Nov 24(Jowhar)-Wasiirka Arrimaha Dibadda iyo Iskaashiga Caalamiga ah ee Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya, Mudane Cabdisalaan Cabdi Cali, ayaa maanta xafiiskiisa ku qaabilay Safiirka Dowladda Turkiga ee Soomaaliya, Ambassador Alper Aktas.
Fifty Nigerian schoolchildren kidnapped in raid break free from captors
They Came at Dusk: A Community on Edge After One of Nigeria’s Largest School Kidnappings
The sun had just dipped behind the low Niger State hills when the first frightened parents began to arrive at St Mary’s co-educational school. Some were drawn by the siren of rumours; others by the small tribe of ambulances and policemen. A woman in a faded wrapper clutched a thermos of hot tea as if it would steady her hands: “I knew something was wrong when my son didn’t come to fetch water after prayers,” she told me, voice tight with fatigue. “We have been waiting since Friday.”
In the days that followed, the slow, wrenching rhythms of reunion and despair played out in public. Fifty children — a small, miraculous number when set against the scale of the crime — slipped back into the arms of parents and neighbours after daring escapes, according to the Christian Association of Nigeria (CAN). Their stories are vivid: flashlights in the bush, a broken strap, a chance to run. “They came in the night, like thieves in the harmattan,” one liberated boy said, rubbing his eyes. “We were scared, but we ran.”
What Happened at St Mary’s
Gunmen attacked St Mary’s school in Niger State on a Friday evening, seizing hundreds of children in one of the nation’s largest mass kidnappings in recent memory. CAN reported that 303 pupils and 12 teachers were taken. The school, which has a total enrolment of about 629 students, lost nearly half its children in a single, brutal operation. Children taken ranged in age from about eight to 18.
This raid did not come in isolation. Earlier the same week, armed men stormed a secondary school in neighbouring Kebbi State and abducted 25 girls. Across the country, these episodes have triggered panic and a cascade of school closures: the national education ministry ordered 47 boarding secondary schools to shut their dormitories while authorities reassess security measures.
Numbers That Refuse to Be Ignored
- 303 pupils and 12 teachers reported abducted from St Mary’s.
- 50 students have escaped and returned home, according to CAN.
- 47 boarding secondary schools were ordered closed nationwide by the education ministry.
- Nigeria is Africa’s most populous nation, with roughly 216 million people, and the social ripple effects of such attacks extend far beyond any single village.
Voices From the Ground
“There is no night that feels safe anymore,” said Reverend Bulus Dauwa Yohanna, CAN chairman in Niger State, his hands laced on the makeshift stage where grieving families gathered. “We rejoice for the children who have returned, but our prayers are for the rest. We need swift action to bring them back.”
A local schoolteacher, who asked to be identified only as Mariam, described the fear that now hangs over classrooms. “Parents are calling to take their children home even though we try to reassure them. How do you explain that the place meant to teach them maths and English has turned into a target?”
Security analysts say this pattern of abductions is both strategic and opportunistic. “Kidnappings of students have become a revenue model for organised criminal gangs,” explained Dr Amina Bello, a security specialist at a leading Abuja think tank. “They’re also a means to humiliate the state — to point to the failures of protection. The combination is devastating: economic motives overlaid with the broader insecurity that plagues many rural communities.”
History of Trauma: Chibok and a Nation’s Memory
For many Nigerians, the wounds reopen the moment the headlines flash. Memory goes back to April 2014, when nearly 276 girls from Chibok were taken by Boko Haram in one of the world’s most notorious kidnappings. Years later, some remain missing; some freed girls continue to live with trauma and social stigma.
These historical echoes make each new abduction feel less like an isolated crime and more like part of a relentless story. “We have to remember that these are not just statistics,” a local imam said quietly, as he handed out bottled water to distraught families. “Every child is someone’s whole world.”
Why Schools Are Targets
There are multiple, overlapping reasons: poverty in rural areas, armed groups operating with impunity, and the absence of rapid, effective security responses. Kidnapping students is a high-profile way for criminals to secure ransom payments and media attention, and it exploits gaps in protective infrastructure — from underfunded local police posts to long stretches of unlit roads where patrols are rare.
“Schools are both soft targets and lucrative ones,” Dr Bello said. “The criminals calculate that communities will pay to get their children back. That makes it a persistent model unless you address both security and socio-economic drivers.”
The Human Cost: Beyond Fear
The immediate horror is obvious: children snatched, teachers taken, families shattered. But the longer grief is quieter and more insidious. When boarding schools close, children lose days, months, even years of education. Parents, already stretched thinly by rising prices and uncertain incomes, must decide whether to risk sending their children back. The dropout rates among older boys and girls climb. Futures are re-rolled like dice.
“My daughter dreams of becoming a doctor,” said Fatima, a mother in the nearby town, her hands stained from preparing cassava. “Now she’s scared to go back to class. Who will step in and promise safety and hope?”
What Comes Next?
Authorities say they are investigating and have vowed to pursue the perpetrators, but parents and civil society are pressing for more concrete measures — better intelligence, regional coordination between state and federal forces, community early-warning systems, and a faster humanitarian response to support traumatised children.
International voices have also joined local ones. Religious leaders have appealed for restraint and rescue; citizens abroad have held vigils and shared petitions. Yet the most immediate pressure rests on the families and neighbours who wake early each day to head back to uncertain fields and quiet classrooms.
Actions People Want to See
- Increased, community-integrated security patrols around schools.
- Investment in protective infrastructure — lighting, perimeter fencing, emergency communications.
- Trauma counselling and emergency education programs for affected children.
- Transparent investigations and accountability to deter future attacks.
Where Do We Turn From Here?
For the parents hugging their freed children, the future is cramped with immediate needs: food, health checks, paperwork for school re-enrolment, and a search for the rest. For those whose loved ones remain missing, every sunset is another tightening wound.
And for readers far from Niger State, there’s an uncomfortable question: how do we bear witness without turning pain into spectacle? How do we demand, across borders and languages, that the places meant to be safe — churches, schools, classrooms — are guaranteed that safety?
Perhaps the clearest demand is simple: protect children. Not as ideology, but as an urgent, practical imperative. When a school becomes a battlefield, the toll is not only the children taken; it is the future deferred for an entire community. The task now is to restore not just those children to their homes, but trust to the places that raise a society.
As one mother said, wiping a tear that refused to fall, “Bring our children back, and then teach us how to sleep at night.”
Taoiseach travels to Angola for EU-African Union summit talks
A Taoiseach in Luanda: A Summit, a Railway and the Quiet Noise of Big Power Chess
When Micheál Martin stepped off the plane in Luanda, the air clung to his jacket like warm breath. The capital’s scent — diesel, grilled fish, and jasmine from a nearby garden — met him before the formalities did. He had come for a summit that reads like a global to-do list: an EU–African Union gathering meant to remake ties, broker deals, and quieter still, reassign influence.
Behind the official headlines — meetings, handshakes, cameras — is a city and a continent that refuse to be footnotes in other people’s geopolitics. Angola, this summit’s host, is a place where glossy hotel lobbies sit beside markets so loud you can hear the cadence of deals being made. The Taoiseach’s arrival follows a quick u-turn of world leaders who left the G20 in Johannesburg and landed here, where Europe, Africa, and other powers will spend two days hashing out cooperation on everything from trade and energy to security and migration.
Why Luanda, Why Now?
This is the seventh EU–AU summit, and it arrives in the shadow of a shaken global order. Two headlines loom large: the crisis in Ukraine and the scramble for Africa’s resources and loyalties. Before the social niceties of Luanda begin, European leaders will huddle — an informal European Council meeting about Ukraine — a reminder that alliances and old commitments still press on the European agenda.
And yet the summit is also a milestone: 25 years since the EU and the African Union formally began a partnership. That quarter-century anniversary is both a celebration and a challenge. Has Europe kept pace with Africa’s accelerating dynamism? Can it position itself as a reliable partner while other actors — China, the United States, Russia — pursue their own agendas?
At the Top of the Agenda
Officials have set out a dense agenda. Expect discussions on:
- Security cooperation, including counterterrorism and maritime patrols;
- Trade and investment frameworks to boost jobs and industrialization;
- Energy partnerships — especially clean energy transitions and access;
- Migration management that balances human rights with border concerns;
- Access to critical minerals for the green technology push.
These items look simple on a brochure and fiendishly complicated in reality. Each line intersects with sovereignty, local expectations, and history.
Trade, Influence and the Numbers That Matter
Europe is not a bystander. The EU is the leading source of foreign direct investment for Africa and its largest commercial partner; bilateral trade in goods and services hit about €467 billion in 2023. Those figures give Brussels bargaining power, yet raw numbers do not translate automatically into trust.
Meanwhile, Africa is no longer the “continent of the future” speech. It is present, young — roughly 1.4 billion people — and strategically vital. Its minerals are indispensable for the global green transition: cobalt, copper, and other rare materials are essential to batteries, wind turbines, and the devices we use every day. That reality has turned the continent into a renewed diplomatic battleground.
Global Gateway, Lobito Corridor — Big Promises, Local Proof
The EU comes armed with the Global Gateway, an umbrella plan to finance infrastructure that can rival China’s Belt and Road ambitions. In Angola, one of Global Gateway’s marquee projects is the Lobito corridor — a railway intended to link the mineral-rich interior of the Democratic Republic of Congo and Zambia to the Atlantic seaboard. Housed under the glow of international partnership, it is also being touted as a way to lessen Europe’s dependence on Chinese supply chains for critical minerals.
Yet promises and rails are different things. “Investment must move from PowerPoint to the factory floor,” said Ikemesit Effiong, who watches African economies from a consultancy in Lagos. “Europe’s credibility now depends on whether projects deliver real value — jobs, processing capacity, and functioning hospitals — not just visibility for Brussels.”
Luanda Up Close: Voices on the Street
Walking through the Miramar market, vendors trade more than mangoes and peanuts. They trade memories of unmet pledges and cautious optimism about the future.
“They come with nice maps and speak of corridors,” said Ana Maria, a market seller who has lived in Luanda for 40 years. “But I want to know: will my son get an apprenticeship? Will the road to our clinic be fixed?”
Across town, João, a high-school science teacher, watches the summit through a different lens. “We need partners who invest in education, not only in extractive pipelines,” he told me. “If the Lobito corridor brings wealth but no schools, we just export our children.”
An EU diplomat, speaking on background, acknowledged the gap: “We must be honest. There has been a messaging problem. We can finance projects, but building sustainable local capacity requires longer timelines and deeper collaboration.”
A Local Critic and a Global Observer
Not everyone is convinced by promises of mutual benefit. “Too many projects are designed in Brussels and delivered by contractors who fly in and out,” said Samir Mendes, a Luanda-based civil-society activist. “If this summit is to matter, it must change procurement rules, support local industry, and protect communities.”
Analysts beyond the continent also watch, noting that the US showed uneasy distance at the recent G20 and that China’s deep pockets continue to shape African infrastructure. Russia, meanwhile, threads military and political influence into its ties. The result is complex geopolitics with Africa at the center — not as a pawn, but as a player with leverage.
What Is at Stake — for Europe, for Africa, for the World?
This summit asks a deceptively simple question: how do two blocs build a partnership that is equitable, sustainable, and resilient? For Europe, the stakes are access to resources and strategic partnerships for a green transition. For Africa, the stakes are dignity, industrial growth, and the ability to set terms that advance domestic priorities.
There is also a moral dimension. Migration flows, driven by climate change, conflict, and lack of opportunity, link Europe and Africa through human stories as much as economic charts. Young Africans are the majority of the continent’s population. Failure to create meaningful jobs — from manufacturing to digital services — will fuel the same challenges policymakers are trying to fix.
Leaving Luanda — Questions More Than Answers
When leaders fly out of Luanda, they will carry communiqués, memoranda and photo-ops. But the real test will be what happens after the delegates leave — when rails are built, when revenues are shared, and when local factories open their doors.
Will Europe move beyond sponsorship to partnership? Can investments translate into tangible improvements in health, education and employment? And perhaps most importantly: will African voices shape projects on their own terms?
As this summit begins, stand in Luanda’s evening light and ask yourself: what kind of partnership do we want to see between continents? One that is transactional, or one that is transformational?
Those questions have no simple answers. But in the bustling markets and quiet classrooms of Luanda, they are already being lived out. The world will be watching — and listening.
UN decries ‘paltry outcomes’ and ‘deadly complacency’ at COP30
Belém, Broken Promises, and the Quiet Roar of a Warming World
Belém felt like a crossroads last week: the humid Amazon air pressed against the glass of conference halls while outside, the river breathed slow and brown, carrying the stories of fishing families and rubber tappers who know the forest’s moods better than any negotiator. Inside, the world’s diplomats and activists tried to stitch together a response to a crisis that refuses to knit itself back together.
But when the lights went down on COP30, the verdict was unmistakable to many: small steps, big rhetoric, and what one global rights leader called “meagre results.” Volker Türk, the UN human rights chief, spoke plainly at a business and human rights forum in Geneva: “I often wonder how future generations will judge our leaders’ actions—and their fatal inaction—on the climate crisis. Could the inadequate response of today be considered ecocide or even a crime against humanity?”
The words landed like stones in a still pond. They reflected a broader frustration at the summit in Belém, where negotiators approved a package that nudges money toward vulnerable nations but conspicuously skirted the subject many expected to be front and center: fossil fuels.
The good news—and what it leaves behind
There were tangible gains. Heads of state and negotiators agreed to scale up finance for poorer nations wrestling with droughts, floods and coastlines swallowed by rising seas. The summit launched a voluntary initiative intended to accelerate action so countries meet their existing emissions pledges, and it called for richer nations to at least triple the money they provide for adaptation by 2035.
“Money matters,” said María Silva, a climate policy advisor from Mozambique who attended the talks. “Our coastal communities need seawalls, farmers need heat-tolerant seeds, and our cities need cooling plans. If finance only trickles, the places that already suffer the most will continue to pay with lives and livelihoods.”
Yet even the victories felt partial. Delegates from several countries objected to the summit closing without stronger, concrete plans to rein in greenhouse gas emissions or to explicitly name the prime culprit: fossil fuels.
Missing words, loud implications
When negotiators neatly avoided the phrase “phase out” of fossil fuels in formal text, many in the climate community saw a symptom of a deeper political calculus. The deal’s silence on oil, gas and coal did not come from ignorance. It came from politics: alliances of producing countries, economic dependence, and the messy reality of transitioning energy systems that currently depend on hydrocarbons.
Mary Robinson, former president of Ireland and chair of The Elders, struck a nuanced tone on RTÉ’s Morning Ireland. “We didn’t get what we would have liked,” she said, “which was a formal mention of phasing out fossil fuel. But there is an informal process that is robust—more than 80 countries behind it. Momentum is real.”
Robinson’s optimism hinged on an economic pivot she has watched for years: renewable energy is falling in cost and rising in reliability. “Clean energy is getting cheaper and more dependable every year,” she said. “Even oil producers can see the future market—Saudi Arabia could move into clean energy tomorrow and make millions. The hard part is moving from billions to millions right now.”
From coral to canopy: the science keeps knocking
Scientists at COP30 warned—again—about planetary thresholds. Coral reefs, already bleached and brittle in many parts of the world, could face irreversible losses if global warming continues on its current trajectory. The Amazon, too, increasingly reads as a region on edge, with drought and fire stress threatening what we’ve long called the planet’s lungs.
“We’re not negotiating abstract numbers,” said Dr. Kamal Bhattacharya, an ecologist who has worked in the Amazon for two decades. “We are bargaining with systems that sustain millions—freshwater cycles, fisheries, seasonal rains that farmers depend on. When you cross ‘tipping points,’ the changes become self-reinforcing and, often, rapid.”
These scientific warnings are not new. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has repeatedly signaled the narrow margins left to keep warming below 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels—a threshold that, if breached, brings more extreme heatwaves, sea-level rise and biodiversity loss.
Money, trust, and a long shadow of debt
Finance was the story’s more pragmatic strand. Developing countries have made clear they need immediate, predictable funds for adaptation—the concrete work of protecting people from harm already in motion. At COP30, the push to triple adaptation finance by 2035 speaks to an acknowledgement that adaptation has been chronically underfunded. Rich nations promised $100 billion annually to developing countries more than a decade ago. The delivery has been slow, and many say it fell short or was poorly targeted.
“We are asking for justice, not charity,” said Aline Teixeira, a community leader from Pará state, where Belém sits at the mouth of the Amazon. “Our mothers and fathers read the weather differently; they are already losing crops, fish, homes. We need predictable funds, not promises that evaporate at the airport lounge.”
There was also a nod toward making trade policies and climate action speak to each other—an admission that rising barriers and tariffs can block the spread of clean technologies. Aligning trade and climate policy is political heavy lifting, but it could make renewable transition cheaper and faster if done right.
Local color: Belém’s pulse amid global debate
Outside the conference center, Belém’s markets perfumed the air—rumbling with a cacophony of acai vendors, fishmongers and artisans. Children ran past stalls selling carved wood and river fish skewers. Indigenous leaders held quieter conversations about tradition, knowledge and survival. The contrast was stark: local rhythms of life that lean on the forest and river, and international negotiations that often forget those granular human realities.
“You can’t separate the climate from culture here,” said Joaquim, a fisherman whose family has navigated the estuary for generations. “When the river changes, our songs change. We are not statistics.”
What now? A question for the reader—and a call for wider imagination
COP30 left us with a mixed ledger: modest financial progress, a failure to target the core mechanics of the crisis, and a clear signal that the politics of fossil fuels remain the Gordian knot of climate diplomacy. Volker Türk’s haunting question—could inaction amount to a crime against humanity?—is not meant to criminalize politicians overnight. It is meant to pry open our moral imagination.
How will history judge this moment? Will our grandchildren inherit a planet shored up by courageous transitions and equitable finance, or will they inherit a ledger of compromises and missed deadlines? The answer depends on choices that will be made in boardrooms, ministries, and town halls across continents.
So I’ll ask you—what do you think matters most right now: accelerating finance for adaptation, a fast and fair phase-out of fossil fuels, or technological fixes like carbon capture and storage? Your answer will likely reveal how you weigh immediate human suffering against long-term planetary stability.
Belém was not an ending. It was a mirror. It showed us that momentum exists, but also how fragile it is. The forest, river and people around that city keep living in the consequences of decisions made in far-off capitals. That closeness—between the global and the local—is where accountability must begin.
Puntland oo dil toogasho ku xukuntay Hodan Maxamuud oo si arxan darro ah u dishay Saabiriin Saylaan
Nov 24(Jowhar)-Maxkamadda derejada 1aad ee degmada Galkacyo gobolka Mudug ayaa maalinkii 2aad u fariisatay garmaqalka kiiska marxuumad Saabiriin Saylaan oo dhawaan lagu diley mid kamid ah xaafadaha Magaalada Galkacyo ee xarunta gobolka Mudug.
Massive Russian strike kills four amid ongoing peace negotiations
Smoke over Kharkiv: A City Still Counting the Cost as Diplomats Race for Peace
Late into a cold evening, the sirens wailed, then the city held its breath. Kharkiv — Ukraine’s industrious, auburn-roofed northeastern hub — woke to the smell of smoke and the soft thud of emergency crews pulling people from the wreckage of apartments that had been ordinary minutes earlier.
“At first we thought it was thunder,” a neighbour told me, voice breaking as she cupped a steaming paper cup of tea. “Then we saw the flames. Two families from my stairwell are gone.”
The official tally, relayed by the city’s mayor, is stark: four dead, 17 wounded. Local officials described the strike as “massive,” saying residential blocks and essential infrastructure were hit and that several fires burned through the night. Emergency services reported three residential buildings and an infrastructure facility ablaze. For those on the ground, the numbers are not statistics but the faces of friends and the hollowed shells of homes.
Negotiations in Geneva — A Promise and a Question Mark
As the smoke still rose over Kharkiv, diplomats in Geneva were poring over a different kind of rubble: a draft peace framework that both the United States and Ukraine say they have refined after intense talks. The two delegations released a joint statement announcing a “refined peace framework,” though the contours remain, by design or necessity, opaque.
“We have moved forward together in a serious way,” an American official who participated in the talks told reporters. “The new draft aims to protect Ukraine’s core interests while opening a path to de-escalation.” Kyiv, for its part, has acknowledged the work but has not issued its own public endorsement of the specific text.
So where does this leave the millions living under the shadow of missiles and drones? It leaves them asking the oldest, hardest questions: Can diplomacy keep up with the guns? Can a piece of paper protect a city from a strike that came in the middle of night?
What’s on the table — and what isn’t
The headlines referenced an earlier 28-point proposal that sent shockwaves across capitals and Kyiv alike. That initial document, widely criticized as too accommodating to Russia’s demands, reportedly asked Ukraine to cede territory, accept limits on its armed forces, and abandon aspirations to join NATO — terms many Ukrainians viewed as tantamount to surrender after years of bloodshed.
Officials say the draft now under discussion is “refined,” with adjustments intended to better reflect Ukrainian security needs. European partners, who were not part of the original drafting according to several sources, rushed to offer their own counterproposal — one that reportedly includes stronger security guarantees and softer language on territorial concessions.
“Any agreement that does not guarantee the safety of civilians and the sovereignty of Ukraine is fundamentally unacceptable,” said a Kyiv-based security analyst. “Talks cannot paper over the reality on the ground: cities are still being attacked.”
Frontlines and Home Lives
The rocket that hit Kharkiv is one instance in a pattern: long-range drone and missile attacks continue to pummel power plants, gas pipelines, and water systems. The consequences are immediate and mundane — no hot water, no heating at night, the refrigerator humming quietly as food starts to spoil — but they compound into a civic crisis.
Local hospitals, already strained, have been forced to ration electricity and work by diesel generators. “Patients are sleeping in shifts by emergency lights. We do what we can,” said a hospital nurse. “People call us from other towns asking when the lights will come back. We don’t know.”
Ukrainian authorities have warned that millions have intermittently lost water, gas, or electricity in recent weeks — a cascading reminder that modern war is as much about cutting the lifelines of cities as it is about seizing terrain. Where governments and diplomats see leverage, civilians see daily survival.
Politics, Pressure, and the Weight of Deadlines
Diplomatic activity has accelerated under intense international pressure. A series of meetings — some reportedly involving high-profile private actors and controversial figures — has prompted both sharp criticism and frantic behind-the-scenes bargaining. U.S. representatives say they want to hammer out a deal quickly; Kyiv has been urged publicly and privately to act within tight timeframes.
“Deadlines can force progress, but they can also force concessions people aren’t ready to make,” a European diplomat in Geneva observed. “What we need is a durable settlement, not a hurry that unravels the moment one side feels betrayed.”
Domestically, President Volodymyr Zelensky faces mounting pressures: the grinding toll of war, a fragile economy stretched thin, and the corrosive re-emergence of corruption scandals that have eroded public trust. These internal strains make any negotiation infinitely more complicated; leaders must balance geopolitical give-and-take with the democratic imperative to remain accountable to a populace that has sacrificed much.
Sanctions, oil, and the economics of conflict
Complicating the calculus are international efforts to squeeze the financial arteries of the conflict. The U.S. has recently tightened sanctions on aspects of Russia’s oil sector — a patchwork of measures aimed at constraining revenue streams that fund military campaigns. Meanwhile, Ukraine’s own attacks on energy infrastructure across occupied regions have reduced incomes for industries once generating steady cash.
“Sanctions bite, but they don’t end wars overnight,” a London-based energy economist said. “What they do is reshape bargaining power. Whether that becomes a lever toward peace or simply forces a reorientation of tactics is still uncertain.”
Voices from the Ground
Back in Kharkiv, people speak not about balance sheets and red lines but about bread and schoolbooks. “My child asks if the city will always be like this,” said a teacher standing outside a shuttered school, her scarf wrapped tight against the cold. “I say no, I tell her I believe it will be better. But belief feels fragile.”
A volunteer firefighter, soot-streaked and exhausted, offered a blunt diagnosis: “We patch what we can. We save who we can. But unless the world gives us more than words, we will always be a step behind the next strike.”
What should we ask of diplomacy?
As readers, what should we demand? Transparency from negotiators? Stronger, enforceable security guarantees for Ukraine? A clear-eyed strategy for rebuilding once the guns fall silent? These are not rhetorical flourishes — they are practical necessities. Any plan that aims to stop the fighting must include robust mechanisms to protect civilians, rebuild shattered infrastructure, and provide independent verification of compliance.
And while diplomats tinker with drafts in Geneva, ordinary people will keep living — and dying — under a calculus they did not choose. That moral dissonance should trouble us all.
Where we go from here
There are no easy endings. The refined framework in Geneva may guide a path toward ceasefire and talks, or it may harden into another document that fails to stop the rockets. What matters, beyond the language of any draft, is whether it changes the day-to-day reality of places like Kharkiv.
“If we are negotiating peace, we must be negotiating for the lives of people still in their apartments,” said a humanitarian worker arriving with blankets. “Peace that starts when the last siren is silent is too late.”
As the sun finally cut through the smoke the next morning, neighbors were already cleaning glass from windows and sharing what food they had. Diplomats in Geneva will return to their maps and talking points. But the survivors in Kharkiv — and cities like it across the region — will measure success not by signatures on paper, but by whether, at dawn tomorrow, they can turn on a light and feel safe enough to sleep.
Hay’da NIRA oo Muqdisho ku qabatay shirkii 2-aad ee Aqoonsiga Qaranka
Nov 24(Jowhar)-Maanta waxaa magaalada Muqdisho si rasmi ah uga furmaya Shirwaynaha Labaad ee Aqoonsiga Qaranka, kaas oo ay soo qaban-qaabisay Hay’adda Aqoonsiga Qaranka ee NIRA.
Madaxweyne Xasan oo magacaabay Ergeygiisa gaarka ee Ka-Hortagga & La-Dagaallanka Fikradda Xagjirka
Nov 24(Jowhar)-Madaxweynaha Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya Mudane Xasan Sheekh Maxamuud ayaa magacaabay Xildhibaan Aweys Mohamed Omar oo noqday.
Global reactions to COP30 range from sharp criticism to cautious support
Heat, Hope and Hard Bargains: Inside COP30’s Quiet Storm in Belém
Belém is a city of green humidity and river-borne commerce. The air here hums with mosquitoes and the sweet, tart tang of açaí sold in wooden bowls at dawn. It is also, for a fortnight each year, a place where the future of the planet is negotiated—part cathedral of science, part marketplace of power.
At COP30, those two currents ran into one another with familiar friction: heartfelt alarm from countries on the frontline of climate breakdown; cautious celebration from those who saw a fragile lifeline preserved; and sharp anger from campaigners and delegates who had hoped the summit would mark a decisive turn away from fossil fuels.
The Missing Line: Fossil Fuel Phase-Out and a Fractured Consensus
If there was one moment of collective gasp in the plenary, it came when the final text emerged without a clear, time-bound commitment to phase out fossil fuels—the single largest driver of greenhouse gas emissions. For many delegates, that omission was less a compromise than a betrayal.
“Denying the best available science requires us not only to put the climate regime at risk, but also our own existence,” a Colombian delegate shouted when the watered-down language was read, echoing what many saw as a moral imperative. “Which message are we sending the world, Mr President?”
The reason is painfully simple: the atmosphere is already warmer by roughly 1.1–1.2°C compared with pre-industrial levels, and scientists warn that to keep warming below the Paris Agreement’s 1.5°C threshold requires rapid, deep cuts in fossil fuel use. Yet the summit process—reliant on unanimity—allowed oil-producing blocs, including a number of Arab states, Russia and India, to resist explicit phase-out language.
The result left some negotiators stunned. “We came here to map an exit ramp for coal, oil and gas,” said a small island-state negotiator, voice low but furious. “Instead we were given a maze.”
Why It Matters
Global CO2 emissions from fossil fuels are in the tens of billions of tonnes annually, and atmospheric concentrations remain stubbornly high. That is why activists and many governments demanded a clear roadmap: not just rhetoric, but dates, finance and justice mechanisms to ensure that the transition does not leave workers or communities behind.
Between Disappointment and Relief: Divergent Reactions
Not everyone left the conference centre disillusioned. Some framed the outcome as a pragmatic preservation of the Paris Agreement at a time of geopolitical turbulence.
“I would have preferred a more ambitious agreement,” said UK Secretary of State Ed Miliband in the press hall, “but in a moment when global politics is fractured, the recommitment of 190-plus countries to Paris and to the 1.5°C goal is significant.”
The European Union, for its part, welcomed language on boosting adaptation funding—pledging a step-change for the countries most exposed to climate impacts. “We should support it because it at least goes in the right direction,” an EU commissioner told journalists, adding that richer nations must stand “shoulder to shoulder” with the poorest.
Money Talks—but Not Enough
Money was the other battleground. Delegates in Belém celebrated a pledge to triple adaptation finance for vulnerable countries, but charities and policy experts were blunt: the numbers fall far short of need.
“This was supposed to be an adaptation COP,” said a climate justice adviser from a major aid organisation at the riverside café where negotiators nursed bitter coffee. “What we were left with were vague commitments—some hope, but not the figures that will keep communities alive through floods, droughts and shifting seasons.”
Estimates vary, but analysts have warned that adaptation costs for low- and middle-income countries could rise into the hundreds of billions of dollars annually by 2030. Even with the pledged increases, advocates say current flows are only scratching the surface.
- Adaptation needs: potentially $140–300 billion a year by 2030 (various UN-linked estimates)
- Climate finance shortfalls: developed countries have repeatedly missed the $100 billion annual goal pledged in 2009
- On the table in Belém: a pledge to significantly increase adaptation funding—welcome but numerically vague
The Human Side: Voices from the Ground
Outside the negotiation rooms, the city’s market was a reminder of what’s at stake. A fishmonger who has worked the waters of the Pará for four decades spoke of shifts he’s seen in the river’s rhythm. “The seasons change like a confused clock,” he said, shrugging as he gutted a pirarucu. “The rain comes late and the fish hide. We have to learn new rhythms.” His comment landed with the quiet weight of experience—local knowledge that rarely fits into diplomatic language.
An Indigenous leader from the Amazon—whose community has seen fires creep closer in recent years—pressed for stronger protections. “Our rivers are our lifeblood,” she said, fingers stained with the dye used in ritual crafts. “When the forest dies, so do our songs.”
A Win for People: The Just Transition Mechanism
One bright note in the document was a new commitment to a ‘Just Transition’ mechanism—an attempt to ensure that climate action protects jobs and communities during the shift away from fossil fuels.
NGOs hailed this as a people-powered victory. “This mechanism could be transformational,” said Karol Balfe, an NGO leader, describing it as “a blueprint for making climate action socially fair.” Human rights groups stressed that the framework must respect Indigenous rights and protect workers.
Ann Harrison, a climate justice advisor at a leading human rights NGO, framed the move as a rebuke to fossil fuel lobbyists. “This was people power winning in the negotiating halls,” she said. “Now the hard work begins: turning commitments into enforceable protections on the ground.”
Innovations Beyond the Plenary: The Bio Economy Challenge
Not all meaningful progress was contained in the final text. Brazil launched a ‘Bio Economy Challenge’—an effort to scale up industries based on renewable biomass, regenerative agriculture and waste reduction. Among local entrepreneurs, there was excitement.
“This is about value from what we already have,” said a smallholder who produces manioc and artisanal oils. “If we can market our crops as part of a sustainable, circular economy, it changes everything for families here.”
Experts say the bioeconomy can bolster resilience: regenerative farming, reduced reliance on pesticides, and diversification can help communities withstand floods and droughts. But scaling requires investment, technical support and markets—exactly the gaps that COP finance discussions tried, and largely struggled, to fill.
So What Now? Questions for a World at the Crossroads
As the tents come down in Belém and the river settles back into its old routes, a few questions linger: Can a fragile global consensus be turned into urgent, financed action? Will promises about justice and adaptation be matched by money and timelines? And how long will policymakers allow fossil fuel interests to shape agreements when the data on warming is already ominous?
These are not just negotiation tactics. They are choices about the lives of fishermen, Indigenous guardians of forests, factory workers facing the end of coal jobs—and the children who will inherit a climate made by today’s decisions.
What kind of world do you want to help build? Will you demand governments move beyond platitudes to hard timelines and real dollars? The answer will shape the next decade of climate politics.
Looking Ahead
Belém was a crucible: messy, emotional and ultimately inconclusive in some of its most urgent demands. It produced tools and commitments that matter—the just transition mechanism, pledges to scale adaptation, and new economic experiments like the Bio Economy Challenge. Yet for many, the absence of a clear fossil fuel phase-out remains an open wound.
The road from promises to planetary protection is long and uneven. COP30 did not supply a map; it offered footprints. The rest of the world must decide whether those footprints will become a trail toward a livable future—or a series of halting steps that leave the hardest-hit behind.
Belém’s rivers will keep flowing. The question is whether the decisions made there will help the world flow toward resilience—or deeper crisis.
Bolsonaro says paranoia drove him to tamper with medical monitor
A Late-Night Soldering, a Scorched Ankle Bracelet, and a Nation Watching
It was the kind of small domestic drama that somehow became a national thunderclap. In the quiet of his Brasília residence, a former president — once the country’s most polarizing political figure — said he picked up a soldering iron and, convinced by a drug-fueled hallucination, tried to remove what he believed was a hidden wire inside his court-ordered ankle monitor.
That explanation, delivered to a judge during a brisk custody hearing, has rippled through Brazilian politics, sparking fierce debate: Was this a genuine medical episode, an act of desperation, or another dramatic act in the long, ugly theatre of Brazil’s post-2022 polarization?
The sequence of events
Lawyers, federal police reports and court documents reconstruct the scene: an alert came to officials that the ankle monitor — the electronic bracelet tracking the former president under judicial restrictions — had been tampered with. Police found the device with obvious burn marks and other damage. In his legal response, the man said he had experienced “paranoia” brought on by a cocktail of medicines prescribed by different doctors and that he “came to his senses” before any escape attempt.
During a roughly 30-minute custody hearing, he denied any intent to flee. He insisted he was alone when the incident occurred — his daughter, his brother and an adviser were asleep — and told the judge he had been suffering a hallucination that made him think the monitor contained a wire that needed to be removed.
Justice Alexandre de Moraes, who ordered the arrest, was unmoved. The judge accepted the police account that the ankle monitor had been significantly damaged and ruled that custody should be maintained. The former president was taken into a small holding cell at a federal police station: a single bed, a television, air conditioning and a bathroom. He was visited by his wife, a doctor and one of his attorneys.
What’s at stake: the legal tapestry behind the arrest
The man at the center of this story is no ordinary defendant. He was sentenced last September to 27 years and three months in prison for his role in a coup plot following the 2022 election that handed power to Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. He has already spent more than 100 days under house arrest in Brasília in a related matter. These are not minor charges; they go to the heart of how a democracy deals with a leader accused of trying to overturn electoral outcomes.
“This is not about political rivalry,” an independent legal analyst in Brasília told me. “It’s about whether the rule of law applies equally to everyone. The court has to weigh flight risk, risk of reoffending, and interference with the investigation.”
Outside the gates: faithful, furious, and a nation divided
Outside the federal police station, flags and banners formed a patchwork of yellow and green under the late-afternoon sky. Supporters made impassioned — sometimes florid — proclamations of political persecution. “They’re not arresting a criminal; they’re silencing a movement,” said Renato Costa, who drove from a nearby town with a cooler of beer and a Bolsonaro flag draped over his shoulders. “We’re here for him, because we believe in the future he promised.”
Others used the moment to rail at the judge they see as their nemesis. “Justice de Moraes is a political actor in a robe,” exclaimed Elaine Maria, a woman in her sixties who had tears in her eyes as she shouted toward the courthouse. “They will not break us with cages and bracelets.”
And yet, across town, small groups of Lula supporters and advocates for judicial independence gathered in quieter, more tentative conversations about constitutional stability. “It’s a painful chapter for Brazil,” said Ana Ribeiro, a human-rights lawyer. “But the court’s role is to protect the system, not to be swayed by mob scenes on either side.”
Small details, big symbols
There were intimate human touches that made the story feel close and real: a former first lady’s visit to the detained man, a doctor checking his vitals, a soldering iron cooling in an otherwise ordinary home. A son had organized a vigil, stating it would be roughly 700 meters away — a distance the former president argued posed no threat to his custody — yet still the authorities acted preemptively.
Numbers can feel abstract until they’re anchored in a single image. To borrow one: 700 meters — about 2,300 feet — isn’t far in the scale of a city; it’s the length of seven football fields. Close enough for supporters to sing and shout, but not close enough, officials say, to tamper with the legal restrictions that the court imposed.
Why this matters beyond Brasília
Brazil’s drama is not solely a domestic melodrama. It’s emblematic of a global pattern: charismatic populists confronting institutions, polarized publics who see courts as either saviors or persecutors, and the fragile choreography of democracy under strain. From Europe to Latin America to parts of Asia, countries wrestling with similar tensions are asking the same questions: When a leader’s rhetoric becomes incendiary or when alleged actions challenge electoral integrity, who holds the line?
“There’s a lesson here for any democracy,” said Dr. Miriam Tavarez, a political scientist focused on Latin American institutions. “Courts must be impartial, but impartiality is a lonely position in the face of mass mobilization. The judiciary’s legitimacy depends on transparency and consistent application of the law.”
What to watch next
- Ongoing legal procedures: Will additional charges or hearings follow? How will the appeals process play out?
- Public demonstrations: Will the vigils that now draw hundreds swell into thousands? And how will the security forces respond?
- Political recalibration: How will political parties and legislators position themselves in the months leading up to regional and national contests?
There are no easy answers. But we can keep watching — and asking hard questions. When political passions burn as hot as Brazil’s do, every gesture, every legal decision, every late-night action becomes magnified.
Endings and beginnings
For now, the image that lingers is small and domestic: a damaged bracelet with burn marks, a man explaining a medicine-induced hallucination, a soldering iron set aside. But those small images sit atop tectonic forces — a justice system testing its mettle, a divided electorate, and a modern democracy learning to balance accountability with legal rights.
Are we witnessing the end of a political era for one man, or the opening of a more fraught chapter in Brazil’s modern history? The answer will not come from a single court hearing or a single night. It will arrive in appeals and ballots, in vigils and statutes, and in the slow work of institutions proving whether they can withstand the heat.
As Brazilians gather in city squares, and as the world watches with a mix of curiosity and concern, one question keeps returning: how will a nation rebuild trust when its leaders are accused of trying to dismantle the very system that sustains it?
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