I Internally Bleed When the Truth Touched My Soul

In most, if not all, cases, the plain yet bitter truth comes conversationally, often disguised as a joke, or a casual remark. Rarely is the truth served on a silver platter. More often, it arrives in the hardest, and most unexpected way. It takes a person with thick skin to welcome the truth upon its arrival. It takes wisdom to embrace it, accept it, and use it as a tool for self-examination and growth.

Yesterday, the truth came my way.

It was bitter. It arrived like a dwarf, but before long it stood before me like a giant. It came like a tiny bird, but soon it spread its wings like an eagle. It appeared like a faint, dusty star, but gradually it shone with the brightness of the moon. I embraced it because it was the truth; the bitter truth concerning the nature of my beloved Liberia, if not the world at large.

The truth was spoken by a woman, who sells bread in front of my shop. She has never admired my boldness or my open support for this government. Whenever I speak about the government’s ongoing developments across the country, she usually remains silent, looking at me with disapproving eyes, as though criticizing me in her heart.

But on this particular day, she broke her silence.

“Let me tell you the plain truth today, Mr. Gonkerwon,” she said with remarkable boldness.

“With all the work you continue to do, including writing books that preserve our history and promoting the achievements of the government; you will continue to struggle because you are not a member of those ‘Up the Hill.’ To them, you are almost invisible. You are not their partisan, you are not part of their social circle, and you are not their church brother. Therefore, no matter what you do, they will hardly pay attention to you.”

As I listened, I could measure the height, the weight, and the depth of her words.

Immediately, I remembered what a man working in one of the nation’s high offices told me a few months earlier after I delivered copies of my book: Dark Freedom, to his superior.

“Shelton Gonkerwon,” he said, “you are one of the best writers of our time, but you need to be connected. You need to be connected if you want to be known.”

I replied: “By speaking with you and presenting my work, am I not trying to connect through the value of what I do?”

Only later did I begin to wonder what he truly meant by “connected.” Was he referring to influential networks, powerful circles, or something much darker? Since that day, he has never answered my calls whenever I tried to follow up.

The words spoken by the bread seller pierced my soul—a soul I value more than earthly recognition and one I can never sell for personal gain.

The truth, as I saw it, is that our society has become deeply contaminated by favoritism, patronage, and unhealthy systems that reward connections above merit. Such systems have multiplied over the years, leaving many gifted and sincere people unnoticed.

Yet, instead of allowing this reality to corrupt my convictions, it strengthened my resolve.

I turned to God in prayer and asked Him to keep me strong in the face of temptation. I prayed that He would never allow me to exchange my integrity for acceptance, my conscience for influence, or my soul for recognition.

If remaining faithful to truth means walking a lonely road, then I choose that road. I would rather remain pure than gain the whole world at the cost of my soul.