"Retour sur la barbarie des FDS : mémoire d’un étudiant rescapé" (par Pathé Baïla Barry)
On Monday, February 9, 2026, after the Fajr prayer, I decided not to go to class for safety reasons. I went back to bed. Around 10:00 a.m., tear gas was fired from near our dormitories. It was coming from all directions. We couldn't even go outside to rinse our faces because of the unbreathable toilets. The longer it went on, the worse it got. The hallways of our dormitories became a firing range for the security forces. The smoke spread into our room, becoming increasingly unbreathable. My roommates and I took refuge in the toilets, barefoot and shirtless. A few minutes later, we were able to return to our rooms. We were all saying to each other, "I almost died." We teased each other, describing the scene with humor.
In the afternoon, until around 7 p.m., we saw the security forces' presence reinforced, with the intention of entering the buildings. Building B, opposite our building F, was the security forces' first target. From our upstairs window, we could see students being grabbed one by one, beaten, tortured, and taken to their vans. It was horrific, inhumane scenes.
Next, we went to our dorm, the infamous Dorm F. The security forces were moving from room to room, with a massive deployment, ready to do anything to reach the students. From our room, we could hear the screams and groans of our classmates. Panic began to set in; stress and fear were at their peak. There was total silence in our room. You could have heard a pin drop. One of my classmates, Amadou Bilo Diallo, barely had time to post on his WhatsApp status: "The security forces are beating us in our rooms." Only one thing came to mind at that moment: "How can we stop them from getting in?" That's when we locked the door and barricaded it with the bed and table. But alas, they broke the lock with their first blow. Inside, we had tried to resist yet again by supporting the barricade from behind so it wouldn't give way under the pressure. The impatient riot police told us, "Open the door, or we'll use tear gas." We all looked at each other and thought, "Let them in." Immediately afterward, the beatings began. The number of police officers inside our building could have reached or exceeded 100. Each one carried something like a wire, a stick, a shield, a trash can, a helmet, a rock, a fire extinguisher… the list goes on for striking or harming a student. We were herded down the stairs like sheep; it was a truly horrific and indescribable scene.
At the entrance to our building, the security forces had formed a circle to delay our escape. The longer a student remained there, the longer the torture lasted. Many of my classmates were injured there. Like Amadou Bilo Diallo, with a broken head and a serious foot injury. Ndiogou Faye, with a broken head and visible whip marks on his back. Babacar Diouf, with a completely swollen eye, was rushed to Abass Ndao Hospital. I swear, he almost lost his eye. Paul Diouf also had a swollen eye. Ibrahima Diouf had a nearly broken arm. Personally, I was the luckiest in our room. I didn't have any visible serious injuries, just intense pain in my back. What saved me was the jump I made right at the exit of the building. In fact, we were part of the viral video filmed from the Grand Mosque and circulated on social media, showing a wave of students coming out and being beaten by the security forces.
As soon as I left, I was unfortunately grabbed by three police officers who jumped on me, beat me severely, and took me to the Baobab building, very close to Pavilion F. There, I found a group of police officers in position. Each one was taking their turn on my back. I took advantage of their momentary inattention to escape. But they caught me again, beat me, and then forced me into their van. The car was packed to the brim, but they crammed us inside like sheep. From inside, I witnessed scenes that were beyond horrific, which I have decided to spare you so as not to offend anyone's sensibilities. But remember that one police officer said to me directly: "You haven't seen anything yet." The intimidation was inhumane. Insults on the left, blows on the right. I heard them saying that they were going to hand us over like our previous comrades, who are currently being held at the Point-E police station.
The girls from Ward H, escorted by the Red Cross, were not spared their brutality. Some were beaten, others subjected to minor groping. They screamed their heads off. Thirty minutes spent in the van. They released us one by one with whips. I found refuge in Amsa, room 14N, at a friend's house. I could barely walk. The pain in my back was indescribable. I stayed there for a while before returning to our ward, which was on fire on the fourth floor, to retrieve my belongings and those of my friends. It was completely ransacked. I didn't even know where to go. After retrieving my cell phone, I found more than 30 missed calls. I logged on to check on my friends. I saw that they were at the COUD medical ward. I went there, but the hospital was overflowing. There wasn't even anywhere to sit. From the hospital, we could see all sorts of injuries. It was horrible. What's more, we were only able to eat at the hospital. That is to say, we hadn't eaten anything all day. It was inside the hospital that they served us a few pieces of bread.
Finally, just after, we learned of the death of our fellow student, Abdoulaye Bâ, who succumbed to his injuries. May Allah forgive him and welcome him into His paradise. Amen.
In short, we experienced violence (both physical and psychological) to the very core of our being. You know the rest.
The next day, after enduring all sorts of blunders and humiliations, the government dared, in a press conference, to manipulate national and international opinion. Words fail me to describe their charade. I'll stop there, out of respect for our comrade's memory. Otherwise, I risk saying things I'll later regret.
However, one of my colleagues has the exact images of what really happened and would be willing to help stop the manipulation.
Pathé Baïla Barry, journalism student at CESTI, residing in building F, room 49
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