Politics
The Unjust Valuation of Pastoralists’ Land in Kenya
10 min read.The government has passed laws that routinely undervalue pastoralists’ land and undermine pastoralism as a system of production and main source of livelihood in the drylands.

Kenya’s constitution classifies all land in Kenya as either public, community-owned or private. More than 65 per cent of Kenya’s landmass is estimated to be community land. Such land is occupied and used mainly by the pastoralist communities in the northern drylands of Kenya. This area produces roughly 89 per cent of the beef produced in the country; mutton and chevron are not included in the government statistics. Beef is by far the most popular meat consumed in Kenya. It represents more than 70 per cent of all the meat consumed by volume due to urbanisation and a growing demand from the middle class in Kenyan cities.
Pastoralism, as practiced on the unregistered community lands by the indigenous people in Kenya, is of significant economic worth. The annual national pastoralist livestock offtake was valued at US$0.189 billion, while the yearly meat offtake was estimated at 154,968 tonnes and valued at US$0.389 billion. There is consensus that pastoralism contributes about 13 per cent of Kenya’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP), with approximately 13 million people directly benefiting from the livestock value chain. Over 75 per cent of cattle herds in Kenya are kept by pastoralists, who supply the bulk of the meat consumed.
But the economic contributions of pastoralists are hardly reflected in the government’s strategies or national development plans. As a result, pastoralism continues to face setbacks that hinder the realisation of its full potential. Further, the absence of accurate or, in some cases, the use of outdated data and inappropriate valuation methods, leads to an underestimation of the contribution of pastoralists to the economy.
The constitution protects a person’s right to own property individually or in association with others without any form of discrimination. Further, the state cannot deprive any person of their property or interest in a property unless it is in accordance with the constitution and the established statutory law. In the case where land, whether registered or not, is compulsorily acquired by the state for a public purpose or in the public interest, the constitution requires that it be done on the principles of just compensation and prompt payment of its total value.
Pastoralists rarely obtain just compensation for land acquired compulsorily by the state because the system of community land valuation is unjust towards the people.
Community land governance
The Land Act 2012 is the primary framework that governs public and private land administration and management while community land governance is addressed under the Community Land Act 2016. The Community Land Act repealed the Land (Group Representatives) Act (Cap 287) and the Trust Lands Act (Cap 288), which previously provided for the administration and management of community lands in Kenya.
The Community Land Act defines a community as a consciously distinct and organised group of users of the community land who are citizens of Kenya and share common attributes. These attributes are common ancestry, similar culture or unique mode of livelihood, socio-economic or other similar common interests, geographical space, ecological space, or ethnicity.
Pastoralists rarely obtain just compensation for land acquired compulsorily by the state because the system of community land valuation is unjust towards the people.
The Community Land Act 2016 provides for the recognition, protection, and registration of community land rights. Community land in Kenya is owned and vests the power to appropriate in the community. The Act further stipulates that the communities shall hold the communal land as family or clan land, reserve land, or any other category of land recognised under the Act or other written law. In addition, community land can be held in land tenure systems such as customary, freehold, leasehold or any other tenure system recognised by law. Community land includes all land owned by the former group ranches, community forests, grazing areas, shrines, land traditionally held by hunter-gatherer communities, land lawfully held as trust land by the county governments, and any other land legally declared to be community land by law.
Any parcel of community land that is not registered under the Community Land Act remains unregistered community land to be held in trust by the county governments on behalf of the communities. The county is prohibited by the Community Land Act from selling, transferring or disposing of any parcel of unregistered community land or even converting it into private Land.
Compulsory land acquisition
The statutory provisions under the Land Act 2012 guide the determination of compensation for compulsorily acquired community land rights. In addition, subsidiary legislation in the form of rules to guide assessment for just compensation has been developed by the National Land Commission (NLC) and approved by the national parliament.
The Kenyan government introduced an unfair adjustment to the Land Value Index Laws Amendment Bill 2019 that was hurriedly passed by both houses (the National Assembly and the Senate) and assented to by the president. The Land Value Amendment Bill aimed to amend various sections of the Land Act 2012, the Land Registration Act 2012, the Prevention, Protection and Assistance of Internally Displaced Persons and Affected Communities Act, and provide for the assessment of Land Value Index with regard to compulsory land acquisition. Pastoralist communities raised concerns through the Kenya ASAL Advocacy Group (KAAG) regarding the amendment’s serious implications for the just and fair compensation for pastoralist rangelands.
The amendment effectively entrenched unfair government policies and practices that include zero-rating the value of pastureland and legitimised unjust compensation practices of acquiring community land by keeping secret the full appreciation of the rangeland value.
Moreover, parliament passed the Land Value Index amendment law without the usual scrutiny by the members of the Pastoralist Parliamentary Group (PPG). The PPG is the largest parliamentary caucus representing the pastoralist communities of 15 counties in Kenya. The members of the national parliament founded the PPG to provide political leadership and protect and safeguard the interests of the pastoralist people at the national level.
By the passing such laws and policies, the government routinely undervalues and undermines pastoralism as a system of production and main source of livelihood in the drylands. Government statistics undervalue land used by the pastoralists, contributing to higher poverty indices and environmental degradation in the pastoralist region. Government-generated indices and valuation models do not capture the total value of rangelands and their uses, violating the constitutional protection of the pastoralist communities’ right to its common property.
Valuation practice in Kenya
The valuation practice in Kenya is governed by the Valuers Act Cap 532, which provides a Valuers Registration Board that regulates registered valuers’ activities and conduct. Any person registered by the board must be a full member of the Institution of Surveyors of Kenya (ISK).
Being members of the ISK, valuers in Kenya are required to subscribe to the International Valuation Standards (IVS) set by the International Valuation Standards Council. These standards specify the concepts, approaches, and bases for undertaking valuation in Kenya. The standards, guidelines, principles, and ideas are expected to promote consistency and transparency in valuation practice in Kenya. The standards prescribe three approaches that underpin these valuation methods: the market approach, the income approach and the cost approach.
The government’s statistics undervalue land used by the pastoralists, contributing to higher poverty indices and environmental degradation in the pastoralist region.
The market approach derives the value of an asset by comparing the asset with comparable (similar) assets for which sale price information is available. It assumes all assets are sold and bought in an open market. The income approach establishes value by converting future cash flow from an asset to a single present value, taking account of time value for money. It assumes assets are held for investment purposes.
The cost approach seeks to determine the value of an asset using the economic principle that a buyer will pay no more for an asset than the cost to obtain an asset of equal utility, whether by purchase or by construction in normal circumstances. Based on the foundations of these approaches, the following valuation methods have been variably applied in the valuation of assets in Kenya: Direct Sales Comparison (Comparable); Income Capitalization (Investment); Profits (Accounts); Replacement Cost; Reproduction Cost; summation (Contractors).
Valuation in community rangelands in Kenya
What is to be valued?
Valuation of community lands can be located from the constitution’s definition, which, as stated earlier, holds that community land include land registered in the name of group representatives (group ranches); land lawfully transferred to a specific community or declared to be community land by an Act of Parliament; land lawfully held, managed or used by specific communities as community forests, grazing areas or shrines; ancestral lands and lands traditionally occupied by hunter-gatherer communities; and land lawfully held as trust land by the county governments. On the face of it, the issue seems straightforward enough, but the practical disaggregation of attributes and interests in context is complex and displays excellent heterogeneity.
Turkana community system
The topography of Turkana County is varied, comprising of lowlands, plains, and mountains. The soils are sandy, volcanic, clay, alluvial and mixed types. There is fertile farming land (both irrigated and non-irrigated) on the lower Turkwel river basin, grazing pasture lands, forests, wildlife areas, caves and historical sites, mining and petroleum production areas, fishing sites, and beekeeping sites. Land use outside the urban areas varies depending on the ecological and geological characteristics, cultural and traditional practices, and government and non-governmental influences.
Significant land use practices include livestock keeping, fishing, subsistence farming, beekeeping, hunting and gathering, mining, cultural ceremonies and social gatherings, worship, tourism, and forestry. These uses may change depending on the seasons and climatic conditions.
Farming land is, for instance, converted to grazing land during the dry season and after crops have been harvested. The physical extent of community land is not defined by conventional administrative or cadastral boundaries but on cultural, use and control bases. Cultural definitions of boundaries vary depending on the rights under consideration. For instance, the more significant territorial boundary includes the areas occupied by the nineteen (19) Turkana subgroups (the outer boundary). Each of the subgroups also has its boundaries within the area that is covered by the external boundary. Families also have their boundaries defined by trees under the Ekwar system. Individuals also have control areas known as Eree.
The Turkana cultural property rights over this land are a continuum that includes territorial control, and ownership is collective. All subgroup use and control, family use and control, Individual use and control, individual ownership and control in irrigation schemes, access for members across and within subgroup-controlled areas, access and use by neighbours and friends of families for some resources such as water from wells (Akare) and use by neighbouring communities outside the territorial boundary, migratory rights, all these rights are exercised within customary rules and regulations that are not in writing but are well known and respected by all community members.
Community land ownership and management in Marsabit County
The land within Marsabit County comprises diverse landscapes, including high altitude mountains with rain forests, other forests, farmlands, grasslands, deserts, lakeshores and desert oases. The landscapes are characterised by volcanic, loamy, sandy and clay soils, and rock outcrops. Significant land uses vary across these landscapes and include livestock keeping, fishing, subsistence farming, hunting and gathering, social and cultural activities including traditional religious practices, extraction of traditional medicines and herbs, forestry, tourism and wildlife.
Some areas have mixed uses, like agro-pastoralism, while others have a specific use such as pastoralism. The land outside the municipal territory is traditionally owned by four specific ethnic communities: Borana, Rendille, Gabra and El Molo. Each of these communities has different territorial zones that they have historically controlled and used. The boundaries of the territorial zones are identified by geographical features that are historically acknowledged and known and respected by all. The land is not under a formal cadastral and land administration system.
Each of the communities has a different cultural background and clear customary rules governing land use and occupation.
Despite the various communities having distinct land control and ownership rights, they have developed reciprocal use rights for pastureland and water resources. The elders of the respective communities administer the customary practices. The clans, families and individuals in these communities have collective ownership rights, occupation rights, and user rights for pasture and other natural resources in the rangelands.
Families also have their boundaries defined by trees under the Ekwar system.
The community exercises control over any settlements even though it practices pastoralism that is characterised by temporary settlements. As a rule, communities may not graze in one area for more than three months continuously to avoid degradation. Permanent settlements are mainly found in the urban areas and market centres.
Neighbouring communities have mobile access and use rights subject to the customary rules and regulations of the host communities that are often overseen by individual elders appointed by the community’s traditional council. The various landscapes have different uses at different times. For instance, the desert is used for grazing during the rainy season, whereas the highlands are used for grazing during the dry season. All communities share the oases through appointed community regulators. At times cultural events affect land use. For instance, the circumcision period among the Rendille community may dictate where the animals, especially the camels, will be allowed to graze. The land is viewed as a symbol of community identity and the physical features of historical and cultural events.
The Dheda system of the Borana of Isiolo County
The Merti rangeland comprises the areas outside Isiolo central, which are largely dry season grazing areas. There are also wet season grazing areas, small subsistence farming areas, several small pastoralist towns with markets, and one growing urban settlement. The Borana people classify areas using the term Dheda.
The landscape is primarily savannah grassland with some hills and plateaus and varying vegetation cover. The soils are mainly sandy and mixed soils. The dominant land use is livestock keeping, complemented by small-scale subsistence farming along the Ewaso Nyiro riverbank, social amenities, and cultural and traditional shrines. In addition to these uses, the land is the central defining feature for community identity and the foundation of the traditional livestock production system (pastoralism).
The boundaries for the rangelands are determined by geographical features that are historically recognised by the communities, such as hills, seasonal rivers, rangeland water points and other types of rangeland resources related to pasture within each Dheda.
The clans, families and individuals in these communities have collective ownership rights, occupation rights, and user rights for pasture and other natural resources in the rangelands.
The rangeland is mainly occupied and controlled by the Borana community. The clans, families and individuals do not have direct control over the rangelands. Elders govern it on the basis of customary rules and regulations. Families and individual members have user and access rights. Community members cannot dispose of land by sale or exchange since the land is considered an intergenerational community asset. Neighbouring communities from Marsabit, Wajir, Garissa and Samburu have migratory use and access rights that are defined by the Borana community’s rules and regulations. These rights are seasonal, and the neighbouring communities cannot establish permanent settlements in the grazing areas.
There are community boreholes situated in different locations to provide water for both livestock and people. They are controlled by elders to avoid use during unauthorised seasons or as a disincentive to permanent settlement. This ensures that the grazing patterns are maintained to prevent land degradation or depletion of pasture before the onset of the rainy seasons.
From the case studies of these three communities, it is clear that the subject of valuation should vary across these different communities taking into account their specific customs and practices, the physical attributes of the land, and the region’s economic activities. The valuation should have legal, economic, social, cultural and environmental dimensions that will vary depending on the purpose, the community’s context, and timing. Community land valuation variables are not only influenced by the host community but also by the interests of neighbouring communities, including access, user rights and their social-economic activities. Some of these variables, such as those related to culture and spiritual practices, may not be directly quantifiable in the national valuation framework.
Neighbouring communities from Marsabit, Wajir, Garissa and Samburu have migratory use and access rights that are defined to the Borana community’s rules and regulations.
Besides state interests and frameworks, the rights and tenure arrangements that comprise the subject of valuation also contain several bundles that include individual, family, clan, ethnic subgroup, ethnic group and neighbouring ethnic groups. In the process of valuation, the physical scope should be ascertained by social mapping that considers cultural and social dynamics. However, the government’s current cadastral system does not allow for this.
In light of the foregoing, it is necessary to review how community land valuation for the purposes of compulsory land acquisition is done in Kenya. Whether relying on real estate background, livelihood safeguards or ecological management, the statutes that guide valuation in the case of compulsory community land acquisition by the state must adopt new guidelines that comply with constitutional requirements and legal and policy changes.
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Politics
The Dictatorship of the Church
From the enormously influential megachurches of Walter Magaya and Emmanuel Makandiwa to smaller ‘startups,’ the church in Zimbabwe has frightening, nearly despotic authority.

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.
Politics
Pattern of Life and Death: Camp Simba and the US War on Terror
The US has become addicted to private military contractors mainly because they provide “plausible deniability” in the so-called war on terror.

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.”
ISR and Pattern of Life are inextricably linked
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.
Politics
Breaking the Chains of Indifference
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.

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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