Journal Entry from January 23rd, 2007
Siguiri, Guinea
At sunrise on the day after the chaos, right after the first prayer call of the day, gunfire rang constantly for nearly an hour. But by 9:30, the gunfire had all but ceased.
The military had set up a very visible and intimidating blockade about 50 yards from my front door to protect the police commissioner (the man the people had vowed to kill). I always thought I'd be safe living so close to the police station. But yesterday and today, it was the hottest spot in town.
Haidja came to my door and said it was safe to go to the market. She asked me if I wanted to go with her and the 3 other women in my concession. I said I was scared. She said it was fine - no more gunfire - and that we were going as a group. I agreed reluctantly, letting my curiosity override my natural instinct to go inside and hide.
So we left together but took a different route to the market - a much longer walk just to avoid the police station in between my home and the market. Along the road, there were smouldering piles of ash - remnants of the burning tires and chaos of the day before. As Jeff said, days later, Siguiri looked like a warzone.
I was terrified, especially as we passed the military men armed with automatic weapons. The women of my family made fun of me for being scared, but you could tell they were scared too. To calm us all, we walked arm-in-arm, protecting one another from anything that might happen. We walked down the deserted streets charred with yesterday's anger, hearing distant gunfire along the way.
I think I might have been certifiably insane for making the decision to go.
We reached the main road, which was eerily deserted, and crossed over to the market area. No need to avoid motos and trucks and cyclists - nobody was out except a few vendors. A block from the main road, women were out selling eggplant, rice, oil, leaves, and other Guinean essentials cramped into two or three blocks. The area was packed with women, everyone a little rushed and jumpy from the day before.
I wasn't really sure why I came. I didn't really need food. My knees were wobbly with fright the entire time. I kept looking for open doors to run into if the shooting started again. I was incredibly paranoid and anxious, and my heart raced the entire time. Being in a crowd amplified the fear, and I felt incredibly claustrophobic. I wanted to go home, but we weren't done shopping yet. And I wasn't going to walk home alone. I almost lost my family in the crowd and tears filled my eyes from the fear of being left behind. This all happened in a place I knew so well. A place I had visited everyday for a year. Now I was incapable of functioning.
But my family took care of me, and we made it home safely. As I approached my door, I saw Rob inside and screamed for joy/relief and began to cry. It had been a stressful 24 hours. But the worst was over, and the three of us were safely inside my concession once again.
Tuesday, January 30
Thursday, January 25
Journal Entry, January 23rd
It’s 5:30 am and I can’t sleep. Siguiri is silent. I am trying to figure out how to say goodbye.
Yesterday was the day I thought would never happen. I always thought Siguiri was safe and that all people cared about was earning money (not political unrest). I never thought they would actually join in the chaos.
But when I woke up yesterday (our 11th day of standfast), there was a strange electricity in the air. I knew something was wrong, but without knowing exactly what, I instinctively packed my evacuation bag in a frenzy. But when I was done, things were fine – both here and in Conakry, as my APCD told me. So, I started my day as normal. My mom made tea and ate bread. I pulled water from the well. I got beans from my bean lady. I showered. I walked to visit the patriarch of my family, El Hadj.
But the electricity was still there, and everyone felt it. I asked El Hadj about the strike and he answered, “people are going to die today.”
I returned nervous to my house and waited for my fellow volunteer, Rob, to show up, as he had been doing everyday during standfast. I stood by the front gate of my family’s concession and watched for him. He was late.
Then I saw the black smoke and smelled burning rubber. The people of Siguiri had started to protest by marching and burning tires near the market. My family was happy and everyone was dancing in the streets (so typically Malinke). “The strike is working!” they sang.
The protestors had blocked the main streets of the market and a truck was diverted up my dirt street from the paved road to get around the chaos. The people cheered at their own success as the truck passed. Then the women coming back from the market began to run. They were running home with giant baskets balanced on their heads. “What are they hurrying away from?” I asked my family, standing at the door to my concession. But they were too happy to respond.
But where was Rob? I was still watching for him to arrive. “He must have seen the smoke and turned back,” I thought rationally, but I was still worried. What if Rob never made it in today? What about tomorrow? Would he be stranded in Kinniebakoro, or would my mom and I be stranded alone in Siguiri?
Still standing at the gate, I heard my first round of distant gunfire. It was far away, but still frightening. And then we heard a closer round. Too close. Everyone fled the streets. My family and I ran inside and shut and locked the gate. It had begun.
My mom was inside trying to stay calm. We knew it was safe in my house with my family, but the loud gunfire nearby still shook us. My knees wouldn’t really hold me up, and my hands were shaking. The children were terrified and all I could imagine were my friends out there, possibly dying in the streets.
My mom pulled out the Scrabble board, our trusted distraction these last few days, and we tried to play. “Any word related to revolution, 50 extra points,” I joked. B-A-N-G was one of our words as the gunfire continued ceaselessly around my home.
After a couple of hours, it slowed down. 2 people had been killed, the city had been ravaged, and everyone was still scared.
Right before sunset, Haidja was going to try to go to the market. We hadn’t heard anything in hours, and some people were out on the streets again. Everything seemed calm, so I decided to go with her. On our way out the door, we heard gunfire again, so our excursion was cancelled and we went back to safety.
It had been a stressful day, but it did finally quiet down. My mom and I were processing all that had happened, when the phone rang. “You know the trip we were planning for your birthday to Mali?” Reid asked. “We might be going a bit sooner than expected.” My body tightened up, my throat closed, and tears filled my eyes. “How early?” I asked. “Maybe Wednesday or Thursday,” he answered. We were to be evacuated.
I have packed my bag already. I am ready to go. I just don’t know how I am going to tell my family.
It is still dark outside. The first prayer call of the morning has been shouted from the mosque. And the gunfire has already started. Probably to scare people. To keep them inside today. I don’t want to leave my life here, but right now, I am not sure I can make it through another day like yesterday.
And I am still not sure where Rob is.
Yesterday was the day I thought would never happen. I always thought Siguiri was safe and that all people cared about was earning money (not political unrest). I never thought they would actually join in the chaos.
But when I woke up yesterday (our 11th day of standfast), there was a strange electricity in the air. I knew something was wrong, but without knowing exactly what, I instinctively packed my evacuation bag in a frenzy. But when I was done, things were fine – both here and in Conakry, as my APCD told me. So, I started my day as normal. My mom made tea and ate bread. I pulled water from the well. I got beans from my bean lady. I showered. I walked to visit the patriarch of my family, El Hadj.
But the electricity was still there, and everyone felt it. I asked El Hadj about the strike and he answered, “people are going to die today.”
I returned nervous to my house and waited for my fellow volunteer, Rob, to show up, as he had been doing everyday during standfast. I stood by the front gate of my family’s concession and watched for him. He was late.
Then I saw the black smoke and smelled burning rubber. The people of Siguiri had started to protest by marching and burning tires near the market. My family was happy and everyone was dancing in the streets (so typically Malinke). “The strike is working!” they sang.
The protestors had blocked the main streets of the market and a truck was diverted up my dirt street from the paved road to get around the chaos. The people cheered at their own success as the truck passed. Then the women coming back from the market began to run. They were running home with giant baskets balanced on their heads. “What are they hurrying away from?” I asked my family, standing at the door to my concession. But they were too happy to respond.
But where was Rob? I was still watching for him to arrive. “He must have seen the smoke and turned back,” I thought rationally, but I was still worried. What if Rob never made it in today? What about tomorrow? Would he be stranded in Kinniebakoro, or would my mom and I be stranded alone in Siguiri?
Still standing at the gate, I heard my first round of distant gunfire. It was far away, but still frightening. And then we heard a closer round. Too close. Everyone fled the streets. My family and I ran inside and shut and locked the gate. It had begun.
My mom was inside trying to stay calm. We knew it was safe in my house with my family, but the loud gunfire nearby still shook us. My knees wouldn’t really hold me up, and my hands were shaking. The children were terrified and all I could imagine were my friends out there, possibly dying in the streets.
My mom pulled out the Scrabble board, our trusted distraction these last few days, and we tried to play. “Any word related to revolution, 50 extra points,” I joked. B-A-N-G was one of our words as the gunfire continued ceaselessly around my home.
After a couple of hours, it slowed down. 2 people had been killed, the city had been ravaged, and everyone was still scared.
Right before sunset, Haidja was going to try to go to the market. We hadn’t heard anything in hours, and some people were out on the streets again. Everything seemed calm, so I decided to go with her. On our way out the door, we heard gunfire again, so our excursion was cancelled and we went back to safety.
It had been a stressful day, but it did finally quiet down. My mom and I were processing all that had happened, when the phone rang. “You know the trip we were planning for your birthday to Mali?” Reid asked. “We might be going a bit sooner than expected.” My body tightened up, my throat closed, and tears filled my eyes. “How early?” I asked. “Maybe Wednesday or Thursday,” he answered. We were to be evacuated.
I have packed my bag already. I am ready to go. I just don’t know how I am going to tell my family.
It is still dark outside. The first prayer call of the morning has been shouted from the mosque. And the gunfire has already started. Probably to scare people. To keep them inside today. I don’t want to leave my life here, but right now, I am not sure I can make it through another day like yesterday.
And I am still not sure where Rob is.
Peace Corps Guinea Evacuated
I am writing from Bamako, the capital of Mali, where we have been taken after evacuating Guinea. We (my mom and I) are both safe and very happy to be out of all the chaos of Siguiri. It's been quite a trip for my mom, and honestly, I doubt she will want to come back to Africa, after having a car accident, getting sick, and listening to hours of gunfire outside of my house. But we are safe now, so don't worry.
Here's a little of the story behind why we were evacuated. The labor unions of Guinea called for a general strike to start on the 10th of January, and they asked for the president to step down. Since then, protesters have taken to the streets, and the military has tried to force them back inside. It was violent mostly in the big cities, especially Conakry. In Siguiri, the strike was quiet until last Monday, when the villagers started to protest, burning tires in the street, diverting traffic, and calling for an end to the opression. The military answered with guns, killing two (one an 11 year old boy). My mother and I were trapped in my house downtown listening to close gunfire all day. On Tuesday things started off with 45 minutes of gunfire at dawn right after prayer call, warning everyone to stay inside all day. So we stayed inside most of the day. Wednesday was back to normal, but today, Thursday, the villagers were calling for more protests and a group of men were calling for the death of the police commissioner, who had killed the little boy. Luckily, though, we didn't have to stay in Siguiri for that. Peace Corps showed up at my door at 7am to evacuate the upper region of Guinea. The rest of the volunteers will be evacuated tomorrow and Saturday. Negotiations between the president and the unions are continuing, but we shall see...
Truly, it has been great to feel safe and secure here in Mali. We are hoping to get my mom on a plane sooner than expected so she can safely get back to America. I, on the other hand, will hang out in Mali to decompress and hope for a safe return to Guinea after the violence is over. It's been a rough couple of weeks, but things are fine now and everyone is safe. Thank goodness.
I will have access to email daily, so please feel free to write and expect a response shortly.
I miss you all and hope to talk to you soon.
And please send prayers/happy thoughts to my family and friends in Guinea. They are stuck there in the midst of all of this without Peace Corps to take them to safety. Let us all hope Guinea returns to calm before too many other people are hurt.
Here's a little of the story behind why we were evacuated. The labor unions of Guinea called for a general strike to start on the 10th of January, and they asked for the president to step down. Since then, protesters have taken to the streets, and the military has tried to force them back inside. It was violent mostly in the big cities, especially Conakry. In Siguiri, the strike was quiet until last Monday, when the villagers started to protest, burning tires in the street, diverting traffic, and calling for an end to the opression. The military answered with guns, killing two (one an 11 year old boy). My mother and I were trapped in my house downtown listening to close gunfire all day. On Tuesday things started off with 45 minutes of gunfire at dawn right after prayer call, warning everyone to stay inside all day. So we stayed inside most of the day. Wednesday was back to normal, but today, Thursday, the villagers were calling for more protests and a group of men were calling for the death of the police commissioner, who had killed the little boy. Luckily, though, we didn't have to stay in Siguiri for that. Peace Corps showed up at my door at 7am to evacuate the upper region of Guinea. The rest of the volunteers will be evacuated tomorrow and Saturday. Negotiations between the president and the unions are continuing, but we shall see...
Truly, it has been great to feel safe and secure here in Mali. We are hoping to get my mom on a plane sooner than expected so she can safely get back to America. I, on the other hand, will hang out in Mali to decompress and hope for a safe return to Guinea after the violence is over. It's been a rough couple of weeks, but things are fine now and everyone is safe. Thank goodness.
I will have access to email daily, so please feel free to write and expect a response shortly.
I miss you all and hope to talk to you soon.
And please send prayers/happy thoughts to my family and friends in Guinea. They are stuck there in the midst of all of this without Peace Corps to take them to safety. Let us all hope Guinea returns to calm before too many other people are hurt.
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