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Poor and corrupt but world players for a day
Guinea is to be president of the security council. Few, though, have even heard of Saddam
James Astill in Conakry
Saturday February 1, 2003
The Guardian
Night falls on Conakry, Guinea's coastal capital. Out in the Atlantic lights appear; European trawlers scooping up shoals of snapper and sole a few miles from west Africa's shore. For the people of the city, bound by poverty in a country besieged by sporadic wars on three borders, the world they represent is as distant as the stars.
Mariama Jalo's world is six square feet of concrete jetty, where she eats, sleeps and sells oranges and cassava to the local dugout fishermen.
"We're always here," she says in Creole, arranging a sheet of black plastic to cover herself and her three children. Earning around 30p on a good day, she has no time to go elsewhere, though she sometimes gets news from the town. "Life's not bad," says Mariama, a beautiful 35-year-old, in a purple headscarf and matching gown. "But business is small."
Guinea is one of the world's poorest, most isolated countries. Its seven million people live on around £200 a year for a little over 40 years on average. That's roughly the same as in next-door Sierra Leone. But unlike Sierra Leone, Guinea has had no civil war to justify and draw international attention to its misery. Last year, not a single story solely about Guinea appeared in the British press.
Now, by a quirk of international relations, the country is charged with deciding the fate of another suffering people.
As a temporary member of the security council, its vote could determine whether, and under what circumstances, the UN sanctions war with Iraq.
If there is anything odd about that, foreign minister Francois Fall will not admit it. "The situation in Iraq remains a serious concern for the people of Guinea," he said yesterday, shortly before leaving for New York, where he will next month assume the council's presidency. "It's a question of principle: as a member of the international community we have to see that Iraq disarms."
Back on her jetty, Mariama has never heard of Iraq. Nor it seems has anyone in the night-time streets of Conakry: not the huddles of men drinking on rubbish-blown corners, not even the students reading in the pale light outside the well-lit military barracks. "What do I know about that place?" says Francis Issay, a refugee from Sierra Leone. "We're not even on the same map."
His ignorance is not surprising. Three-quarters of Guineans are illiterate. The handheld radios crackling in the dark of every Conakry street offer no news of Iraq; only triumphalist government reports, delivered in the name of General Lansana Conte, Guinea's ailing dictator.
In Mr Conte, Guineans have a leader not unlike Saddam Hussein. He seized power in a coup two decades ago, and has maintained it by crushing dissent whilst allowing his cronies to plunder Guinea's vast mineral wealth. Though he introduced democracy in 1993, according to Amnesty International his security forces open fire whenever "political opponents or citizens have dared to show their dissatisfaction with the government".
Though he has liberalised the mineral sector - which includes gold, diamonds and a third of the world's bauxite reserves - Guinea remains one of the world's most corrupt countries, and its people are getting poorer every year, according to the anti-corruption group Transparency International.
Last year Mr Conte engineered a referendum to allow himself to rule for another term; or, as most analysts assumed, for life. As a question of principle, he might expect international condemnation. Instead western donors give him over $200m (£121m) a year, about half the national bud get; plus, in America's case, arms and military training.
Last week the US added another $2m, ostensibly to cope with refugees from neighbouring Liberia. They reason that, if Mr Conte is not perfect, he is a valuable ally against Liberia's tyrannous president, Charles Taylor, and the rebels who until recently controlled much of Sierra Leone.
Mr Fall, the foreign minister, denies that Guinea would vote for whatever UN resolution its patron proposed. "It's not a matter of what America wants or doesn't want - even Germany or France would support a war if the council's sanctions are violated," he said.
For a Muslim country, Guinea's mullahs show no apparent interest in their country's role in the future of Iraq. Seated outside the main mosque, Imam al-Haji Ibrahima Ba asked: "What could we refuse the Americans? They are very strong. Religiously we are with the Iraqis, but whatever America asks of us we will do. We have no say in these things, so if America wants war, that's fine. It's none of our business."
The only conflict poor Guineans are concerned about is the civil war they live in fear of. Mr Conte is rumoured to be dying. "The army's getting ready," said Alhassan Sillah, a leading journalist. "Everyone's waiting for the coup, or something worse, maybe war."
That would probably draw the curtain on Guinea's role on the international stage. The American and Russian bauxite companies would flee; the western donors and diplomats would follow them; the Spanish trawlers would keep a little further from its shore.
Guinea is to be president of the security council. Few, though, have even heard of Saddam
James Astill in Conakry
Saturday February 1, 2003
The Guardian
Night falls on Conakry, Guinea's coastal capital. Out in the Atlantic lights appear; European trawlers scooping up shoals of snapper and sole a few miles from west Africa's shore. For the people of the city, bound by poverty in a country besieged by sporadic wars on three borders, the world they represent is as distant as the stars.
Mariama Jalo's world is six square feet of concrete jetty, where she eats, sleeps and sells oranges and cassava to the local dugout fishermen.
"We're always here," she says in Creole, arranging a sheet of black plastic to cover herself and her three children. Earning around 30p on a good day, she has no time to go elsewhere, though she sometimes gets news from the town. "Life's not bad," says Mariama, a beautiful 35-year-old, in a purple headscarf and matching gown. "But business is small."
Guinea is one of the world's poorest, most isolated countries. Its seven million people live on around £200 a year for a little over 40 years on average. That's roughly the same as in next-door Sierra Leone. But unlike Sierra Leone, Guinea has had no civil war to justify and draw international attention to its misery. Last year, not a single story solely about Guinea appeared in the British press.
Now, by a quirk of international relations, the country is charged with deciding the fate of another suffering people.
As a temporary member of the security council, its vote could determine whether, and under what circumstances, the UN sanctions war with Iraq.
If there is anything odd about that, foreign minister Francois Fall will not admit it. "The situation in Iraq remains a serious concern for the people of Guinea," he said yesterday, shortly before leaving for New York, where he will next month assume the council's presidency. "It's a question of principle: as a member of the international community we have to see that Iraq disarms."
Back on her jetty, Mariama has never heard of Iraq. Nor it seems has anyone in the night-time streets of Conakry: not the huddles of men drinking on rubbish-blown corners, not even the students reading in the pale light outside the well-lit military barracks. "What do I know about that place?" says Francis Issay, a refugee from Sierra Leone. "We're not even on the same map."
His ignorance is not surprising. Three-quarters of Guineans are illiterate. The handheld radios crackling in the dark of every Conakry street offer no news of Iraq; only triumphalist government reports, delivered in the name of General Lansana Conte, Guinea's ailing dictator.
In Mr Conte, Guineans have a leader not unlike Saddam Hussein. He seized power in a coup two decades ago, and has maintained it by crushing dissent whilst allowing his cronies to plunder Guinea's vast mineral wealth. Though he introduced democracy in 1993, according to Amnesty International his security forces open fire whenever "political opponents or citizens have dared to show their dissatisfaction with the government".
Though he has liberalised the mineral sector - which includes gold, diamonds and a third of the world's bauxite reserves - Guinea remains one of the world's most corrupt countries, and its people are getting poorer every year, according to the anti-corruption group Transparency International.
Last year Mr Conte engineered a referendum to allow himself to rule for another term; or, as most analysts assumed, for life. As a question of principle, he might expect international condemnation. Instead western donors give him over $200m (£121m) a year, about half the national bud get; plus, in America's case, arms and military training.
Last week the US added another $2m, ostensibly to cope with refugees from neighbouring Liberia. They reason that, if Mr Conte is not perfect, he is a valuable ally against Liberia's tyrannous president, Charles Taylor, and the rebels who until recently controlled much of Sierra Leone.
Mr Fall, the foreign minister, denies that Guinea would vote for whatever UN resolution its patron proposed. "It's not a matter of what America wants or doesn't want - even Germany or France would support a war if the council's sanctions are violated," he said.
For a Muslim country, Guinea's mullahs show no apparent interest in their country's role in the future of Iraq. Seated outside the main mosque, Imam al-Haji Ibrahima Ba asked: "What could we refuse the Americans? They are very strong. Religiously we are with the Iraqis, but whatever America asks of us we will do. We have no say in these things, so if America wants war, that's fine. It's none of our business."
The only conflict poor Guineans are concerned about is the civil war they live in fear of. Mr Conte is rumoured to be dying. "The army's getting ready," said Alhassan Sillah, a leading journalist. "Everyone's waiting for the coup, or something worse, maybe war."
That would probably draw the curtain on Guinea's role on the international stage. The American and Russian bauxite companies would flee; the western donors and diplomats would follow them; the Spanish trawlers would keep a little further from its shore.
We all know the Al-Qaeda links with Iraq are non-existent - if one wants to go after Al-Qaeda links, surely we should be marching into Saudi instead???
Take Guinea for example, run by a tin-pot bad guy for as long as anyone can remember - he's at least as bad as Saddam, though he's just never gotten round to producing weapons of mass destruction and yet the US is supplying him with money arms and training!
Not to mention all the other 'bad guys' that the US has funded down the decades - get real, the US government may be able to pull the wool over the eyes of gullible Americans, but the rest of the World can see right through this web of deceit...
Any guesses which way Guinea will be voting on that crucial day...?
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