Dauda Sandi Recounts Defiant Journey to Freetown

Episode 1

On the eve of his inauguration as President of the United States, John F. Kennedy issued a chilling warning to the world, welcoming newly independent nations into the fragile brotherhood of freedom, saying: “In the past, those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of a tiger,” he cautioned, “often ended up inside.” It was a stark reminder that power, when pursued recklessly, has a way of devouring its seekers.

Nowhere did this warning echo more ominously than in Sierra Leone during the 1970s – a decade gripped by fear, uncertainty, and the steady erosion of democratic ideals. The political landscape became a battleground, scarred by intimidation, unrest, and unchecked violence. By the time of the 1977 general elections, the nation stood on the edge, its future hanging in the balance.

Rivalry between the All People’s Congress (APC) and the Sierra Leone People’s Party (SLPP) had hardened into bitter enmity. Politics was no longer a contest of ideas, but a ruthless struggle for dominance – fought through coercion, fear, and the systematic silencing of dissent. In this charged atmosphere, the line between governance and survival blurred, and the tiger of power prowled ever closer to those who dared to ride it.

This volatile atmosphere was particularly evident in the then Kailahun South. The APC’s prominent figure and favoured candidate, Dr Sama Banya, was at the time recovering in London and preparing for his return to Sierra Leone. His anticipated homecoming generated significant excitement and expectation within the APC, with party supporters displaying high morale and confidence that his return would secure their political dominance in the constituency.

At the same time, the SLPP candidate for Kailahun South, Dauda Sandi, found himself under severe and sustained pressure. State-controlled radio broadcasts repeatedly announced – on an hourly basis, that Dauda Sandi was being instructed to report to the nearest police station. These public announcements were widely perceived as a tactic of intimidation, designed to isolate and endanger him, while creating an atmosphere of fear among his supporters.

Behind these actions was an alleged plan to manipulate the electoral process. There were intentions to cancel the election under constitutional pretexts and to organise a rerun under conditions that would favour the APC’s Dr Banya. The underlying objective of this strategy was far more sinister: to eliminate Dauda Sandi by any means necessary, thereby removing the SLPP’s challenge and allowing Dr Sama Banya to contest the seat unopposed.

These events illustrated how the democratic process in Sierra Leone during this period was undermined by political violence and abuse of state power. The 1977 elections became emblematic of a broader pattern in which opposition candidates were harassed, threatened, and silenced, leaving lasting scars on the nation’s political history and contributing to the erosion of public trust in governance and electoral integrity.

The alleged plot bore all the hallmarks of cold calculation – every detail seemingly measured, every outcome carefully anticipated. Rumours swirling at the time painted a chilling picture: had the SLPP candidate, Dauda Sandi, surrendered himself at the Kenema police station – or at any station beyond the watchful eyes of the capital – his fate might have been sealed long before he ever reached Freetown.

The journey itself was said to be the trap. In the shadows of a long transfer, far from public scrutiny and stripped of accountability, he could have been quietly intercepted and eliminated. Distance, in this plan, was not merely geography – it was opportunity. Those believed to be behind the scheme were thought to rely on the chaos and isolation of transit, where truth could be buried as easily as the body. In such a setting, a killing could be masked as misfortune – a “security complication,” an “unfortunate incident” – carefully dressed in the language of inevitability, while concealing the deliberate hand that set it in motion.

But the plot, so meticulously conceived in the shadows, began to unravel before it could draw blood. Whispers escaped. Secrets slipped through the cracks. What was meant to be a silent, calculated act was suddenly dragged into the harsh light of public awareness, exposing what many believed to be a sinister and politically driven design. As the rumours spread, urgency turned to action. Members and supporters of the Sierra Leone People’s Party (SLPP) moved with striking unity, closing ranks in a show of defiance and survival. There was no hesitation, only a collective resolve to deny the plot any chance of success.

Allies, party officials, and vigilant observers mobilised rapidly, determined to strip the scheme of its greatest weapon: secrecy. Any interaction with law enforcement would now unfold in full public view, under the unblinking gaze of scrutiny. In that moment, transparency became both shield and strategy – turning what was meant to be a quiet disappearance into a confrontation no longer hidden in the dark.

By forcing the centre of gravity towards Freetown, the SLPP party transformed the entire equation. Here, under the glare of media scrutiny, the weight of political oversight, and the watchful presence of Commonwealth representatives and international institutions, the shadows had nowhere left to hide. What might have unfolded in silence elsewhere, was dragged into a space where every movement could be seen, questioned, and challenged.

In doing so, the party did more than shift location, it shattered the conditions that made the alleged plot possible. A plan that depended on isolation and obscurity was suddenly exposed to relentless visibility, where secrecy could no longer survive. The speed and coordination of the response spoke volumes, revealing not only the depth of alarm within the ranks of the Sierra Leone People’s Party (SLPP), but also just how dangerously fragile the political climate had become.

What was meant to be executed quietly, buried in distance and silence, instead erupted into public consciousness. Under such intense scrutiny, the alleged scheme could not withstand the light. And so, what many perceived as a reckless and perilous design was ultimately abandoned – forcing figures within Dr Sama Banya’s All People’s Congress (APC), to retreat from the brink.

As events unfolded, the situation grew increasingly tense. The S.L.B.S. continued broadcasting repeated appeals over the airwaves, urging the SLPP candidate, Dauda Sandi, to report to the nearest police station. However, rather than complying under uncertain conditions, the SLPP leadership and supporters quickly closed ranks, recognising the potential risks involved. Urgent messages were sent further east, calling on trusted allies and key figures to mobilise and respond to what was rapidly becoming a complex and potentially dangerous situation. Their response was swift and coordinated.

Among those gathered at that pivotal meeting were figures whose names carried weight, influence, and consequence – individuals who understood that the moment before them was anything but ordinary. At the centre stood B.S. Massaquoi, alongside Weedy Leimon, then a key force within the I.D.A. rice cultivation project under the leadership of Murray Lamin. That initiative had become more than just an agricultural programme – it was a lifeline for many in Kenema, offering employment and hope, and standing as a powerful alternative to the dominance of the Public Works Department.

Also, present was John Kallon, brother to Maigho Kallon, his presence a reminder of the deep familial and political ties woven into the unfolding crisis. Beside them stood Shallay Gbojama, carrying both quiet strength and the lingering shadow of loss. Her late husband, Joe Gbojama, had been a towering figure – a brilliant lawyer, a respected voice within the Sierra Leone People’s Party (SLPP), and a trusted confidant of Dauda Sandi. Their bond, forged in youth and strengthened through years of study in England, had endured until tragedy struck, his life cut short in a devastating car accident on the road to Freetown, a loss that still echoed painfully in the hearts of many. Completing the assembly was G.K. Saffa, alongside a circle of loyalists and stakeholders – men and women bound not only by politics, but by a shared understanding that history was unfolding in real time. The room was heavy with urgency, each presence adding gravity to a moment that would demand courage, unity, and resolve in the face of gathering uncertainty.

As the meeting intensified, new and alarming intelligence emerged. A young doctor, A. J. E. Demby, who has just returned from studies in India and set up his practice in Kenema, arrived with urgent information that a checkpoint had been established in a small village along the newly constructed Bo – Kenema highway. Bandama was a quiet Limba village, tucked away at the foot of the Kamboi Hills on the outskirts of Kenema. The Limba people there were known for their calm and reserved nature, deeply attuned to the rhythms of the land they inhabited. Their way of life was closely tied to the forest, which served not only as their home, but as the foundation of their survival. They relied heavily on it for food, medicinal herbs, and wild fruits, drawing on generations of knowledge passed down over time.

At the very heart of their existence pulsed an economy shaped by the land itself- palm oil production and palm wine tapping, not merely as trades, but as lifelines. These were the rhythms that sustained the village, the quiet labour that turned survival into continuity. Day after day, these precious goods made their journey into Kenema, flowing from the stillness of the village into the restless energy of the township – binding two worlds together in a fragile but vital exchange.

But their lives stretched far beyond the palms. The Limbas were hunters of rare skill and patience, masters of the forest’s hidden language. High above the ground, in the tangled embrace of towering trees, they set their intricate traps – silent, precise, and unforgiving. It was here that they captured monkeys, a crucial source of protein, wrested not through force, but through knowledge, timing, and respect for the balance of nature.

Every movement, every method, spoke of an intimacy with the forest that few could rival. They did not merely live within it – they understood it, adapted to it, and survived because of it. In their hands, the wilderness was not an obstacle, but an ally – one that demanded wisdom, discipline, and an unbreakable connection to the land.

To be continued.

Dauda Sandi Jr. UK

Email – sandi2317@hotmail.com