean response possible.

So this week, let us widen the examination. Not of Sierra Leone herself. She is alive. The question is what we are doing to her. More importantly, let us examine the people running her. And by “running,” I mean running her into the ground with the efficiency of a government official trying to finish a contract before lunch.

FRIDAY SAINTS, MONDAY SINNERS

Let me paint you a picture.

Friday arrives. The mosques are full. White gowns everywhere. Foreheads touch the prayer mats. Hands rise towards heaven. “Ameen!” The imam prays for peace, prosperity and progress. Beautiful. Spiritual. Moving.

It is Sunday. The churches are overflowing. Traffic is blocked. Fancy cars are parked here and there. Well dressed men in smart suits. Women in their finest lace, hands lifted high. The choir is singing. The pastor is preaching. Somebody is about to receive a breakthrough. Hallelujah!

Then Monday morning arrives. The same men who raised their hands on Friday are now signing off on contracts that somehow build a road leading directly to their cousin’s compound. The same woman who danced for Jesus on Sunday is now diverting funds meant for schoolbooks to buy a new Land Cruiser. The Lord giveth, and the accountant taketh away. And the congregation saith, “Amen!”

We are a deeply religious nation. We are also, apparently, a deeply creative one. The mental gymnastics required to praise God on your knees and rob the state on your feet could win Olympic gold. Actually, we would probably steal the gold medal too.

It reminds me of that classic novel, The Beautyful Ones Are Not Yet Born by Ayi Kwei Armah. The protagonist watches everyone around him eating from the national cake while he struggles to stay clean. In the end, he appears to be the fool. The ones who eat are the ones who succeed. The ones who stay honest are the ones who suffer. That book was written decades ago about Ghana, but it could have been written yesterday about Sierra Leone. The beautiful ones are still not yet born. And the ugly ones? They are running the country.

A SHOUT OUT TO THE HONEST ONES

But wait. Before everybody gets angry, let me say this clearly. Not everyone is corrupt. Let me give credit where credit is due, especially to those who stay honest, as portrayed in the book. Not everyone in Sierra Leone is a thief. Not everyone is waiting for their turn to eat. There are good men and women in this country. People who wake up every morning and go to work. Honest work. Hard work.

People who refuse to take “small something.” People who refuse to sell their conscience for a bag of rice. People who pay their taxes. People who do their jobs. People who serve the nation not because they want to chop, but because they want to build. Teachers who teach without demanding bribes for grades.

University lecturers who maintain academic standards instead of turning grades into a private exchange programme where the currency is sex. Customs officers who charge the actual official fee without suddenly discovering a mysterious “special price” that exists nowhere on the receipt. Nurses who care for patients without asking for “encouragement.” Police officers who protect citizens without requesting “transport” from the very people they are supposed to protect. Civil servants who process files without waiting for “consideration” before suddenly discovering where the file has been hiding for three months.

Market traders who do not inflate prices simply because you look like you have just returned from abroad, and who sell you ten cups when you pay for ten cups, not ten cups that mysteriously become seven by the time you reach home. Even mathematics deserves some integrity. Businesspeople who pay their taxes without cooking the books until the accountant deserves a Michelin star. Journalists who report the truth without waiting for a brown envelope to determine which version of the truth will be published. And activists who fight for justice whether their party is in power or in opposition, because accountability should not suddenly go on holiday when your friends enter government. These people exist. They are the silent heroes of Sierra Leone. They are the ones who keep this country from completely collapsing. They are the ones who give me hope. To you, the honest ones, I say thank you. You are the beautiful ones. You may not be many. You may not be loud. But you are there. And you matter.

But here is the problem. The honest ones are often treated as though they are the minority. In a society where corruption becomes normalised, honest people suffer. They are overlooked. They are passed over for promotions. They are mocked for being fools. They are told, “You will never make it if you stay clean.” And that is the tragedy. We have made honesty a disadvantage. We have made integrity a liability. We have made corruption look like the easiest route to success. We need more honest people. We need an army of them. We need a revolution of integrity. We need a nation where honesty is not the exception, but the rule. Until then, the looters will continue to loot. The eaters will continue to eat. And the nation will continue to sink.

WE PRAY. OTHERS BUILD.

Here is the uncomfortable part. We pray a lot. We fast. We sing. We shout. We post Bible verses on Facebook and Islamic quotations on WhatsApp. Then we wake up and continue doing the exact things our religions told us not to do. Meanwhile, countries we describe as less religious somehow manage to keep the electricity running, the water flowing and the roads functioning. Maybe heaven is trying to tell us something. Perhaps prayer was never supposed to replace competence. Perhaps “Ameen” is not an infrastructure policy. Perhaps “Hallelujah” cannot fill a pothole. God may provide the blessing, but somebody still has to buy the cement. Because God is not mocked. You cannot pray on Friday and steal on Monday and expect blessings.

Our backwardness is not always a curse. It is not always witchcraft. And it cannot always be blamed on colonialism. Sometimes, the uncomfortable answer is us.

THE PATRIOTISM WE LEFT AT THE AIRPORT

But here is the thing that really burns me. The thing that keeps me awake at night. It is not just the praying and the stealing. It is the absence of patriotism among some of the very people we elect and select to lead us. When some officials come to power, public office can begin to look less like a sacred duty and more like their turn to eat. “My party has won. It is our time. Bring the plate. Bring the spoons. Bring the pots. Bring the whole kitchen. Let us chop.”

The Western nations we all run to today, the ones with smooth roads and functioning hospitals, did not get there by accident. Their development required institutions, planning, investment, accountability, public service and generations of people working to build their nations. That is the kind of patriotism we need. The question should be: “How can I build my nation?” “How can I leave a legacy?” “How can I make my country better than I found it?” That requires patriotism. It requires willpower. It requires a collective determination to work hard and make the nation better.

When a contractor is given a bridge to build, the expectation should be simple. Build the bridge. Build it properly.Build it to last. Let it serve the people.

China developed rapidly. Gulf states such as Qatar and the United Arab Emirates transformed themselves. Singapore became one of the world’s most developed countries.

And then we look at parts of Africa. We look at Sierra Leone. Hmmm. In Sierra Leone, a bridge, road or agricultural contract should be an opportunity to build a bridge, construct a road or improve agriculture. Yet too often, public contracts become associated in the public imagination with new cars, more girlfriends, houses in Leicester and No. 2, mansions in Freetown and secret accounts abroad.

The bridge? Oh, the bridge may struggle. But the cars will still be shiny. The other day, a good friend of mine told me, “We need divine intervention. We need more prayers, like those of the Israelites in the wilderness, if we are to flourish as a nation.” I looked at her with a smile and asked, “But what about the nations that do not pray as loudly or as often as we do, yet somehow manage to build functioning institutions, maintain their roads, provide clean water and keep the lights on?” She paused. And that made me wonder. Perhaps the question is not whether God is listening to our prayers. Perhaps the question is whether we are listening to what our prayers require of us.

We ask God to develop our country, then wait for Him to do the procurement, supervise the contractor and audit the accounts. Maybe divine intervention has already arrived. Maybe it is called responsibility, patriotism and the willingness to build the country we keep asking God to build for us. God will not change a nation whose people are unwilling to change themselves. And right now, instead of helping ourselves to build the nation, too many people seem more interested in helping themselves to the national treasury. And that is the problem. We do not always love Sierra Leone for what we can give her. We love what Sierra Leone can give us. We do not ask, “What can I do for my country?” We ask, “What can my country do for me?” And the answer, apparently, is: Give me a contract. Give me a rice bag. Give me a position. Give me a chance to eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. We have turned citizenship into consumption. We are not citizens. We are customers. We are here to consume. To take. To extract. To chop. And when the food is finished? When the national cake has been eaten to the last crumb? We will look around and wonder why we are still hungry.

But by then, the Prado and the G Wagons will be sitting comfortably in the garage. The mansion will be built. The account abroad will be full. And the nation? The nation can go to hell.

THE HOLY GAME OF RICE BAGS

Let me tell you something we all know but often pretend not to see. Ramadan arrives, and suddenly the big men appear. Thirty bags. Fifty bags. A hundred bags of rice are “donated” to the community. The imams smile. The congregation applauds. “Ameen! Ameen!” But hardly anyone asks the uncomfortable question: Where did the money come from? Sometimes, perhaps, we are afraid of the answer. Because if generosity is financed by money that should have served the public, donating a few bags of rice does not suddenly make it righteous. You cannot take from the poor with one hand and return a bag of rice with the other, then expect heaven to applaud the transaction. Yet the rice arrives, the cameras come out, the blessings begin, and everyone is happy.

Christmas comes. Same story. Easter arrives. Same script. The generous benefactor appears. The church thanks “our brother” for his contribution. The congregation applauds.“Let us give thanks and praise!” But again, nobody wants to spoil the celebration with awkward questions. Where did this sudden generosity come from? How does someone living on a public salary suddenly become Father Christmas with a Prado? Please, do not investigate too much. You might ruin the testimony. That is part of our problem. Rice is visible. Accountability is complicated. The stomach wants dinner tonight, while good governance can apparently wait until Monday.

So the politician gives.

The religious leader blesses.

The community applauds.

And everybody goes home satisfied.

Even the rice is confused.

It reminds me of Kofi Coomson’s Looters of State. The title captures the uncomfortable question perfectly. Looting does not always arrive wearing a mask. Sometimes it wears a suit. Sometimes a robe. Sometimes it arrives carrying rice, a Bible or a Quran. The uncomfortable truth is that questionable generosity does not become clean simply because it enters a mosque or church.

If we are willing to celebrate the gift but frightened to ask where the money came from, perhaps the rice is not the only thing being distributed.

So is our silence.

BROWN ENVELOPES AND SOFT PENS

Now let us talk about the Fourth Estate. The people who are supposed to watch power. In Sierra Leone, journalism sometimes appears to come in two versions. The version that tells you how much money was allegedly stolen, and the version that tells you who allegedly stole it. Sometimes, the difference appears to depend on the thickness of the brown envelope. When a journalist has “picked a side,” the pen can suddenly become very soft. When a scandal breaks, if the accused belongs to the camp the journalist supports, silence can become surprisingly attractive. Or better yet, you get a story that takes three detours before barely mentioning the facts. Big headline. The article says almost nothing. By paragraph twelve, you are still wondering who did what. The watchdog has become a lapdog, sitting by the table waiting for the boss to toss a few bones, then wagging its tail.

CIVIL SOCIETY’S VOLUME BUTTON

Civil society can be fascinating. When the other party is in government, some activists become lions. Press conferences. Statements. Interviews. Accountability! Justice! Good governance! Then their preferred side enters government. Silence. You begin wondering whether the microphone broke. Then somebody receives a consultancy. Mystery solved. The watchdog has found employment.

THE SOCIETY THAT SOLD ITS SOUL

But let us be honest. It is not just the politicians. It is not just the journalists. It is not just civil society. It is all of us. We are a society that can complain about corruption while quietly waiting for our own turn to eat. We criticise the big thief while making excuses for the small one. The Keh Keh driver overcharges the passenger. The market trader adds water to the milk. The mechanic replaces your good part with a bad one. The teacher sells exam answers. The nurse demands “small something” before attending to your dying mother. Everywhere you turn, somebody is looking for “small something.” The police officer stops you at a checkpoint and asks for “small tin.” The immigration officer at the border wants “greetings” before stamping your passport.

The customs official wants “consideration” before your goods can pass. The person at the ministry needs “encouragement” before your file can move from one desk to another. We call it “small something.” We call it “transport.” We call it “greetings.” We call it “consideration.”We call it “encouragement.”We have developed an impressive vocabulary to avoid one simple word.

Corruption.

And it is not just the big man in Freetown. It is the small man in Kailahun. It is the woman in Kono. It is the youth in Makeni. It is the elder in Bo. It is the student in Kenema. It is you. It is me.

We have created a society where too many people seem to be waiting for their turn to take something. The politician steals big. We call him a thief. The civil servant steals small. We call it survival. The voter sells a vote for a bag of rice. We call it politics. A mother encourages her son to lie for the family. We call it loyalty. Where is the line? Where is the shame? Sometimes it feels as though we have no line. We have only appetite. We are hungry. Hungry for money. Hungry for power. Hungry for position. Hungry for the chance to finally be the one on top, so we too can look down on others and say: “Do you know who I am?”

Hungry vultures circling the national cake. This is the sickness. Not just in government. In all of us. We cannot build a nation when every citizen sees public resources as something waiting to be taken. We cannot grow when every hand is reaching for something that does not belong to it. We cannot progress when society is built on a foundation of “small something.” And then we all go to church on Sunday and mosque on Friday, raise our hands and say:

“God bless Sierra Leone.” God is not confused.

God is not blind. God sees the “small something” in your pocket. God sees the rice bag you collected. God sees the contract you signed. God sees the lie you told. God sees the vote you sold. And God is not laughing.

THE TWO PARTY TANGO: A LOVE STORY FOR POWER, NOT PEOPLE

Sierra Leone has two major political parties that have alternated in power. Sometimes the relationship looks like a toxic couple that cannot decide who gets the house. When Party A is in power, Party B cries foul. “Corruption!” “Incompetence!” “Nepotism!”

Their supporters march. They protest. And somewhere in the middle of all this righteous outrage is a young man. Let us call him Alhaji. Jobless, Hungry, But extremely loyal.

Alhaji practically lives at the party office, organising meetings, defending the party on social media and posting as if Facebook likes are part of the national development plan.

His hope is simple. One day, his party will win and he too will get a slice of the national cake. Then the day comes. Alhaji becomes Special Adviser to the Minister of Something Important. Within six months, he is driving a Prado or Land Cruiser. Within a year, a mansion is rising in Leicester. He is also suddenly surrounded by girlfriends, and girlfriends, apparently, are not funded by the national minimum wage. His salary is twenty something million. The lifestyle is fifty something million. So where does the difference come from?

Ah, my brother. Chop, chop, chop. The national cake has found another customer.

Then Party A comes back to power. A new man emerges. Let us call him Saidu. And just like that, the cycle begins again.Same plot. Different actors. Somehow, somebody is still making money.

WHERE EXACTLY ARE YOU TAKING IT?

Here is the question I want every politician who abuses public office to answer: Where exactly are you taking it? That money you are hoarding? That land you are grabbing? That account abroad? When you die, and you will die because death does not care about your title or your convoy, where will it all go? To children who will fight over it in court? To lawyers who will drain the estate? You came into this world with nothing. You will leave with nothing. And in between, if you choose corruption, you will have taken from the very people who trusted you. But I guess that is a problem for future you. Present you has a party to attend.

SO WHAT NOW?

I do not know. And that is the honest truth. But I do know that a nation where people love God on Friday and Sunday, but love themselves for the rest of the week, is a nation that will continue to refuse to grow up. I do know that patriotism is not a flag on Independence Day. It is what you do the other 364 days.I do know that until we, as a people, decide that we love this country more than we love the crumbs we receive from those who exploit it, nothing will change. I do know that we need to stop waiting for divine intervention and start looking in the mirror. We cannot keep asking heaven to solve problems created by human choices. I do know that we need to celebrate the honest ones. These people exist. They are the hope of Sierra Leone. And we need more of them.

And I do know that last week’s piece, “Surviving Freetown,” is not just about Freetown. It is about the entire nation. It is about all of us. We are a city. A country. A people. And we refuse to grow up. Not because we cannot. But because we will not. So the next time you raise your hands to heaven and say “Ameen” or shout “Hallelujah,” remember: God is listening. But so are the people who suffer when public resources disappear. And one day, so will judgment.

Have a blessed week.

Mohamed Ismail Kamara