Until I offered myself a vehicle to transmit information to a news-hungry population, my life was without hiccups and blights; I was simply living a quiet and peaceful life. But journalism would later change the face of my entire life – for good and bad. My quest to tell truth to power, and to correct injustices drove me into risking my life in a country where attacks on journalists and human rights activists have become unbecoming. This is also a country in the 21st century where only the president enjoys talking loosely, and continuously venting anger on messengers of truth, branding them everything bad ranging from “rat pieces” to “illegitimate sons of Africa.” My defiance to defend the principles of objectivity, fairness, honesty, and exposed the Gambia’s unfriendly media climate beyond the borders were enough reasons to crash with a government hellbent on killing dissent with every means necessary. I was forced to flee into exile after a violent clash with a system that has virtually drowned all its foundations. Arbitrarily arrested, detained for 22 days, tortured and denied medical attention, I had to leave behind an incomplete mission. My journey to exile in the neighbouring Senegal on 13 May 2006 was one of my saddest moments throughout my 36 years of existence. Without knowing what the future would hold for me, I left my beloved country and people with heavy heart. Who the hell can now infringe on my god-given right to write freely, after all, I have the power of technology at hand?