breach of the curfew proclaimed by Tinto yesterday. However, no one has been arrested as yet and so far the stalemate has remained peaceful.
Suli, while remaining most of the day in prayer, released a statement late in the afternoon calling on both Tinto and Kul to stand down their troops and allow free and fair elections.
FESTIVAL ATMOSPHERE OVERCOMES CAPITAL
24 August 1998
Islander
staff
Despite the tense stand-off in the middle of Santa Irene today, or perhaps because of it, a curious festival atmosphere enveloped much of the capital. Citizens mingled on the streets in a way they’ve been too afraid to do ever since the Minitzh assassination and the outbreak of violence. In Welanto the last of several fires set by roaming gangs was put out. According to reports, the gangs themselves helped volunteer fire brigades douse the flames.
Ritaga music could be heard on many streets, and some people even returned to work.
“I don’t know,” said Kati Tulungota, a shop clerk in the exclusive Wexfords mall, which has suffered looting in recent days. “My brothers have gone to help Suli and somehow today I feel really happy. It could all end badly but I don’t think so.”
Such spirit was evident was well in the Fort district, where street parties formed spontaneously as people listenedfor news on Island Radio and danced and drank between announcements.
“We are so happy that Minitzh is dead,” said 89-year-old Lori, a former labourer who sat in the shade and watched his great-granddaughter dance with other members of his family. “It’s like the end of a long bad dream and Suli is leading us out. If they are still there tonight I will go stand with her.”
Several others also said they would join “Suli’s army” this evening when the heat cools down.
“They can’t shoot everyone,” said Desu, a clerk with the Ministry of Labour and Industrial Relations. “If they did, then there wouldn’t be any country left.”
In a grainy picture Suli kneels in the middle of an ocean of people, wrapped in her blue cloth
saftori
with white trim, one small shoulder bare, her black hair short, hands clasped, eyelids closed. A waif in the midst of great forces. The people around her are also kneeling or sitting but most are looking at her.
THE FRACTION OF A MOMENT
24 August 1998
On Kalindas Boulevard this morning time stopped for Santa Irene and it remains stopped as I write. We are caught in a moment of historical import that will be discussed and debated for years afterwards in our country.
If we have a country, that is.
In this fraction of a moment no shells have left the muzzles of any tanks. No soldiers have launched any grenades, no mortars have been fired, no blood has washedthe hot concrete of this boulevard built by Minitzh as the approach to his great palace.
No flies swarm around limbless and headless corpses. No wounded parents feel their life ebb into mud while their children wail. There is no stench of death, although a crowd of a hundred thousand bodies doing what healthy bodies must do in the heat of day is not odourless. It’s alive, as alive as any of us have been in recent years. It moves as one animal, thinks, prays, sings as one body.
The singing especially has been remarkable. It began with Upong harvest songs, then turned to celebration songs from the Telde and Iluny tribes, one song turning into another into another. How did a hundred thousand different people decide which song would follow which song? No one seems to know. This is unscripted, happening bit by bit. We have come together as one and it is the fraction of a moment before any shell has left its casing, any more life has been separated from an earthly body.
It is the fraction of a moment before a country slides into chaos, and the more people who sit and sing and pray the longer the fraction might last.
Suli Nylioko
6
I used to love wearing a suit. Stepping out of the shower, fitting a firm, healthy body into a fine set of
Suli, while remaining most of the day in prayer, released a statement late in the afternoon calling on both Tinto and Kul to stand down their troops and allow free and fair elections.
FESTIVAL ATMOSPHERE OVERCOMES CAPITAL
24 August 1998
Islander
staff
Despite the tense stand-off in the middle of Santa Irene today, or perhaps because of it, a curious festival atmosphere enveloped much of the capital. Citizens mingled on the streets in a way they’ve been too afraid to do ever since the Minitzh assassination and the outbreak of violence. In Welanto the last of several fires set by roaming gangs was put out. According to reports, the gangs themselves helped volunteer fire brigades douse the flames.
Ritaga music could be heard on many streets, and some people even returned to work.
“I don’t know,” said Kati Tulungota, a shop clerk in the exclusive Wexfords mall, which has suffered looting in recent days. “My brothers have gone to help Suli and somehow today I feel really happy. It could all end badly but I don’t think so.”
Such spirit was evident was well in the Fort district, where street parties formed spontaneously as people listenedfor news on Island Radio and danced and drank between announcements.
“We are so happy that Minitzh is dead,” said 89-year-old Lori, a former labourer who sat in the shade and watched his great-granddaughter dance with other members of his family. “It’s like the end of a long bad dream and Suli is leading us out. If they are still there tonight I will go stand with her.”
Several others also said they would join “Suli’s army” this evening when the heat cools down.
“They can’t shoot everyone,” said Desu, a clerk with the Ministry of Labour and Industrial Relations. “If they did, then there wouldn’t be any country left.”
In a grainy picture Suli kneels in the middle of an ocean of people, wrapped in her blue cloth
saftori
with white trim, one small shoulder bare, her black hair short, hands clasped, eyelids closed. A waif in the midst of great forces. The people around her are also kneeling or sitting but most are looking at her.
THE FRACTION OF A MOMENT
24 August 1998
On Kalindas Boulevard this morning time stopped for Santa Irene and it remains stopped as I write. We are caught in a moment of historical import that will be discussed and debated for years afterwards in our country.
If we have a country, that is.
In this fraction of a moment no shells have left the muzzles of any tanks. No soldiers have launched any grenades, no mortars have been fired, no blood has washedthe hot concrete of this boulevard built by Minitzh as the approach to his great palace.
No flies swarm around limbless and headless corpses. No wounded parents feel their life ebb into mud while their children wail. There is no stench of death, although a crowd of a hundred thousand bodies doing what healthy bodies must do in the heat of day is not odourless. It’s alive, as alive as any of us have been in recent years. It moves as one animal, thinks, prays, sings as one body.
The singing especially has been remarkable. It began with Upong harvest songs, then turned to celebration songs from the Telde and Iluny tribes, one song turning into another into another. How did a hundred thousand different people decide which song would follow which song? No one seems to know. This is unscripted, happening bit by bit. We have come together as one and it is the fraction of a moment before any shell has left its casing, any more life has been separated from an earthly body.
It is the fraction of a moment before a country slides into chaos, and the more people who sit and sing and pray the longer the fraction might last.
Suli Nylioko
6
I used to love wearing a suit. Stepping out of the shower, fitting a firm, healthy body into a fine set of
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