Darfur patrol stretched thin

MISTIRIA, Sudan — Patrolling a war zone the size of Texas with just 12 two-man teams, officers of the tiny African Union monitoring mission hope at least to send all parties in bloodied Darfur a message: The world is watching.

“They know we are foreign eyes when we go there,” Cmdr. Seth Appiah-Mensah of Ghana said last week before a day’s patrol set out. “And they don’t like foreign eyes,” he added, tapping his own.

The patrol, led by Maj. Panduleni Martin of Namibia, goes to Mistiria, the stronghold of Darfur’s feared pro-government Janjaweed militia — Arab tribal fighters widely accused of killing and raping non-Arab civilians and burning their farm villages in the rolling, browning grasslands of western Sudan.

For Martin, it’s a day of small talk, checking in with Sudanese troops and some of the few non-Arab villagers remaining in the area, even bantering with a suspected Janjaweed commander about the going price in camels for a Sudanese bride.

The African Union is monitoring a cease-fire signed in April but regularly violated. Since two non-Arab groups rebelled in January 2003, Darfur’s conflict has claimed more than 50,000 lives, destroyed more than 400 villages and driven more than 1.4 million people from their homes, most of them non-Arabs.

The United States, the European Parliament and human rights group accuse Sudan’s government and the Janjaweed of waging a genocidal campaign against the non-Arabs, a charge denied by officials in Khartoum.

The African Union mission — the unarmed monitors and about 350 armed soldiers who guard them — is due to grow to 3,500 in coming weeks, with increased U.S. funding and logistical support from private contractors.

Sudan’s government reluctantly agreed to the bolstered force but has resisted international prodding to expand the mission’s mandate from monitoring to peacekeeping.

International pressure and the African Union’s presence has helped lessen the violence, Martin said.

Large-scale attacks on civilians have decreased in recent weeks. Some of the Arab fighters have pulled back to bases like the one in Mistiria, in northern Darfur.

In Mistiria, militiamen now at least take the trouble to keep their Kalashnikov assault rifles out of sight of monitors, Martin says.

While here, he hears out a complaint from a suspected Janjaweed commander, Abdullah Waheed Saeed, about a rebel cattle raid.

Martin asks politely for details, while an unsaddled camel rolls on its back in the sand of a nearby dry wadi.

Suspected Janjaweed fighters, in a machine gun-mounted pickup truck, watch over the dirt track leading across the wadi into Mistiria. In sunglasses, flip-flops and uniforms without insignia, they also survey the African Union team.

One, identifying himself as Sudanese army Sgt. Mohammed Kadada Ramadan, comes over to shake hands with the visitors. As usual, the monitoring team includes one representative from the Sudanese military as well as one from each of Darfur’s two rebel groups.

Ibrahim Ali Hassan of the Islamist-leaning rebel Justice and Equality Movement accepts the offered hand of his suspected Janjaweed enemy. Politely, if awkwardly, Hassan comes up with a compliment: “I like your camel milk.” But conversation quickly peters out.

The African Union convoy has bounced through a landscape of empty villages, some burned.

Arab herders now lead sheep and goats through the crumbling, overgrown villages — the former inhabitants dead, in hiding, or scattered in refugee camps in Darfur and across the border in Chad.

A few non-Arab farm villages remain among the emptied communities around Mistiria. One group, members of the Fur tribe, lives at the wadi crossing, the children peeping out at the ever-present Arab tribal fighters and the visiting monitors.

Martin asks a Fur elder about conditions. Abdu Mahan Yassir starts to complain of difficulties getting food: “Living is complicated here,” he says, but then falters under the gaze of the team’s Sudanese military representative and the suspected Janjaweed fighters.

Everything is fine, Yassir offers. Any shortages of fuel or food, Martin asks. No, there are no problems, the elder says. Martin moves on.

Trailed by reporters, the Sudanese official and the Arab militiamen, Martin finds his day limited to stilted exchanges, and roast mutton at the Janjaweed base.

“I have a question,” Martin demands of Saeed, the suspected militia commander, as the disparate group of enemies and outsiders drink tea. “I want to take a Sudanese bride. How many camels will that take?” Martin asks, joking.

One camel, Saeed tells him — plus a lot of cash. Saeed then volunteers news of his own upcoming nuptials. In his 30s, he is taking a third wife, a girl of 13.

The day for Martin’s team closes at the end of a tow rope. One of the squad’s two utility vehicles has broken down.

Vehicle shortages and other gear problems plague the mission, keeping most of the monitors and protection troops from patrolling. While the United Nations prods Europe and the United States for promised support, the monitors complain they are even short of arm bands that show them to be African Union observers.

Once the monitoring mission expands, African Union teams will be able to deploy permanently at hot spots across the region, Maj. Johan Odendaal of South Africa said at the sector base in the nearby town of Kabkabiyah.

But absent any change in their mandate to allow them to protect Darfur’s people, the observers can do only that — observe.

Aid groups have urged that African Union teams establish regular patrols, at least, so women can feel safe from nearly daily cases of rape — by suspected Janjaweed — while gathering firewood outside camps.

Asked if their limited mandate allowed them to act in a recent rape case involving a 40-year-old woman and 13-year-old girl attacked by three uniformed men, Martin nods firmly.

“Yes. We sent a report,” he says.