There’s a peculiar sickness that has gripped our dear Nigeria, and Africa in general, one that doesn’t cause fever or headache but swells the ego faster than garri in hot water.

Somewhere in this jungle of academic aspirations, we have turned “in view” into a permanent residence. You cannot just be “Mr. Okoro.” God forbid! You must be “Dr. Okoro (in view).” Even if the view is still in the far horizon, like the Mambilla Plateau seen from Wukari.

The road to the doctorate, which should be a lonely and rigorous journey of research and reflection, has become an expressway of certificates for sale. Somewhere in the crevices of our educational system, PhDs are being awarded at a rate faster than sachet water. For the right price, you can get your “Doctorate in Leadership and Transformational Strategic Governance” from a mushroom university that doesn’t even have a functioning website.

We judge competence by the length of titles on letterheads. You can’t be appointed a consultant unless you have a Ph.D. Even if your field experience could fill ten libraries. We are quick to say, “We need qualified people,” when what we really mean is “We need titled people.”

The recent revelations concerning diplomatic passports, alleged drug trafficking connections in Turkey, and the deafening silence from our government compel us to speak truth to power with unwavering clarity.

Let us begin with a question that haunts the conscience of every honest Sierra Leonean: How does a man who accepted three brand-new jeeps as gifts become the guardian of our nation's drug enforcement efforts? This is not merely a matter of poor judgment; it is a betrayal of the public trust so profound that it 'shakes the very foundations of institutional integrity.'

When the Parliamentary Select Committee approved this appointment despite such glaring ethical concerns, they did not simply make an error. They made a choice. They chose expediency over excellence, personal loyalty over public service, and in doing so, they opened wide the floodgates through which corruption now flows freely across our land.

An Editorial: Culled ©️

I was staying with my guardian, Mama Gbassay, a tough old lady. She took care of us from Warima, teaching us to always give thanks, no matter how little you had. One Saturday, she came back from a trip to some village, carrying a bunch of bananas so ripe and golden they looked like they belonged in a painting. As she set them on our rickety table, I got this crazy idea.

“Mama,” I said, my heart racing, “we should give these bananas to Mr. Macauley.”

She stopped, gave me that look like I’d lost my mind.

“Macauley? The man who hands out rice like it’s nothing? What’s he gonna do with our bananas?”

“He’s always giving to Songo, Mama….”

Steal it now, so history may close its book on us, and carve in its final epitaph: Here lies the remains of a nation that mistook plunder for democracy, and perished applauding its thieves.

For centuries, mankind has wrestled between two extremes—capitalism’s unrestrained appetite and socialism’s heavy-handed redistribution. Both began as attempts to solve human need, yet both, when unbalanced, drift away from the moral rhythm that sustains life.

Sociocapitalism is the bridge—a system rooted in divine reciprocity. It accepts that profit is not evil, but it refuses to allow profit to be purposeless. It recognizes individual ambition but anchors it in collective responsibility.

By: Chez Winakabs; Founder of Sociocapitalism