After months of sectarian clashes in which dozens of Christians lost their lives, Egyptian coptic community is frightened by the sweeping victory of Islamic parties in the first round of parliamentary elections.

After weeks in the streets protesters are determined to stay on and keep fighting peacefully. The movement is going global and reaches dozens of US cities. Politicians in Washington, with an eye at the election year, begin to pay attention.

The last check point is some 50 km north of Bani Walid where negotiations are on the way for a peaceful surrender of the Warfallah tribe's stronghold. Talks are stalling and the fighters get ready for the battle.

The city was the scene of the longest battle of the civil war and shara Tarabulus looks like Grozny or Beiruth in the Seventies...This was the frontline and there is no undamaged building in sight: crumbled houses and burned shops, abandoned tanks, weapons, rounds of spent ammunitions, UXOs, people searching the rubble.

Nato's missiles have destroyed the main buildings but some are still in good conditions: lots of files and top secret documents are kept in the rooms or scattered on the floors. The empty prisons are a chilling sight. There are names and desperate calls for help scribbled on the black iron doors.

They shout Allahu akbar! as they carry the caskets to the graveyard on the seashore. The jeep was full of ammunitions and the explosion left four dead bodies on the tarmac near a check point in Gargaresh, west Tripoli. They were young, 22-26, from Misurata.

After the fall of Bab al-Aziziya there is still fighting in the Abu Salim district. It's a nasty place to move around, with snipers firing from the roofs and dead bodies in the streets. This morning the first team of volunteers starts to collect the corpses and carry them to the morgue.

The staff at the Tobbi Hospital celebrates at the gate but it's a dire scene inside with WIAs and wounded civilians hastily rushed into the emergency rooms and dead bodies arriving in car's trunks at the morgue. Most of them from the Abu Salim district where fighting is still on the way.

As more reporters and tv crews pour into town the hotel where they are staying becomes a target. Snipers are positioned somewhere in the tall buildings on the seaside and fire randomly: the overreaction of the security guards is somehow messy and looks more like a camera show. But it serves the purpose. And it's a thrill for some journalists who never set foot out in the field.

The fighters push inside the stronghold under heavy fire. They reach the main building and celebrate under the symbolic monument Gaddafi built after the US bombing in 1986: an iron fist crashing an american warplane. But there is still fighting in other parts of the compound. I take shelter behind a concrete block and watch the last battle inside Bab al-Aziziya.

By late afternoon most of the city is in the rebels' hands. As they take possession of the Green Square, the fighters prepare to launch the decisive push on the Bab al-Aziziya compound where Gaddafi's forces took a last stand. Mortar shells and rockets are pounding the stronghold and a cloud of black smoke is rising from the battle field.

Music can be a life raft in Juarez. El Principe was a drug addict and a member of a local gang. Then he set up a rap group and began to write songs. He stays on tracks, even if his best friend and music partner has been killed in a shootout at the corner of the barrio.

"Imagine a city with five hundred corpses and not a single shred of evidence explaining their slaughter. No one even knows where those people from the death houses have gone".

This is what happens most days and nights in Ciudad Juarez. You get a word on the radio and rush to the scene, hoping to be there before the cops surround the place and kick you out. You find beheaded corpses, sometimes just heads, or bullet riddled bodies of women and young men. No one is ever jailed or indicted. No one speaks. But everyone knows it's the narcos. Or the military. Or the police.

"The police had found her wandering around on the street one morning. She had been raped and she lost her mind...The facility hosts a hundred inmates. A doctor drops by on Sunday to check on the health of the crazy people, and the whole operation is sponsored by a radio evangelist in Juarez, a man all the inmates call El Pastor".

The drug war is claiming a terrible toll in the City of the Dead. There are common graves for the unknown victims at the San Rafael cemetery. And a huge ground for children's graves. In another section I see workers digging and people mourning. At the funeral a mariachi-style band is performing: it sings narcocorridos.

The insurgents have reached Ras Lanuf and prepare to advance on Sirte but Gaddafi's forces strike back. A Libyan Mig appears in the sky and target a check point outside the city. Anti-aircraft batteries mounted on jeeps fire at the plane. More fighters rush in from Benghazi.

The Court Square in Benghazi is the epicenter of the Libyan uprising. On a cold and windy Friday morning a huge crowd gathers for the prayer and listens to the imam. He speaks words of freedom and struggle, praises Allah and the martyrs, urges his people to strenghten for the upcoming battles.

It goes on burning for hours through the night: an ammunition depot explodes at Jamra, just outside Benghazi. Dozens are killed. Rumors hint to a sabotage or a Mig's raid. But it's most likely an accident.

Thousands of African and Asian workers trying to flee the country squat in filthy warehouses on the docks of Benghazi's port. They were mainly employed in the oil industry and in foreign companies in East Libya. Left to fend for themselves with little food and water they wait a ship to carry them to safety.

While Benghazi is liberated the fighting is still going on around Ajdabiya and along the main coastal road to Marsa Brega and Ras Lanuf. Casualties fill the city's hospitals and dead bodies pile up in the morgue. I go to the prisons and descend in a fortified underground tunnel.

In a massive and joyful gathering the people take to the streets and fill Benghazi's main square. The city is finally free: Gaddafi's army has been pushed back. The war moved away to the West towards Ajdabiya and Ras Lanuf.

Cairo the day after Mubarak’s fall. People flock to Tahrir Square to celebrate and assess the situation. In a show of civic responsability dozens of students and activists start to clean up all the mess, the dirt and the wrecks, the bullets and the trash. Opposition figures debate at the alternative parliament behind the Groppi cafè.

Christian leaders gather to discuss the end of the regime and their future. Thirty thousand christian copts live in a filthy slum at the footsteps of the Moqattam hill in Cairo. They collect the garbage of the town, sort out all the useful items and sell them to recycling factories.

It’s the end of Hosni Mubarak’s rule. Fireworks fill the sky, music all over through the night. The people have won. Flags weaving, cars honking and chantings. The soldiers on their tanks shake hands with the people. Nobody knows what will happen next. But tonight it’s just joy and freedom.

A million people fill the Square: youngs and women, kids and fathers. There are speeches and sit-ins, places were you can recharge your phone or laptop, have a free drink or show your paintings. Christians march with muslims. As the night falls the regime looks at the verge of the collapse.

Preachers roam the place, prayers are held. The wounded are treated in makeshift hospitals. Another day of confrontation and incertitude. By the evening more people converge in Tahrir and prepare to spend the night there. A man whose son was killed by the police cries loud his name and walks away.

Thousands of Mubarak’s followers, plain clothes policemen and thugs rally in the streets and try to attack the people in Tahrir Square. The Army stands still. Some journalists and foreign aid workers are beaten. I am arrested, brought to a station, interrogated and released. People battle with stones. In the end the mob turns away and the crowd in Tahrir gets ready for another round.

There's a Mission in the forest: seven sisters and scores of battered souls. The Devil doesn't warn when it comes across the borders of Congo. They are the killers of the Lord's Resistance Army. And in God's name they slaughter, they rape, raze villages, kidnap boys and girls. The peasants formed a militia to defend their families. The Mission has been stormed twice, but the sisters are still there.

A new African country is taking shape: South Sudan. After decades of bloody civil wars, two millions dead and countless villages and crops destroyed, Juba's new rulers still face huge problems: poverty, deseases, internal fighting, ethnic clashes, contested oil reserves and an ongoing rivalry between the muslim North and the Christian South.