Thursday March 28, 2019
Jason Burke in Mombasa
Kenya programme funds dozens of mentors to work with 200 vulnerable people in bid to stamp out extremism
A soldier on patrol in Majengo, Mombasa. Photograph: Ivan Lieman/AFP/Getty Images
It’s morning in Majengo, a poor neighbourhood of Mombasa. The palm
trees and swimming pools of the tourist resorts scattered around the
coastal Kenyan city seem a world away from these narrow, rubbish-strewn
streets and tin-roofed homes. In a small community centre, a small group
sit on the battered wooden benches in the searing summer heat talking
of extremism, police violence and gangs – and hope and courage.
Majengo already had a bad reputation before Islamist militants killed
21 in an assault in January on a luxury hotel, office and restaurant
complex in the capital Nairobi, 500km away. The neighbourhood has long
been known as a fertile recruiting ground for al-Shabaab, the Islamist extremist organisation based in neighbouring Somalia that is responsible for a bloody if intermittent terrorist campaign in Kenya.
The suicide bomber who led the assault in Nairobi has been identified
as Mahir Khalid Riziki, 25, from Majengo. Investigators are still
trying to understand exactly howhe was recruited, trained and then
returned to Kenya by al-Shabaab, an affiliate of al-Qaida.
In Majengo, locals have a good idea how it might have happened.
Rukiya, 27, describes how he came close to being recruited. With a group
of friends, he attended local extremist mosques that were later shut
down by authorities.
“We felt [going to fight with al-Shabaab] was a religious duty. We were looking forward to being martyrs,” he said.
Security forces help civilians flee the scene as cars
burn at a hotel complex in Nairobi, Kenya, in January. Photograph: Ben
Curtis/AP
“My mother did not want me to fight but my father was supportive.
Many people I know went to Somalia, but I was lucky. I ended up in a
religious school where a different teacher made me realise that my ideas
about holy war were all wrong.”
Rukiya is now part of an innovative £2.5m programme run by Royal
United Services Institute (Rusi) , a thinktank in London. Most efforts
to tackle extremism aim to “de-radicalise” existing militants but these
have had only patchy success since they were first pioneered a decade or
so ago.
The Rusi programme is different. It has its origins in crime
prevention and focuses instead on stopping people becoming drawn into
extremism. Since 2016, it has funded dozens of mentors in Kenya who work
with more than 200 people seen as vulnerable to recruitment efforts and
dangerous ideologies. Thirty-two individuals have “graduated” from the
programme.
Along with extremism, Majengo also suffers from soaring levels of unemployment, drugs and gangs.
Martine Zeuthen, the team leader, said a wide network of social
workers, local clerics and teachers referred those thought to be at
risk.
There are several indicators: a close friend or relative who had
joined al-Shabaab, actively advocating violent extremism in the
community, membership of a gang or a recent incarceration. Coming from
an abusive family, dropping out of school or converting to Islam were
also risk factors, Zeuthen said, though of less relevance.
The programme links the vulnerable with a mentor, often someone from
the same neighbourhood who has overcome similar challenges, who can help
them deal with any serious problems in their lives, support them
emotionally and divert them from the “alternative community” offered by
extremist groups.
Zeuthen said the programme was prompting “a lot of interest in the US
and Europe” and an approach of looking at terrorism as “just another
serious crime”.
Young people gather after Friday prayers in Majengo. Photograph: AFP/Getty Images
Kenya has long suffered from extremism. A first wave of violence between 1998 and 2002 was directed by al-Qaida against foreign targets, including US embassies and Israeli tourists. It had ebbed by the middle of the last decade.
But radicalism continued to grow among Kenya’s Muslim minority,
fuelled by a sense of marginalisation, the impact of the US-led “war on
terror” and a shift away from traditional moderate Islamic practices to
more rigorous versions of the faith promoted by countries in the Gulf.
“First we starting seeing signs of religious intolerance, and young
men were disappearing. It was related to the world picture and the
perception that the US and the western world were enemies of Islam, and
in Kenya Muslims were feeling that they were second class citizens. We
also started feeling the influence of the Gulf states which brought
different views about non-believers,” said Sheik Yusuf Abu Hamza, a
cleric in the sprawling and very poor Nairobi neighbourhood of Kibera.
In 2013 gunmen from al-Shabaab stormed a shopping mall in
Nairobi, killing 67 people. Then 148 people were shot dead at a
university in Kenya’s north-east. Both attacks were launched from
Somalia, where Kenyan troops are fighting the extremists as part of an
African Union force, but drew attention to support networks within Kenya
itself.
Almost all the mentors – who are paid a small stipend by Rusi – and
the mentees interviewed by the Guardian in Majengo complained of police
harassment and brutality.
“It is like a reflex action. Even if there is just a small incident,
the patrols come through. After [the recent] Nairobi attack, most of us
ended up being arrested, detained, questioned,” said Nolly, 35. Others
allege bribes and mistreatment.
Recruiters specifically target women, said Fatima, 27, who admitted
to having once been “very close to getting involved” in extremism.
“I was going to fight for Muslims. I wanted my revenge on people who
judged me because I was a Muslim. I was crazy,” she said. “The youth
just have unemployment, poverty. We don’t have an opportunity to express
ourselves. There is a sense the government is targeting a certain
community.”
Muslim men at a roadside cafe in Majengo. Photograph: AFP/Getty Images
Local senior police officials say they make strenuous efforts to “win hearts and minds”.
Recently, Kenyan authorities have faced a new wave of Islamist
militants who are better educated, from a wider range of ethnic
backgrounds and include more women.
All those involved in January’s attack appear to have been born in
Kenya, and one is the son of an army NCO from Kenya’s largest ethnic
community, the Kikuyu.
“As long as this kind of wrong religion is there, then radicalisation
will not end… There are new teachers and new recruits among young
people,” said Rukiya. He and others in the programme told the Guardian
they know young people who have gone to Somalia recently.
But many are optimistic.
“There is a growing sense of belonging [in the Muslim community],”
said Abu Hamza, the cleric. “This generation feel Kenyan and what to do
something for the country.”
In Majengo, Fatima, 25, said the mentor programme had taught her to
believe in herself, to value the life she has and that revenge is not
the answer.
“I used to feel there was only me to face so many problems. I used to fear people but now I have courage”,” she said.