Afua Hirsch
By Afua Hirsch
There is an eerie silence in Timbuktu. Apart from the sweltering heat at this, the hottest time of year, and the mist obscuring vision in the fabled Sahara town — something is missing.
“When the jihadists came here, they killed all the dogs,” explains Tahar Haidara, 32, a hotel owner in Timbuktu. “They called it Operation Dog. There used to be many pet dogs here — they were barking at them and it annoyed them, so they just went around shooting them.”
It’s not only the absence of dogs — a staple presence in most Malian towns — that gives Timbuktu a subdued air. Banks, restaurants and many other businesses remain shut after they were looted and vandalised by the city’s jihadist occupants.
Army vehicles patrol the streets and there is a ban on driving after 6pm, when night begins to fall.
And the famously diverse city has been almost emptied of its Tuareg inhabitants, with residents saying that only a few Tuareg women remain, while all the men have left.
Many accuse the Tuaregs — whose rebellion in the quest for an independent state in the Malian desert paved the way for Al Qaeda-linked rebels to seize control of northern Mali last April — of continuing to wage armed conflict, as well as growing reports of armed robbery and banditry. “There is a lot of banditry outside the city,” said Colonel Gilles Bationo, from Burkina Faso, who leads the UN-backed African military force in the Timbuktu region.
“It is difficult to know who is a jihadist, who is the MNLA [the Tuareg Mouvement National de Liberation de l’Azawad], and who is a bandit,” Bationo added. “All these bandits have taken advantage of the security situation. The jihadists are also getting supplies from people by attacking them on the road.”
The ongoing security problems in northern Mali, where militants have lost their grip on towns but large weapons caches are still believed to be hidden in the desert, has dampened the initial spirit of jubilation after French forces swept into the region in January.
In addition to regular incidents outside Timbuktu, it and other towns in the north have been rocked by a spate of suicide bombings, previously unheard of in the country.
Army officials and residents alike say it is impossible to completely eliminate the risk of further similar attacks.
“No one knows if there will be more suicide bombings,” said Bationo. “It is possible at any time. All we can do is continue to patrol the city and the area outside it, and to be vigilant.”
On one empty billboard, “Vive la France” has been scribbled in chalk, but is now crossed out. Nearby graffiti in Arabic is daubed on a wall in red paint.
Across the road, a gaudy mansion, which residents say belonged to a notorious Tuareg narcotics chief, is barricaded off with a makeshift fence of dry tree-branches. The empty bag of an intravenous drip is strewn in the sand outside.
The Guardian
By Afua Hirsch
There is an eerie silence in Timbuktu. Apart from the sweltering heat at this, the hottest time of year, and the mist obscuring vision in the fabled Sahara town — something is missing.
“When the jihadists came here, they killed all the dogs,” explains Tahar Haidara, 32, a hotel owner in Timbuktu. “They called it Operation Dog. There used to be many pet dogs here — they were barking at them and it annoyed them, so they just went around shooting them.”
It’s not only the absence of dogs — a staple presence in most Malian towns — that gives Timbuktu a subdued air. Banks, restaurants and many other businesses remain shut after they were looted and vandalised by the city’s jihadist occupants.
Army vehicles patrol the streets and there is a ban on driving after 6pm, when night begins to fall.
And the famously diverse city has been almost emptied of its Tuareg inhabitants, with residents saying that only a few Tuareg women remain, while all the men have left.
Many accuse the Tuaregs — whose rebellion in the quest for an independent state in the Malian desert paved the way for Al Qaeda-linked rebels to seize control of northern Mali last April — of continuing to wage armed conflict, as well as growing reports of armed robbery and banditry. “There is a lot of banditry outside the city,” said Colonel Gilles Bationo, from Burkina Faso, who leads the UN-backed African military force in the Timbuktu region.
“It is difficult to know who is a jihadist, who is the MNLA [the Tuareg Mouvement National de Liberation de l’Azawad], and who is a bandit,” Bationo added. “All these bandits have taken advantage of the security situation. The jihadists are also getting supplies from people by attacking them on the road.”
The ongoing security problems in northern Mali, where militants have lost their grip on towns but large weapons caches are still believed to be hidden in the desert, has dampened the initial spirit of jubilation after French forces swept into the region in January.
In addition to regular incidents outside Timbuktu, it and other towns in the north have been rocked by a spate of suicide bombings, previously unheard of in the country.
Army officials and residents alike say it is impossible to completely eliminate the risk of further similar attacks.
“No one knows if there will be more suicide bombings,” said Bationo. “It is possible at any time. All we can do is continue to patrol the city and the area outside it, and to be vigilant.”
On one empty billboard, “Vive la France” has been scribbled in chalk, but is now crossed out. Nearby graffiti in Arabic is daubed on a wall in red paint.
Across the road, a gaudy mansion, which residents say belonged to a notorious Tuareg narcotics chief, is barricaded off with a makeshift fence of dry tree-branches. The empty bag of an intravenous drip is strewn in the sand outside.
The Guardian
