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Chasing
peace in Somalia
(Mogadishu ,
January 31, 2010 Ceegaag Online)
Major Ba-Hoku Barigye has two cellphones and both
constantly buzz with text messages. One he looks at
religiously. The other he often ignores; he knows what it
will say.
"You are going to die today," went one message last
Sunday, as he donned a flak jacket and helmet and boarded an
armoured vehicle for the journey to the president's
compound.
Later, another: "Yo are the begest enimy of Somalia so
you have too go to the country ergently otherwise you will
meet consequence."
"It's the Shabab," says Barigye, chief spokesman for the
African Union peacekeeping mission in Somalia. He guesses
he's had 900 such messages in the past two years.
He keeps most of them, including one that makes him
laugh: "Al Shabab very very good."
Friday marked one year since Sheikh Sharif Sheikh Ahmed,
the teacher-turned-politician, was declared Somalia's
president and members of a new transitional government were
appointed.
But without the 5,300-strong presence here of the Ugandan
and Burundian peacekeepers (known as AMISOM), Somalia's
Transitional Federal Government would not survive.
Even with African Union's protection, the government's
reach in the city appears to only extend from the airport to
the seaport and to pockets along the road that leads from
the AMISOM base to Villa Somalia, where the president and
prime minister work and reside.
Al Shabab, a radical Islamic guerrilla movement that has
pledged allegiance to Al Qaeda, has managed to hit those
areas, too. Twin suicide bombers killed 17 peacekeepers in
September, and as recently as Monday, a bomb exploded at an
AMISOM-run medical outpost, killing one peacekeeper and at
least four Somali patients.
Two mortars interrupted a government ceremony Friday to
celebrate the anniversary. A Somali civilian and Ugandan
peacekeeper were killed. A government press release later
said the ceremony went on "undaunted."
Sharif came to power last January with the backing of the
UN and blessing of the West, praised by U.S. Secretary of
State Hillary Clinton as "the best hope we've had in quite
some time."
But it is hard to see hope on Mogadishu's battered and
sparsely populated streets. Gun battles, mortar attacks and
bombings happen daily in certain neighbourhoods as the
Shabab fights Hizbul Islam, a breakaway rival Islamic group,
or the AMISOM forces, which have a mandate to hit back if
attacked first. They often hit back harder, with heavy
artillery and Katyusha rockets, and there are civilian
casualties.
Along Al Mukarama Rd., the city's main thoroughfare where
a 2008 bomb killed 21 women who had gathered to collect the
never-ending rubbish, government soldiers hang off jeeps or
walk with Kalashnikovs and belts of ammunition, resembling
militias of the past rather than a uniformed force.
The most jarring sights are lines of bright laundry
strung between crumbling buildings, or schoolgirls in
matching lime green hijabs – signs that life goes on where
is seems impossible that it could.
AMISOM's forces roar along the streets in Casspirs,
behemoth South African-made vehicles built to withstand the
mines and improvised explosive devices the Shabab has buried
along the roadside. Part of their route to the president's
compound passes K4 – kilometre four – a chaotic yet vital
intersection that's much fought over.
One day last week, as the convoy kicked up sand
navigating around blast barriers at the intersection,
passing AMISOM's small, sandbagged outpost, children ran out
and waved, as their parents just stopped to stare.
Prime Minister Omar Abdirashid Ali Sharmarke – a Canadian
citizen, like so many members of the transitional government
and their advisers – agrees the government only controls a
small part of the city and the Shabab has a strong presence
in the south. Then he quibbles over the use of the word
"control."
"For the Shabab to control, it's to intimidate and kill,
nothing else," he said in an interview with the Star
last week at his guarded compound at Villa Somalia.
"But for us to control, we must bring law and order. We
must perform all the services the government must do and we
must deliver basic services like health and education."
That's what Sharif did the first time he came to power
four years ago.
Since Mohammed Siad Barre's dictatorship was overthrown
in 1991, Somalia has been at the mercy of its warlords,
squabbling clans and failed foreign interventions. But for
six months in 2006, Sharif led a self-appointed government
called the Islamic Courts Union, which managed to cross clan
lines, conquer the warlords (who were covertly backed by the
CIA), and bring some sense of stability.
There were concerns with the ICU, dubbed by some in
Washington as "Somalia's Taliban." Among its members were
radicals on international terrorism watchlists. Women's
rights and press freedom were curtailed.
But there were also moderates in the leadership, hoping
to cooperate with the West. If nothing else, the movement
had widespread support and credibility within Somalia – a
first in 15 years of war.
In the end, the voices raising alarm were louder. A
U.S.-backed invasion by Ethiopia, Somalia's predominantly
Christian neighbour, dismantled the ICU and the
much-despised warlords were back in power.
Rather than conquering the ICU's militant wing, the
invasion by Somalia's historic rival only bolstered the
ranks of al Shabab and drew foreign fighters from
Afghanistan, Pakistan, Chechnya, Yemen and neighbouring
African countries. There was a time when the U.S. even
contemplated targeting Sharif as he fled with other leaders.
Two years of devastating war later, with Ethiopia's
defeat and a change in the White House, Sharif suddenly
emerged as Somalia's best hope.
There's a slight defensiveness when government and AMISOM
leaders talk about what they've managed to accomplish in a
year.
"You'll forgive me," Sharmarke said, "if I point out the
international community doesn't control Afghanistan,
regardless how much has gone into keeping it safe and
secure."
Ahmedout Ould Abdallah, the UN special envoy to Somalia,
made the same comparison in a surprise visit last week,
chastising outside critics who provide little help but wag
their fingers at Somalia.
There's no doubt 19 years of war and 14 reconciliation
conferences are a testament to how difficult Somalia's
problems are to solve.
But in many ways, the Shabab has been the most savvy in
learning from past mistakes, both in how to deliver its
message and provide for its people – key factors in winning
over a war-weary population.
For instance, the first time the rebel group took over
the strategic port town of Kismayo in 2006, it shut down
businesses and banned the use of the ubiquitous and
much-loved leafy narcotic khat. Today, businesses may
operate if they pay a security tax, and there are reports
that Shabab tolerates khat vendors dealing outside the city
limits, provide they turn over part of their income to the
rebels. (In principle, Shabab still deems khat non-Islamic.)
Shabab and Hizbul Islam leaders have also preached
violent jihad in southern mosques, and foreign fighters have
trained young recruits since 2006, building a force of
willing martyrs. Their message, mainly transmitted through
the Internet, has extended into the U.S., Britain, Sweden,
Australia and most recently Canada, luring much-prized
Western recruits.
Many of the Shabab's attacks, such as Monday's attack on
the AMISOM medical outpost, horrify Somalis. But the Shabab
has largely been able to control the narrative of these
assaults, saying Monday's target was retribution for attacks
by AMISOM forces on civilians.
Mogadishu's recently appointed mayor, Abdirasak Mohammed,
says the government understands the importance of economics
in winning over the population. He argues that for the first
time in 19 years the government has passed a budget and
begun collecting taxes at the port and airport.
But it will be a long time before that translates into
social programs for the population and the sad truth is that
starvation, drought and disease will kill more Somalis than
the fighting will. Thousands suffer in refugee camps both
inside the country and just across the border in Kenya. The
fighting has forced almost all humanitarian organizations
out of the country.
So bringing security is still the first priority.
As Mogadishu's mayor acknowledges: "I start the morning
and say, `Today, you will die.' In the afternoon I say,
`Blessed is the God.' We are always around risk."
The oft-repeated message from government ministers is
give them time. And they plead for international attention –
of the right kind. They point to the failed Christmas Day
airline bombing attempt, which thrust nearby Yemen into the
news after Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula claimed
responsibility for that plot. That's what many fear here
most – a knee-jerk international reaction should the Shabab
carry out a foreign attack.
Says Sharmarke: "I'm afraid the moment the international
community understands the gravity of the situation in
Somalia, it might be really too little too late."
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