Balmy evening temperatures perfectly compliment my ice-cold Heineken and fresh grilled fish. I lean back in my chair to admire the starry sky, and am instantly alone, surrounded only by flickering candlelight and the sound of water lapping gently at the dock below.
A mix of foreign oil workers and sailors sit around my table, their Australian, Danish, Scottish and South African accents resonating in the peaceful evening air. All are enjoying a Saturday night dinner at Club Nautico, Malabo, Equatorial Guinea.
Suddenly, a mobile phone rings, then another. Easy, relaxed faces transform into furrowed brows and tight lips. The calls are from Guinean friends, ministers and members of the government, warning everyone to return home.
Chris, a big Texan with a booming voice and head of one of the major multi-national corporations present on the island, approaches our table as he moves to the door. “There’s trouble in town. The police are out in force and arresting anyone in the streets. We’ve already got two guys in jail.”
The crackdown had begun.
