“Ci sono rifugiati eritrei imprigionati nei centri di detenzione di Sabrata, senza accesso ad acqua, cibo e cure mediche da almeno cinque giorni”, denuncia l’attivista eritrea Meron Estefanos, che è in contatto telefonico con un’ottantina di persone, rimaste bloccate per settimane nei combattimenti tra gruppi armati rivali a Sabrata, nel nordovest della Libia. “Ci sono sei donne che hanno partorito senza assistenza medica e almeno cinquanta bambini rinchiusi in questi centri di raccolta. Non c’è niente da mangiare”, racconta a Internazionale. Estefanos vive da anni in Svezia, ma è un punto di riferimento per gli eritrei che fuggono da Asmara, attraverso il Sudan e la Libia.“La situazione è drammatica perché una settimana fa i carcerieri hanno abbandonato i centri a causa dei combattimenti e sono scappati, così i migranti sono fuggiti, ma sono stati arrestati da altri gruppi armati e dalle forze di sicurezza, che li hanno portati in altri centri dove si trovano da cinque giorni”, afferma Estefanos, che sta cercando di mettersi in contatto con l’Alto commissariato delle Nazioni Unite per i rifugiati (Unhcr) e con l’Organizzazione internazionale delle migrazioni (Oim) per segnalare la situazione. “Ci sono persone morte a causa di ferite da arma da fuoco e che non sono state seppellite”.
Category Archives: Africa
It took Simon Antindi three hours, two taxis and one jolting ride in the back of an old farm bakkie to reach the state hospital where his father had been admitted – and when he saw it, he was overwhelmed.The hospital, in the far northern Namibian town of Oshakati, was bigger than any the 11-year-old had ever seen before – a huddled mass of low-slung green and blue buildings that trailed off into the horizon in every direction. Every turn led him deeper into a maze of crowded wards and worried visitors. Doctors whispered to each other in languages he didn’t recognise and the whole place smelled vaguely sour, like sickness and cleaning fluid.And then there was his father. The local primary school principal, this was a man who easily filled a room with his authority and his warmth, a man whose generosity was a long-standing source of local pride.A few years earlier, when the struggle for independence against South African rule blurred into villages and towns all across this part of what was then South West Africa, his father used to slaughter a goat for each passing band of Swapo guerrillas who trekked through – and often got himself arrested for his trouble.
Milizie libiche fanno brillare alcune bombe abbandonate dal gruppo Stato islamico, a Misurata, in Libia, il 9 settembre del 2016. (Reuters/Contrasto)LibiaLa fragile speranza di un nuovo processo di pace in LibiaAnnalisa Camilli, giornalista di Internazionale6 ottobre 2017 13.10FacebookTwitterEmailPrintIl 4 ottobre c’è stato un attacco terroristico rivendicato dal gruppo Stato islamico a Misurata, in Libia. Almeno quattro persone sono state uccise nel tribunale della città, mentre era in corso un processo. In un comunicato ripreso dall’agenzia di propaganda jihadista Amaq il gruppo terroristico ha dichiarato di aver voluto colpire “una delle roccaforti” del governo di unità nazionale libico riconosciuto dalla comunità internazionale, quello guidato da Fayez al Serraj.Era da tempo che il gruppo terroristico non metteva a segno attacchi in una città libica. Misurata è stata bersaglio di una serie di attentati nel 2015, e nel 2016 si temeva che potesse essere di nuovo sotto attacco dopo che una coalizione di milizie originarie della città (sotto la protezione del governo di Tripoli) ha combattuto per sei mesi contro l’Is per riprendere il controllo di Sirte.Secondo fonti militari, il gruppo terroristico si sta riorganizzando in Libia in tre aree: a sud di Sirte, in Cirenaica intorno all’oasi di Cufra, vicino al confine egiziano e nel Fezzan. “Il gruppo Stato islamico non riesce a controllare il territorio, ma ci sono cellule dormienti nelle principali città libiche”, spiega Mattia Toaldo dell’European council on foreign relations.
Vi er i landsbyen Nyamerambaro nordvest i Tanzania. Rehema er akkurat ferdig med klesvasken. Skjørt og kjoler ligger utover tørt gress. To geiter og et par høner rusler innimellom klesvasken for å finne noe å spise.Noen få skritt fra et lite steinhus er det et ulmende ildsted. Der skal Rehema lage middag.– Jeg gjør det enhver hustru gjør, sier 24-åringen, mens hun prøver å amme sin skrikende datter.– Jeg står opp om morgenen, lager mat, arbeider på jordene og passer på barna.
Every night as dusk falls in Piazza Gastone in the Noce district of Palermo, a tall, imposing Ghanaian woman dressed in traditional west African robes stands before a small congregation sweating in rows of plastic chairs before her.The Pentecostal Church of Odasani has been converted from an old garage in a backstreet into a place of worship, albeit one unrecognised by any formal faith group. But what many of the congregation – largely young Nigerian women – have come for tonight is more than prayer; it is freedom.“Nigerian women come to me for help, they have bad spirits that have been put inside their bodies by people who want to make money from them,” says the self-proclaimed prophetess, as she prepares to start her service.
It was close to midnight on the coast of Libya, a few miles west of Tripoli. At the water’s edge, armed Libyan smugglers pumped air into thirty-foot rubber dinghies. Some three thousand refugees and migrants, mostly sub-Saharan Africans, silent and barefoot, stood nearby in rows of ten. Oil platforms glowed in the Mediterranean.
The Libyans ordered male migrants to carry the inflated boats into the water, thirty on each side. They waded in and held the boats steady as a smuggler directed other migrants to board, packing them as tightly as possible. People in the center would suffer chemical burns if the fuel leaked and mixed with water. Those straddling the sides could easily fall into the sea. Officially, at least five thousand and ninety-eight migrants died in the Mediterranean last year, but Libya’s coastline is more than a thousand miles long, and nobody knows how many boats sink without ever being seen. Several of the migrants had written phone numbers on their clothes, so that someone could call their families if their bodies washed ashore.
The smugglers knelt in the sand and prayed, then stood up and ordered the migrants to push off. One pointed to the sky. “Look at this star!” he said. “Follow it.” Each boat left with only enough fuel to reach international waters.
In one dinghy, carrying a hundred and fifty people, a Nigerian teen-ager named Blessing started to cry. She had travelled six months to get to this point, and her face was gaunt and her ribs were showing. She wondered if God had visited her mother in dreams and shown her that she was alive. The boat hit swells and people started vomiting. By dawn, Blessing had fainted. The boat was taking on water.
There have been few moments in the past decade when I have felt truly proud to be Kenyan.
One such moment was when the new Constitution was promulgated in August 2010; another was when the Supreme Court made its historic ruling on Friday.
The Supreme Court sent an important message to the country’s citizens—that no one, not even the President, is above the law and the Constitution.
The target of the Egyptian police, that day in November 2015, was the street vendors selling socks, $2 sunglasses and fake jewelry, who clustered under the arcades of the elegant century-old buildings of Heliopolis, a Cairo suburb. Such raids were routine, but these vendors occupied an especially sensitive location. Just 100 yards away is the ornate palace where Egypt’s president, the military strongman Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, welcomes foreign dignitaries. As the men hurriedly gathered their goods from mats and doorways, preparing to flee, they had an unlikely assistant: an Italian graduate student named Giulio Regeni. He arrived in Cairo a few months earlier to conduct research for his doctorate at Cambridge. Raised in a small village near Trieste by a sales manager father and a schoolteacher mother, Regeni, a 28-year-old leftist, was enthralled by the revolutionary spirit of the Arab Spring. In 2011, when demonstrations erupted in Tahrir Square, leading to the ouster of President Hosni Mubarak, he was finishing a degree in Arabic and politics at Leeds University. He was in Cairo in 2013, working as an intern at a United Nations agency, when a second wave of protests led the military to oust Egypt’s newly elected president, the Islamist Mohamed Morsi, and put Sisi in charge. Like many Egyptians who had grown hostile to Morsi’s overreaching government, Regeni approved of this development. ‘‘It’s part of the revolutionary process,’’ he wrote an English friend, Bernard Goyder, in early August. Then, less than two weeks later, Sisi’s security forces killed 800 Morsi supporters in a single day, the worst state-sponsored massacre in Egypt’s history. It was the beginning of a long spiral of repression. Regeni soon left for England, where he started work for Oxford Analytica, a business-research firm
In 1951 I left the US for Europe. I was working as a translator and interpreter in the new postwar world of international organisations: UN agencies, trade-union bodies, student and youth associations. My plan was to visit France briefly, but I stayed nearly ten years. For anyone living in Paris, the Algerian war was inescapable. Where did your sympathies lie? Which side were you on? In 1960 at an international youth conference in Accra, I struck up a friendship with the two Algerian representatives: Frantz Fanon, a roving ambassador for the Provisional Government of the Algerian Republic, and Mohamed Sahnoun of the exiled Algerian student movement. After the conference, I flew to New York, where I met Abdelkader Chanderli, the head of the Algerian Office, as the unofficial Algerian mission at the UN was known. Chanderli invited me to join his team, lobbying UN member states to support Algerian independence.
Der Anfang scheint gemacht. Am Wochenende stellten die Organisationen Ärzte ohne Grenzen und Sea-Eye ihre Rettungsaktionen für schiffbrüchige Flüchtlinge im Mittelmeer bis auf Weiteres ein. Andere werden wohl folgen. Denn Libyen hat eine nationale SAR-Zone (abgeleitet von “Search and Rescue”, deutsch: “Suchen und Retten”) ausgerufen, die weit über die libyschen Hoheitsgewässer hinausreicht. Und die Regierung in Tripolis, die im Land selbst kaum etwas regiert, hat die privaten Helfer ausdrücklich gewarnt, diese Zone zu befahren.
Die Drohung ist ernst zu nehmen, denn zu Wasser ist Libyen gut bestückt. Man hat aus Europa moderne Schiffe für die Küsten- und Seekontrolle bekommen, dazu viel Geld und Ausbildungskurse und was man sonst noch so braucht für den kleinen Seekrieg vor der Haustür.