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This is a special episode of the Athletic FC podcast. It contains content some listeners may find distressing. My son went to watch the game. When I returned home from work, everyone was asking about my son. And then I heard that there had been an incident at the stadium.
I'm in a lot of pain. Right now, I'm not going to work. I have trouble sleeping. I love my son very much. I can't talk about him without crying. Who can bear such a tragedy? That a child you love very much should be taken away from you. I leave it to God.
I have no other choice, because if I did, I would make those responsible for his death pay. This is Adam Leventhal from The Athletic here at the Trois Avriles Stadium in Nazare-Kore, in the West African country of Guinea.
where one of the world's worst stadium disasters occurred on December the 1st. Thousands of panicked spectators tried to rush out of the stadium in Ndere Kori. It happened during the final of a tournament in honour of the president who seized power in a coup. The government say 56 people died.
Local human rights groups put that figure far higher, at 135 as a minimum, with many, many more injured.
Some families are still searching local hospitals and morgues for their friends and family members. I've come here to try and understand how this happened, how it unfolded and why so many people died. And now the search for truth and for justice.
Well on the dusty sandy ground within the confines of the stadium there's a banner just here in front of me that lies on the ground and it says Alliance des Jeunes leaders de la Forêt which means the alliance of young leaders of the forest. Nazaré-Corée is in the densely forested southeast of the country
This was the final of a two-week tournament involving local teams and it was Nazare Kore, the home side that had made the final against Labe. The tournament was called the ReFoundation tournament, set up in collaboration with the government to garner support with the next generation and before the game
The trophy bearing the name of the military leader who seized power in 2021, Mamadi Doumbouya, was paraded in front of the crowd.
There was a carnival atmosphere and people from the local vicinity had buzzed into the stadium, many on their motorcycles which they parked on the outskirts of the ground. And it was free to get in for the final, which meant that there was minimal control of the attendance. Normally this stadium holds at most 5,000.
But estimates from eyewitnesses say it was closer to 15 or even 20,000 on December the 1st. It was a day with political undertones and muscle flexing, but it was a day for the local community to be celebrating and enjoying, especially for children and young adults. But it turned so quickly into a nightmare and a tragedy.
My name is Fromo Beavogui. I'm a journalist for the site Revelateur de Decathlon. My name is Marie-Louise Collier. I'm a regional correspondent with Agence Guignan de Presse, based in Zérocouré. I will never forget the date, December 1st, 2024. It's true that the march has begun.
The first half passed without incident. However, at the start of the second half, there were a few little fouls creeping in, and there was a feeling that the referee's decisions were heavily weighted one way. So the crowd were reacting strongly to that. The organisers tried to calm the crowd, and the match continued. There was a confusion with the red cards. Two players were shown red, but only one was warranted. Once the officials had stepped in to sort it out, the match continued.
Then just about five minutes from full time, there was a penalty in favor of the Zerocori team and it all kicked off. People were screaming and everyone was trying to leave the stadium. Then there was the first shot of tear gas and the panic started. People didn't know whether to show their displeasure or try and escape. I wasn't too focused on the pitch, but suddenly I saw people running. It was a mad dash.
I was with a fellow journalist who took my hand. Luckily he was on the ground, otherwise I wouldn't be here today. He took my hand. We tried to get out through the big gate. I couldn't breathe because I'd just given birth by caesarean section, so when they squeezed me, my lower abdomen hurt. I told my friend, "I can't take it anymore."
If we stay here, I'm not going to make it. We journalists were sat near the officials. We saw a route to the main gate, so we rushed out. But those ahead of us had no access to get out. When those on the outside realized there was a commotion on the inside, rather than opening the gate, they continued to barricade the exit. We were stuck in the middle of a huge crowd. I was in the crush, but someone saved me by grabbing my hand and pulling me up.
I was lucky I had my hands up, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to get out. We got out and in the meantime the security forces were throwing gas. The gas made me very, very tired. We tried to leave on the other side, through the small gate, but they threw more gas in front of us. So we turned around. I took my jacket and put it up to my nostrils, but it wasn't helping. My eyes, my nostrils, everything hurt. I couldn't breathe.
My friend said, we'll jump the wall. I said, I can't jump the wall. If I try and go over there, I'll die. Besides, can I climb the wall in my condition? We didn't know where to go, and we were running around breathlessly. Fortunately, there was a regional inspector, who I'd like to thank. He's the one who helped us. We got into his vehicle and stayed there till it was safe. Throughout this, there was the tear gas, which wouldn't stop.
He just wouldn't stop. Well, I've come now to the main entrance at the Nazare Corre Stadium and the damage that has been done to the gates really does tell a story of that crush. The one on the left-hand side as I look out towards the road has been bent completely
onto the wall on the outside and now has fallen off its hinge at the bottom and fallen back into the ground and it is red and yellow and green in the colours of Guinea but it is contorted and bent in all the wrong places.
The one on the other side has been completely detached from its hinges and is now just being lent back up on the concrete frame and that has a tear in the green metal and it's also being pushed away from its frame as well which just gives an illustration as to the desperation and the force that was coming from the people that were caught at this gate.
My name is Andre Sagnon. I'm a teacher. The size of the crowd at this match scared me. I wondered how the security was going to handle it. Then there was the disputed penalty and I saw a stone thrown from one corner and I said this isn't going to end well. Suddenly everyone started running and in the chaos we all went to one door.
But then we were being suffocated by the tear gas and there were stones being thrown to the east. So we rushed to the smaller door, but there we were threatened.
Some hooligans were mixed up with the security. They were pickpocketing. I even saw knives being used to threaten some people. So we had little choice but to climb the wall to get out. You would climb the wall and then help someone else up. We barely saved our lives. The images of that day still haunt me. And I'm just looking at the walls now that people in a panic were trying to scale and it is...
no easy feat to do that. They are flat pieces of concrete which stand... I'm just standing up against it now, I'm six foot tall so
probably upwards of 9, 10 maybe 11 feet in some places to try and scale this wall in a panic and get over the other side which then has a even steeper drop because it goes down onto the road level really shows the the dangerous situation that even those that weren't caught in the crush had to face.
In the immediate aftermath of the disaster here at the main gate, there was a huge amount of, in particular, shoes and flip-flops that had been left behind by those that had either died or been taken away injured. And even 10, 11 days on now, there are still remnants of the people that were here
panicked at this main gate and it's unclear whether these belong to those who died but the suggestions are that some of these items of clothing that I can see indeed did belong to those who passed away. There's a red and white t-shirt in front of me that is bunched up that looks like it belonged to a child.
There are still shoes here, flip-flops in front of me, a belt, some underpants, trousers. There is still a lot of clothing here and it is a reminder of the lives that were here at the stadium on December 1st. The children went to the stadium without me knowing.
When they heard the final was happening at the stadium, they hid to get there. When the chaos started, it was my wife who called to inform me that the children hadn't returned home yet. So I rushed home. I searched for them all night but couldn't find them. It wasn't until the next day, around 10am, that I found my little girl. She was badly wounded. Her name is Matena Sumaoro. She's 10 years old.
My daughter told us she fell into the pushing crowd and people stepped on her. She had several wounds on her head and face. Her condition was very critical. We kept looking for my niece, but we have no news. We don't know if she's alive or dead. Her name is Mafata Sanyo. She's 16 years old. We've done everything we can to find her.
We've broadcast messages on the radio, been to the hospital, the military camp and alerted the security services, but nothing. If I'd at least seen her body, there'd be an answer. But I didn't see her. I've been to several places in Nzurekore. Every morning, as soon as it's daylight, I go out to look for her. I'm here to see you.
We drove a short distance away from the Nazaré-Corée stadium to meet Joel, who lost two children from his family in this disaster. My name is Joel Bamu. I lost two of my children.
He calls them his two sons, albeit they are his nephews. He was very close to them. He hadn't been at the match, but those two boys, Delphine, who was 18, and Dominique, who was 13, had gone to the stadium after church to be there. When he heard about the chaos, he and three friends went out to find their family members. But even before they got to the stadium, they could smell the gas.
He was denied access into the surrounding area to look for the children and sent home. The next day, he was sent to different places in search of the missing children, but no one could find them until eventually someone invited Joel into the morgue as they had found them.
Joel went in to identify them. He's tried to stay strong for his family, but he admits he's struggled to eat.
In the morgue, Joel saw the horrors that the chaos caused by the partially opened gates and the officials' vehicles hitting people in the chaos, combined with asphyxiation caused, broken chests and backs and bloated stomachs. Joel says he would have stopped the children attending the match because earlier on in the day he had walked past the stadium and by 10am it was already full.
He blames the security for what happened. Now, Joel, who works as part of a human rights group, wants justice. He might not have the strength right now to see that those who he feels are responsible are held to account and to recognise that they are at fault. Only then will he be able to forgive them.
But he's determined to not let his family and those who have lost loved ones down. I'm not going to let it happen. I'm not going to let it happen that children die like that. We say they're dead, they're dead, and then we leave them. Who is responsible? Well, I'm stood now high up in one of the stands of the Nazare Corée Stadium, looking out onto the vast football pitch in front of me.
and it became very clear for the people that were watching the game that things were turning sour. There are only three exits from this stadium. The main entrance behind one goal, another one around about 100 metres along the perimeter wall in the corner and then a very small exit behind the other goal at the other end of the stadium. Then if you just come to the right hand side
there is actually a whole portion of the wall that has been pushed out entirely. And the combination of this overcrowded stadium, the tear gas and the panic led to the fear, to the pain and to the mass loss of life.
I saw death that day. There were many dead people around here. I saw bodies that people were carrying on their arms to take them back to their families. Others were brought to the youth house on the other side. There were even bodies that were dumped on the alley on the other side. I saw it all.
We leave it to God. What happened is up to His will, because no one gathers such a crowd and wishes for there to be deaths. Quite the opposite. It's for joy.
Unfortunately, there was poor organisation by the authorities and that led to this disaster. Football is everywhere in the world and incidents happen, but such a loss of human life is rare. Next, we'll hear about what, if anything, is being done to make sure this never happens again.
And we'll hear more from those who were there. This door here, it is a door to hell.
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The wrongs we must right. The fights we must win. The future we must secure together for our nation. This is what's in front of us. This determines what's next for all of us. We are Marines. We were made for this.
Now travelling to Nazare-Kore from the Didi capital, Conakry, isn't the most straightforward. It takes around about two days by road on very difficult surfaces and through very densely forested areas and it's not necessarily the
safest way to travel here in Guinea. However some aid agencies do run limited flights maybe once or twice a week to Nazare Corée and it takes about two and a half hours on smaller planes like the one I'm on right now.
When Azerekore as a city is bustling, it's busy, it has hectic streets full of stalls and shops and many motorcycles, that is the vehicle of choice around here.
There are children wearing light brown school uniforms heading off to school. There's a woman just ahead of me right now approaching me who's carrying a big bowl of fruit on her head, taking it to a nearby market. And the people that I've encountered here have been really friendly, hospitable people.
And another thing that I've noticed is their love of football. They have some big stars to celebrate, let's remember, in the footballing world with the likes of striker Sehu Gourassi performing well in the Bundesliga and the Champions League for Borussia Dortmund. And many people that I've spoken to when they heard that I'm from England, they mention the former Liverpool midfielder and the captain of the national team, Naby Keita, when you speak to them.
This is a community that loves their football and you only have to wait a couple of moments to see someone pass on the back of a motorcycle wearing a Liverpool shirt or a Manchester United or a Barcelona shirt. And that's why this tragedy in particular has hit them so hard.
My name is Mori Sise. I recently lost my elderly father Mamadou, so my younger brother Lansana had come from out of town to Enzerakore for the funeral. He stayed an extra day for the game, so we went together. I left early to go to my niece's wedding. It was the last time I saw my brother alive.
When I heard what happened at the stadium, I tried calling my brother, but I couldn't get through. The phone rang, but nobody picked up. I did everything I could. I was really worried. I went to the hospital and I saw a lot of dead people there.
I looked for my younger brother among the corpses, but I couldn't find him. Then I looked in the mortuary. I looked and looked and then I found him. It's unbearable. There were three days of mourning that were announced by the country's leaders in the aftermath of this disaster. And there has been an investigation launched by the government
But it is perhaps telling that this stadium is very much open for people to come in. There is no tangible investigation going on here. There is no police tape. There is no one here looking at evidence.
sizing up exits and looking at plans for how people were supposed to get out of this stadium. One wonders whether those words, those investigations from leading officials carry any more weight than the pieces of paper that they're written on because it doesn't appear as if anyone's here doing anything tangible to really get to the truth.
These announcements are meaningless because since the tragedy happened, we haven't seen anyone from the state come to console us and ask how we feel. To show that they're with us, they've just come to write our names and the names of our missing sons on lists. That's all.
Now many key football stakeholders, FIFA, CAF, the African Federation and the Guinea Football Federation have extended their condolences to the families of the victims of this disaster.
However, because they deem this an unofficial match, they aren't playing an active role in investigations at this stage. But this disaster isn't that dissimilar to the Kanjurahan Stadium disaster which I covered in Indonesia in 2022 when tear gas was used on fans. Supporters in the tribune, they're just waiting to go home. They're just waiting the gate open. Then suddenly, tear gas...
And that caused multiple fatal crashes at exit gates.
That was the same year that Liverpool fans were penned in outside the Stade de France in Paris for the Champions League final and sprayed with tear gas. The Champions League final at the Stade de France was delayed by 36 minutes because of problems outside the stadium. My lad was in tears and then he couldn't breathe and he had really sore eyes we couldn't see and he was just really upset. Its use is expressly prohibited by FIFA inside football stadiums
Whether unofficial or official it's an issue that keeps rearing its ugly head. So Pierre Diawara has assisted me on my trip here to the Nazarequare stadium helping with translation. It's a predominantly French-speaking country
And it's been interesting that we've encountered some pushback from the organisers that haven't wanted to speak to us, have they? You know, when that even happens, it's normal that we talk to organisers and also hospital members and also, if it was possible, even to the local administrative authorities. But
All those people refused to talk to us. When we tried to be in contact with them, they said to us that they were not allowed to talk to journalists. And we did our best.
categorically refused to talk to us. We did everything and they said no because the government is working on investigation and they have to keep silence for this moment and we try to explain them that we need just to know what's happened on that day but they say no, they can't help us. We go and ask victims, families, they help us explaining the situation and also we
other witnesses, local authorities, administrative authorities, hospital members and the organizers refused to tell us what happened that day. My name is Emmanuel Faso. I am the president of the NGO collective in the defense of human rights in Guinea Forestier. I believe this is a huge sadness.
People went to a football match and we lost children, brothers, sisters, those who just went to enjoy a game of football. That joy has turned to mourning. It is a tragedy that has shocked us. On day two, the government declared 56 people had died. But on the third day, we declared at least 135 were dead, having spoken to multiple different sources.
The families, hospitals, mosques, churches, even journalists. But that number may be much higher. We haven't got an exact figure on the amount of people who were injured, as many didn't go to hospital. Some went to nearby villages for traditional healing, or the seriously injured went to Conakry, the capital. So we cannot get an exact number.
From our perspective, there are many reasons that allowed this tragedy to occur. The poor refereeing was the trigger, but we need to think about how this happened. First, this stadium should only hold about 5,000 people, but for the final, there were 20,000.
People were brought in from the surrounding villages too, so the stadium couldn't accommodate all of these people. Additionally, it was free to attend the match. Secondly, there was an excessive use of tear gas which asphyxiated many in the stadium. Thirdly, there was one main entrance and this was obstructed so people were afraid to continue and then they turned around.
People tried to climb the walls. Others broke through to let people out. But some who climbed the walls couldn't hold on and they fell behind.
There was a lot of pushing and shoving too. And finally, there were vehicles inside the stadium belonging to the officials and governing authorities and they ran into the people on the inside as the officials tried to save themselves. Many of the dead were found around the main gate which was initially closed. This door here, it is a door to hell.
Unfortunately, the government isn't collaborating with us for the investigation. But if they want to get to the truth, it should be done together. In the meantime, our goal is to identify the victims and provide them with all the psychosocial support they need to overcome the situation they've lived through. One father told us that all five of his children died in this tragedy. He is inconsolable.
We want to make sure that there is enough humanitarian support, whether that's food or friendship. We want to organize a yearly commemoration on December 1st for those to remember the dead. And we need to lodge complaints with the national and international courts so that justice can be met.
Well this is quite an unexpected and poignant sight here at the Nazare Corée Stadium. You might just be able to hear a scratching sound and that is a line being drawn in the sand quite literally by one of the youngsters here from the local area who's come to the area behind the goal
so close to the exit where so many people lost their lives and he's been marking out a pitch for him and around about 20 other boys to play a game as the sun begins to go down on the day here what 10 days after one of the world's worst stadium disasters it is a sign that life goes on
These young people have their lives ahead of them, but unfortunately so many people and so many youngsters, children that were here at the Nazare Corrie Stadium on December 1st have been lost and those futures have been shattered and those families have been broken. This special episode of the Athletic FC podcast was presented by myself, Adam Leventhal, and produced by Abbey Patterson.
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