The rebel attack late last week that killed at least two Togo soccer officials that had been headed for the tournament in Cabinda underscores the challenges Angolan democracy faces.

I had already had an early warning of those challenges a month earlier, when I was briefly detained for photographing the very same stadium the soccer officials were headed for.

I had arrived in Cabinda to visit an offshore platform over one of Africa's largest oil reservoirs. Passing by the stadium by chance, I took a photo of it. A half dozen plain-clothed police officers came out of the blue, seizing my camera and taking me and Voice of America journalist José Manuel Gimbi away for questioning. I've reported in a few high-profile hot spots such as Israel and the Palestinian territories but this is the first time I'd been detained for taking a photograph.

The officers threatened to detain us at least for the night, acting according to a traditional stereotype. About a decade ago, Angola was home to some of Africa's worst human-right violations during a civil war that lasted nearly three decades and left a trail of murder and torture from both government and opposition forces.

Back then, both sides were engaged in one of Africa's most brutal wars. The kind of violence that killed the two Togolese players was pervasive and typical during the civil war. By contrast, I never felt physically in danger during my time in the hands of the police, even if my arrest was disturbingly arbitrary.

What's more, our detention sparked extensive lobbying by human-rights groups for our release, who protested with government officials and embassies. Within four hours, the police released us from custody. It also inspired widespread news coverage -- accurate, detailed and free of censorship -- in domestic newspapers over the next few days.

That suggested the African powerhouse is at least on its way to becoming a society that gives more than a nod to the rule of law and civil society.

These hallmarks of a healthy democracy have supplanted a formerly Marxist regime and many years of strife. Of course, it's early days for postwar Angola -- a land that is a bit Kafka meets Mandela -- and the country faces ongoing challenges. Some civil-society activists who called for our release have themselves been arrested in the past.

Independent newspapers have a small circulation, and the size of the opposition is shrinking in parliament. The ruling MPLA party -- which has held power since independence in 1975 -- is tightening its grip on the media and paying off the elites in the countryside. Many traditional chiefs who have cited animist deities as their guiding spirits are now professing their loyalty to a socialist movement.

But Angola is facing its toughest challenge in Cabinda, which is still home to a separatist guerrilla force that has been fighting for three decades. In 2006, a rebel faction signed a peace agreement but a separate faction refused and continued to fight. The government has taken the official line that the conflict is over and has jailed those who suggest otherwise. It briefly detained local activist Raoul Danda after he disputed the official version of the rebels' disarmament.

My fellow detainee's predecessor at Voice of America in Cabinda, José Fernando Lelo, was also jailed for two years and convicted "for crimes against the state" in what Amnesty International called an unfair trial. Amnesty said he was imprisoned because of his criticism of the government. And Human Rights Watch said in June the army routinely tortures civilians in retaliation of rebel attacks.

My detention and release were a test of Angola's democratic challenges and its progress. The same way, one can only hope that, once the game is over, Angola will show restraint in Cabinda.

Write to Benoit Faucon at