Every 2 October, Guinea remembers.

It remembers 1958, its women and men, their struggles, their hopes, and the moment when the country’s destiny took a new direction.

For sixty-eight years, generations of historians, journalists, teachers, public officials and citizens have told this story. It must continue to be told, because a people that forgets its history weakens part of its identity.

For 2 October 2026, however, Afrique Aujourd’hui has chosen to look at that same history differently.

We do not want only to ask: “What happened in 1958?”

We want to ask: “What will remain of us in 2058?”

In just thirty-two years, the Republic of Guinea will celebrate the centenary of its independence. And thirty-two years in the life of a nation is tomorrow.

IT IS 2 OCTOBER 2058…

Imagine for a moment.

It is 2 October 2058. Guinea is one hundred years old.

In the streets of Conakry, Kankan, Labé, N’Zérékoré, Kindia, Boké, Faranah, Mamou and elsewhere, red, yellow and green are flying once again.

A new generation is celebrating. The children born today, in 2026, are thirty-two years old. They have become teachers, doctors, journalists, researchers, craftspeople, farmers, engineers, soldiers, entrepreneurs, artists or public officials.

Some live in Guinea. Others have returned from abroad to celebrate their country’s centenary.

They look at photographs from 2026 as we look at old photographs today. And perhaps they will ask: “Who were they? How did they live? What did they dream of? What did they leave us?”

That is where our responsibility truly begins.

INDEPENDENCE ALSO BELONGS TO THE UNKNOWN

History remembers the great names. It remembers speeches, leaders, decisions and major dates.

But behind official history lies another history: that of ordinary people. Market women, teachers, workers, farmers, civil servants, soldiers, young people and families - all those who lived through historic days without ever seeing their names printed in a textbook.

How many photographs are still sleeping in old suitcases? How many letters are yellowing in family homes? How many testimonies have never been recorded? How many grandparents left us carrying part of Guinea’s history with them simply because nobody thought to ask: “Tell me what it was like.”

A nation does not lose its memory only when archives disappear. It also loses it whenever an elder leaves without having had the opportunity to pass on his or her story.

1978: THEY TOO WERE CELEBRATING

Let us go back for a moment.

On 2 October 1978, Guinea celebrated twenty years of independence. Men and women were filled with enthusiasm. They sang, danced, marched, gathered with their families and looked toward the future.

For them, 1978 was the present. The year 2026 must have seemed infinitely far away.

Forty-eight years have passed. How many of those faces are still among us? Many have left us.

They had projects, concerns, ambitions, friendships, disagreements and dreams. Then time continued on its way.

Today it is our turn. We are preparing to celebrate 2 October 2026, and we look at 2058 as a distant date. Yet only thirty-two years separate us from it.

When 2 October 2058 arrives, some of us will still be here. Many others will have joined those who came before us.

That is the course of life.

SO LET US PASS SOMETHING ON - NOW

Whatever our position today, whatever our wealth, influence or fame, we are all passing through.

One day, someone else will sit at our desk. Someone else may live in our house. Our clothes will be gone. Our phones will have become objects from another age. And our photographs will make our grandchildren ask: “What was it like in 2026?”

So, while we are still here, let us pass something on.

Let us give our children the best of what we have. Let us love our families. Preserve our friendships. Respect those around us. Reconcile while there is still time. Tell our stories. Keep our photographs. Record the voices of our elders. Tell those we love that they matter to us.

Life is fleeting. Whether we like it or not, our time on this earth has a beginning and an end. But what we pass on can continue long after us.

ONE FAMILY, ONE MEMORY

For this 68th anniversary, Afrique Aujourd’hui therefore makes a very simple invitation: One family, one memory.

Take ten minutes. Sit beside a father, a mother, a grandfather, a grandmother, or simply the oldest person around you.

Place your phone in front of them and ask: “Tell me about the Guinea of your childhood.” Or: “What is your oldest memory of our country?”

Then let them speak. Do not interrupt. Listen. Record. Preserve.

That small file that seems unimportant today could become, thirty years from now, one of your family’s most precious possessions. A voice that is gone, but can still be heard, is already an archive.

A LETTER TO THE GUINEAN CHILD OF 2058

To you who may one day read us,

We are writing to you from 2 October 2026. To us, 2058 still seems far away. To you, it will be the present.

We do not know what Conakry will look like. We do not know what technologies you will use, what professions will exist, or even how you will read these words.

But we hope for one thing: that you know where you come from.

We hope someone will have told you about 1958. We also hope someone will have told you about 2026. That you will know not only the great figures of national history, but also the history of your own family.

When you celebrate Guinea’s hundredth anniversary, do not look only at monuments. Look for faces too. Listen to voices. Open family albums. Question the elders who will still be with you.

Behind every great date are millions of ordinary lives. And among those lives were ours.

AND IF ONE DAY THIS PEN FALLS SILENT…

Allow your journalist one final personal thought.

Through Afrique Aujourd’hui, this pen speaks to you about our continent, its peoples, its economy, its difficulties, its achievements, its contradictions, its growth and, above all, its future. It tries to inform you, question you and sometimes invite you to see things differently.

But the journalist, too, is only passing through.

So if one day this pen no longer comes to speak to you about Africa, do not be surprised. Other pens will come. Other journalists will take over. Other generations will tell the story of their time.

And if, somewhere in 2058, a child comes across a few lines signed Amine Michel and spends a few minutes reading them, perhaps this pen will not have fallen entirely silent.

People pass. Ideas, memories and what we transmit can outlive us.

1958 GAVE US A HISTORY. 2026 MUST PASS ON A MEMORY.

Perhaps this is another way to celebrate 2 October.

Not only by looking behind us. Not only by repeating what we already know. But by asking what those who come after us will know about us.

1958 now belongs to History. 2026 is in our hands. 2058 will belong to our children.

It is up to us to pass on the baton.

Happy Independence Day to the people of Guinea.

Happy Independence Day to all those who carry Guinea in their hearts, in Africa and throughout the world.

And, for those who will be there, see you on 2 October 2058.

Amine Michel
Directeur de publication et Rédacteur en chef