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Mogadishu, December 5, 2009 — In a khaki tent
shielded by sandbags, four Ugandan officers are watching "Black Hawk
Down," the Hollywood account of the devastating ambush of US troops in
the chaotic streets of Mogadishu.
It's maybe not the ideal cinematic fare when you are a peacekeeper
supposed to be maintaining some semblance of stability in the lawless
Somali capital, where life is cheap and international troops come under
daily fire.
That doesn't seem to bother these officers, almost transfixed in front
of the screen in the mess where they came to grab a cup of milky tea.
"They know they don't have enough forces to engage us and move us back
one foot," said Major Ba-Hoku Barigye, part of an African Union force
shoring up President Sharif Sheikh Ahmed's government against Islamist
fighters.
"Our major achievement is that we have been able to demystify the idea
that Somalia is a no-go area," he boasted.
"Three years after (deployment) we're still here, and I'm sure we will
be here for three more years."
Somalia has been embroiled in conflict since 1991 and Western countries
-- fearful of it becoming a safe haven for Al-Qaeda -- are propping up
Sharif's fragile administration in the hope it can restore some order.
His government is in control of only pockets of the capital however,
with the rest held by the Al-Qaeda-inspired Shabaab movement and the
more political Hezb al-Islam militia.
The conflict stormed into Western consciousness in 1993 when two US
Black Hawk choppers were shot down and the bodies of 18 US soldiers
dragged through Mogadishu's streets -- the incident dramatized by
Hollywood.
Today's African Union peacekeeping force is made up from just Burundi
and Uganda and has 5,300 troops, well below the 8,000 initially planned.
Installed near Mogadishu airport, the force's headquarters is a mixture
of tents, containers and prefabricated units in a forest just a few
meters from the Indian Ocean.
Every morning the troops don helmets and flak-jackets for patrols on
board their white armored vehicles which they use to resupply forward
positions in central Mogadishu or escort Somali officials.
"Without us the transitional government would collapse immediately,"
said one colonel, whose men in forward positions regularly come under
gunshot and mortar fire. The airport and seaport remain open, at least.
The headquarters complex had been largely spared the effects of the
daily clashes between pro-government militia and Islamist fighters, due
to what one officer involved in military-civilian operations described
as their friendly ties with local villagers.
That was until a double suicide attack in September killed 17
peacekeepers, including their second in command, a Burundian general.
The gutted white facade of the former command centre carries the scars
but the officers insist that while the attack cost lives, it failed to
achieve its aim of killing the force's commander in chief.
Pinned up across the base is a directive to the troops to, despite the
attack, make every effort to ensure Somalis are not left feeling
isolated.
"We could have done better but remember that we are the only
peacekeeping mission with the same risks as Afghanistan or Iraq," said
Major Barigye.
"I'm convinced this mission can be achieved in less than a year," he
added. "It's just a question of capacities and human power."
The force lacks both manpower and equipment, he said.
Barigye's mobile phone rings again. He picks it up. "The Shabaab have
taken to calling me with threats," he shrugged.
Every now and then there's a buzz overhead. US drones are watching and
monitoring.
Source: AFP, December 02, 2009
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