In a development that has sent shockwaves through the international community and, more locally, the premium tonic water supply chain, thirty-five souls have been extinguished in a brazen attack on Niamey's Diori Hamani International Airport. Gunmen, presumably not in the airport's VIP lounge sipping complimentary chardonnay, descended upon the tarmac with a ferocity that would make a crocodile blush. The Sahel security crisis, already a simmering stew of jihadist insurgency, weak governance, and French military intervention, has now acquired a fresh, bloody topping of terror.
One can almost hear the collective sigh of despair from diplomats, aid workers, and adventure tourists, all of whom will now have to reconsider their travel insurance policies. The attack, which occurred at the crack of a presumably dusty dawn, targeted a military zone adjacent to the civilian terminal. This, my dear readers, is what happens when the West ignores a region's call for help, preferring instead to fiddle with its own geopolitical fiddle while Niger burns.
The gunmen, described as 'unidentified assailants' in every news report I've seen (a euphemism for 'we haven't got a bloody clue'), arrived in vehicles and opened fire on the airport's security forces. It was, as one witness might have said if he weren't too busy running for his life, a complete and utter shambles. The Sahel security crisis deepens, they say, like a cut that refuses to heal because the patient keeps picking at the scab.
And what are we doing about it? Why, we're holding inquiries, passing resolutions, and tutting sympathetically while sipping our morning tea. I propose a more direct approach: a gin-soaked truth commission.
Let's fly to Niamey, buy a round for the survivors, and ask them what they really think of our so-called 'stabilisation efforts'. But no, we'll probably send in a few more drones and a sternly worded statement. That'll show 'em.
Meanwhile, the bodies pile up, the terror spreads, and the global community collectively shrugs. Pass the bottle, someone. This is going to be a long night.
