By David Kujabi
The allure of peacekeeping had captivated my fellow cadet officers and me since our training days. The promise of international experience was part of it, but honestly, the income mattered just as much. A single year of peacekeeping could provide the financial stability to purchase land and build a modest home. For police officers earning meagre salaries, that prospect was life-changing. In 2015, after a rigorous and lengthy selection process, I received the news I had been waiting for. I was being deployed as a Police Advisor to Darfur. I did not know then that the mission would transform how I understood conflict, war, and peace. I did not know that I would walk through camps filled with people who had lost everything or that I would hear a statement that still haunts me. “Over ten years ago, UNAMID found me in an IDP camp,” a man said. “And now they are preparing to leave while I am still in an IDP camp.” That was the reality of Darfur. That was the weight we carried.
Nestled in the western expanse of Sudan, the sprawling region of Darfur spans 510,888 square kilometres. It stands as one of Sudan’s states, divided into five administrative regions: North, South, East, West, and Central. Each region is led by a locally elected “Wali” or governor. Before 2012, Darfur comprised only the North, South, and Central regions. Islam is the predominant religion. As of 2010, Darfur’s population was estimated at approximately 7.5 million people, representing over 100 distinct tribes. These tribes were broadly categorised into two groups: sedentary African farmers and nomadic Arab tribes. Tensions among these groups had simmered for years, but Darfur erupted into a cauldron of conflict in the late 1980s. Death and displacement persisted until 2015, and in many ways, the scars remain.
The intensification of the conflict is often traced back to a fateful event on February 26, 2003. A group known as the Darfur Liberation Front launched an attack on a military garrison in the town of Golo. Violence had simmered for years, but this incident catalysed a major war that unleashed devastating consequences upon the region.
In response to the deteriorating situation, the African Union Mission in Sudan (AMIS) emerged in 2004 as a peacekeeping operation. Comprising military and civilian personnel from various African nations, AMIS aimed to monitor ceasefires, facilitate peace agreements, and ensure security for humanitarian assistance. In 2005, the Gambia Police Force joined this mission, dispatching a contingent of 35 officers led by Superintendent Saihou Njie. This marked the beginning of the GPF’s invaluable contribution to the Darfur peace process, following similar efforts in Liberia, Kosovo, and Timor Leste.
Despite noble intentions, AMIS grappled with numerous challenges. Limited resources, insufficient troop strength, and difficulties enforcing peace agreements plagued the mission. AMIS struggled to contain the escalating violence, prompting calls for a more robust international intervention.
The United Nations and the African Union collaborated to establish the African Union-United Nations Hybrid Operation in Darfur, known as UNAMID. United Nations Security Council Resolution 1769, adopted on July 31, 2007, formalised the creation of UNAMID. This joint mission officially commenced on December 31, 2007, and was endowed with a comprehensive mandate. Protecting civilians. Facilitating humanitarian aid. Mediating between conflicting parties. Monitoring agreement implementations. Promoting human rights in Darfur.
Selection and deployment
Participating in a peacekeeping mission held immense allure for many police officers. It offered not only international experience but also substantial income. The prospect of higher wages had significant appeal, particularly given the modest salaries of police officers that made securing personal assets like homes very difficult.
In 2015, I was fortunate to be deployed after a rigorous and lengthy selection process. When we learned that the United Nations Selection Assistance and Assessment Team (SAAT) would conduct an assessment in The Gambia, we eagerly submitted our names for consideration. I passed the exam, but deployment only came over a year after the SAAT process. The anxious wait for news was palpable. SAAT exam results remained valid for two years, and any successful candidate not deployed within that period forfeited eligibility. Every passing month brought new worry. Would I be deployed? Would my results expire? Then the call came. I was going to Darfur.
Understanding the mission
United Nations peacekeeping operations typically consist of three components: civilian, military, and police. UNAMID’s success hinged on the collaboration of these three facets. The civilian component focused on political processes, humanitarian assistance, human rights protection, and upholding the rule of law. The military component provided security, patrolled the region, safeguarded civilians, and facilitated the delivery of aid. In 2015, UNAMID’s police mandate encompassed supporting the physical protection of civilians, facilitating humanitarian assistance, and creating a protective environment through government police capacity development and community-oriented policing activities. Together, these components address the region’s complex challenges and promote sustainable peace and development.
Life in Mukjar
After completing our initial induction training, two fellow Gambian Police Officers, Abdoulie Jallow and Mariama Jahateh, along with me, were deployed to the Mukjar Team Site in Central Darfur. I served as a patrol officer for three months before being reassigned to the Public Information Office at the headquarters in El Fasher
As patrol officers, we conducted confidence-building patrols around Internally Displaced Persons camps. These patrols involved engaging with IDPs, seeking their input on the security situation in their area, conditions at the IDP camps, and their general welfare. We also organised classes for IDP children, teaching them the English language. Furthermore, we liaised with officers of the Sudan Police Force to share best practices and promote a community policing approach in their operations.
While these efforts may sound commendable, the reality posed challenges. In certain IDP camps, people hesitated to interact with peacekeepers. They often walked away when a patrol convoy approached. Routine interactions had become monotonous and unproductive. Our inquiries primarily focused on gathering information for our reports, covering aspects such as the visited location, the names and backgrounds of individuals we spoke with, their ages, tribes, and any security incidents they wished to report. We asked the same questions and received the same answers. I began to wonder if we were truly helping or simply going through the motions.
Seeking deeper understanding
Beyond the standard feedback collected for reporting purposes, I yearned for deeper insight into the experiences and perceptions of IDPs, particularly regarding the conflict and peacekeeping efforts. To achieve this, I collaborated with a local United Nations Department of Safety and Security officer named Alhardy to interview IDPs. I delved into topics such as their first encounters with the war and its impact on their lives, their sentiments upon the arrival of peacekeepers, and their current perspectives on the peacekeeping endeavour.
These interviews, conducted in October 2015, revealed compelling personal narratives of war and frustration. People spoke of villages burned in the night. Of family members never seen again. Of children who had never known a home outside the IDP camps. While they expressed gratitude for the peacekeeping efforts, they also voiced their discontent with the slow pace of peace and the enduring consequences of the conflict.
Two years later, this frustration persisted. In an interview conducted during my tenure as Public Information Officer to gauge IDPs’ opinions on the downsizing of UNAMID, one respondent said something that stopped me cold. “Over ten years ago, UNAMID found me in an IDP camp,” she said. “And now they are preparing to leave while I am still in an IDP camp.” I had no answer for her. I could offer no comfort. I simply wrote down her words and carried them with me. I still carry them.
Today, when I look at the Ecomig peacekeeping force in The Gambia, I find myself asking uncomfortable questions. Who really benefits from their presence? How does their mission actually impact the average Gambian going about their daily life? I question what lost peace they are trying to keep when our streets are not at war.
I wonder what reports they send back to their headquarters, what justifications they craft to explain their continued stay in The Gambia year after year. Our security sector has its own challenges, but I sometimes suspect that peacekeeping has become an industry in itself. It sustains economies, provides salaries, and offers deployment opportunities for officers from contributing nations.
Those are real benefits, but they are not the same as protecting civilians from imminent harm. The woman in Darfur needed Unamid because armed groups had burned her village. What exactly are we needing ECOMIG to protect us from? I am not suggesting that we do not need regional security cooperation. But I am suggesting that we should ask the question honestly. Are we keeping the peace, or have we simply grown accustomed to the presence of peacekeepers? Those are not the same thing.
The public information office
My role at the Public Information Office, where I eventually became the Head of PIO, allowed me to play a pivotal part in enhancing the image of the UNAMID Police Component. One of our primary responsibilities was producing a weekly newsletter spotlighting the accomplishments of UNAMID Police across all Darfur regions. This undertaking gave me invaluable insights into the mission’s positive interventions. Quick Intervention Projects. Livelihood activities. Individual police contributions. Community policing initiatives.
In sum, UNAMID reduced armed conflicts, facilitated access to previously inaccessible areas, enhanced support for mediation between the Government of Sudan and armed movements, and reinforced traditional community-based mechanisms through community policing in IDP camps. The mission achieved real successes. But standing in those camps, listening to women who had spent a decade behind fences, I understood that success meant different things to different people. For the UN, a reduced conflict statistic counted as progress. For the woman still waiting to go home, progress felt unbearably slow.
The cafeteria project
Police Advisors in peacekeeping missions do not receive a salary. Instead, we receive a Mission Subsistence Allowance (MSA). Throughout our tenure, this allowance amounted to USD 136 per day, accumulated and paid at the end of each month. This MSA, approximately USD 4000 per month, was intended to cover various expenses, including lodging, meals, and other necessities.
However, the GPF policy mandated that peacekeeping personnel contribute 10% of their MSA to the police force to support staff welfare. Notable projects funded by these contributions included uniform purchases and the construction or renovation of police stations such as Bakoteh, Banjulinding, Jarra Bureng, Bakadaji, and Ndugu Kebbeh.
Beyond the individual 10% contributions, our contingent took additional initiatives to enhance GPF welfare. Our contingent, led by now-retired Commissioner Malamin Ceesay, undertook a unique project to construct a standard cafeteria at the Police Training School using our monthly contributions. We wanted to leave something behind, something tangible that would outlast our deployment.
When our contingent committed to the cafeteria project, I was tasked with finding a suitable design. I collaborated with Inspector Kebba Jobe, an architect with the GPF engineering unit, who created an exceptional design. The proposed plan met with the contingent’s approval. After the GPF command reviewed it, we received construction authorisation. According to the agreement, we covered material costs while the GPF Engineering Unit handled the construction.
The project commenced in early 2017, making significant progress. The building had been roofed by the time we departed in October of that same year. We left feeling proud. We had contributed our money, our effort, and our hope to something permanent.
Regrettably, work halted upon our return. Despite updates on the funds sent for the project, a substantial balance remained to continue construction. There was no further communication or explanation regarding the remaining funds. The fate of those funds mirrored a larger problem. A lack of accountability for Individual Police Officers’ contributions to peacekeeping missions.
The building remained unfinished until 2023, when it was eventually completed as part of the Police Training School’s renovation efforts led by the German Police Support Team. During the inauguration in March 2023, there was no acknowledgement of our contingent’s significant contribution to the cafeteria’s construction. I do not share this to demand recognition. I share it because it reflects a pattern. Officers sacrifice. Officers contribute. And too often, those sacrifices fade from memory as if they never happened.
Darfur changed me. Walking through IDP camps, listening to stories of loss, and carrying the weight of a woman’s question about why peacekeepers were leaving while she remained displaced. Those experiences do not leave you. The mission achieved real things. We reduced armed conflicts. We facilitated aid. We taught children English. We built relationships with the Sudan Police Force. But I also learned that peacekeeping is not a clean endeavour. It is slow. It is frustrating. It is filled with contradictions. We built a cafeteria that was never finished until others stepped in. We interviewed people who had lost faith in the very mission we represented. And yet, I would do it again. Because for all its flaws, UNAMID saved lives. It prevented further bloodshed. It gave people hope, even if that hope was not always fulfilled. I went to Darfur expecting to serve as a police advisor. I returned as someone who understood, perhaps for the first time, that the badge means very little if it does not translate into tangible help for those who need it most. The woman in the IDP camp is still waiting. I have not forgotten her. I never will.
Join me on Thursday for the next episode: The Psychology of Service Personnel.
