CHRISTINE GATWIRI

In this the second of a series on smallholder agriculture titled the Challenge of Feeding Ourselves, Christine Gatwiri looks at the Mwea irrigation ecosystem as a model for adoption by small-scale farmers.

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One of the ideas I have looked at as a possible solution to the challenges of small-holder agriculture is cooperatives, where farmers can pool together capital and share resources such as irrigation infrastructure, markets, knowledge, etc. And we have seen this work—dairy cooperatives are one of the more successful small-scale agribusiness set-ups in East Africa—for obvious reasons. If we extend the cooperatives idea further, and we are met with dedicated farming zones.

I define a dedicated farming zone as just that—an area dedicated to agriculture. The land holding can vary from small to large scale, owned either privately or communally. It is not subject to subdivision for settlements as it is purposely set aside as agricultural land. The dedicated farming zone may have built-in irrigation systems, machinery for hire, established labour sources and marketing routes. One of the best examples I have seen is the Mwea rice irrigation ecosystem.

I will not go into the history or the current set-up of the irrigation scheme here. Moreover, in this article, I deliberately use the word "ecosystem"—and not "irrigation scheme" as it is typically known—to broaden the lens of the discussion from the historic irrigation scheme to the direct and indirect consequences on the rest of the Mwea region. Also, I have cherry-picked the best of the principles that make the Mwea irrigation ecosystem work. However, like any system, it has its challenges and problems, which I do not cover here.

The genius of the irrigation ecosystem is how the agricultural land is separated from residential land. You live wherever you want, but the farming land is for farming only, protecting it from unnecessary subdivision for sale or inheritance.

The farmland itself has inherent agricultural value. For the most part, it makes economic sense to cultivate it instead of setting up real estate as is typical in other regions of the country. It also helps that much of the farmland has a high water table that is suitable for establishing rice fields—constructing or living on this land would be impractical.

As a potential farmer, you can choose to lease. And if you are a land owner, you can rent out part or all of the land. Land becomes a valuable resource for crop production with a fixed value such that whatever you put into it in terms of investment, the returns at the end of the year are fairly predictable.

Rice is grown in two seasons (can be more). The first season repays the farmer's crop production expenses (seedlings, inputs, mechanization). After the first harvest, rice is left to regenerate to yield a second harvest. A common saying in the area is that the second harvest is the farmer's profits.

This predictability in input and output makes farming attractive as an investment. You know how much to put in and the returns to expect at the end of the year with a certain degree of certainty. Compare this to rain-fed agriculture where low-yielding seeds and unpredictable rains expose the investment to external risks.

A common saying in the area is that the second harvest is the farmer's profits.

Farmers are not charity workers—they will farm if it makes financial sense for them. With the risks and unpredictability of rain-fed agriculture, it is no wonder farmers are increasingly shying away—the losses accruing every year are too much.

When we talk of mechanization as a challenge for small-scale agriculture, it is from the angle of affordability. But where demand is high, investors may take up the risk of buying the equipment to earn money from hiring it out. This is the case for the Mwea ecosystem, which depends on machinery for land preparation, harvesting and packing the rice straw into bales for hay.

Due to the risks of manual harvesting in rice paddies, it is much more economical to hire harvesters than pay for human labour. This means machines are available to every farmer, keeping costs low. The same goes for packing bales—a machine will pack rice straw for every single farmer in the ecosystem. There is work throughout the year with short down times. Low costs also translate into low production costs overall and assure better profits for the farmer. It is a win-win situation.

Small-scale farmers require a certain level of government support. It can be in the form of provision of credit facilities, improved seeds/seedlings, extension officers, etc. However, it has to be the right amount and mix so that farmers are still able to decide when, where and how to farm.

In the Mwea ecosystem, farmers obtain seedlings from the National Irrigation Board (NIB). A farmer can prepare their own seedlings but this is a time-consuming process; It is more efficient to obtain high-yielding and improved seedlings from the board.

Besides seedlings, NIB also oversees the use and management of water in the irrigation canals (these are separate from the farms that use surface/groundwater due to high water table). Known locally as the water committee, the NIB ensures fairness in the use of irrigation water, maintains the canals and expands or changes their course if need be.

The NIB also plugs in to offer storage for the produce at a fee and a factory to mill the rice. This is an alternative for those that do not wish to use a private store or mill.

The right mix and amount of government intervention are important. In the past, the NIB would get involved in the production capacities of the farmers. Chaos ensued, particularly during the harvest season; the rice the farmers harvested belonged to the NIB and farmers had to wait for it to pay them less the cost of seedlings and inputs. However, the "liberalization" of this ecosystem gave farmers more control over their farm produce and allowed growth of new parties within the ecosystem such as the financier middlemen. I wonder if this same method could help tea and coffee farmers earn more from their produce.

In the course of my research I was surprised to learn about the financier middleman/broker within the rice production ecosystem. A figure of both love and hate in Kenya's agriculture sector, the middleman exploits farmers, yes, but they also address an important gap—market and logistics. The Mwea ecosystem middleman, a role filled mostly by women, goes a step further to provide soft loans to farmers.

The broker buys rice from the farmers, mills it, stores it and sells it to wholesalers and other retailers, and also directly to consumers in smaller quantities. When a farmer wants to cultivate rice but lacks the money, they approach a broker who provides a soft loan. The broker dictates the conditions of the loan including the return period, and fixes the price of the rice they will buy from the farmer after harvest. Your work as a farmer now becomes to grow and harvest enough rice to pay off the loan and still have enough left over for your own needs.

The "liberalization" of this ecosystem gave farmers more control over their farm produce and allowed growth of new parties within the ecosystem such as the financier middlemen.

Some brokers obtain funds from financial institutions. In this way, banks indirectly extend credit to farmers through these traders. And this is very interesting because one of the many challenges of small-scale farming is access to loans. What can you do at the farm if you lack the initial capital? Not much. Farming is an investment venture with capital needs, operation and production expenses and risks. Every venture needs financiers and the Mwea ecosystem has self-corrected to build up its own financiers.

I cannot speak to how well the system works, how conflict is resolved and the instances when defaults happen, but it is an interesting idea for future research.

Rice production is the main activity in the Mwea region. However, farmers have also taken up other crops on privately-owned land parcels and crops such as bananas, sweet potatoes, maize and beans are common.

The farmers have taken the lessons from the rice farming ecosystem and incorporated them into the cultivation of other crops. Canals are dug from the main water channels to bring water into the farms and from here the farmers use hose pipes or dig furrows to bring the water into the individual plots.

Water conservation and other good agricultural techniques are applied. For example, it is common to see bananas grown in Zai pits, beans in heavily mulched furrows and large plantations of maize growing in soils rich in organic matter—all under irrigation. What might have started as an irrigation scheme for rice has also impacted how farmers produce other types of crops.

Beyond rice, the ecosystem offers other benefits. It provides employment opportunities at every stage of rice farming, use of inputs, processing (milling) and sale and distribution. The factories mill the rice and may be involved in the storage of the farm produce as it awaits sale. Farmers are allocated space for storage which they pay for. The factories also provide employment to dozens of people.

After the rice is harvested the rice straw is packed into bales to be sold as hay for mulching, fodder or animal bedding. The husks from the milling process are used as ingredients in the animal feed manufacturing process. Both provide additional income for the farmer and even more employment opportunities.

The farmers have taken the lessons from the rice farming ecosystem and incorporated them into the cultivation of other crops.

Moreover, new industries have formed around the Mwea ecosystem. When we talk about industrialization in Africa, do we imagine it from the perspective of creating completely new factories to supply consumer goods or to process agricultural produce? Think about it.

Based on the factors above, I am of the opinion that this is the way forward for small-scale agriculture in Kenya, if not in Africa. Combining land parcels prevents fragmentation and subdivision so that agricultural land remains so.

Land parcels can be "donated" by individual farmers so that each dedicates a portion of their land (bordering with other farmers) to increase the acreage under production. This land is protected from unproductive fragmentation by its inherent agricultural value. And this is incredibly important as we move into a future of increased urbanization and explosive population growth.

Besides contributing small parcels to make up a large parcel of land, dedicated farming zones can be created in arid and semi-arid areas where the population density is low.

By creating a farming zone, the farmers can pool together their resources to invest in mechanization and irrigation infrastructure such as boreholes, canals, furrows or drips that can easily be shared among farms, along with the costs of setting up.

As a collective, their access to markets and transportation options is also better. And should they wish to own the tail-end of the supply chain by selling to consumers, then there is room for this as well.

Farmers co-learning from each other solves the problems of farmer education and creates the social proof required for replication by other farmers; this is why farm models work.

Farm models demonstrate best practices for cultivating a certain crop or crop mix on a piece of land belonging to a farmer involved in that activity. For example, maize farmers in a given area can donate a parcel of land where the model is set up and all the farmers in the region can learn from it.

As my friend and Twitter user Nicholas Aburi says, it is not useful to lump agricultural inventions and best practices into the annual Agricultural Society of Kenya exhibitions/shows. Create instead farm models within walking distance where farmers can learn from each other.

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Christine Gatwiri is a writer and researcher with Interests in food systems, food anthropology, water scarcity, and dryland agriculture.

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From the enormously influential megachurches of Walter Magaya and Emmanuel Makandiwa to smaller ‘startups,’ the church in Zimbabwe has frightening, nearly despotic authority.

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In Zimbabwe, the most powerful dictatorship is not the Zimbabwe African National Union-Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF) party. Despite the party's 40 year history of ruthlessly cracking down on opposition parties, sowing fear into the minds of the country's political aspirants, despite the party's overseeing of catastrophic policies such as the failed land reform, and despite the precarious position of the social landscape of the country today, neither former president Robert Mugabe, nor the current president Emmerson Mnangagwa, nor any of their associates pose as significant an existential threat to Zimbabweans as the most influential dictatorship at play in the country: the church.The church has frightening, near despotic authority which it uses to wield the balance of human rights within its palms. It wields authority from enormously influential megachurches like those of Walter Magaya and Emmanuel Makandiwa, to the smaller startup churches that operate from the depths of the highest-density suburbs of the metropolitan provinces of Bulawayo and Harare. Modern day totalitarian regimes brandish the power of the military over their subjects. In the same way, the church wields the threat of eternal damnation against those who fail to follow its commands. With the advent of the COVID-19 vaccine in 2020, for example, Emmanuel Makandiwa vocally declared that the vaccine was the biblical "mark of the beast." In line with the promises of the book of Revelations, he declared that receiving it would damn one to eternal punishment.

Additionally, in just the same way that dictators stifle discourse through the control of the media, the church suppresses change by controlling the political landscape and making themselves indispensable stakeholders in electoral periods. The impact of this is enormous: since independence, there has been no meaningful political discourse on human rights questions. These questions include same-sex marriage and the right to access abortions as well as other reproductive health services. The church's role in this situation has been to lead an onslaught of attacks on any institution, political or not, that dares to bring such questions for public consideration. But importantly, only through such consideration can policy substantively change. When people enter into conversation, they gain the opportunity to find middle grounds for their seemingly irreconcilable positions. Such middle-grounds may be the difference between life and death for many disadvantaged groups in Zimbabwe and across the world at large. The influence of the church impedes any attempt at locating this middle ground.

Additionally, because the church influences so many Zimbabweans, political actors do not dare oppose the church's declarations. They fear being condemned and losing the support of their electorate. The church rarely faces criticism for its positions. It is not held accountable for the sentiments its leaders express by virtue of the veil of righteousness protecting it.

Furthermore, and uniquely so, the church serves the function of propping up the ZANU-PF party. The ZANU-PF mainly holds conservative ideals. These ideals align with those of the traditionalist Zimbabwean church. In short, the church in Zimbabwe stands as a hurdle to the crucial regime change necessary to bring the country to success. With a crucial election slated for the coming months, this hurdle looms more threatening than at any other time in the country's history.

The impact of the church's dictatorship on humans is immeasurable. Queer people, for example, are enormously vulnerable to violence and othering from their communities. They are also particularly vulnerable to sexually transmitted diseases and infections due to the absence of healthcare for them. The church meets the attempts of organizations such as the Gays and Lesbians of Zimbabwe to push for protection with cries that often devolve into scapegoating. These cries from the church reference moral decadence, a supposed decline in family values, and in the worst of cases, mental illness.

Similarly, the church meets civil society's attempts at codifying and protecting sexual and reproductive rights with vehement disapproval. In 2021, for example, 22 civil society organizations petitioned Parliament to lower the consent age for accessing sexual and reproductive health services. Critics of the petition described it as "deeply antithetical to the public morality of Zimbabwe" that is grounded in "good old cultural and Christian values."

Reporting on its consultations with religious leaders, a Parliamentary Portfolio Committee tasked with considering this petition described Christianity as "the solution" to the problem posed by the petition. This Committee viewed the petition as a gateway to issues such as "child exploitation … rights without responsibility … and spiritual bondages." The petition disappeared into the annals of parliamentary bureaucracy. A year later, the Constitutional Court unanimously voted to increase the age of consent to 18.

A more horrifying instance of this unholy alliance between the church and the state in Zimbabwe is a recently unearthed money laundering scheme that has occurred under the watchful eye of the government. Under the stewardship of self-proclaimed Prophet Uebert Angel, the Ambassador-at-Large for the Government of Zimbabwe, millions of dollars were laundered by the Zimbabwean government. Here, as revealed by Al Jazeera in a four-part docuseries, Ambassador Angel served as a middleman for the government, facilitating the laundering of millions of dollars and the smuggling of scores of refined gold bars to the United Arab Emirates. He did this using his plenipotentiary ambassadorial status to vault through loopholes in the government's security systems.

Importantly, Prophet Angel was appointed in 2021 as part of a frenetic series of ambassadorial appointments. President Mnangagwa handed out these appointments to specifically high-profile church leaders known for their glamorous lifestyle and their preaching of the prosperity gospel. Through these appointments, Emmerson Mnangagwa's government earned itself a permanent stamp of approval from the church and access to a multi-million member base of voting Christians in the country. Mnangagwa's gained access to freedom from accountability arising from the power of the endorsements by "men-of-God," one of whom's prophetic realm includes predicting English Premier League (EPL) football scores and guessing the color of congregants’ undergarments.

In exchange, Prophet Angel has earned himself a decently large sum of money. He has also earned the same freedom from critique and accountability as Zimbabwe's government. To date, there is no evidence of Angel ever having faced any consequences for his action. The most popular response is simple: the majority of the Christian community chooses either to defend him or to turn a blind eye to his sins. The Christian community's response to Prophet Angel's actions, and to the role of the church in abortion and LGBTQ discourse is predictable. The community also responds simply to similar instances when the church acts as a dialogical actor and absolves itself of accountability and critique

Amidst all this, it is easy to denounce the church as a failed actor. However, the church's political presence has not been exclusively negative. The Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace, for example, was the first organization to formally acknowledge Gukurahundi, a genocide that happened between 1982 and 1987 and killed thousands of Ndebele people. The Commission did this through a detailed report documenting what it termed as disturbances in the western regions of the country. Doing so sparked essential conversations about accountability and culpability over this forgotten genocide in Zimbabwe.

Similarly, the Zimbabwe Bishops’ Justice and Peace Commission has been involved in data collection that is sparking discourse about violence and human rights abuses in Zimbabwe. In doing so, the Commission is challenging Zimbabweans to think more critically about what constructive politics can look like in the country. Such work is hugely instrumental in driving social justice work forward in the country. What uniquely identifies the church's involvement in both of these issues, however, is that neither touches on matters of Christian dogma. Instead, the Commission responds to general questions about the future of both God and Zimbabwe's people in ways that make it easy for the church to enter into conversation with a critical and informed lens.

The conclusion from this is simple: if Zimbabwe is to shift into more progressive, dialogical politics, the church's role must change with it. It is unlikely that the church will ever be a wholly apolitical actor in any country. However, the political integration of the church into the politics of Zimbabwe must be a full one. It must be led by the enhanced accountability of Zimbabwean religious leaders. In the same way that other political actors are taken to task over their opinions, the church must be held accountable for its rhetoric in the political space.

A growing population has, thus far, been involved in driving this shift. Social media has taken on a central role in this. For example, social media platforms such as Twitter thoroughly criticized megachurch pastor Emmanuel Makandiwa for his sentiments regarding vaccinations. This and other factors led him to backtrack on his expressed views on inoculation. However, social media is not as available in rural areas. There, the influence of the religion is stronger than elsewhere in the country. Therefore investments must be made in educating people about the roles of the church and the confines of its authority. This will be instrumental in giving people the courage to cut against the very rough grain of religious dogma. Presently, few such educational opportunities exist. To spark this much-needed change, it will be useful to have incentivizing opportunities for dialogue in religious sects.

More than anything else, the people for whom and through whom the church exists must drive any shift in the church's role. The people of Tunisia stripped President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali of his authority during the Jasmine Revolution of January 2011. The women of Iran continue to tear at the walls that surround the extremist Islamic Republic. In just the same way, the people of Zimbabwe have the power to disrobe the church of the veil of righteousness that protects it from criticism and accountability.

In anticipation of the upcoming election, the critical issues emerging necessitate this excoriation even more. This will open up political spaces for Zimbabweans to consider a wider pool of contentious issues when they take to the polls in a few months. Above all, the people of Zimbabwe must start viewing the church for what it is: an institution, just like any other, with vested interests in the country's affairs. As with any other institution, we must begin to challenge, question, and criticize the church for its own good and for the good of the people of Zimbabwe.

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This post is from a partnership between Africa Is a Country and The Elephant. We will be publishing a series of posts from their site once a week.

The US has become addicted to private military contractors mainly because they provide "plausible deniability" in the so-called war on terror.

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Though it claimed the lives of three Americans, not 2,403, some liken the January 2020 al-Shabaab attack at Manda Bay, Kenya, to Pearl Harbour. The US would go on to unleash massive airstrikes against al-Shabaab in Somalia.

"We Americans hate being caught out," a spy-plane pilot and contractor recently told me. "We should have killed them before they even planned it."

Both the Manda Bay and Pearl Harbour attacks revealed the vulnerability of US personnel and forces. One brought the US into the Second World War. The other has brought Kenya into the global–and seemingly endless–War on Terror.

Months before launching the assault, members of the Al Qaeda-linked faction bivouacked in mangrove swamp and scrubland along this stretch of the northeast Kenyan coast. Unseen, they observed the base and Magagoni airfield. The airfield was poorly secured to begin with. They managed not to trip the sensors and made their way past the guard towers and the "kill zone" without being noticed.

At 5.20 a.m. on 5 January, pilots and contractors for L3Harris Technologies, which conducts airborne intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (ISR) for the Pentagon, were about to take off from the airfield in a Beechcraft King Air b350. The twin engine plane was laden with sensors, cameras, and other high tech video equipment. Seeing thermal images of what they thought were hyenas scurrying across the runway, the pilots eased back on the engines. By the time they realized that a force of committed, disciplined and well-armed al-Shabaab fighters had breached Magagoni's perimeter, past the guard towers, it was too late.

Simultaneously, a mile away, other al-Shabaab fighters attacked Camp Simba, an annex to Manda Bay where US forces and contractors are housed. Al-Shabaab fired into the camp to distract personnel and delay the US response to the targeted attack at the airfield.

Back at the Magagoni airfield, al-Shabaab fighters launched a rocket-propelled grenade at the King Air. "They took it right in the schnauzer," an aircraft mechanic at Camp Simba who survived the attack recently recalled to me. Hit in the nose, the plane burst into flames. Pilots Bruce Triplett, 64, and Dustin Harrison, 47, both contractors employed by L3Harris, died instantly. The L3Harris contractor working the surveillance and reconnaissance equipment aft managed to crawl out, badly burned. US Army Specialist Henry J Mayfield, 23, who was in a truck clearing the tarmac, was also killed.

The attack on Camp Simba was not the first al-Shabaab action carried out in Kenya. But it was the first in the country to target US personnel. And it was wildly successful.

AFRICOM initially reported that six contractor-operated civilian aircraft had been damaged. However, drone footage released by al-Shabaab's media wing showed that within a few minutes, the fighters had destroyed six surveillance aircraft, medical evacuation helicopters on the ground, several vehicles, and a fuel storage area. US and Kenyan forces engaged al-Shabaab for "several hours".

Included in the destroyed aircraft was a secretive US Special Operations Command (SOCOM) military de Havilland Dash-8 twin-engine turboprop configured for intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance missions. A report released by United States Africa Command (AFRICOM) in March 2022 acknowledges that the attackers "achieved a degree of success in their plan."

Teams working for another air-surveillance company survived the attack because their aircraft were in the air, preparing to land at Magagoni. Seeing what was happening on the ground, the crew diverted to Mombasa and subsequently to Entebbe, Uganda, where they stayed for months while Manda Bay underwent measures for force protection.

I had the chance to meet some of the contractors from that ISR flight. Occasionally, these guys—some call themselves paramilitary contractors—escape Camp Simba to hang out at various watering holes in and around Lamu, the coastal town where I live. On one recent afternoon, they commandeered a bar's sound system, replacing Kenyan easy listening with boisterous Southern rock from the States.

Sweet home Alabama!

An ISR operator and I struck up an acquaintance. Black-eyed, thickly built, he's also a self-confessed borderline sociopath. My own guess would be more an on-the-spectrum disorder. Formerly an operator with Delta Force, he was a "door kicker" and would often—in counter-terror parlance—"fix and finish" terror suspects. Abundant ink on his solid arms immortalizes scenes of battle from Iraq and Afghanistan. In his fifties, with a puffy white beard, he's now an ISR contractor, an "eye in the sky". His workday is spent "finding and fixing" targets for the Pentagon.

Occasionally, these guys—some call themselves paramilitary contractors—escape Camp Simba to hang out at various watering holes in and around Lamu.

He tells me about his missions—ten hours in a King Air, most of that time above Somalia, draped over cameras and video equipment. He gathers sensitive data for "pattern of life" analysis. He tells me that on the morning of the attack he was in the King Air about to land at the Magagoni airstrip.

We talked about a lot of things but when I probed him about "pattern of life" intel, the ISR operator told me not a lot except that al-Shabaab had been observing Camp Simba and the airstrip for a pattern of life study.

What I could learn online is that a pattern of life study is the documentation of the habits of an individual subject or of the population of an area. Generally done without the consent of the subject, it is carried out for purposes including security, profit, scientific research, regular censuses, and traffic analysis. So, pattern-of-life analysis is a fancy term for spying on people en masse. Seemingly boring.

Less so as applied to the forever war on terror. The operator pointed out the irony of how the mile or so of scrubland between the base and the Indian Ocean coastline had been crawling with militant spies in the months preceding the attack at Camp Simba. Typically, the ISR specialist says, his job is to find an al-Shabaab suspect and study his daily behaviours—his "pattern of life."

King Airs perform specialized missions; the planes are equipped with cameras and communications equipment suitable for military surveillance. Radar systems gaze through foliage, rain, darkness, dust storms or atmospheric haze to provide real time, high quality tactical ground imagery anytime it is needed, day or night. What my operator acquaintance collects goes to the Pentagon where it is analysed to determine whether anything observed is "actionable". In many instances, action that proceeds includes airstrikes. But as a private military contractor ISR operator cannot "pull the trigger".

In the six weeks following the attack at Magagoni and Camp Simba, AFRICOM launched 13 airstrikes against al-Shabaab's network. That was a high share of the total of 42 carried out in 2020.

Airstrikes spiked under the Trump administration, totalling more than 275 reported, compared with 60 over the eight years of the Barack Obama administration. It is no great mystery that the Manda Bay-Magagoni attack occurred during Trump's time in office.

Typically, the ISR specialist says, his job is to find an al-Shabaab suspect and study his daily behaviours—his "pattern of life."

Several al-Shabaab leaders behind the attack are believed to have been killed in such airstrikes. The US first launched airstrikes against al-Shabab in Somalia in 2007 and increased them in 2016, according to data collected and analysed by UK-based non-profit Airwars.

Controversy arises from the fact that, as precise as these strikes are thought to be, there are always civilian casualties.

"The US uses pattern of life, in part, to identify ways to reduce the risk of innocent civilian casualties (CIVCAS) (when/where are targets by themselves or with family) whereas obviously Shabaab does not distinguish as such and uses it for different purposes," a Department of Defense official familiar with the matter of drone operations told me.

The Biden administration resumed airstrikes in Somalia in August 2021. AFRICOM claimed it killed 13 al-Shabaab militants and that no civilians were killed.

According to Secretary of State Anthony Blinken, Mustaf ‘Ato is a senior Amniyat official responsible for coordinating and conducting al-Shabaab attacks in Somalia and Kenya and has helped plan attacks on Kenyan targets and US military compounds in Kenya. It is not clear, however, if this target has been fixed and killed.

A few days after the second anniversary of the Manda Bay attack, the US offered a US$10 million bounty.

The American public know very little about private military contractors. Yet the US has become addicted to contractors mainly because they provide "plausible deniability". "Americans don't care about contractors coming home in body bags," says Sean McFate, a defense and national security analyst.

These airstrikes, targeted with the help of the operators and pilots in the King Airs flying out of Magagoni, would furnish a strong motive for al-Shabaab's move on 5 January 2020.

The Pentagon carried out 15 air strikes in 2022 on the al-Qaeda-linked group, according to the Long War Journal tracker. Africom said the strikes killed at least 107 al-Shabaab fighters. There are no armed drones as such based at Camp Simba but armed gray-coloured single-engine Pilatus aircraft called Draco (Latin for "Dragon") are sometimes used to kill targets in Somalia, a well-placed source told me.

The US has become addicted to contractors mainly because they provide "plausible deniability".

The contractor I got to know somewhat brushes off the why of the attack. It is all too contextual for public consumption, and probably part of army indoctrination not to encourage meaningful discussion. He had, however, made the dry observation about the al-Shabaab affiliates out in the bush near the airfield, doing "pattern of life" reconnaissance.

The strike on Magagoni was closely timed and fully coordinated. And it appears that the primary aim was to take out ISR planes and their crews. It was private contractors, not US soldiers, in those planes. I pointed out to the operator that those targets would serve al-Shabaab's aims both of vengeance and deterrence or prevention. His response: "Who cares why they attacked us? Al-Shabaab are booger-eaters."

With that he cranks up the sound, singing along off-key:

And this bird, you cannot change

Lord help me, I can't change….

Won't you fly high, free bird, yeah.

The significance of ending the ongoing war in Sudan cannot be overstated, and represents more than just an end to violence. It provides a critical moment for the international community to follow the lead of the Sudanese people.

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They say that the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

As someone from the diaspora, every time I visited Sudan, I noticed that many of the houses had small problems like broken door knobs, cracked mirrors or crooked toilet seats that never seemed to get fixed over the years. Around Khartoum, you saw bumps and manholes on sand-covered, uneven roads. You saw buildings standing for years like unfinished skeletons. They had tons of building material in front of them: homeless families asleep in their shade, lying there, motionless, like collateral damage. This has always been the norm. Still, it is a microcosm of a much broader reality. Inadequate healthcare, a crumbling educational system, and a lack of essential services also became the norm for the Sudanese people.

This would be different, of course, if the ruling party owned the facility you were in, with the paved roads leading up to their meticulously maintained mansions. This stark contrast fuelled resentment among the people, leading them to label the government and its associates as "them." These houses were symbols of the vast divide between the ruling elite and the everyday citizens longing for change. As the stark divide between "them" and "us" deepened, people yearned to change everything at once, to rid themselves of the oppressive grip of "them."

Over the years, I understood why a pervasive sense of indifference had taken hold. The people of Sudan grew indifferent towards a government that remained unchanged. It showed no willingness to address the needs of its citizens unless it directly benefited those in power. For three decades, drastic change eluded the Sudanese people. They woke up each day to a different price for the dollar and a different cost for survival. The weight of this enduring status quo bore down upon them, rendering them mere spectators of their own lives. However, as it always does, a moment of reckoning finally arrived—the revolution.

Returning home after the 2019 revolution in Sudan, what stood out in contrast to the indifference was the hashtag #hanabnihu, which from Arabic translates to "we will build it." #Hanabnihu echoed throughout Sudanese conversations taking place on and off the internet, symbolizing our determination to build our nation. To build our nation, we needed to commit to change beyond any single group's fall, or any particular faction's victory. Our spirits were high as everyone felt we had enough muscle memory to remember what happened in the region. We remembered how many of "them" came back to power. With the military still in power, the revolution was incomplete. Yet it still served as a rallying cry for the Sudanese people. It was a collective expression of their determination to no longer accept the unfinished state of their nation.

Many Sudanese people from the diaspora returned to Sudan. They helped the people of Suean create spaces of hope and resilience, everyone working tirelessly to build a new Sudan. They initiated remarkable projects and breathed life into the half-built houses they now prioritized to turn into homes. We had yearned for a time when broken door knobs and crooked toilet seats would be fixed, and for a time when the government would smooth out the bumps on the road. For four years following the revolution, people marched, protested, and fought for a Sudan they envisioned. They fought in opposition to the military, whose two factions thought that a massacre or even a coup might bring the people back to the state of indifference that they once lived in.

Remarkably, the protests became ingrained in the weekly schedule of the Sudanese people. It became part of their routine, a testament to their unwavering dedication and the persistence of their aspirations. But soon, the people found themselves normalized to these protests. This was partly due to the fact that it was organized by the only body fighting against the return of this indifference: the neighborhood's resistance committees. These horizontally structured, self-organized member groups regularly convened to organize everything from planning the weekly protests and discussing economic policy to trash pickup, and the way corruption lowered the quality of the bread from the local bakery.

The international media celebrated the resistance committees for their innovation in resistance and commitment to nonviolence. But as we, the Sudanese, watched the news on our resistance fade, it was clear that the normalization of indifference extended beyond Sudan's borders. The international community turned a blind eye to justice, equality, and progress in the celebrated principles of the peaceful 2019 revolution. In a desperate attempt to establish fake stability in Sudan, the international community continued their conversations with the military. Their international sponsors mentioned no retribution against the military for their actions.

During my recent visit to Sudan, the sense of anticipation was palpable. It was just two months before the outbreak of war between the army and the paramilitary group. The protests had intensified and the economy was faltering. The nation stood at the precipice as the activism continued and the tensions between "us" and "them" had begun to grow once again.

Now, as war engulfs the nation, many Sudanese find themselves torn. At the same time, they hope for the victory of the Sudanese Army. Despite the army's flaws, Sudanese people hope the army will win against "them" while recognizing that this war remains primarily between different factions of "them." We wake up every day with a little less hope. We watch them bomb Khartoum and the little infrastructure that existed turn to dust. We watch as the resistance committees continue to do the army's job for them. They work fiercely to deliver medicine, evacuate people and collect the nameless bodies on the sides of the streets next to the burnt buildings that were almost starting to be completed.

Another battle takes place online. On Sudanese social media, people challenge the negative mood of the war. Sudanese architects and designers work from their rented flats in Cairo or Addis, posting juxtaposed images that place the grainy, rashly captured photos of the latest burnt-down building in Khartoum next to different rendered perspectives. These perspectives reimagine the same building in a rebuilt Sudan. They thus instantly force a glimpse of hope in what now looks like a far-fetched reality to most people.

Just as these young visionaries attempt to defy the odds, international intervention and support are pivotal to help Sudan escape the clutches of this devastating conflict. Let Sudan serve as a catalyst for the change that was meant to be. Diplomatic engagement, humanitarian aid, and assistance in facilitating peaceful negotiations can all contribute.

The significance of ending the ongoing war in Sudan cannot be overstated. It represents more than just a cessation of violence. It provides a critical moment for the international community to follow the lead of the Sudanese people. The international community should dismantle the prevailing state of indifference worldwide. The fight against indifference extends far beyond the borders of Sudan. It is a fight that demands our attention and commitment on a global scale of solidarity. We must challenge the systems that perpetuate indifference and inequality in our own societies. We must stand up against injustice and apathy wherever we find it.

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This post is from a partnership between Africa Is a Country and The Elephant. We will be publishing a series of posts from their site once a week.

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