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By michi
I just came across this memorial site for Camp Boiro in Guinea, where many of Guinea's citizens where murdered during Sekou Touré's regime. It makes for extremely interesting (and very sobering) reading. Highly recommended!

The site is in French, but Google Translate does a good job at translating the text. There is a lot there about Guinea's history that I haven't been able to find anywhere else.

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By michi
Here is an account of the execution of Fodéba Keita, founder of Ballets Africains. Makes for chilling reading. (Not that Fodéba was an angel—he was responsible for the torture and death of many thousands of Guinea citizens.)


From http://www.campboiro.org/bibliotheque/kaba41/cabel.htm (translated by Google):
The Execution

Fodéba who had never held a hoe in his hand, held a pickaxe and a shovel to dig his grave on his right, Barry Diawadou dug his own. Death row inmates dug their last home in tears. The night was ink, the headlights of trucks, which transported them there, pierced the night to enable them to work while highlighting their fear. At the bottom of the mountain, the air was cold but they felt nothing. Before them and behind them, the bayonets of the Soviet submachine guns shining in the night like the belly of the fish that return to the river water. Mingled with sobs, one could perceive the murmur of Koranic verses. They were all dressed in blue heating inmates. They were unrecognizable with their extreme thinness and especially with their beards of several months. To the left of Fodéba , his friend Karim Fofana , Minister of Mines and Geology. Kaman was on the far right. He dug his grave under the bayonets of his soldiers yesterday. Since 2 am, these unfortunate dig. At 4:15 the hole in the bravest had just arrived at his knees.
- It's not over right? shouted an officer escort.
No answer, he passed each inspected, stormed, and reviled ordered:
- Connect your holes!
Fodéba crying, looked Diawadou who stopped digging and still reciting the "Yasin", a long verse from the Koran. Keita Fodéba connected it to that of its hole Diawadou with some clumsy blows of the pick, then spoke:
- What is past is past. You were the BAG and I of the RDA. This is politics. You and I are now before God, that is to say before death, we must forgive our mistakes of yesterday. You see, we have the same grave. Let us join hands. Well, here is mine.
Fodéba extended his hand, Diawadou refused it and it was then left to gust. Each shooter, like to have fun, emptied his magazine at trial. Nearly all the bodies were thrown from behind, outside the hole. A member of BPN, as always, went to the control, followed by the officer who commanded the expedition. The politician, he supervises and is accountable to after Sekou who once said: "I was not alone." Each run, from 1959 to 1980, is always supervised by a senior party or government.
Control was long. The number of dead bodies should correspond to the number he had on paper, he had a heavy heart and heavy feet, the member of BPN. He knew each of them. The mangled bodies of his brothers, friends and comrades were there before his eyes as if they never existed. For routine, he had to give the coup de grace, but by forgetting or missing heart, he did not. His big gun of Soviet brand was slipping from the hand of her hand full of sweat. He handed the weapon to the officer who followed him. The latter took it without question. Any question was unnecessary. Each body was breathless and if the minister was a member of BPN were his friends, also had its own, above and below. Their mission was to both of them rather unpleasant, painful, agonizing, but the order was to be executed, he told himself. Arriving in front of what remained of Keita Fodéba and Diawadou Barry , a member of the BPN remained longer than he had been murdered in front of others: Barry Diawadou had his head on the chest of Fodéba in this position of two lovers asleep, exhausted hugs; Fodéba face turned toward heaven, that of Diawadou to earth.
- They were great men, pronounced the member of BPN as for himself. The officer beside him and heard him say in turn:
- All who are here were great, does not it?
The Minister for that reply tried to recover. He stiffened, stammered but his voice betrayed him, she refused to leave his chest to follow him in regaining his person. They finally left two dead and continued their control, putting a small line before the name of each shot by the light of a torch pocket.
The truck headlights and those of the jeep command always pierced the night. The shooters were soldiers behind them and did not speak. Imperceptibly, the day nibbling at night. Control over, the member of BPN gave the order to close the long common grave.
- Bury! commanded the officer.
Hardly bondsmen they seized a shovel formidable wind got up and rolled across the bottom of the mountain as to make, instead of humans, one last tribute to those men who are buried there, these men who said no to foreign domination, to say yes to a free Guinea, happy, men who have long and good education, who sacrificed their possessions, their families so that Guinea live and prosper, these men, I said that night and day under the sun and rain, gave more than the best of themselves to Sekou and his alleged "Revolution" and have lost their lives miserably without having fully lived . None of them, except Barry Diawadou , had her 50th birthday.