Trump says Zelensky and Putin are both serious about peace talks

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December 28, 2025

APTOPIX Yemen Israel Palestinians US — Houthi fighters and tribesmen stage a rally against the U.S. and the U.K. strikes on Houthi-run military sites near Sanaa, Yemen, on Sunday, Jan. 14, 2024. (AP Photo)

Dec 28(Jowhar)-Hoggaamiyaha Xuutiyiinta Yemen, Cabdimalik Al-Xuuti ayaa hadal uu soo saaray sida ay baahisay Al Jazeera, wuxuu digniin culus u jeedisay Somaliland, isagoo ugaga digay iney saldhigyo dhulkeeda kasiiso Israel.

EAC oo taageero buuxda u muujisay Soomaaliya

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December 28, 2025

Dec 28(Jowhar)-Urur-goboleedka Bariga Afrika (EAC) oo qoraal kasoo saaray Aqoonsiga ay Isra1l siisay Somaliland ayaa kahor-timid arrintaasi, waxeyna si buuxda u taageertay mowqifka Midowga Afrika, iyadoo mar kale adkaysay in la ixtiraamo midnimada, madaxbannaanida iyo xuduudaha taariikhiga ah ee Soomaaliya.

Watch skiers carve snowy slopes amid Mount Etna’s dramatic eruption

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December 28, 2025

Watch: Skiers glide down slopes as Mount Etna erupts

Snow, Ash and the Strange Calm of Etna: Skiing on the Edge of Fire

There is a particular kind of hush that descends on a place when two great elements meet: snow and fire. On the slopes of Mount Etna this Christmas, that hush was punctured by laughter, the crunch of skins on new powder and the distant roar of an ever-hungry mountain. Ski mountaineers threaded up crater-lined ridges in crisp, blue Sicilian air, stopping often to stare at columns of ash that puffed into the sky like ink in water.

“It’s very impressive to climb at this time,” said volcanological guide Giuseppe Curcio, breath condensing in the chill. “The contrast—the eruption, the snow, the sea just below—it’s an experience you don’t get anywhere else. It’s raw. It’s beautiful. It makes you feel alive.”

The image is almost cinematic: skiers in bright jackets against blackened pumice, silhouettes of small towns clinging to the mountain’s flanks, the Ionian Sea shimmering far below. Yet this is no postcard. For locals and scientists alike, Etna is not scenery; it is a living system that is watched, measured and negotiated with every day.

Alert Raised, but Life Goes On

Italy’s Department of Civil Protection raised the alert level for Etna from green to yellow yesterday, signaling the possibility of a rapid escalation of activity. Yellow is a cautionary shade — not immediate alarm, but an instruction to sharpen vigilance. The Civil Protection and the Istituto Nazionale di Geofisica e Vulcanologia (INGV) maintain continuous monitoring, with seismographs, gas sensors and thermal cameras trained on the mountain.

“Yellow means we expect more energetic activity is possible,” explained Prof. Marco Bellini of the INGV. “It’s our way of saying: pay attention. We might see stronger lava fountains, increased ash emission or changes in the seismic pattern. But it’s also important to avoid panic—most of Etna’s episodes are localised and do not impact populated areas drastically.”

Practical life, meanwhile, carried on. Catania Fontanarossa — one of Sicily’s busiest airports — reported normal operations, with officials cautious but confident that a minor ash fall would not immediately disrupt flights. “We monitor ash clouds continuously in coordination with meteorological services,” said Francesca Marino, head of airport operations. “Unless ash accumulation increases substantially, flights will operate as scheduled.”

On the Mountain: A Place of Rituals and Risk

Etna is a study in contradictions. It is at once a beloved backdrop for Sicilian identity and a threat that can rearrange life in an instant. The mountain rises to more than 3,300 metres and presides over eastern Sicily like an ancient, somewhat temperamental guardian. Its slopes are dotted with vineyards, citrus groves and tiny villages where stone facades and baroque church bells recall centuries of coexistence with fire.

At higher altitudes the landscape changes. Patches of black volcanic glass glitter underfoot. Steam curls from vents. The snowpack carries a fine dusting of ash that leaves a gray sheen on ski jackets and a faint metallic taste in the air. Guides like Curcio balance safety with the desire to share this rare scene.

“You know the risks,” he said. “But there’s also deep respect. We teach people where to go, how to read the mountain. We have radios, we check gas readings, and we never, ever take chances with sudden weather shifts or unstable slopes.”

Local Lives, Local Wisdom

In the towns beneath Etna, life is threaded with volcanic lore. At a small café in Nicolosi, a woman named Elena Russo wiped her hands on a flour-dusted apron and watched a postcard-perfect eruption feeds on her phone’s screen.

“We have ash on our balconies sometimes, and our grapes get a little dusting,” she said, smiling. “But the fruit here grows with the mountain. It makes the soil strong. My grandmother used to say: Etna gives and takes—mostly she gives.”

That duality—blessing and menace—defines the mountain’s relationship with communities. Farmers prize the rich, mineral soils. Tour operators thrive on the steady stream of hikers, photographers and skiers who come for the dramatic panoramas. Yet emergency plans and evacuation rehearsals are a routine part of civic life.

Why People Come: The Pull of Extreme Beauty

What draws skiers to skin up towards an active crater? Adventure, certainly. But there is also the curious human hunger to stand close to something vast and indifferent. The modern sport of ski mountaineering—where participants climb with skins and crampons, then descend untracked slopes—has found a fitting theatre on Etna.

“You feel tiny,” said Lucía Menendez, a visiting skier from Madrid, cheeks flushed from exertion. “And yet, you’re part of a story that’s older than any of us. It’s humbling.”

For photographers, the setting offers a rare color palette: basalt and snow, flame and sky, villages lit like constellations against the dark flank of the mountain. For volcanologists, every ash plume and lava flow is data, a clue to the mountain’s inner plumbing.

What to Know if You Go

Mount Etna stands over 3,300 metres high and is among Europe’s most active volcanoes.
Alert levels range from green (normal) to red (major activity); yellow indicates heightened vigilance.
If planning a trip: book a licensed guide, carry a gas mask for ash, and check local advisories daily.

Broader Threads: Risk, Tourism and the Climate Question

Etna’s episodes are more than local news. They pose questions about how communities balance economic opportunity and environmental risk, how tourism can be both a lifeline and a liability, and how climate change may alter patterns of snow and eruption visibility.

Scientists are studying how warming winters could change Etna’s snowpack, with implications for both ecosystems and recreational seasons. Meanwhile, global air travel protocols have learned hard lessons from past ash crises—ash can damage jet engines and reduce visibility, so even marginal increases in ash emissions are taken seriously.

“Volcanoes like Etna force us to live with uncertainty,” said Prof. Bellini. “They remind us that geological time and human time are different. We have tools and science to reduce surprise, but not to eliminate it. That’s part of the human condition.”

Standing There—A Moment to Reflect

Watching the sunset throw long shadows over the ash-darkened slopes, it is hard not to feel small and lucky at once. The mountain’s eruptions are not spectacles in a theme-park sense; they are natural events that call for respect. Yet people still come—because there are moments here that alter a person’s sense of scale, of beauty, of what it means to live on a lively planet.

So, what would you do if you found yourself under Etna’s gaze? Step back and watch from the safety of the valley? Strap into skins and climb toward the steam and the sky? Whichever choice you make, the mountain will be there—speaking in ash and light, centuries old and profoundly alive.

Lukewarm early voter turnout in Myanmar election suggests public apathy

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December 28, 2025

Tepid early turnout in Myanmar election — A woman shows her ink covered finger after casting her vote

Ink on Fingers, Silence in the Streets: Myanmar’s Election That Felt Like a Postcard From a Country at War

When the polling stations opened, the ritual was familiar: the dip of an index finger into indelible ink, the soft shuffle toward a cardboard booth, the hushed murmur of names crossing the ballot. But the scene felt hollow in places that once overflowed. In Yangon’s quieter neighborhoods, in Mandalay’s wide avenues, and in the government-built capital of Naypyitaw, people moved past polling booths as if skimming the surface of a story they no longer trusted.

For many, this was the first national vote since a military seizure of power in early 2021, and it arrived in three slow beats — a first phase followed by voting scheduled for 11 and 25 January in a process the junta framed as the return to normalcy. Yet normality is a word that sits uncomfortably beside checkpoints, regular clashes in the hills, and a dissolved opposition—not to mention a Nobel laureate who remains behind bars.

Under the Guarded Lamps: How Voting Looked on the Ground

Security was everywhere. Armored vehicles idled on side streets; platoons walked past temples where monks once canvassed in quiet. In Naypyitaw a man in plain clothes—junta chief Min Aung Hlaing—appeared on state television beaming as he showed off his inked finger, a small, defiant signal of civic participation. Reporters pressed him about presidential ambitions; he smiled and deflected, saying only that the parliament will decide the next head of state.

But across the country, voters simply stayed home. Ten residents Reuters spoke to reported turnout that was markedly lower than the 70% participation seen in both the 2015 and 2020 general elections, figures remembered almost reverentially by those who had campaigned door-to-door for years. In many townships the queues were thin. In others—particularly those affected by active resistance—the streets remained entirely empty after calls from armed groups to boycott the polls.

What the Numbers Hide

The junta has not set a legal minimum turnout for the vote, a quirk that allows it to claim legitimacy regardless of how thin crowds may be. Meanwhile, the landscape of candidates has shifted dramatically. Parties linked to the military, most prominently the Union Solidarity and Development Party (USDP), were the loudest voices on the campaign trail—old machinery dusted off for a new march. Observers counted the USDP among the most visible, noting it had placed a significant share of candidates on ballots where opposition parties are absent or disbanded. Local analysts estimate the USDP accounted for roughly one-fifth of candidates in this cycle, though seats still extend across complex and often contested terrain.

Voices From the Lines: Citizens, Analysts and the Unheard

“I came to see what the fuss was about,” said Thiri, a tea-shop owner near Yangon’s western district, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup. “But I don’t believe this is for us. It feels like a show.” Her words echoed those of a college student in Mandalay who told me, “We have elections, yes. But does anyone outside these walls believe in them?”

Others spoke through resignation rather than outrage. “I voted because my mother asked me to,” said an elderly man in Mawlamyine, his voice small amid the muffled thud of military vehicles. “She remembers better days.” In Hakha, capital of Chin State, the story was different: residents described deserted streets after local resistance groups urged families to stay indoors, saying the choice to abstain was also a form of protest.

Experts were blunt. “This election is engineered to entrench military power under a civilian veneer,” said Lalita Hanwong, a lecturer and Myanmar specialist at Kasetsart University in Thailand. “Institutions that once allowed political competition have been hollowed out.” Tom Andrews, the UN’s special rapporteur on human rights in Myanmar, called the vote “not a pathway out of the country’s crisis” and urged the international community to reject the exercise.

The Political Terrain: A Dissolved Opposition and a House of Mirrors

Since the 2020 landslide victory for Aung San Suu Kyi’s National League for Democracy (NLD), Myanmar’s political terrain has shifted violently. The NLD was dismantled by the junta; its leader remains detained and charged with multiple offenses. In the absence of a major pro-democracy contender allowed to campaign freely, parties with military ties have reasserted themselves, drawing lines between past rule and the current architecture of power.

“They want the trappings of democracy without the messy business of dissent,” said a Yangon-based civil society activist, who requested anonymity for fear of reprisal. “You get ballots and booths, but not competition.” This set-up raises an uncomfortable question for any external observer: when electoral form exists without genuine choice, can we call it a democracy at all?

Local Colors and Quiet Rebellions

Myanmar’s streets tell the truth in small details. Around many polling stations, vendors still sold laphet—fermented tea leaves—wrapped in banana leaves, and schoolchildren in crisp uniforms glanced at soldiers with curiosity rather than fear. In rural markets, the familiar rhythm of bargaining persisted even as the country’s political heartbeat faltered.

But other places suggested deeper ruptures. Refugee buses lined up near border towns; families whispered about relatives who had fled. In towns where the junta never fully asserts control, networks of resistance continue to operate, offering basic services and local governance in the vacuum created by the coup.

What This Means Beyond Myanmar

Myanmar’s election is more than a national event. It is a case study in how modern authoritarians co-opt democratic forms to gain a semblance of legitimacy. It is a warning for a world where constitutional processes can be hollowed and repurposed. And it is a test of international resolve: whether foreign governments and institutions will recognize governments that emerge through constrained, coerced, or staged contests.

As you read this, consider the choices nations make in the face of repression. When the ink on a finger becomes the symbol of civic life, what does it mean when so many hands remain unstained?

Looking Ahead

The junta has promised to announce preliminary results after the first phase and to continue with subsequent rounds covering 265 of 330 townships—some of which it does not fully control. For many inside Myanmar and for observers abroad, that is not the end of a story but another chapter in a struggle that has already cost lives, livelihoods, and trust in institutions.

Will the world engage with the government that emerges? Will locals find ways to rebuild democratic life amid conflict? Those answers are not in the ink on a finger but in the choices people—inside Myanmar and outside—make in response. For now, the polling booths stand like empty sets at the end of a play, lights still on while the audience files out, uncertain if the show can or should go on.

Gazan student torn between hope and fear amid ongoing conflict

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December 28, 2025

'Hope feels dangerous' - mixed emotions for Gazan student — Ghada with her mother in Gaza

Last Photos, First Steps: A Student’s Escape from the Ashes of Home

The photo is simple: a young woman grinning into a phone camera, three little girls shoulder-to-shoulder, smoke-darkened stones and a cooking pot steaming behind them. It is a collage of ordinary things — a meal, a selfie, a sibling stirring a pot — and yet, for Ghada Ashour, 24, it is everything she can carry of Gaza with her to Dublin.

“Gratitude, fear and guilt,” Ghada told me, pausing as if weighing each word. “Those three sum up how I felt the day I left.” She says the words slowly, as if letting them settle on the table between us. They do not feel like abstractions; they feel like luggage worn on the shoulders.

From Tents to Trinity — Not Quite, But Close

Until August, Ghada was one of many living in a tented displacement camp in Khan Younis, studying remotely through the American University in Cairo while the war unfolded around her. She had been filming life there for RTÉ: the long walks to find a plug and an internet signal, the patchwork rhythms of study and survival.

Then a door opened. Ghada was among 52 Palestinian scholarship recipients who were evacuated from Gaza in August and began studies at Irish universities in September. For her, Dublin City University — a scholarship made possible by United Against Online Abuse and DCU’s own support — became an improbable haven.

“I’m here, I’m in Ireland, I’m safe and sound,” she smiled from her Glasnevin student room, the chill of the city pressing at the window. “None of this would have been possible without the university and our sponsors.”

The Practical Miracle and the Emotional Cost

The logistics of getting students out of Gaza were a tangle of diplomacy, paperwork and peril. Officials from universities, NGOs and private sponsors describe sleepless nights coordinating visas, flights and safe corridors while monitoring ceasefire windows. For Ghada, the practical miracle arrived on 26 August — the day she shared a last lunch with family, snapped the photos now treasured on her phone, and boarded a plane.

“We had to choose between staying with family in a town that might never be the same, or taking a chance to finish our education,” she said. “It was the toughest decision I’ve ever made.”

Rubble, Memory and a Little Girl Named Mariam

News reports said an agreed ceasefire came into effect on 10 October. For Ghada, however, the ceasefire is not a headline — it is a yardstick. “We can believe there is a real ceasefire when houses are rebuilt, when students and children go safely back to school,” she told me. Her family has been able to visit the place where their house once stood near Khan Younis. Footage sent by relatives shows a familiar plot reduced to dust and jagged concrete.

Among the faces in those videos is Mariam, a shy niece who wanders stones and remembers a home she can no longer find. “She is the daughter of my brother who was killed on 10 March 2024,” Ghada said, the date like a small, hard pebble lodged in her throat. “She wants to study. She always says, ‘I want to be strong like you, I want to resume my education.'”

It is a detail that refuses to be just poignant: a child naming education as her future even when safety, shelter and a father are gone. It cuts across assumptions about what people want when everything has been taken. It is also a reminder of the broader, quieter losses that accompany armed conflict — the loss of continuity, of classrooms, of teachers and textbooks, of the certainty that childhood will look like childhood.

Survivor Guilt, Determination and the Weight of Prayer

“Sometimes I ask myself, ‘Why me? Why not her?'” Ghada said, thinking of girls back in Gaza who are drawing water from reservoirs instead of opening books. “I have survivor guilt. I sit here and study while others run to fill water tanks.” She sifts through her memory: the smell of her mother’s cooking, the way her mother prayed over her. “I miss my mother’s prayers. I feel like I am here today because of her prayers.”

Yet survivor guilt sits alongside a sharp, pragmatic resolve. Ghada talks of high expectations for herself, of finishing a master’s degree and turning education into a tool for the future. “I feel I must work harder,” she says. “Not just for me, but for those left behind.”

Voices Around the Story

Not everyone sees evacuation as an unambiguous victory. A local teacher in Khan Younis, who asked to be named Amina, explained: “When a student leaves, the classroom loses energy. When many leave, schools may close. Education can be emptied out of a place long before buildings collapse.”

A spokesperson from DCU who coordinated student arrivals—Michael O’Connell—described the program as “a moral imperative, not a charity project,” adding, “Universities have responsibilities to global students and to the future we all share. Education is both sanctuary and instrument.” He also noted the logistical strain: “We housed dozens of students in the matter of weeks—supporting visas, courses, counseling. It changes us as institutions.”

And an aid worker who has spent years operating in Gaza, Leila Haddad, offered a sobering frame: “A ceasefire on paper does not mean reconstruction overnight. Basic services, schools, health centers—those take time, agreements, and sustained funding. Displacement is not a moment; it is a longer arc.”

What This Moment Tells Us

Ghada’s story is intimate and specific, but it reverberates with global themes. Who gets to keep learning in times of war? What does it mean when universities — traditionally anchors of stability — become, in effect, rescue ships for talent fleeing violence? And what happens to places that lose their young people, their future teachers, doctors and engineers?

Consider these questions: If education is an emergency need, why is it often the last to receive consistent humanitarian funding? How do host communities and universities balance rapid emergency support with long-term integration? And finally, how do survivors reconcile the moral complexity of safety built on someone else’s continuing peril?

Small Acts, Big Ripples

Last lunches with family become talismans, small rituals that preserve identity in transit.
Scholarship programs can pivot lives, but they do not replace collective reconstruction.
Children like Mariam embody both fragility and fierce aspiration — the kind of resilience that is often underestimated.

Leaving, Staying, and the Work Ahead

Ghada watches her old RTÉ report sometimes, she told me, “to remind myself where I began.” When she studies, she says she carries two images: a tent where she once did exams, and a small Dublin desk cluttered with notes and a kettle. “I hold both. I don’t want anyone to think we’ve only escaped. We also carry responsibility to those we left behind.”

As readers, what are we to do with a story like this? We can feel helpless, or we can notice the power of small acts — universities opening their doors, donors funding scholarships, ordinary people lighting open fires and feeding families against a season of ruin. We can ask our institutions — educational and civic — to think globally about safety, access and the future of learning.

Finally, perhaps the most human response is to keep looking. To look at photographs, to listen to voices like Ghada’s, to remember that in the rubble there are names, ambitions and prayers. “Hope feels risky,” she confessed. “But I try.” It is a modest manifesto for a world where education can still be a form of courage.

Guatemala bus crash kills 15 and injures 19 passengers

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December 28, 2025

15 people killed, 19 injured in Guatemala bus crash — Emergency personnel at the scene of the incident (Pic: @BVoluntariosGT)

Ravenous Fog, a Cliff Road, and a Bus That Didn’t Make It: A Night in Guatemala’s Highlands

They found the wreckage snuggled in the ribcage of a ravine, half-swallowed by mist and broken glass. A passenger bus that had been threading the Inter-American Highway — the long, vital spine of Central America — came apart at a bend in Sololá, a mountainous department where the road shoulders drop away like old promises.

By the time first responders finished counting, 15 people were dead and 19 more were being rushed to nearby hospitals with injuries ranging from minor to critical. A fire service spokesperson later specified the toll as 11 men, three women and one child. Social media from the scene showed firefighters wedged inside twisted metal and rescuers hauling survivors up a steep, muddy slope as police cordoned off the highway.

What Happened in the Fog

The exact sequence is still under investigation. Local authorities and witnesses describe the ubiquitous early-morning fog that clings to these hills, reducing visibility to little more than a car’s headlights. “This road is beautiful and treacherous,” said Maritza Chuy, who runs a small eatery in a lakeside village near Panajachel. “You can’t see the turn until you are on it.”

Drivers in Sololá speak of microclimates — pockets of cloud that appear without warning — and of a narrow, serpentine highway that was built long before modern safety engineering. “You have to be careful every time you drive here, even if you’ve done it a thousand times,” said a bus driver who asked not to be named. “A second of distraction, or one patch of fog, and it’s over.”

Rescue and the Human Cost

Images released by the fire department showed the bus crumpled against boulders at the bottom of the ravine as firefighters and volunteers worked through the night. The injured were transported to clinics and hospitals in Sololá and neighboring towns. Local health workers, many of whom were also grieving neighbors and relatives, readied operating rooms and crowded hallways.

“We did everything we could for those who came in,” said Dr. Ana López, an ER physician at a regional hospital. “Every injury is a person: a mother, a father, a child. We need more ambulances, better road signs, and a culture of prevention.”

Beyond the Crash: Patterns and Pressures

Road safety in Guatemala is not just a matter of isolated tragedies. It is the product of geography, poverty, and an aging transport network strained by increasing demand. The Inter-American Highway — part of the greater Pan-American route that connects continents — threads through highlands and valleys, carrying commuters, produce, tourists, and freight. Where engineering is thin and enforcement even thinner, accidents occur with painful regularity.

Road traffic injuries are a significant public health challenge across Latin America. In Guatemala, where rural populations rely heavily on public and informal transport, crashes are among the leading causes of emergency admissions. Every year, thousands of people lose their lives or are left with life-changing injuries on roads that a generation ago were designed for far fewer vehicles.

Voices from the Valley

At the market in Santiago Atitlán, a woman named Rosa clutched her woven shawl and spoke of fragile livelihoods. “People travel this road to sell their corn, their textiles, their crafts,” she said. “A bus is not just a bus. It is how we connect to our children’s schools, to doctors, to work.”

A volunteer rescuer, Carlos Martínez, sat down on a rock with soot on his hands. “We don’t want names in the headlines,” he said softly. “We want safer roads. We want warning lights where fog is common and guardrails where the cliff is hungry.”

What Could Make a Difference?

There is no single answer, but a combination of infrastructure investment, public education, and sensible regulation can reduce the toll. Simple interventions — reflective signage, rumble strips, guardrails, weather-activated warning systems — have saved lives elsewhere. Better driver training and limits on nighttime passenger services on risky stretches could also be meaningful.

Improve fog-warning systems and install reflective road markers in high-risk areas.
Strengthen enforcement of speed limits and vehicle maintenance checks for passenger transport.
Invest in emergency medical services and quicker response times in rural areas.
Promote community-led safety programs, especially in indigenous and rural regions.

Experts note that the cost of proactive measures is almost always smaller than the social and economic toll of frequent accidents. “Prevention is not a luxury,” said María Elena Rivas, a transport safety researcher. “It’s an investment in people’s lives and livelihoods.”

Local Color: Life on the Highlands Road

Sololá’s slopes are vivid with color — traditional woven skirts (cortes) and huipiles patterned with ancestral motifs, small altars at crossroads, and the early-morning stalls selling hot tamales and coffee. On good days, the lake below mirrors the sky and volcanoes loom like sentinels. On bad days, that beauty becomes a hazard: a sudden bank of cloud can turn the road into a silent, dangerous narrowway.

“My father used to say the road has two moods: generous and jealous,” laughed an elderly man in a market stall, though his voice softened when the subject turned to the crash. “There is joy here, and also risk. We must hold both in our hands.”

Looking Outward: Local Tragedies, Global Lessons

This crash is a local sorrow, but it also feeds into global conversations about safe mobility, climate and infrastructure resilience, and equity. Mountainous and rural roads worldwide — from the Andes to the Himalayas — share similar vulnerabilities: dense fog, landslides, narrow shoulders, and long distances to medical care.

What should an international community that values connectivity and safety take from this? Perhaps that progress is not just about paving roads, but about designing them for people; not just about moving goods, but about protecting lives. The bus that fell into the ravine was carrying more than passengers: it was carrying a community’s fragile promise of opportunity.

Questions to Hold as We Remember

As you read this, ask yourself: How do we value the lives of those who use the world’s most dangerous roads? What would you change in your own community if a stretch of highway regularly claimed lives? And — most urgently — what will authorities do now, in the wake of this grief, to keep another bus from slipping off a misty curve?

The names of the dead and injured will enter local memory, woven into family stories and market conversations. For now, Sololá is staying awake, watching the highway and the sky, counting lessons and losses. The fog will lift, but the questions it leaves behind are heavy and clear.

Senator Dubbe oo kudhowaaqay inuu iska casilay xildhibaanimada

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December 28, 2025

Dec 28(Jowhar)-Senator Cusmaan Dubbe, oo ka tirsanaa Baarlamaanka 11-aad ee Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya, isla markaana hore u soo noqday Wasiirka Warfaafinta JFS, ayaa maanta iska casilay xilkii Senatornimo.

Ra’iisul wasaare Xamse oo weerar Afka ah ku qaaday Benjamin Netanyahu

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December 28, 2025

Dec 28(Jowhar)-Xukuumadda Federaalka Soomaaliya ayaa si adag uga hadashay go’aanka la sheegay ee Ra’iisul Wasaaraha Israa’iil, Benjamin Netanyahu, ee ku aaddan aqoonsiga Somaliland, iyadoo ku tilmaantay tallaabo mas’uuliyad-darro ah oo halis ku ah xasilloonida gobolka.

Madaxweyne Xasan oo khudbad saaka u jeedinaya xildhibaanada labada Aqal

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December 28, 2025

Dec 28(Jowhar)-Madaxweynaha Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya, Mudane Xasan Sheekh Maxamuud, ayaa goordhow khudbad u jeedin doona xildhibaanada labada Aqal ee Baarlamaanka Federaalka Soomaaliya, kulan loo asteeyay inuu noqdo mid aan caadi ahayn.