Returning to my early childhood home after spending many years away seemed oddly familiar. Thirteen years of filling in the memory gaps of a six year old. There was the ice cream parlor that had indoor swings. And there was the outdoor movie theatre that had a playground somewhere in it. Perhaps I had invented some other names and places along the way, I wasn’t sure. I had definitely romanticized others.

I remembered the Hindu festival of lights: Diwali. It was celebrated by everyone, especially the island’s numerous Hindus. I remembered the clay lamps set out every Diwali and the street vendors —working their only nighttime shift of the year—rolling dough and placing them in boiling oil. They were called phlourie and were to be eaten with tamarind sauce. But most of all, I remembered the greenery in Trinidad.

My expectations did not align with reality. I was shocked by what I found once I actually arrived. In comparison to the big American cities, Trinidad seemed like a country frozen in time. The largest city boasted a population of 40,000 and the capitol, Port of Spain, had even less at 20,000 residents. Nothing seemed to make sense. It was all tiny and cramped. Houses sprouted from every available piece of land on the island.

As we drove from the airport, I saw the occasional vacant lot. They were barely visible under the rapid plant growth of the Caribbean, yet they stood next to immaculate pink and orange houses. My mother saw my confusion and said knowingly, “someone in the family probably died and now their family is fighting over the land.”

I spent the next week driving all over the island. The capitol was unchanged from colonial times. Beautiful colonial houses lined Savannah Park— where I had spent every Diwali — (make sure dashes are same length) along with official embassies and The Red House (our (our?) equivalent to the White House). I remembered all of this, but I did not remember the decay that I found in the dense buildings in the heart of Port of Spain.

The cobblestones of the capitol crumbled under the Caribbean Sun as did the storied colonial buildings that towered above them. The slums circled all of this. Not surprisingly, I had not even remembered slums. Or the capitol being dangerous at night. What had happened?

Yet, even in the capitol that seemed like it belonged to a third world country, there were quintessentially Trinidadian elements. A middle age rasta (appropriate?) man was making and selling doubles, which a lightly fried pieces of dough that come with curry. He made doubles and sold them to a large lunchtime crowd while telling us his that he’d been working his whole life: “Since I was five. I was born in Laventille side.”( Laventille are the country’s notorious slums).

While what I expected and what I found were completely different, there were some things that were fixed hard and fast in my memory. All of the houses were painted in vivid, bright colors. There was a green house with a gold roof, purple houses and blue houses. They came in every shade and shape, some were massive others were moderate in size. They seemed to be the panoramic of an undrawn Dr. Seuss book.

Despite remembering the flamboyant houses, there were so many rules to remember. Had they even existed a decade ago? Cabs were shared. Minivans in the street could be flagged down for hire but should be avoided because they were unsafe. Even though I had never needed these rules in the past, the truth was undeniable. My original home had become foreign. I was a foreigner in a strange land. My heavy American accent did little to help.

Every hour that passed reminded me of my foreignness. I settled for feeling out of place upon seeing things that were perfectly normal for the rest of my family. They had spent much more time in the country and were not shocked as often as I was.

The first time Trinidad felt completely foreign to me, I was visiting my uncle in the north of the country. In this neighborhood cars continuously passed with speakers attached to the top that belched Hindu chants. They were dirges for the dead who were contained within. They cars were all on their way to the nearby Gulf of Paria for cremation ceremonies. The fires burning from the Gulf were constant.

In the time that I spent in Trinidad, I saw a country that I couldn’t place anymore. Driving past its different neighborhoods, including the Hindu ones where every house was studded with prayer flags, brought on the feeling of time travel.

It was time travel.

Bucharest is, to use the well-trod witticism, a land of contradictions. The slow decay of its fabulous French-style mansions is apparent, as are the worn away bits of ornate metal gates. There is also the ubiquitous feeling of a country recovering from the heady days of Communism, and its overthrow 20 years ago, like so many countries of the Eastern European bloc.

The elaborate old buildings sit alongside unsightly housing blocs, and other modern buildings, sometimes draped in regalia of the country’s democratic party, whose symbol is two crossed hammers, akin to the sickle and axe of Communist regalia. Although now, the Communist has a negative ring, even 2 decades after the execution of the flamboyant leader Nicolae Ceausescu, who pilfered the country of billions of euro to build a massive 20-story palace termed the “People’s Palace”.

Gypsy children flit into decaying mansions built in the French style, in the heart of the city’s center. It is the land of the Roma. Predictably, hated by the rest of the population, they are a benign bunch, quietly living in unexpected corners of downtown, doing odd-jobs such as digging holes, and sweeping up park leaves at midnight. Or sitting outside of churches, begging for money.

The Onion Domes of churches, the charmingly sagging and sometimes broken power lines, even in the most affluent of neighborhoods and the monotone of ethnicity, make you realize, ‘We are not in Western Europe anymore’. If that doesn’t jolt you to this realization, then the sight of street children digging food from garbage cans, or their chain-smoking seven-year-old friends will. By now, Bucharest either seems terribly backwards, or that I am patronizing it. But to understand this city I had to leave behind all of my cultural and ethical expectations, and to accept it for what it was. The Romanians whom I befriended, all of them friendly, certainly did. They soberly told me all of their country’s problems, but did so without resignation, nor a zeal for correction. Like Romans are wont to say ‘This is Rome’, I had to remember that this is Romania.

Bucharest is one of the most beautiful cities that I have seen, and rightfully deserves the name ‘Little Paris’. Unaccustomed to tourists, it is not a very cushy place, but knowing a little Italian, French or sometimes English helps enormously. A ramble down the side streets in the heart of the city, recalls the quiet elegance of old Europe, especially after the thick night fog sets in. The old houses boast triangular domed roofs, separate attic peepholes, personalized iron-wrought gates. No two houses are the same- each has its own particular motif and colors.

The exchange rate was of the dollar to the national currency Leu- is ~3:1. Nothing beats seeing the Opera for $2.25, and splurging on elaborate dinners that would cost north of $65 back in the states, but in Bucharest come out to about $20, as well as the ridiculously loud and drunk patrons at a nearby table- who got up to sing a round with the live band- at one of the nicest restaurants in the city! Now that I’m back in Western Europe, I already miss the idiosyncrasies of Little Paris.

We can capture the state of United States education system with this classic Dickens quote. Cities are posting staggering dropout rates while there is an upward trend of over-accomplished, over-booked kids.

Shouts ring across America – in successive waves — that our school system is falling to shambles. Detroit tops the list, graduating less than 25% of high school students. While these national statistics are also categorized by individual cities they are still blanket numbers. The national dropout rate is 16% and most of these students are predominantly Black or Latino.

What’s going on here? Why are most of the failing students minority students?

All these statistics fail to take into account the factors that lead to such high dropout rates in individual schools. Many high schools in urban areas remain racially segregated, and this segregation is accompanied by an unequal distribution on resources. Having worked in Chicago Public Schools (CPS) for the past 3 years it has become obvious (to me) that something very essential is missing in CPS’ and urban schools across the country: mentorship.

Mentorship helps remedy the many wrongs of our school system, and also the lack of support children receive from home.

Many children in CPS’ — and inner city schools across the country — desperately lack guidance and support at home that is vital for academic success. Imagine growing up in an environment where you know several people who have died from violence. Perhaps an uncle, a neighbor, maybe even a close friend (or several). Imagine never knowing anything outside of neighborhood blocks stratified by violence . Picture the children who have to pass block upon block where these people were killed, merely to get to school. Would you want to go? Then, imagine getting to school and being too tired to participate —too tired from staying up too late— because you don’t have a curfews, and your classroom is in chaos because the teacher cannot control a room of forty rowdy kids.

The importance of garnering good grades has not hit you. Why does it matter anyway? Everyone you’ve ever known as stayed in the neighborhood.

This doesn’t mean that some kids do not strive to succeed. Some graduate from college. But if the imperative to excel in school is lacking in a home and school environment then children are set up to fail. It is a Dystopia.

“Everybody is mad at each other. The high school teachers are mad at the grammar school teachers because the kids don’t know the difference between that and which.”

The high school children that I work with have experienced unimaginable trauma. The school was riddled by high pregnancy rates of about 36%. Many of those girls never returned, and in the last couple months before their due dates, little was expected from them. Would you prefer a student to complete her trigonometry homework or learn to care for her baby?

But there are programs gaining traction, helping to reverse these problems. One mentorship program, Gear Up, has lead to an increase in high school graduation rates. Most of the kids just need someone to relate to. Many of them expect to be talked down to, but are surprisingly receptive and entertaining. These kids quickly establish bonds with their mentor, and the effects that the mentorship has quickly shows in the easygoing and comfortable nature in which they begin to interact with you.

Another problem plaguing the education system is misdirected blame. There is a wholesale focus on the need for better teachers. John McCain’s comments during the presidential elections “to get the rotten teachers out of the classroom” added fuel to this misdirected fire. Teachers are pushed by administrators to “get kids out” by passing them— even if they do not meet the standards— so that the school does not produce failing kids.

So how do we fix this mountain of problems? Bill Ayers, also known as the “Weather Underground Terrorist”, is a seasoned and knowledgeable teacher in the Chicago Public School system. He recently gave a talk in which he said there needs to horizontal instead of vertical communication in schools. In other words, teachers of all grades need to communicate with each other about what children are learning from year to year instead of the instruction solely coming from principals.

“Everybody is mad at each other,” says Ayers. “The high school teachers are mad at the grammar school teachers because the kids don’t know the difference between that and which.”

Schools also need to be disengaged from the static rules that prevent gains in learning.

Ayers recounted a time in which he tried to bring bananas to the classroom— “because the kids were just eating pizza and other junk for lunch, and they are more alert after eating fruits and other healthy foods”— he was halted at the cafeteria exit. It is a federal offense to remove food from a cafeteria.
“They were just going be tossed at the end of the day, but if I removed them, I would be arrested.”

In addition to seeming misdemeanor of removing cafeteria food, there is a set curriculum, which teachers must follow. Blanket curriculums do not work and, ultimately, do a disservice to students. Students across the country arrive to school with different levels of preparation and support. It creates an uneven playing field for students who have had an academic and social support network their entire lives and those who have not.

The Obama administration has sought to reverse these negative trends plaguing schools by instituting promise neighborhoods across the country. Twelve neighborhoods will be selected through an application process and they will receive $20 million dollars (although they must match that sum through fundraising). The money will be used to provide academic and emotional support, shadowing children in the neighborhood from a young age to their high school graduation.

However, these plans must lay out how exactly this mentorship will take place, in order to be effective. They also must be replicable in other neighborhoods. A similar plan in Harlem, NY called Harlem’s Children Zone, founded in the 1990’s has garnered immense success.

If these promise neighborhoods are successful, they would be a boon to neighborhoods across the country. But even without them we must collectively work to aid the children who have been born into situations out of their control, to realize our collective futures.

These pictures were taken in April in Indiana on the polluted grounds of an Exxon Valdez plant. Life had a miraculous reemergence, growing atop slag- a mixture of steel and sand- stone. It is hard as bedrock, roots cannot penetrate beneath it. The slag has been there since the turn of 18th century, so everything below it is long dead.

Doomsayers may add something new to their list— an Asian Carp Invasion of the Great Lakes.

Successive waves of invasive species are always accompanied by panic and heavy investment trying to stop them. There is infighting among officials, who sometimes cannot agree on how to fix the problem. This holds true for the Great Lakes Region of the Midwestern U.S. and Canada. The Great Lakes ecosystem and economies are currently threatened by Asian Carp.

If these fish establish themselves throughout the Great Lakes, they may dramatically alter the ecosystems and cost a total of $4-6 billion annually in damages.

Invasive species are almost always introduced to an area by accident, and Asian Carp are no exception. No one can ever pinpoint the exact area of introduction or who did it. These accidental introductions wreck havoc and alter the local landscape. Since the animals are foreign, they have no natural predators. Likewise, their prey is not familiar with them as predators. Strain is put on the ecosystem as the invasive species out-competes other animals for the same food source. There several types of Asian Carp, including silver carp, grass carp, black carp and bighead carp.

Asian Carps are considered to be aquatic vacuum cleaners. They eat only zooplankton (plankton that eat phytoplankton—the plants of the water— which create food from sunlight). The facts surrounding Asian Carp have been distorted in many newspapers and sensationalized. They have the ability to eat up to 20% of their body weight, though many newspapers have falsely reported that they routinely eat 40% of their weight. Another way of understanding the damage they can inflict on an ecosystem is their ability to filter out important resources in the ecosystem.

They are very good at finding and eating zooplankton. This ability takes the food away from the zooplankton’s native predators who die. Most of the zooplankton is eaten, and their original predators die. The food web breaks down. The fishermen that rely on the native species for sustenance and sport also suffer. Everybody loses, except the carp. But it is not that simple.

The Asian Carp have been established in the U.S. since the 1970’s though no one is sure how they arrived. They have been steadily making their way up the Mississippi River for years. There are now in several Chicago Rivers including Calumet Harbor, the Illinois and Michigan Shipping Canal, the Des Plaines River and the Chicago Shipping and Sanitary Canal. These rivers all provide direct access to Lake Michigan, although Lake Michigan empties into these rivers. At the mouth of these rivers and their access points to the lake are locks, which could be closed to prevent the carp from entering Lake Michigan. However, there are some holes in the locks, which may be big enough for some fish to enter. The city of Chicago argues that this would not do much to prevent the carp’s entry, it would instead endanger Chicago’s livelihood.

To close the locks would put the welfare of Chicago at risk. The locks help regulate seasonal flooding. If they were closed, much of downtown Chicago would be flooded, dealing a damaging blow to the economy. The floodwaters would also seep into residential houses. In addition, if the locks were closed it would be difficult to respond to emergencies downtown, it would hurt the tourism economy, and disrupt the shipment of goods down the Chicago River. Closing the locks would also create small dead zones in the river where there would be minimal nutrient and water exchange. The water would quickly de-oxygenate and the fish would die.

However, there is then the inevitable fact that the carp are already established in another Great Lake.

Asian carp have been fished from Lake Erie for years. All the Great Lakes are connected by smaller waterways. It follows that the carp would use these waterways to find their way into Lake Michigan. But this is not the end of the line. Lake Erie has low levels of plankton, so the Carp are not out-competing many fish. In addition Lake Erie used to be an environmental hazard. It caught on fire several times in the past, and has been cleaned up. The lake wasn’t abandoned despite its severe environmental degradation and it rebounded. Thus the Asian Carp threat and their potential damage do not spell the end of times for this region. Yet Michigan, surrounded by all the Great Lakes has the most to lose from the carp invasion and is holding Chicago accountable since the carp are poised to spring into Lake Michigan from the city’s territory.

Michigan, several Canadian provinces, and a couple other U.S. states have joined suit against Chicago, holding it accountable for the carp threat to The Great Lakes ecosystem. Chicago maintains that it should not to be held accountable for the carp problem, since they came from further downstream. Mayor Dailey, in a recent article in The Wall Street Journal, said that there needs to be collective action, instead of pinning all of the blame on his city. He maintains that the southern states need to be held accountable and contribute to the cause, since they did not do enough to control the spread of Asian Carp. Yet there is a universal agreement among experts that Southern states would never contribute money to this cause.

In an attempt to prevent the carp from reaching the Lake several electrical barriers have been constructed across the Chicago Shipping and Sanitary Canal (CSSC). The first barrier was completed in 2002, a second in 2004 and the third is to be completed sometime this year. The electric barrier system in the CSSC reduces the risk of Asian carp migrating into the Great Lakes along the most direct pathway, but other pathways do exist and need to be addressed. The Des Plaines River is a potential by-pass to the electric barrier. Closer to the lake, above the CSSC barriers, the Des Plaines can flood and transfer water and fish into the CSSC.

Traces of carp presence have been found in Southern Lake Michigan, a warning sign that Asian carp could have advanced past the electric barrier that has previously prevented their movement north. Since this finding, the voltage of the barriers has been increased, making it a potentially dangerous situation for boaters who cross the CSSC everyday. The barriers are all being operated with federal funding. The Des Plaines River and Illinois & Michigan Canal have tested positive for silver carp presence, though none have been physically collected. Thankfully, none have been detected in the Chicago Shipping and Sanitary Canal, though there is the risk that the carp can get into the CSSC from overland flooding from the other two waterways.

Below: This is scale of how large these fish can grow

Furthermore, the Army corps of engineers are erecting a concrete and chain link barrier between the Illinois & Michigan river and the upper Chicago Shipping and Sanitary Canal to prevent the Asian Carp from escaping into the upper part of the CSSC during the overland flows that occur in the springtime. However, the barrier may not be ready till October of this year. In the meantime, they are controlling the carp population by conducting intensive netting, electro fishing and developing scientific tests which will tell them the exact location and numbers of carp.

Asian Carp can weigh up to 60 pounds and have seriously injured boaters. The fish often jump out of the water and sometimes crash into boaters. If the carp do establish themselves in the Great Lakes, which will take years, a market could and should be cultivated for their meat. Asian immigrants already buy them, but other Americans do not.

Other species have invaded the Great Lakes in the past and are still living in them. Steel head trout invaded Lake Michigan in the 1860’s and have since become an accepted part of the ecosystem. Regardless of what happens, whether the Asian Carp are able to establish themselves in all of the Great Lakes or not, it will be just a matter of time before another species threatens the Great Lakes ecosystem and the magnitude of their effects may even been worse than the damage the Asian carp stand to do.

This was not the first invasion, and it will not be the last.

The police act as de facto immigration officials- they are allowed to stop any foreigner on site and demand to see their passport. If you’re unlucky enough to have left yours in the hotel, you’re headed for an unpleasant visit to the station. Where you will be yelled at in rapid Italian, and may be bullied into signing unintelligible papers proclaiming your guilt. However this scenario is not very commonplace, and happens to only a handful of internationals. I’m still hedging my bets.

It would seem that from its intimidating police force, and the power vested in them, that Rome and ultimately Italy is an oxymoron of an industrialized country with severely scaled back liberties. However its staggering liberties for free speech also struck me in my first days in the city. In the heart of the city a Communist protest -albeit small- took place, lined by artists selling overpriced drawings to gullible tourists, and gorgeous old buildings.

One of the police forces that I have become fond of is the Carabinieri, or the military police. Some of my Carabinieri acquaintances complain that they cannot stop certain people because they will be accused of racism. Such is the consciousness and fear of being labeled racist among the Italians that I met- that they will profess their innocence for extended periods. This is at least one parallel to America- as the Henry Louis Gates Jr incident fades fast from popular memory.

While Rome is different from the rest of Italy, as New York is as different from the rest of the U.S., Romans don’t feel overburdened by its ubiquitous police. They simply dismiss it as ‘good for safety’. Its tolerance for Communists- something unimaginable in America, and the seemingly anti-racist public sentiments draws it inevitably into the industrialized pocket of the world, even if it may seem over-policed. They all register as Italy’s charming idiosyncrasies.

In 1979, a coup swept through the politically charged streets of Grenada, while the Prime Minister Sir Eric Gairy was out of the country. Gairy led the country to independence from Great Britain four years before. Though he was considered a dictator. The results of his election were contested, and rejected by opposition. He was also considered unstable, for his belief in UFOs.

The government installed during the four-year period from 1979-1983 was called the New Joint Endeavor for Welfare, Education, and Liberation, of the New Jewel Movement, headed by a lawyer named Maurice Bishop. They wanted to create a non-aligned, democratic, socialist state. Though, with assistance from Cuba, they quickly built an international airport and a large standing army.
The new government, headed by Bishop, suspended all other political parties and the current constitution. No other constitution was created for the duration of the government’s rule. Governmental positions were open only to those who had avowed their support for Marxist principles.

During these tumultuous four years, many were caught in the crossfire. Leslie Pierre and the now deceased C. Eric Pierre— my uncles—were shareholders of one of the island’s few newspapers, The Grenadian Voice. In 1981, shortly after the publication of its first issue, Prime Minister Bishop denounced the newspaper as being sponsored by imperialism and the CIA. Particularly, “since the paper appeared to have enough capital to distribute thousands of free copies to Grenadian communities overseas.”

In the midnight hours of June 19, 1981, an armed detail of 300 security surrounded the company’s publishing offices. Both Pierre brothers, and the newspaper’s 24 other shareholders were arrested and jailed without trial as political prisoners. They were accused of collaborating with CIA and distributing a puppet government. Their phones were disconnected for an extended duration of time, their automobiles seized, and any newspaper related articles confiscated.

New media laws banned the publication of any new papers or pamphlets of a political nature. Under reforms instituted by this regime, they had to issue a statement that were not revolutionary, and that they meant to conform to the laws of the land. Yet in 1981, Leslie and several other editors were rearrested, and imprisoned for up to two years, on charges that they were plotting to overthrow the government, with the help of the CIA, and spread American imperialism.

Bishop accused the board of 26, which comprised The Grenadian Voice, as a corrupt minority. As “big businessmen or their managers, who continue to exploit and oppress their workers; five are reactionary lawyers… seven of the group owned shares in a counter-revolutionary [group]… several are big landowners, who fight, tooth and nail, against workers’ rights.”

http://www.myspace.com/webelos

While concerns fostered in the U.S. and other Caribbean Islands over the Grenada’s rapid military expansion and ties to Cuba, turmoil also grew within Grenada. Bishop argued with another high-ranking official of NJM who wanted them to share power as co-rulers; Bishop refused. In 1983 Bishop was then put under house arrest and freed, subsequently recaptured and executed by a firing squad during a bloody palace coup. The resulting chaos, and brief formation of a new government prompted the October 25,1983 U.S. invasion of the tiny island, which at the time had a population of 100,000.

While this U.S. invasion was widely denounced by the U.N. and its member countries as Cold War politics, most Grenadians welcomed the overthrow of the post-coup government, which they viewed as illegitimate.

The invasion also lifted a shoot-to-kill curfew imposed after Bishop’s execution.

The Grenadian Voice resumed publication after the collapse of Marxism, and the U.S. invasion of 1983. It continues publishing today, as one of Grenada’s three newspapers. It is also sold in larger U.S. cities and Canada. After the turmoil of 1979-1983, Grenada quickly regained its status as a politically stable and prosperous nation.

Guinea’s coup occurred immediately after the death of the country’s aged president, Lansana Conté. Conté clung to power for 24 years, unable to rid the country of the devastating cycle of poverty created by the country’s first president Ahmed Sékou Torré. Conté ruled the country despotically. He and his cronies further drained the country of its resources.

It is well known fact within Guinea that his eldest son was a drug dealer. Rosine Snook, who lived in Guinea at the time of the coup, remembers the president’s son. “You could hear the planes coming during the night, bringing the drugs. Since he was the president’s son no one could talk about it.” The drugs came from Columbia; Africa is a transit point for South American drugs bound for the trade in Europe. On the heels of Conte’s death, his son was arrested for his illegal activities. He had previously eluded arrest and could be seen riding through the streets of Conakry in his BMW, on his way to the city’s expensive, foreign restaurants.

Several weeks before Conte’s death, Rosine remembers several strange occurrences. “We kept hearing rumors that the president had been shot. And those others close to him had also been shot. Nothing was verified by the news, or even mentioned.” Compounding the mystery of the country’s leadership, Rosine and her daughter remember an event they witnessed that has never been resolved. They were sitting on the balcony of their house when several cars that had been racing down the street screeched to a halt in front of a nearby hospital. Military men emerged in black uniforms. They extracted a man covered in bloody bandages and rushed him into the hospital. The men left immediately, clearly not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Neither Rosine nor anyone else ever found out if the injured person was one of the president’s men, his enemy, or his fate. It was this same air of uncertainty, which spilled into the coup itself. The coup occurred a couple weeks afterward.

Mere minutes after Conte’s death, Capt. Moussa Dadis Camara declared himself military dictator. During this chaos, Rosine remembers the riots in the streets, strict curfews and blocked roads. There was nothing on the TV or radio about the dramatic events transpiring in the country. The most that the state TV said was, “roads are blocked in this area, so avoid [them].” ‘Blocked roads’ became code words for disturbances, shooting and even death. Most people stayed in the house for safety. But even houses were not safe. Stray bullets, from soldiers shooting in the air, landed in some people’s homes.

A true reflection of the chaos, the street in front of Rosine’s house— normally bustling with embassy workers and schoolchildren playing soccer— was now barren. She and her daughter tried leaving the house to buy eggs and they encountered no one. Her daughter Jessica remembers the scene. “We walked until we reached the main road. We saw 10 pickup trucks passing by filled with soldiers, each armed with a long, automatic gun. All had their guns pointed out window as if about to shoot…” This coup brought back painful memories of the last coup in 1984 when Conté had seized power. The populace remembers the widespread violence, rapes and burning of cars.

Camara’s declaration as dictator did little to ease the minds of people. Still, calm was eventually restored to the country. For months after he assumed rule, many people wondered what direction he planned to take the country in. On September 28th, 2009, nine months after Camara declared himself dictator, a group of Guineans gathered at a stadium in Conakry to find out what was happening with country’s leadership. They had been invited to the stadium to find learn about the country’s new direction.

Protesters gathered, prepared to tell the dictator that he should step down. Prompt and in formation, the military opened fire on the crowd, killing those trying to escape the stadium. Rosine’s friend managed to survive. He recounts the horror. “They were raping women and burying bodies to hide them.”

Official counts of the dead diverge. The Guinean government at the time claimed only 87 had been killed. However international and informal civilian reports in Guinea pin the number in the hundreds.

Just as it seemed that things could never improve in Guinea, the American and French governments threatened to take away all forms of aid, a dire blow to this impoverished country, which relies on foreign aid as half its annual income. It was this, as well as a foiled assassination attempt on Camara, which persuaded him to cede power. Recovering from gunshot wounds to the head, he announced that he would go into exile. Two months ago, in February the country was finally handed over to civilian hands, for the first time in its history. Jean-Marié Doré is a beacon of hope for this country; he has promised that democratic elections will soon take place. Doré is also one of the lucky few that escaped the stadium shoot-out that claimed the lives of many of his countrymen.

Fear and uncertainty defined this coup, as well as the weeks leading up to it. From the moment of its independence from France in 1958 it has officially been listed as a democracy, while its reality has been far from it. The country’s convoluted political landscape highlights the moralisms of wanting to mend a country’s government. This desire runs up against the importance of respecting a nation’s sovereignty. At what point does this truism of sovereignty fall away? In the end, it was the severe international sanctions that persuaded Camara to abdicate his power.

In the aftermath of the coup, Rosine remembers the people who have died in the struggle for a democratic Guinean rule. Although she is not Guinean herself, she knew several Guineans embedded in the struggle. Many of them have died under mysterious circumstances. She remembers one government friend who was hiding from the military during the coup. “He tried to stop corruption. He represented change.” The man went into hiding during the coup while soldiers hunted for him. They even beat his brother in an attempt to uncover his whereabouts. Her friend eventually died anyway.

“African stories are complicated,” she said. “You can’t talk about the dead, [you can only] just go home and cry.”