It was less than twenty minutes by car. The campus consisted of a cluster of modern buildings with an enclosed pavilion at the entrance and a large courtyard. It even had ample parking. We were a quarter mile away from it when I noticed the police, a cluster of cars and a crowd of officers in tactical gear milling around on the edge of the highway by the entrance. As we got closer, I saw the students inside the gate, two hundred of them gathered around a concrete monument, chanting and holding up banners and crudely drawn signs. The signs looked a lot like the ones at the other protests, with plenty of drawings of corn and other plants, and plenty of slogans, some reading AYITI POU AYITI, some with the Stoma logo or the letters GMO with a big red line through them. A handful of them mentioned Ebola and cholera, and I wondered if the fake secret was becoming a fake rumor. The police looked bored, but there was a definite air of menace about them. Regi whispered, “Ayayay.” Miriam leaned forward.
