Horror in MogadishuA bomb blast in Somalia’s capital exposes the government’s failures

IN HIS ten years driving an ambulance in Mogadishu, Ahmed Said Hassan had never seen anything like it. Arriving at the scene of Saturday’s explosion, what he remembered as a bustling intersection crowded with street hawkers, vegetable sellers, and hotel guests had been transformed into a post-apocalyptic scene: the carbonised bodies of those killed in the explosion were strewn across the street, the Safari Hotel was rubble, and heat from the fire raging in the explosion’s aftermath could be felt 100 metres from the scene.

“There aren’t words to describe that kind of devastation,” Hassan says. “Everyone looked like they were dead or dying, everyone had massive injuries and we didn’t have enough space to transport them all.”

The attack was the deadliest in the already turbulent history of Somalia’s capital. It was particularly devastating because a truck loaded with a mixture of homemade and military explosives detonated next to a fuel tanker on a busy intersection of the city’s Kilometre Five district. Firefighters, Somali security forces and African Union peacekeepers rushed to the site, where a fire engulfed nearby buildings sending plumes of thick, dark smoke into the sky. Roughly 30 minutes later, another car bomb exploded less than 300 metres from the site of the first blast, sending more victims to the six hospitals nearby that were already jammed with casualties.

At least 300 people were killed and hundreds more injured, according to the Somali government. The number of fatalities will probably increase as more bodies are found in the debris. Most have been burned beyond recognition.

Since Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed (known as “Farmaajo”) took office as president in February, national security has been his government’s priority. He has also worked hard to attract international support for the fight against al-Shabab (“the youth”), a jihadist group. America has sent more troops to Somalia and designated parts of the country a “zone of active hostilities” where it applies looser rules and oversight when it comes to authorising drone strikes and ground operations. America already has about 400 soldiers on the ground in Somalia, compared with about 50 a year ago. Yet America’s focus on collecting intelligence on and destroying the sites used by al-Shabab to make explosives has suffered setbacks. In August a joint raid by Somali and American soldiers led to the deaths of ten civilians in Bariire.

In the months preceding this attack, the federal government had tried to improve security in the capital. The authorities limited the number and sorts of weapon that could be carried, and set up more checkpoints in the city. They also set about disarming civilians and former warlords.

Thanks to these efforts there were fewer attacks than usual during Ramadan and in the months since. But the latest bombing has exposed deep flaws in Somalia’s security forces. According to sources close to the government, the truck carrying explosives was stopped at two checkpoints on its way into the city, but was allowed to continue without an inspection of its cargo.

Criticism of the government’s inability to prevent such large-scale bloodshed adds to already festering discontent and a deep political divide between Somalia’s regional states and its federal authorities. Only a week before the attack, the presidents of Somalia’s regional states refused to attend a constitutional convention with the federal government in Mogadishu, opting instead to have a meeting of regional presidents in Kismayo.

“This is evidence of what al-Shabab can still do in Mogadishu,” says Abdisalam Yusuf Guled, a security and counterterrorism expert in the capital. “If this was a test then the government has failed.”