C'est ici...

C’est ici. Those are the only words Bivan, our driver said this morning while driving us to work. We were passing by the sports stadium where last year’s slaughter of 157 people occurred. Exactly a year ago, on September 28th, military trucks teeming with armed soldiers were positioned at the entrance to the sports arena where protesters had gathered to call for an end to army rule. The army had attempted to halt the protest and when they were not able to, they sealed off the exits to the arena and then opened fire mowing down civilians who fell backward in waves. Women that survived the barrage of bullets were dragged to the stadium turf and gang raped.

The ride to school this morning seemed unusually long... military trucks at every major intersection. I was looking forward to entering those campus gates, and having those big iron blue doors close behind us as if that would shut out that eerie sick feeling I felt in my gut. Conakry this morning smelled and felt like death.

Madeleine mentions that perhaps I should mention something at the morning assembly...minute of silence or whatever, in remembrance of the 157 civilians massacred just a few kilometers away. Asked a few staff members what they thought and they all talked me out of it. Too fresh in everyone’s minds, too political. The slaughter is a touchy subject...I respect their opinion. After all, they’ve been here longer than I have, and above all, they were here 365 days ago when this happened.

Throughout the day, my thoughts keep returning to those few seconds this morning when Bivan muttered C’est ici...