Guinea

2 October brings us to Guinea’s Independence Day. I know you might get confused here—there’s Guinea, Guinea-Bissau and Equatorial Guinea, all separate nations. (I must admit that adding in the South American Guyana and French Guiana can confuse… well, at least me, further. But I expect that ‘s just me. But remember, if it’s spelt like the odd British currency amount for a pound and a shilling—who thought of that?—then it’s in West Africa.) Independence came in 1958, went Guinea ceased to be a French holding.

Oh, and the name actually comes from a Sosso word—“Guinee.” I like the story there. Explorers arrived and asked a group of women the name of the country—the women were washing clothes in the river. The women (not surprisingly) didn’t understand what the men were asking, and (again, not surprisingly) were afraid. What they said was “guinee nai mora,” which apparently translates as “we are women.” So. The Europeans assumed that “Guinee” was the name. Now, I don’t know if this is apocryphal, but either way, it’s meant to be the standard “and that’s how Guinea got its name” story.

Modern-day Guinea started out as part of different African empires—around 900 CE it was part of the Ghana Empire, before, 300 years or so later, moving into the Sosso kingdom. In 1235 the Mali Empire moved into the region. Later the Songhai Empire came along—but civil war proved a problem there. And, of course, Europeans came along—the Portuguese were the first—arriving around the same time as the Songhai state was beginning, in 1460. It took a century for the slave trade to start—and until 1592 for the Songhai Empire to end. But I believe that’s coincidence.

And the French? Well, colonisation took place during the Scramble for Africa. 1890 was the year, and a few years later the Guinea was made part of French West Africa. When Charles de Gaulle held a referendum in 1958 on a new French constitution and the creation of the Fifth Republic, colonies were given the option of independence, or retention of colonial status. At that time, Guinea was the only colony to opt for immediate independence, and it follow quickly on the heels of this: the referendum took place on 28 September, independence was declared on 2 October. That’s quick moving.

Of course, independence did bring some familiar problems: a dictator (Ahmed Sékou Touré) who didn’t place human rights high on his priority list. He ruled until his death in 1984, when Lansana Conté took over—changing the economic direction of the country, but keeping with the dictatorial style of leadership. The first elections were held in 1993—but those elections, and all held since, have been disputed and Conté is still the president. Last year Eugene Camara—an ally of Conté’s—was nominated as Prime Minister. This was met with violent demonstrations and strikes, with the government responding by declaring martial law. Conté did agree to nominate a new Prime Minister—his options came from a list of candidates drawn up by labor unions and civic leaders. Still, it sounds like tings have a long way to go.

On a lighter note, there are nearly 11,000 members of the Scouts in Guinea.

Today’s poem comes from the anthology French African Verse. This poem is by Nene Khaly. Enjoy!


Bad Weather

The West wind shakes the leaves
The leaves fall, troubled consciences
Extinguishes consciences
Crush Africa

The sun of the Soudan fires the savannahs
The savannahs are shut to tomorrow’s harvest
The stolen harvests in the silent grainstores
Starve Africa

The round of the frenzied winds
The dead silence of faulty consciences
A sun of wretchedness drying the skins
And savannahs with their harvests of thorns
Make my dark heart bleed

See now, at this moment the eternal rain is falling

Rain that cuts the paths with ravines
Slippery paths that betray my steps
Unconfident steps that lead nowhere
Not even back home

But ebony cheeks have drained these waves
And the sea has swelled up new breasts
In the future cry of the new-born child
Let the wind sing with the leaves in the rain
And my sun
To cauterize these tears.

—Nene Khaly
from French African Verse