I Am Thomas Sankara – The Betrayed Revolution
The Child of Yako
1949, Upper Volta (now Burkina Faso).
I was born on a land of red dust and relentless sun. A land of traditions, of stories whispered under the glow of campfires. My father was a strict and silent gendarme. My mother, gentle but strong, sang me the tales of the Mossi warriors who once protected our people.
I was a curious child, eager to understand why we were poor, why our fertile land seemed to betray us, why the Whites looked at us as shadows in a world that was not entirely theirs.
At school, I was a brilliant student. I wanted to read, to know everything. Books were my first breath of freedom. But soon, reality caught up with me: our country was not free.
A Soldier Unlike the Others
1970, Military Academy.
I chose the army not to obey, but to understand power. I saw the uniform as a weapon, an opportunity to change the destiny of my people. Away from traditions, I fed on revolutionary ideas: Marx, Lenin, Che Guevara… These men dared to break their chains—why not us?
There, I met Blaise Compaoré. A brother-in-arms. A man I trusted, with whom I shared dreams of a Burkina freed from misery and dependency.
But I did not yet know that betrayal is born in the shadow of friendship.
The People's President
1983, Revolution.
I was 33 when I took power. Thirty-three, the age at which some die for their ideals.
I renamed our country: Burkina Faso, the Land of Upright Men.
I rejected colonial suits, preferring a simple uniform, a guitar in hand, speeches full of fire. I wanted true independence. Not paper independence, but a freedom rooted in the dignity of every Burkinabé.
✅ I refused Western aid. We were not beggars.
✅ I redistributed land to farmers. The land belonged to those who worked it.
✅ I launched reforestation and vaccination campaigns. The people had to be strong, educated, and healthy.
✅ I cut my salary and banned government privileges. We had to set an example.
I was loved by my people. But hated by those who thrived on the old system.
The Betrayal
1987, a dark room.
I was warned that Blaise was planning something. My brother-in-arms. My friend. I refused to believe it.
“Sankara, protect yourself.”
I smiled. A revolutionary does not need protection.
On October 15, I walked into the Council of the Entente. They were already there.
I heard the gunshots before I felt the pain. My body fell, but my mind was already far away. I thought of my people. Their faces. The Africa I wanted to build. What Blaise had just destroyed.
The Legacy
They buried my body, but not my ideas.
Even today, my name echoes through the streets of Burkina Faso, in the heart of every African who dreams of a continent that is free, standing tall, and proud.
I am Thomas Sankara. I am dead, but the revolution is immortal.