Deep in the Buloburde bush in the Hiiraan region of central Somalia, there’s a ragtag regiment gathering around a missile launcher.
Huddled tightly with their ears pressed against a small black phone, they receive intelligence and feed it back to the troops positioning the launcher.
The Ma’awisley militia is made up of farmers turned fighters and is in the front line of the battle for Somalia’s stability. It is the new weapon of choice in the 16-year effort to eradicate al Shabaab, the terrorist group linked to al Qaeda.
Image: The Ma’awisley fighters
This war is one without a conventional front line. Instead, there are territories around the country where al Shabaab entrench themselves in the community and frequently launch attacks.
Now, these communities are rising up against them.
“We are fighting for the right cause, for the people, for this nation and for the faith until Somalia is peaceful,” says Ma’awisley commander Ali Shiri in Bal’ad – another hotspot just an hour outside the capital Mogadishu.
Primarily, they are protecting their families and farms. The lands they have long harvested are now parched by prolonged drought and stalked by al Shabaab fighters seeking money and food.
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“They are bothering the community. We are farmers and they keep coming back to collect taxes from us. That is what made us fight,” says Ali.
Image: The Ma’awisley militia
‘Total war against al Shabaab’ top of the president’s agenda
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This new push comes with a new administration, adamant to rid the country of insurgents. In May, President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud came into power and weeks later, a 30-hour siege of the Hayat Hotel in Mogadishu ended with the killing of 20 people. In response to the massacre, he declared a “total war against al Shabaab”.
President Mohamud has survived two al Shabaab assassination attempts and his nephew was killed by the terror group in 2015. This is his second term as president and the fight against al Shabaab continues to be at the top of his agenda.
Today, some of the fiercest battles are taking place in his home region of Hiraan where his government is steadily recruiting farmers to fight, a task made easier by the harsh climate conditions.
“We are facing the worst drought here in Hiraan. There’s been no rain and now we have an extra issue – war,” says the governor of Hiraan and army veteran Ali Jeyte.
He has been fighting alongside the Ma’awisley for the past four months and says: “We are their leaders and we have told them what’s good for them and they accept it.”
Image: A soldier from the Somali National Army stands watch as missiles are fired on al Shabaab locations
The Ma’awisley are named after the bright wrap-around skirts they wear to work on their farm. Today, these same skirts are wrapped around military fatigues and adorned with rows of new brass bullets supplied by the state. On their backs are rusty weapons bought on the black market.
Fortified by ground support from the Somali National Army and heavy artillery provided by the African Transition Mission in Somalia (ATMIS), they are engaged in an all-out offensive in the battle of Hiraan.
“Around 300 to 400 militia men are surrounding al Shabaab at the moment,” says Abdelsalam Mualim Mohamed, the Ma’awisley militia commander in Bulobarde.
Using their intelligence, ATMIS Djiboutian force commander Colonel Hassan Djama Farah prepares his men to launch the missiles. The first strike hits near the target and they fire another.
When the dust settles, the soldiers pack their guns on to the back of their trucks and the Ma’awisley once again blend into the bushes.
‘Bombs are their weapon of choice’, hitting morale as well as injuring soldiers
The government claims to have killed 200 al Shabaab fighters in the past few days alone and says that many have surrendered.
These numbers are difficult to verify in a war that has been characterised by conflicting information from both sides. The government has recently tightened laws restricting local reporting on the terrorist group and suspended some of their social media accounts. Many Somali journalists complain that that is media censorship.
In this ever-changing climate, al Shabaab is constantly changing its tactics.
“We train on them, they train on us,” says Brigadier General Keith Katunji. He’s the commander of ATMIS Ugandan troops and has been stationed in Somalia on and off since 2010.
Image: Shabelle River, Somalia, which runs through the lower Shabelle region, where commander of ATMIS Ugandan troops is stationed
His sector is Lower Shabelle, home to Mogadishu and where close to half of the country’s population live.
“The improvised explosive devices (IEDs) or bombs are al Shabaab’s weapon of choice. They know we supply our bases by road so they concentrate on putting IEDs on the road and that affects us psychologically,” he says.
It’s the injuries sustained from these bombs that affect his soldiers’ morale, but still they take on the daily task of painstakingly clearing a major road linking Mogadishu to central Somalia, a critical artery supplying the country with food and fuel.
The Uganda People’s Defence Force (UPDF) finds five to six improvised explosive devices on the 150-mile road every day, searching it inch by inch.
Lush farms become drought-ravaged lands as food security destroyed
“The United Nations and the government are trying to supply foodstuff so we have to do this kind of operation. You have to go and pacify the area where food will be dumped and give people hope,” says the brigadier.
Four failed rainy seasons have destroyed food security across the country and forecasts suggest there is unlikely to bring the moisture needed to replenish agricultural land.
Lower Shabelle is technically the most fertile part of Somalia. But from above, formerly lush farms have become drought-ravaged lands. Now littered with planted bombs instead of fields of crops.
Image: Abdelsalam Mualim Mohamed, a Ma’awisley fighter, in the Hiraan region of Somalia
Just under seven million people are at risk of starvation – close to half of the country’s population.
“A hungry man is an angry man,’ adds brigadier Katunji.
This anger is building amongst the Ma’awisley who are not just facing drought.
“When it is harvest time, al Shabaab comes and says we have to pay – these are the challenges we are facing,” says commander Ali Shiri in Bal’ad, a city in Middle Shabelle where another offensive is underway.
Bal’ad is close to al-Shabaab’s former capital Basra and where the terror group would hold Sharia courts to settle issues like land disputes.
For Bal’ad’s mayor Qaasim Furdug this fight is deeply personal. He lost his leg in 2010 in Mogadishu in a battle against al Shabaab and insists the war against them continues.
A fight that rural communities – once terrorised into silence – are now at the forefront.
Image: A convoy of the Uganda People’s Defence Force, part of the African Union Transition Mission in Somalia, outside Mogadishu
‘Either farm as a free man or die – we are facing bullets’
“People thought al Shabaab were on the right path but now they have become aware that al Shabaab are the true enemy,” says mayor Furdug.
“So everyone decided to either farm as a free man or die. We are facing bullets. We are facing our enemy.”
The Mayor is greeted by Ma’awisley fighters as he leaves his office. They are taking a break before heading back out to confront al Shabaab.
These battles are breaking out all across the country as the government pushes to reclaim territory – another symptom of Somalia’s increasingly uninhabitable environment.
“We can’t farm and as farmers, we are ready to defend our land and people,” says Ma’awisley fighter Abdi Mahmoud Hussein in Bal’ad town.
At least half of the seven million Somalis affected by the drought are estimated to live in the al Shabaab-controlled territory, a curse many believe goes hand in hand.
“There is a lack of rain and wherever al Shabaab goes, drought follows,” Abdi adds.
We see the boat from a distance – the orange of the life jackets reflected in the rising sun.
And as we draw closer, we can make out dozens of people crowded on board as it sets off from the shore, from a beach near Dunkirk.
Image: .
There is no sign of any police activity on the shore, and there are no police vessels in the water.
Instead, the migrants crammed into an inflatable dinghy are being watched by us, on board a private boat, and the looming figure of the Minck, a French search and rescue ship that soon arrives.
Image: Minck, a French search and rescue ship, shadows the boat
The dinghy meanders. It’s not heading towards Britain but rather hugging the coast.
A few of the passengers wave at us cheerfully, but then the boat starts to head back towards the shore.
As it nears a different beach, we see a police vehicle – a dune buggy – heading down to meet it.
Normal practice is for French police officers to slice through the material of any of these small boats that end up back on shore.
Image: Sky’s Adam Parsons at the scene
Two police officers get out of the buggy and wait. A police helicopter arrives and circles above, performing a tight circle over the heads of the migrants.
The police think they might be about to go back on to the beach; in fact, these passengers know that most of them are staying put.
The boat stops a short distance from the shore and four people jump out. As they wade towards the beach, the boat turns and starts to head back out to sea.
We see the two police officers approach these four men and have a brief conversation.
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They don’t appear to check the bags they are carrying and, if they do question them about why they left the boat, it is the most cursory of conversations.
In reality, these people probably don’t speak French but they were almost certainly involved in arranging this crossing, which is against the law. But all four walk away, disappearing into the dunes at the back of the beach.
Donald Trump and a leading figure in the Israeli army have suggested a ceasefire in Gaza could be close.
Eyal Zamir, chief of staff of the Israel Defence Forces (IDF), told Israeli media that “conditions were created to advance a deal” to bring about an end to the conflict in the coastal territory, and the release of hostages.
In a televised address, he said: “We have achieved many significant results, we have caused great damage to the governance and military capabilities of Hamas.
“Thanks to the operational power that we have demonstrated, the conditions have been created to advance a deal to release the hostages.”
‘This week, or next’
It comes as the US president hosts Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu in Washington DC on a prolonged visit this week.
Mr Trump said his meetings with Mr Netanyahu were focused “on Gaza for the most part”.
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He said: “I think we have a chance [of a ceasefire] this week, or next week.”
However, the US leader added: “Not definitely,” saying nothing was certain about the situation in Gaza.
Image: Donald Trump speaks, as Pete Hegseth looks on, during a dinner with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.
Pic: Reuters
Image: Benjamin Netanyahu speaks during a bilateral dinner with Donald Trump this week.
Pic: Reuters
Hamas reiterates ‘keenness’ to end fighting
Meanwhile, Hamas has repeated its message that it is committed to the negotiations but warned of a number of sticking points despite the positive noises from senior Israeli figures.
In a statement, the militant group said: “In its keenness to succeed in the ongoing efforts, the movement [Hamas] has shown the necessary flexibility and agreed to release 10 prisoners.
“The key points remain under negotiation, foremost among them: the flow of aid, the withdrawal of the occupation from the territories of the Gaza Strip, and the provision of real guarantees for a permanent ceasefire.”
Mr Trump’s special envoy to the Middle East Steve Witkoff previously told a cabinet meeting that the anticipated ceasefire would last 60 days and involve the release of ten hostages and nine bodies.
A source close to the negotiations told Sky News that the hostage release would take place in two waves during the 60 days and was conditional on the ceasefire.
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While the politicians talk, so many people come from around the world to try to get across the Channel on small boats. But why?
Why make such a perilous crossing to try to get to a country that seems to be getting increasingly hostile to asylum seekers?
As the British and French leaders meet, with small boats at the forefront of their agenda, we came to northern France to get some answers.
It is not a new question, but it is peppered with fresh relevance.
Over the course of a morning spent around a migrant camp in Dunkirk, we meet migrantsfrom Gaza, Iraq, Eritrea, South Sudan, Sri Lanka and beyond.
Some are fearful, waving us away; some are happy to talk. Very few are comfortable to be filmed.
All but one man – who says he’s come to the wrong place and actually wants to claim asylum in Paris – are intent on reaching Britain.
They see the calm seas, feel the light winds – perfect conditions for small boat crossings.
John has come here from South Sudan. He tells me he’s now 18 years old. He left his war-torn home nation just before his 16th birthday. He feels that reaching Britain is his destiny.
“England is my dream country,” he says. “It has been my dream since I was at school. It’s the country that colonised us and when I get there, I will feel like I am home.
“In England, they can give me an opportunity to succeed or to do whatever I need to do in my life. I feel like I am an English child, who was born in Africa.”
Image: ‘England is my dream country,’ John tells Adam Parsons
He says he would like to make a career in England, either as a journalist or in human resources, and, like many others we meet, is at pains to insist he will work hard.
The boat crossing is waved away as little more than an inconvenience – a trifle compared with the previous hardships of his journey towards Britain.
We meet a group of men who have all travelled from Gaza, intent on starting new lives in Britain and then bringing their families over to join them.
One man, who left Gaza two years ago, tells me that his son has since been shot in the leg “but there is no hospital for him to go to”.
Next to him, a man called Abdullah says he entered Europe through Greece and stayed there for months on end, but was told the Greek authorities would never allow him to bring over his family.
Britain, he thinks, will be more accommodating. “Gaza is being destroyed – we need help,” he says.
Image: Abdullah says ‘Gaza is being destroyed – we need help’
A man from Eritreatells us he is escaping a failing country and has friends in Britain – he plans to become a bicycle courier in either London or Manchester.
He can’t stay in France, he says, because he doesn’t speak French. The English language is presented as a huge draw for many of the people we talk to, just as it had been during similar conversations over the course of many years.
I ask many of these people why they don’t want to stay in France, or another safe European country.
Some repeat that they cannot speak the language and feel ostracised. Another says that he tried, and failed, to get a residency permit in both France and Belgium.
But this is also, clearly, a flawed survey. Last year, five times as many people sought asylum in France as in Britain.
And French critics have long insisted that Britain, a country without a European-style ID card system, makes itself attractive to migrants who can “disappear”.
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Migrant Channel crossings hit new record
A young man from Iraq, with absolutely perfect English, comes for a chat. He oozes confidence and a certain amount of mischief.
It has taken him only seven days to get from Iraq to Dunkirk; when I ask how he has made the trip so quickly, he shrugs. “Money talks”.
He looks around him. “Let me tell you – all of these people you see around you will be getting to Britain and the first job they get will be in the black market, so they won’t be paying any tax.
“Back in the day in Britain, they used to welcome immigrants very well, but these days I don’t think they want to, because there’s too many of them coming by boat. Every day it’s about seven or 800 people. That’s too many people.”
“But,” I ask, “if those people are a problem – then what makes you different? Aren’t you a problem too?”
He shakes his head emphatically. “I know that I’m a very good guy. And I won’t be a problem. I’ll only stay in Britain for a few years and then I’ll leave again.”
A man from Sri Lanka says he “will feel safe” when he gets to Britain; a tall, smiling man from Ethiopia echoes the sentiment: “We are not safe in our home country so we have come all this way,” he says. “We want to work, to be part of Britain.”
Emmanuel is another from South Sudan – thoughtful and eloquent. He left his country five years ago – “at the start of COVID” – and has not seen his children in all that time. His aim is to start a new life in Britain, and then to bring his family to join him.
He is a trained electrical engineer, but says he could also work as a lorry driver. He is adamant that Britain has a responsibility to the people of its former colony.
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