Somalia: Kismayo rises from ruins as guns fall silent

"Al-Shabaab (wa)meenda kabisa (Al-Shabaab is completely gone)," Farah Mohamed, a local, says.

Residents of Kismayo, such as a Kenyan living and working there who only identified himself as Francis, also learn the goings-on of the country's capital, 486km to the North East, from news bulletins.

"It mostly involves an al-Shabaab attack," he says, confessing to dread the frequent trips his job demands he makes to Mogadishu, where I had been before visiting Kismayo, where I would later return. He asks whether the guns and bombs have fallen silent there like they largely did in his new town. They haven't.

The nation's capital, like much of the country, has been zoned into the green, blue and red zones, based on the threat level of an Al-Shabaab attack.

The green zone is secured by the Somali National Army (SNA) and Somali National Police (SNP) on the outer borders and African Union Transition Mission in Somalia (ATMIS) forces on the inner rings. Concrete and sand barriers secure all the layers.

The green zone is safe enough for one to leave their body armour behind, safe enough to jog in the streets, if you don't mind the baking heat. Temperatures in the capital can soar to as high as 40C.

Most of the things that make Mogadishu a city, the capital, are located in the green zone - the international airport, luxury hotels, office buildings, foreign missions.

More buildings are coming up. And so are higher, thicker walls, more concrete barricades and sand barriers.

Renovation works are ongoing on some of the city's walls, much of which involves masking bullet holes with fresh layers of cement.

Businesspersons at the Kismao market on October 12, 2022. [Brian Otieno, Standard]

Such concerns stem from the fact that some of the officers trained to join the army or the police often defect to Al-Shabaab, which found a unifying factor - radical Islam - long before the government did so. And that's how they have been as successful as to collect 'zakat', now amounting to an estimated Sh1.8 billion monthly. There is no telling how many more Somali soldiers will defect to Al-Shabaab in future.

Within ATMIS, the challenges range from a language barrier, caused by the conflation of security forces from nine different countries, and insubordination, owing to conflicting loyalties. The biggest challenge, however, is funding, which threatens to claw back the gains made thus far.

The European Union contributes the lion's share of the ATMIS funding, an amount that totals more than Sh200 billion since the start of the AU effort in Somalia.

"The EU has made it clear that donor fatigue has set in... they are funding the resolution of a conflict that is not in their backyard," Ms Lortan says. "At the end of the day, Somalia has to take control of itself. It wants to."

Funding is also a problem for the Somali forces, who often have to sit out some patrols and operations as they sometimes lack fuel for their vehicles. Most officers also lack things as basic as uniforms and have to work with whatever they can find, which are often the colours of a foreign military. And so a large portion of the government forces operate without insignia, a potential danger in the face of armed conflict.

Capping it all is the ongoing Russia-Ukraine conflict that has seen Russian helicopters grounded as part of UN sanctions against the nation, paralysing some strategic ATMIS activities.

KDF soldiers will perform the same drill as they exit Kismayo after their patrol, keeping all but one opening shut until they leave the storeyed buildings of the town.

"Unaweza tupiwa mzigo (someone could hurl in 'luggage')," one soldier jokes as he urges a comrade close to the rear door to shut it well. He is referring to an explosive, most probably a mortar or grenade. They all crack up, but the laughter is short-lived.

After checking that everyone who joined them on the patrol is aboard the two APCs and the humvee, they abandon the sandy paths for the lone tarmac that leads to their base. There is silence once again and their eyes resume their scanning.

Some are scheduled for a break this coming week, the first in months, and will fly home to Kenya or hitch a ride with one of the KDF supplies lorries. In two years, those who will be on tour will make the trip out of Kismayo and Dhobley, and wherever else more are stationed, out of the arid plains of Somalia, one last time.

While some will return home with scars, hundreds, who joined the war healthy and strong, will have made that journey inside body bags. That's what war does. It maims. It kills. Many Kenyan soldiers have died on the frontline, before and after the El Adde attack in 2016. For the love of their country, death is a price they pay with pride.

"It is in our interest to ensure that Kenyans are safe," says Colonel Joel Maiyo, the Sector Two deputy sector commander. "Protecting our nation is worth every sacrifice."