Feb 10(Jowhar)-Madaxweynaha maamulka Jubaland Axmed Maxamed islaam ayaa ka soo degey garoonka diyaaradaha Aadan Cadde ee magaalada Muqdisho,isagoo ay garoonka ku soo dhaweeyeen masuuliyiin ay ka mdi yihiin xildhibaano.
UN peacekeepers set to withdraw most forces from Lebanon by mid-2027
The quiet before departure: a mission that became a country’s thread
There is a particular hush that settles over Camp Shamrock at dusk — a silence stitched together from boots, the distant clatter of a generator and the long, slow exhale of the Mediterranean. For nearly half a century the United Nations Interim Force in Lebanon has been that hush for parts of southern Lebanon: a human buffer standing between two adversaries, a daily reminder that some conflicts require a constant, living presence to keep worse things at bay.
Now, those boots are being asked to step back. UNIFIL, the peacekeeping mission that has tangibly shaped life along Lebanon’s southern frontier, plans to withdraw most of its uniformed personnel by mid-2027, with the final curtain drawn by year’s end, a UN spokesperson told reporters. The mission’s official mandate expires at the end of December 2026 after a Security Council decision last year — one heavily influenced by pressure from Washington and Jerusalem — that called for “an orderly and safe drawdown and withdrawal” within a year.
What UNIFIL has meant — and what leaving will feel like
Walk through any of the southern border towns and you’ll see the mission’s footprint: sandbagged observation posts, UN blue helmets in markets, the Irish tricolour on uniforms and a guard of honour at Camp Shamrock when Ireland’s Taoiseach visited in December 2025. For many Lebanese, UNIFIL has been a symbol of continuity, the most visible thread of a complicated international relationship with their own security.
“We used to know when the blue helmets changed shift,” said Ali, a fisherman from Naqoura, watching nets being mended on the shore. “They were there when shells fell in 2006 and when there was calm afterward. It’s not just about soldiers — it’s about knowing someone is watching.”
UNIFIL currently counts roughly 7,500 peacekeepers from 48 countries, including around 300 Irish troops — making Ireland’s involvement one of the mission’s longest and most personal commitments. But this winter the force has already trimmed its ranks by almost 2,000, with a couple hundred more slated to depart in the spring. The United Nations has pointed to an organisation-wide financial squeeze as the immediate driver behind those cuts, framing them as cost-savings rather than political repositioning.
From ceasefires to skirmishes: the fragile calm
Lebanon’s border with Israel has rarely been a place of untroubled peace. The current lull traces back to a ceasefire brokered in November 2024 following more than a year of fierce exchanges between Israel and Hezbollah, an Iran-backed Lebanese militia and political faction. The 2006 UN resolution that underpinned UNIFIL’s original mandate remains the legal lodestar for monitoring violations — but enforcement, in practice, has looked uneven.
“We’ve had periods of relative quiet and periods when our personnel were taking fire,” said Kandice Ardiel, a UNIFIL spokesperson, in a briefing. “After operations cease on 31 December, we begin the process of sending UNIFIL personnel and equipment home and transferring our UN positions to the Lebanese authorities. During that drawdown, our authorised activities will necessarily be limited to protecting UN personnel and overseeing a safe departure.”
That admission — of limited authority in the final months — has left many locals and diplomats uneasy. Israeli forces have continued targeted strikes they say are aimed at Hezbollah, and Israeli troops remain in five border areas. UNIFIL itself has repeatedly reported instances of Israeli fire at or near its personnel since the truce, underscoring the fragile reality of a ceasefire that can be punctured in an instant.
Local color: food, faith and everyday life under blue helmets
To understand what UNIFIL’s presence means on the ground, taste matters as much as troop numbers. In the market squares near the front line, women sell trays of warm manakish sprinkled with zaatar, hands moving like a choreography learned in childhood. Boys in rugby shirts kick a battered ball beneath watchful eyes. In the evenings, soldiers from Italy, France, Ghana and Ireland share tea and stories with shopkeepers, trading laughter in a dozen languages.
“We gave them lemons one year when the harvest was poor,” laughed Maryam, a local grocer. “They still talk about how they made lemonade for all the children.” Small acts like that have become the mission’s human ledger — accruing goodwill that official reports rarely capture.
Who will fill the gap? The politics of replacement
As UNIFIL retreats, Lebanese authorities have made it clear they do not want the south left unguarded. Beirut has been pressing European partners to maintain some sort of international presence, even in limited numbers, to prevent a vacuum that might embolden non-state actors or trigger new confrontations.
France’s foreign minister visited Beirut this month and suggested the Lebanese army should be prepared to assume greater responsibility when the UN departs. Italy has also signalled its intention to keep a military presence in Lebanon after UNIFIL leaves.
“The Lebanese army is professional and has shown resilience,” said Major-General Antoine Lebrun, a retired military analyst based in Paris. “But the transition from international peacekeepers to national forces is not just a matter of boots. It’s about logistics, intelligence sharing, rules of engagement and the political will to enforce them.”
Choices that ripple beyond borders
This is a story about withdrawal, yes, but also about the shifting nature of peacekeeping in an era of constrained budgets and rising geopolitical tension. The UN’s decision to end UNIFIL’s mandate — and the subsequent drawdown driven partly by financial pressure — raises difficult questions for the wider international community.
What responsibility do powerful states have to backstop fragile post-conflict arrangements when they push for an exit? What happens to communities who have grown used to the quiet delivered by foreign troops? And, perhaps more unsettling: can any external force prevent a return to escalation when the underlying drivers — weapons, ideology, cross-border rivalries — remain?
Looking ahead
In the months to come, the small towns and olive groves that dot Lebanon’s south will become a testing ground for these questions. Will the Lebanese army be able to parity the presence and perceived neutrality that UNIFIL represented? Will European partners step in where the UN recedes? Or will the void be filled by the very dynamics that brought peacekeepers to the line in the first place?
“We sleep with one eye open here,” said Rami, a schoolteacher in a border village. “Not because we are militant people, but because history has taught us to be watchful. I hope those leaving are replaced by something steady — not just another short chapter in a long story.”
There is a melancholy in that hope: equal parts gratitude for decades of protection and anxiety about the future. As the Mediterranean sun drops behind Hizballah’s lines and the UN flags flutter their last, the questions the mission leaves behind will demand answers that are political, local and painfully human.
- UNIFIL personnel: ~7,500 from 48 countries
- Irish peacekeepers: ~300
- Mandate expiry: 31 December 2026
- Planned substantial withdrawal completion: mid-2027; full drawdown by end-2027
What do you think: can a national army step seamlessly into a peacekeeper’s shoes, or does true stability rely on wider international investment and imagination? The people of southern Lebanon will soon have to answer — whether at the polling station, at the negotiating table, or simply, in the daily act of living through another dawn.
Diyaarad rakaab ah oo shil ku gashay garoonka Aadan Cadde
Feb 10(Jowhar)-Diyaarad rayid oo ku sii jeeday magaalada Gaalkacyo ayaa waxyar ka hor shil ku gashay ku garoonka diyaaradaha Muqdisho.
Ra’iisul Wasaare Xamsa Cabdi oo kormeer ku tegey Garoonka Diyaaradaha Aadan Cadde
Feb 10(Jowhar)-Ra’iisul Wasaaraha Xukuumadda Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya, Mudane Xamsa Cabdi Barre, ayaa maanta kormeer shaqo ku tagay Garoonka Diyaaradaha Caalamiga ah ee Aadan Cabdulle ee caasimadda Muqdisho, si uu qiimeeyn ugu sameeyo heerka adeegyada kala duwan ee loo fidinayo bulshada Soomaaliyeed iyo sida ay u shaqeynayaan hay’adaha ka hawlgala garoonka.
Lafta-gareen oo la kulmay Ku-xigeenka Xoghayaha Guud ee Qaramada Midoobay
Feb 10(Jowhar)-Madaxweynaha maamulka Koonfur Galbeed Cabdicasiis Xasan Maxamed Laftagareen ayaa Xarunta Madaxtooyada Magaalada Baydhabo ku qaabilay wafdi uu hoggaaminayo Ku-xigeenka Xoghayaha Guud ee Qaramada Midoobay u qaabilsan Arrimaha Ka Hortagga iyo Ilaalinta Ku-xadgudubka Jinsiga, waxaana wafdiga sidoo kale ka mid ahaa Madaxa Arrimaha Gargaarka ee Qaramada Midoobay.
53 migrants dead or unaccounted for after boat overturns off Libya’s coast
A Morning of Loss on Libya’s West Coast: The Sea That Keeps Taking
At first light, the shoreline between Zawiya and Zuwara looks like any other Mediterranean fishing town: men sorting nets, women selling tomatoes and bread, kids chasing one another along the sand. But on this morning the sea was quieter than usual, and the air heavy with a kind of stunned silence that settles after something that should not have happened has happened.
Not long after dawn, the wreckage of a rubber boat washed ashore — a deflated hull, a single child’s sweater tangled in seaweed, lifejackets scattered like fallen leaves. Only two people survived. Fifty-three others were either dead or missing. The International Organization for Migration (IOM), which has been tracking Mediterranean crossings for years, said the boat left Zawiya on Thursday and overturned off Zuwara on Friday. Among the missing were two babies.
Voices from the Shore
“I had dreams for my children,” said one of the women rescued by Libyan authorities, her words translated by an aid worker. “I held them as long as I could. The sea took them.” The other survivor, who was found with signs of shock, told rescuers she had lost her husband during the capsizing.
“There was nothing but night and water,” a local fisherman, Ahmed, told me, his hands still smelling faintly of diesel and salt. “We go out for fish. We have seen many boats before. But when we saw this, even the older men shook their heads. It is shameful to think human lives go like driftwood.”
Numbers That Don’t Capture the Full Cost
Numbers help us measure the scale, but they cannot hold the weight of the people behind them. The IOM reports that more than 1,300 migrants went missing in the Central Mediterranean in 2025. In January alone, at least 375 people were reported dead or missing during a string of shipwrecks amid ferocious weather, and many more are believed to have perished without being recorded.
With this latest tragedy, the agency says at least 484 migrants have been reported dead or missing on the Central Mediterranean route in 2026. Add to that the human stories of loss, and the tally grows immeasurably larger.
- Boat capacity: 55 people
- Survivors: 2 (both Nigerian women)
- Dead or missing: 53 (including two infants)
- Reported missing on Central Mediterranean in 2025: >1,300 (IOM)
- Reported dead/missing in January storms: ≥375
The Geography of Despair
Libya has, since the fall of Muammar Gaddafi in 2011, become a corridor — a perilous highway for men, women and children fleeing conflict, persecution and grinding poverty across Africa and the Middle East. The route is not simply a patch of ocean; it is a gauntlet that begins in detention centers and deserts and ends, for too many, in watery graves.
Zawiya and Zuwara, the town and port of departure for this latest group, sit to the west of Tripoli. Zuwara, with its winding streets and coastal fisherfolk, is home to a strong Amazigh community — people whose histories are braided into the sea and the land. In the cafes there, conversations move from the price of sardines to the latest arrival of migrants ashore, sometimes with a weary fatalism.
Beyond the Waves: Captivity, Abuse, and a Broken System
The story of loss at sea is only part of the wider tragedy. In recent months, reports have emerged of mass graves and secret prisons across Libya. Mid-January brought the grim discovery of at least 21 bodies in a mass grave in eastern Libya; survivors from that group bore signs of torture. Days later, security forces freed more than 200 migrants from a secret detention site in Kufra, southeast Libya. Testimonies gathered by local advocates describe beatings, forced labor, and extortion at the hands of smugglers and armed groups.
“This is not just about the sea,” said Nadia El-Sayed, a human rights advocate working with displaced people in Tripoli. “People are being trafficked, detained, and abused on land before they even reach the boats. Then, when they’re sent off, they are loaded into unseaworthy vessels that are meant to fail.”
International pressure has mounted. At a UN meeting in Geneva, states including Britain, Spain, Norway and Sierra Leone urged Libya to close detention centers where, they said, migrants and refugees face torture, abuse, and sometimes death. Yet demands from the international community have often been met with opaque promises and half-measures.
What Drives People to Risk Everything?
Put yourself in their shoes for a moment — or rather, try to imagine the forces that make such a desperate gamble seem preferable to staying. Many migrants embark because conflict has burned their neighborhoods to ash; others flee crumbling economies where jobs and services are rare. Climate stressors and food insecurity nudge families toward an already perilous route. Smugglers sell dreamlike promises of safety and work that turn into horror.
“I left because my son was hungry every day,” one mother whispered through a translator. “In Libya I had no work; in our country there were bombs. What choice did I have?”
What the World Owes Them
This is a crisis that is first and foremost human, but it is also a test for international policy and moral imagination. How do we respond to people driven to the sea by poverty and violence? How do coastal nations balance deterrence with rescue? How do we dismantle the smuggling networks that profit from misery?
Rescue at sea requires resources and political will. It requires safe disembarkation points, coordinated search-and-rescue efforts, and legal pathways for asylum and resettlement so that people do not feel compelled to buy death in a dinghy. It also requires confronting abuse behind the scenes: the detention centers, the traffickers, and the local and transnational networks that feed this business.
“No policy can ignore the humanity of these people,” said Dr. Marco Leone, a migration researcher. “Protective, legal routes need to be expanded. Without that, the central Mediterranean will continue to be a graveyard.”
A Call to Witness
Walking the beach after the rescue boats left, I found a worn shoe with a child’s cartoon design half-buried in the sand. It seemed absurd, almost obscene, that such a small object could carry so much evidence of a life snuffed out mid-journey. A neighbor came by, made the sign of the cross, and wrapped the shoe in a napkin before burying it in a small hole. “We do what we can,” she said. “It is not much, but it is something.”
What can you do where you are? Ask your representatives to fund humanitarian responses and legal pathways for asylum seekers. Support organizations doing rescue and advocacy work. And above all, keep these people in view — not numbers on a page, but mothers, fathers, children, and elders whose stories deserve to be told and whose losses demand accountability.
The Mediterranean has long carried sailors’ tales of storms and fortune. Lately, it has become a ledger of sorrow. Until the world treats migration as a symptom of deeper global failures rather than a problem to be policed at the waterline, more mornings like this will follow.
Imaaraadka Carabta oo ku tababaraya RSFta Sudan gudaha Itoobiya
Feb 10 (Jowhar)=Dowlada Imaaraadka Carabta ayaa la sheegay inay ka dhex dhistey xeryo milatari oo qarsoodi ah oo lagu tababaro kumanaan dagaalyahanno ah oo ka tirsan kooxda Gurmadka Degdegga ee RSF Sudan gudaha dalka Itoobiya sida ay daabacday wakaalada wararka Reuters.
Maxkamada Ciidamada oo xukun Dil Toogasho ah fulisay
Feb 10 (Jowhar)-Maxkamadda Ciidamada Qalabka Sida ayaa saakay dil toogasho ah ku fulisay laba ruux oo lagu helay dambi ah inay ay dad dileen.
Axmed Madoobe iyo Deni oo kusoo wajahan Muqdisho iyo ciidankooda oo soo gaaray
Feb 10(Jowhar)-Madaxweynayaasha maamulada Jubaland iyo Puntland Axmed Madoobe iyo Siciid Deni ayaa maanta gelinka danbe soo gaaraya magaalada Muqdisho, halkaasoo qaban qaabada lagu soo dhaweynayo ay ka socoto.
EU watchdog warns farm subsidy changes could delay crucial payments
A storm over the barn door: why Europe’s farms are suddenly unsure of tomorrow
On a damp morning in County Clare, a grey tractor idled at the edge of a field while its driver, Niall Kearney, sipped tea from a chipped mug and scanned the rows of winter barley. “You plan your year like a school term,” he said, “but when the payments are a mystery, you can’t even book the seed.” His voice carried the impatience of someone who counts every euro and every hour of labour.
This mixture of anxiety and practical frustration is spreading from the hedgerows of Ireland to the vineyards of Spain, the olive groves of Greece, and the market towns of Poland. At the heart of it is a proposed overhaul of the European Union’s agricultural funding under the next Multiannual Financial Framework (MFF) — a plan to reorganise payments that support farmers, fisheries and rural development across the bloc. The change is sweeping: the familiar Pillar One and Pillar Two split, which has guided CAP (Common Agricultural Policy) payments since 1962, would be dismantled in favour of a single, national envelope managed jointly by member states and the European Commission.
What’s changing — and why it matters
The proposed MFF for 2028–2034 envisages a roughly €2 trillion budgetary landscape for the EU, and within that the biggest chunk is a consolidated European Fund estimated at about €865 billion. For the first time in modern CAP history, agriculture would not sit in a separately labelled pot.
Under the Commission’s outline, every member state would receive a pre-allocated national financial envelope to be implemented through National and Regional Partnership Plans (NRPPs). Some monies would be ringfenced: direct payments — the lifeline for many farms — are marked at around €293.7 billion. The rest, non-ringfenced funds (about €453 billion in proposals), would be shared with cohesion, fisheries and other regional supports, and could cover familiar programmes like LEADER or the school fruit scheme.
On paper, this promises flexibility: countries could tailor actions to local needs, fold in innovation and competitiveness measures, and potentially better marry agricultural policy to climate goals. But the road from proposal to payout is where the dispute begins.
Auditors warn: clarity, predictability and fairness are at risk
The European Court of Auditors — the EU’s independent budget watchdog — has issued a blunt message: the new governance architecture is not ready for harvest. Their assessment is procedural, but the consequences are very human. If national plans must be negotiated and approved before budgets are finally known, farmers could face delayed payments, complicated paperwork and uncertainty that chills investment.
“A common policy must be predictable and fair,” the auditors said in a careful analysis. “When funding becomes tied to bespoke national plans, we open the door to diverging rules, delayed disbursements and a patchwork of support across Europe.”
Auditors fear that the flexibility designed to help regions may instead create an uneven playing field: where one country prioritises competitiveness and direct aid, another might channel funds into rural infrastructure or coastal fisheries. The result could be competition distortions and confusion for beneficiaries accustomed to clearer lines between direct payments and rural development measures.
Practical risks they name
- Payment delays while National and Regional Partnership Plans are assessed and negotiated;
- Uncertainty for farmers who need predictable cash flows to buy seed, fertiliser and energy;
- Potential divergence in CAP implementation across member states, risking a loss of the “common” character of the policy;
- Confusion caused by the scattering of CAP interventions across several legal proposals, complicating compliance with climate and eco-scheme objectives.
Voices from the fields, the farms and the corridors of power
In a pub near Limerick, farmer Mary O’Connell lamented the turmoil in folk terms. “Farming is not a lottery,” she said. “You plant by the calendar and you live by the cheque. If the cheque is late, the calendar is ruined.” Her worry was echoed by younger farmers too, who see secure public support as essential to keep them on the land.
Across the EU, farmers’ unions have been vocally critical. The Irish Farmers Association, for example, argues the proposals would amount to a cut exceeding 20% in agricultural funding for Ireland — a reduction they say would depress incomes and trickle through to local shops, contractors and rural jobs. “This isn’t just about subsidies; it’s about the food economy that sustains our villages,” said one IFA spokesperson.
From Brussels, the Commission’s agriculture representative acknowledged the need for dialogue. “This is not a sprint; it is a marathon,” an EU official told a committee hearing, urging co-legislators to fine-tune governance and clarify uncertainties. He emphasised that the proposals were meant to modernise the CAP and to link it better to innovation and climate ambition, but admitted that rules would need work to avoid unintended outcomes.
Policy experts fear that efforts to simplify engagement with climate targets — for instance, by merging eco-schemes with agri-environmental measures — could paradoxically produce greater complexity. “When responsibilities are diffused across multiple legal texts, implementation becomes a puzzle,” said Dr. Elisa Romano, an agricultural policy analyst. “National authorities and farmers need simple, operational rules, not a legal maze.”
Local color, larger themes
Walk through many European villages and you see the larger stakes: tractors lining narrow lanes, cattle tags glinting, and the scent of fresh hay. Rural economies are about more than food; they are about identity, landscape stewardship, biodiversity and social cohesion. Changes to CAP governance intersect with broader global debates about decentralisation, the green transition and fairness in a single market.
Will nations use the flexibility to leap forward with targeted green investments and digital farming? Or will bespoke NRPPs become bargaining chips that leave smallholders exposed and young farmers alienated? Those are not abstract questions. They determine whether rural schools stay open, whether hedgerows are restored, and whether rural Europe remains vibrant rather than hollowed out.
What happens next — and how readers should watch
Negotiations are ongoing. Member states and European institutions must decide whether to move core rules back into a CAP regulation or to leave more authority in NRPPs. The transition timeline matters: adoption delays could push payments into limbo. Meanwhile, advocacy groups and farming unions are preparing to press their case at national capitals and in Brussels.
For the everyday reader, the revelation is this: budget architecture is not mere bureaucracy. The way funding is designed and delivered matters to the price of bread, the survival of small farms, and the stewardship of landscapes that define communities.
Ask yourself: do we want a CAP that guarantees a baseline of support across the EU, or one that lets national governments tailor help at the risk of fragmentation? How should the EU balance the needs of competitiveness, climate action and social fairness?
Closing thought
As the mist lifted over the Clare field, Niall climbed into his tractor. “We can change,” he said, a farmer’s pragmatism shining through. “But change needs a map. Without it, we’ll get lost.” Europe’s policymakers now have to draw that map — clearly, fairly, and with an eye on the people who will live by its roads and plant by its seasons.
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