A Letter to the African Youth by Captain Ibrahim Traore of Burkina Faso

 

This was a letter written by Ibrahim Traoré to the youth of Africa.

Originally written in French, it has been translated and edited into English for wider sharing.

Please take a moment to read it, preferably like a poem and let it sink in—and share it.

It is powerful, thought-provoking, and deeply relevant.

Africa’s youth need to hear this.

Long live this young voice, I.T.

To the sons and daughters of the motherland 

I do not write to you tonight from behind golden walls or air-conditioned offices. I write to you as your brother, as one of you—a soldier who has walked through the fire, a man who has seen the game behind the curtain, a son of Africa who has bled in the sand and painted rice.  

This letter is not official. It is not stamped with the mark of the state. It is written in urgency, in truth, and in love. It is secret—not because it must be hidden, but because few are ready to hear it. But you must. You must hear it before it is too late.  

I write to awaken you—because what you do not know is being used against you, because what you do not question is enslaving you, because if you do not rise now, you may have no ground left to stand on tomorrow.  

Africa is not poor.

Africa is not weak.

Africa is not broken.

It is being broken—deliberately, methodically, and with our own hands. Yes, I said it: with our own hands.

We have let ourselves be sedated by imported dreams. We have mistaken consumption for freedom. We have confused foreign applause with success. And now, the very soul of our continent is being auctioned.  

To the youth of Africa—those in Lagos traffic and the Nairobi slums, in the fields of Bamako, in the universities of Accra, in the nightclubs of Joburg, in the refugee camps of Tripoli, in the mining pits of Katanga, in the cafés of Kari, and under the neon lights of Paris and Rome—I say this: Wake up, or be erased.  

Number One: The Theft of Your Future 

My brothers and sisters, all my sons and daughters in the spirit of Africa, let us begin with a truth that should pierce the conscience of every young African who still dares to dream:  

Your future is being stolen piece by piece, deal by deal, year by year.  

Not by chance. Not by accident. Not by natural disaster. But by men in suits and uniforms, by policies dressed as progress, by deals signed in silence, by the kind of leadership that confuses servitude for strategy—and yes, by your own silence and surrender.  

You were told that independence was given to your fathers. But I ask you: If we are free, then why do our currencies still bow before the euro? Why do our resources feed foreign stock markets while our people feed on hope and prayer? Why do the brightest minds in Accra and Addis Ababa build roads in Dubai, launch tech startups in Berlin, and create art for galleries in New York—while back home, the lights flicker, the taps run dry, and the schools crumble?  

You were promised an opportunity, but what you got was an illusion.  

You were promised democracy, but you inherited democracies that protect the rich, prosecute the truth-tellers, and sell elections like merchandise.  

You were promised globalization, but it came wrapped in poverty, dependency, and cultural erasure.  

You were told you would be the leaders of tomorrow—but that tomorrow never came. It is always tomorrow, and they are hoping you will grow too tired to keep asking when.  

My dear African youth, I must speak to you plainly:  

- You are being groomed for obedience, not leadership.

- You are being shaped to serve, not to shape.

- You are being distracted by the noise of social media while your destiny is being sold in silence.

The oil beneath your soil has paid for the comfort of men who will never know your name.  

The lithium under your hills has powered smartphones in Tokyo and Teslas in California.  

But your schools still teach under trees, and your hospitals still run without electricity.  

How long will we call this misfortune instead of what it truly is?  

A system.  

A system designed to keep you focused on football matches and fashion trends while your economy is auctioned off to foreign powers.  

A system that makes you chase visas and celebrity lifestyles while your ancestral lands are bought by billionaires.  

A system that whispers "Africa will rise" but never tells you who is lifting it—and for whose benefit. 

Let me ask you something uncomfortable:  

- When a 25-year-old African man sells his vote for a bag of rice…  

- When a 23-year-old woman trades her future for Instagram approval…  

- When a 20-year-old student stops questioning the lies in his textbook…  

What future are we really fighting for?  

Because the theft of your future doesn’t always come with guns and helicopters. Sometimes, it comes with hashtags and scholarships. Sometimes, it comes with silence.  

And silence, my dear ones, is complicity. 

You were born with genius in your bones and fire in your chest. But they are hoping you will waste it on TikTok trends and tribal fights. They are betting you will spend more time defending politicians than defending your people. They are watching—and they are laughing—because they think Africa will always sleep.  

But I am writing to you now to say: They are wrong.  

- You are not the future—you are the present. 

- You are not weak—you are wounded.  

- You are not lost—you are lied to.  

And if you rise—with clarity, with courage, with unity—you will become the generation that ends this long night.  

But first, you must admit the truth:  

Your future is not secure. It is not guaranteed. And if you do not guard it with your voice, your mind, and your hands, it will be taken. 

It is already being taken.  

You must stop waiting for someone to come save you.  

No one is coming.

You are the one.

Number Two: The War You Don’t See

My dear sons and daughters of Africa,  

Some wars are fought with guns and tanks. You hear them. You see the smoke. The damage is visible. The pain is immediate.  

But there is another kind of war.  

A war that doesn’t use bullets—but contracts.  

A war that doesn’t bomb cities—but bankrupts countries.  

A war that doesn’t send troops—it sends consultants.  

It is the war you are living through right now.  

And this war, my beloved youth, is more dangerous than the ones we fought with rifles in the bush—because this one wears a smile. It speaks your language. It comes with foreign aid and free seminars. It offers scholarships and "development partnerships."  

But behind the briefcases and boardroom handshakes is an enemy just as vicious as the colonial soldier with a whip.  

Let me be even clearer:  

This war is for your mind, your soul, and your silence.

- They will not invade your land—they will invade your thinking.  

- They will not shoot your leaders—they will turn them into polished agents wearing presidential sashes.  

- They will not burn your villages—they will weaponize your silence with social media fame, with imported theology, with an education system that teaches you how to serve, not how to think.  

Look at how they fight this war:  

- They give loans with one hand and take back resources with the other.  

- They build schools but write your history for you—edited, diluted, weaponized.  

- They bring NGOs and preach about human rights while funding puppet governments that kill protesters in your streets.  

This is psychological warfare. 

This is economic sabotage, baptized in diplomacy.

It is why the minerals under your feet are extracted by foreigners while your schools have no chalk.  

It is why your government signs multi-decade mining deals that rob your unborn children—and no one is ever jailed.  

It is why the youth are distracted by identity battles while their leaders kneel for foreign validation.  

This war doesn’t just aim to exploit you. It aims to erase you.  

- Erase your memory of who you are.  

- Erase your anger at what was stolen.  

- Erase your urgency to stand up before it is too late.  

And I must tell you: Many of your so-called leaders are collaborators in this war.

They have traded:  

- Your sovereignty for status.  

- Your people’s pain for private jets.  

- Your national wealth for foreign praise.  

They wear traditional clothes during independence celebrations but sign away your independence behind closed doors.  

They sing Pan-African songs at summits but speak in the accents of their masters.  

They are trained in "nation-building" by the very nations that built empires on our backs.  

In the media, they are not just telling lies—they are manufacturing forgetfulness. 

They want you to forget:  

- Patrice Lumumba.  

- Thomas Sankara.  

- Amílcar Cabral.  

- The fire that once lived in our bones.  

They want you to remember celebrity gossip—not the blood-soaked treaties that still govern your borders.  

They want you to argue over who speaks better English—rather than who is selling your country to the highest bidder.  

But the truth is still here.  

And I am writing this because you must wake up before it is too late. 

You must realize that:  

- Every time you shrug and say "That’s just how Africa is"—you are surrendering.  

- Every time you ignore an election stolen in broad daylight—you are surrendering.  

- Every time you scroll past corruption and say "It’s not my business"—you are feeding the enemy.  

Because this war thrives on apathy.

It wins when you choose comfort over confrontation.  

It wins when you think only of survival—never of sovereignty.  

It wins when you believe that this is the best Africa can be.  

But I am here to tell you:  

They are afraid.

Not of your weapons.  

Not of your numbers.  

They are afraid of your awareness.  

Because once you see the war, you cannot unsee it.  

Once you name the enemy, you cannot unknow it.  

And once you decide to fight back—not with violence, but with clarity, unity, and purpose—you become dangerous.  

The war you don’t see is real.  

But so is your power.

Do not waste it.  

Do not wait for permission.  

You were born in the fire.  

You were raised on resistance.  

And if you rise now—eyes open, hearts firm—this war can be won.  

Number Three: Africa Is Not Poor—It Is Being Looted  

My beloved sons and daughters,  

Let us destroy a lie today.  

Africa is not poor. 

Let the world hear it.  

Let the continent hear it.  

Let the youth whisper it to each other in the classrooms, in the markets, in the fields, and across every digital corner of our world.  

Africa is not poor.  

It is being looted. 

We were never poor.  

Before they came with their ships and flags, we had:  

- Kingdoms.  

- Systems.  

- Mathematics and medicine.  

- Libraries and architecture.  

- Culture and dignity.  

We were rich in minerals—yes—but rich still in wisdom, in order, in family, and in spirit.  

And yet today, they hand us statistics like death certificates:  

"Africa is underdeveloped."  

"Africa is dependent on aid." 

"Africa is unstable." 

No.  

The truth is far simpler—far more sinister:  

Africa is being drained—daily, violently, quietly.  

Our wealth is flowing out like blood from an open wound—while the world looks at us and says, "Why are you bleeding?"  

It is no coincidence that the richest continent in resources houses the poorest people in the world.  

That is not fate.  

That is theft. 

- Our gold builds banks in Europe—but we cannot afford to pave roads.  

- Our oil fuels foreign cities—while our people cook with firewood.  

- Our diamonds dazzle fingers in distant lands—but we can’t afford textbooks for our children.  

- Our cobalt powers their electric cars—while our miners die without safety gear.  

- Our land grows food for export—while our children go to bed hungry.  

They do not give us aid.  

They return to us a fraction of what they steal.  

And they want applause for it.  

And that is why they fear you awakening.  

Because if the youth of Africa ever said "No more"—if we ever united our voices, our strategies, our visions—the looting would stop, and the empire built on our backs would begin to tremble.  

So do not ask: "How can I help the poor continent?"  

Ask: "Who is stealing from us—and how do we stop them?" 

Do not aspire to flee to their lands.  

Aspire to build a continent so strong, so just, and so sovereign that no African must ever flee again.

Africa does not need charity.  

Africa needs justice.

And that justice must begin with you—the youth—refusing to be complicit, refusing to be silent, refusing to inherit chains wrapped in modern packaging.  

Stand up.  

Speak.  

Study the systems.  

Question everything.  

Organize yourselves.  

Hold your leaders accountable.  

Because Africa is not poor.  

It is being looted. 

And you were not born to be robbed.  

You were born to restore. 

The Psychological Occupation  

My dear young Africans,  

We have spoken of stolen resources and invisible wars, of manipulated economies and bleeding lands. But there is a war far more dangerous than what bullets can bring—a colonization more subtle than any flag planted in the soil.  

It is the colonization of the African mind.  

The psychological occupation. 

The erasure of self-worth.  

You may think you are free because the soldiers have left, and the colonizers have gone home.  

But when your enemy leaves behind:  

- A school system that teaches you to hate your skin.  

- To mistrust your brother.  

- To glorify your oppressor.  

- To aspire only to escape your homeland.  

Then the colonizer never truly left.  

He just moved into your mind.  

They rewrote your history.  

They painted your kings as savages and your sages as witch doctors.  

They told you civilization started in Athens—not in Timbuktu.  

They told you the pyramids were built by aliens—not by your ancestors.  

They turned your story into their trophy—and fed you lies until you believed them.  

They renamed your children.  

They mocked your languages and called them "dialects."  

They ridiculed your attire, your dances, your music—until you were ashamed of yourself.  

They taught you to:  

- Bleach your skin.  

- Straighten your hair.  

- And call that progress.  

They sold you dreams of escape.  

They told you the future lies in Paris, London, New York—never in Bamako, Kigali, Accra, or Luanda.  

They planted a seed of inferiority so deep that even when you win, you still feel second-class.  

This is not accidental.  

This is programming.  

And a colonized mind will protect the chains around its own neck—and call it tradition.  

You scroll through social media and see success as:  

- Foreign yachts.  

- Luxury brands.  

- English accents.  

- Ivy League diplomas.  

You do not see your local farmer, teacher, or entrepreneur as a hero.  

You do not see your own village as worthy of building—because you’ve been taught to dream in someone else’s language.  

Young African,  

They give you mirrors that reflect back shame—not pride.  

But I tell you today:  

There is nothing wrong with being African.  

There is something wrong with being taught to be ashamed of it. 

They’ve taught you that:  

- Corruption is African.  

- War is African.  

- Incompetence is African.  

But they do not teach you that:  

- It was European powers that drew artificial borders across your continent.  

- Ignited tribal wars.  

- Assassinated your best leaders.  

- And armed dictators in exchange for control.  

No, they will not teach you that part.  

Because if you knew the full truth—if you understood the full weight of what they did and what they are still doing—you would rise up. 

You would reclaim your mind.  

You would unlearn their lies.  

You would start building anew.  

You see, the final battlefield is not land.  

It is identity. 

And that is where the war is raging the most—in your subconscious, in your values, in your dreams.  

This is why they bombard your media with violence, chaos, and hopelessness—so you will believe that is all Africa is.  

This is why African excellence is never celebrated in their textbooks or news cycles—so you will believe you are cursed to always be behind.  

But you are not behind.  

You are being held back by a mental cage.  

And here is the most painful truth:  

A cage you do not see is a cage you will never try to escape.  

So, my beloved youth, I ask you:  

- What are you consuming?  

- Who is telling you who you are?  

- What images shape your perception of self and your continent?  

- And when will you begin the inner revolution?  

Because until the African mind is free, no amount of foreign aid, new infrastructure, or changed governments will ever set you free.  

Freedom must begin in the mirror.  

We must restore our pride.  

We must rewrite our story.  

We must build an education system that teaches truth—not colonial echoes.  

We must celebrate our languages, our art, our indigenous knowledge.  

We must raise children who do not dream of fleeing—but dream of staying and transforming.  

The youth are the mirrors through which the soul of a continent reflects.  

So, I ask you:  

What reflection are you showing the world? 

Is it a reflection of borrowed culture, borrowed goals, borrowed voice?  

Or is it a reflection of ancient wisdom—reborn in modern strength?  

Decolonize your mind—or others will weaponize it against you. 

What Must Be Done Now?  

My dear sons and daughters of this ancient, powerful continent,  

You now understand the war.  

You’ve seen the stolen wealth.  

You’ve felt the manipulation.  

You’ve looked in the mirror and seen the scars of a colonized mind.  

But knowledge alone is not liberation.  

Awareness without action is surrender in disguise.  

So let me speak now—not just to your pain, but to your potential.  

Not just of what has been stolen, but of what must now be rebuilt.  

This is the hour of the great reversal.  

And I speak these words as a brother—not a ruler.  

As a man who bleeds the same African dust, who weeps the same tears, and who believes in the unstoppable power that lies dormant in you.  

1. Education 

Our education systems are still colonial in spirit.  

We teach our children to memorize the glories of other empires—Rome, Britain, France—and call it world history.  

But we do not teach them about:  

- The universities of Sankore.  

- The Zulu resistance.  

- The brilliance of Queen Nzinga.  

- The strategy of Shaka Zulu.  

This must end.  

We must Africanize our curriculum—not to isolate ourselves, but to ground our youth in truth.  

To teach them they are heirs—not beggars.  

That their ancestors were architects, astronomers, warriors, and poets—not the caricatures they’ve been shown.  

Start local. 

- Build community libraries.  

- Host storytelling nights with your elders.  

- Record the oral histories before they vanish.  

- Bring back the village as the first classroom.  

2. Organize Economically 

Stop waiting for permission.  

- Buy from each other.  

- Promote African-made goods.  

- Fund businesses that employ your brothers and sisters.  

If 1 million youth each contributed $1 to a Pan-African cooperative—that is $1 million to build:  

- Your own tech incubator.  

- Your own clothing brand.  

- Your own agricultural revolution.  

Use your phone—not just to scroll, but to sell, connect, educate, and organize.  

The same internet used to spread confusion can be used to build empires.  

Don’t just apply for jobs—create them.  

Don’t just consume products—manufacture them.  

We must graduate from survival to sovereignty.  

3. Unite Across Borders 

Those artificial lines drawn by colonial rulers mean nothing.  

You were not born Burkinabè, Nigerian, or Kenyan.  

You were born African. 

Your roots are braided in the same soil.  

Your future is bound by the same sun.  

We must:  

- Stop fighting each other over names the colonizer gave us.  

- Stop echoing the tribalism they fed us like poison.  

You must know that:  

- A youth in Ghana is your brother.  

- A woman in Somalia is your sister.  

- An injustice in Sudan is an injustice in Senegal.  

Let no flag come before your humanity.  

Pan-Africanism is not a slogan.  

It is a survival strategy.  

Use technology to break the borders.  

Build networks across countries.  

Mobilize for a shared vision.  

Stand for each other.  

Rise together.  

4. Hold Your Leaders Accountable  

Do not romanticize revolutionaries.  

Test them. Question them. Even me.  

Do not mistake resistance to the West for love of the people.  

True leadership is humble, transparent, and compassionate.  

It listens. It serves. It sacrifices.  

If your leader builds palaces while your schools collapse—that is not a liberator.  

That is a looter with a different passport. 

- Demand.  

- Vote wisely.  

- Refuse to be used.  

- Resist both foreign puppets and domestic predators.  

You are not too young to change a country.  

You are too important to wait any longer. 

5. Heal Spiritually and Emotionally 

The trauma of slavery, the betrayal of colonialism, the disappointment of post-independence corruption—these have left us deeply wounded.  

But we must heal.  

Not through denial.  

Not through bitterness.  

But through truth-telling.  

Through community.  

Through art.  

Through faith.  

Let us weep where we must—but let us rise after.  

A healed generation cannot be manipulated.  

A united generation cannot be broken.  

A fearless generation cannot be erased.  

My beloved African youth,  

What must be done now is clear.

You must wake up.  

You must link up.  

You must start where you are—with what you have.  

Do not wait for foreign saviors.  

Do not wait for miracles.  

Become the answer you were praying for.  

And as your elder, your brother, your fellow dreamer for this continent:  

- I will walk beside you.  

- I will protect your voices.  

- I will fight for your right to rise.  

But the future is no longer in the hands of presidents or parliaments alone.  

It is in your hands now.  

What will you do with it? 

The Final Warning

To my sons, my daughters—my reason for sleepless nights and my fire for each new dawn—  

I now speak to you not only with the love of a father and the duty of a soldier, but with the weight of time pressing upon my soul.  

This final part of my message is not a prophecy.  

It is not even a threat.  

It is simply the truth.  

A truth written in the blood of history.  

Carved into the silence of forgotten graves.  

And whispered to you in the screams of a continent still gasping for breath.  

Let me now tell you plainly:  

If you do not rise now, you may not rise at all.  

Because, dear child of Africa, there is a clock ticking—not one that hangs on your wall, but one that tolls for your freedom, your language, your soil, your very identity.  

1. Your Story Is Being Rewritten 

Every minute you delay, someone else writes your story.  

- They label your resistance as terrorism.  

- They call your cries for justice radicalism.  

- They erase your heroes from textbooks.  

- They replace your name with numbers.  

And they program you to forget that you were once royalty.  

They are not waiting to conquer you again with chains.  

They are conquering your mind—with distraction, with false glory, with illusions of inclusion, with technologies designed not to connect you, but to consume you.  

If you do not rewrite your own narrative, you will wake up one day as a stranger in your own land—speaking foreign thoughts in your native tongue, applauding your own erasure, and calling it progress.  

This is not fiction.  

This is not fearmongering.  

This is the final chapter they are writing—and they are almost done.

2. The Systems Are Closing In  

Global systems—economic, military, digital—are being designed without you in the room.  

You will soon find yourself in a world where:  

- Your data is owned by outsiders.  

- Your economy is dictated by foreign powers.  

- Your health is monitored by systems that have never heard your story.  

- Your resources are traded without your consent.  

Do not let the smiling faces fool you.  

Beneath their diplomacy is control.  

Beneath their "development projects" are pipelines that steal.  

Beneath their loans are chains with digital locks.  

If you think independence was achieved in 1960, you have been lied to.  

Independence delayed is dependency in disguise.  

And Africa is still being coded into irrelevance—unless you hack the system from within.  

3. Your Silence Will Be Interpreted as Surrender  

There are moments in history when silence becomes complicity.  

We are in that moment now.  

If you do not speak up, they will assume you are content.  

If you do not organize, they will assume you are incapable.  

If you do not resist, they will believe you are broken.  

And they will plan accordingly—with conferences, agreements, deals signed over your heads and against your future.  

The systems are already being programmed:  

- To replace you.  

- To reduce you to labor.  

- To extract value—then use and discard you.  

You will not even be mourned—because your erasure will have been branded as modernization.  

4. You Must Choose: Sleep or Sovereignty 

This is the final warning.  

There are only two futures before you:  

1. One where you are forever dependent. 

   - Where your food, your medicines, your water, your passwords, your thoughts come from systems you did not build and cannot control.  

   - You will own nothing—and they will call it liberation. 

2. The other is painful at first—but in that future: 

   - You build your own table.  

   - You write your own history.  

   - You protect your own soil.  

   - You bury fear—and raise dignity.  

That path is not easy.  

But it is the only one where your grandchildren will speak your name with pride—not shame. 

So, I ask you—with the urgency of a man who has seen behind the curtain:  

What will you choose?  

- Another decade of sleep—or one year of sacrifice that changes the next hundred?  

- Another round of slogans—or the silent work of building, block by block, until your villages stand tall?  

- Another trending hashtag—or the quiet resistance of reading, organizing, unlearning, and awakening?  

The world will not wait for you.  

The wolves will not wait for your armor to be ready.  

The system will not pause while you decide who you are.  

Africa is not just at a crossroads.  

Africa is at a cliff. 

One step forward with clarity—and we fly.  

One more step asleep—and we fall into permanent exile from ourselves.  

This is the final warning.  

But it is also the final invitation—to reclaim, to rebuild, to rise. 

You were never meant to be erased.  

You were meant to engrave your names into the mountains.  

To echo your wisdom through time.  

To light the path for the world with your fire.  

So, rise, children of Sankara.  

Rise, warriors of truth.  

Rise, future builders of the most glorious Africa the world has ever seen.  

Rise now—or never, my beloved children of Africa.  

Benediction:

Before I lay down my pen and close this letter—sealed by conviction—allow me to speak once more, not as your president, but as:  

- Your watchman on the wall.  

- Your elder in the wilderness.  

- Your voice echoing through time like a drumbeat of truth.  

I speak now from the soul of our ancestors.  

I speak now from the hopes buried in unmarked graves.  

I speak now from the sun-scorched soil that still remembers your names—even if you have forgotten them.  

To every youth reading these words with burning eyes.  

To every child born into silence yet destined to roar.  

To every mother nursing the revolution in her womb.  

To every father breaking his back so the next generation might stand.  

May this benediction ignite the warrior in your blood. 

-I bless your eyes—that they may open and never close again.  

  - To see truth beyond propaganda.  

  - To see light in the shadow of deception.  

  - To recognize your enemy not by skin, but by strategy.  

-I bless your ears—that they may hear the cries of history.  

  - To hear the unspoken pain of stolen generations.  

  - To recognize the hidden call to leadership inside every insult.  

-I bless your hands—that they may no longer beg, but build, defend, create, and cradle the future of a free Africa.  

-I bless your tongue—that it may speak not just of your struggle, but of your victory, your unity, your destiny.  

- I bless your heart—that it may burn not with hatred, but with holy fire.  

  - The kind of fire that purifies systems.  

  - The kind of fire that forges empires anew.  

And above all—  

I bless your soul with remembrance. 

That you may remember:  

- Who you were before they told you who to be.  

- What your land was before they drew borders.  

- What your spirit carried before it was colonized by shame.  

- That your purpose is not to survive—but to transform.  

You are not lost.  

You are rising. 

You are not broken.  

You are rebirthing. 

The time of waiting is over.  

The season of mourning has passed.  

The hour of restoration is here. 

Let the rain of wisdom fall upon your deserts.  

Let the bones of forgotten heroes shake beneath your feet.  

Let your minds no longer be colonized by comfort.  

Stand tall, my African youth—with courage in your chest and your ancestors at your back.  

The dreamers, the future, the world—all are watching.  

Heaven is waiting.  

Rise now—and write a new covenant with destiny.

For if Africa is to rise at all—it shall not be by the old, nor by the foreign.  

It shall rise because you remembered who you were.  

- May the spirit of Sankara guard your dreams.  

- May the winds of Nubia guide your steps.  

- May the fire of Patrice Lumumba awaken your blood.  

- May the tears of your mother's water the seeds of your liberation.  

And may God Almighty—who watches over the oppressed—walk beside you as you reclaim what was never truly lost.  

By IBRAHIM TRAORE

And edited live in New York

God bless!!