Everyone is crying in
Somalia
The Juba River region, in Somalia, is hard country. Women are
regularly eaten by crocodiles while fetching dirty water. The sandy
farmland is either in drought or flooded. And the militants known as
the Shabab, who rule the area, exact brutal justice. An Economist
correspondent had to turn back from the town of Wajid last week
because, within, a man was being beheaded. A day later, a clan
leader was shot dead. At the time of this writing, three more were
to be beheaded in Wajid, and two more had suffered the same fate in
a nearby village.
All were suspected of being
"collaborators" with the internationally recognized, but largely
powerless, transition government in Mogadishu that is protected by a
small African peacekeeping force. It is led by Sharif Ahmed, a
moderate Islamist, who once headed the Islamic Courts Union. This
had imposed a tenuous calm in the city, but was swept from power by
Ethiopian forces in 2006 because its erstwhile allies in the Shabab,
or "Youth," had ties with al-Qaida. If anything, the intervention
strengthened the Shabab and hardened their link with global jihadism
-- not least because of an influx of foreign fighters who see
Somalia as the next battleground for holy war.
The Shabab now control most of south and central Somalia, and much
of Mogadishu. Western security sources worry they could stage
attacks outside the country, of the kind that destroyed the American
embassies in Kenya and Tanzania in 1998.
The Shabab, for their part, have nothing but contempt for President
Ahmed. "Even you (an infidel) are closer to us than he is," one
stern-looking Shabab commander tells an Economist correspondent. "He
is far, far from us, because he has sold out his religion." Dressed
in jeans and sandals and sporting a wispy beard, the commander asks
not to be identified; even speaking to an unbeliever can invite
retribution.
There is a streak of pragmatism among the Shabab that is distinct
from al-Qaida. The Shabab guarantee the safety of the food convoys
of the United Nations' World Food Program. That said, there is an
air of fear in Shabab-ruled areas such as Buale. Checkpoints are
everywhere. Elders seem to be losing authority; they stick to
resolving disputes over land and marriage. Residents are for the
most part reluctant to talk. One tells the story of a 15-year-old
boy who returned home to the Juba river after fighting with a
ferocious Shabab unit in Mogadishu. When his mother pleaded with him
not to return to the fighting, he threatened to kill her on the
spot.
Not all those who bear arms in the name of Islam support the Shabab.
Several hundred kilometres northeast of Buale, in the town of
Dusamareb, Sheikh Omar Sharif Muhammad, a Sufi religious leader, has
mobilized fighters to "liberate" Mogadishu from the Shabab. On July
1, Somalia's Independence Day, a local crowd gathered to sing
patriotic songs and raise the national flag, a white star on an
azure background -- a rare sight for a country without a working
government since 1991. Some of the men from his movement, Ahlu Sunna
Waljama, had shiny new Kalashnikovs; Sheikh Omar said they were not
gifts from Ethiopia or America, both of which want to counter the
backing given to the Shabab by Eritrea and private Arab donors.
Sheikh Omar's men do not have the strength to march on Mogadishu any
time soon, but in several recent battles they have halted the
northward advance of the Shabab. They claim to have killed all
manner of foreign fighters, and to have recently intercepted two
Canadians of Somali extraction sent out as suicide bombers.
Security in the Galgadud, the desert region controlled by the
militia, has improved. But the humanitarian situation is dire. The
failure of the Gu rains, which fall between April and June, promises
greater misery. Matters are made worse by the arrival of 60,000
people fleeing Mogadishu.
Some of the refugees are gathered in a compound near Sheikh Omar's
base, among them Muhammad Hassey, who says he has moved 10 times
over the years to escape fighting. He finally left Mogadishu when
his two brothers and two sisters were killed by a mortar shell.
Kadijo Hassan, an elderly lady, interrupts. "Mogadishu is
unbelievable," she says.
"It is war. Everyone is crying there."
Source:The Economist
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