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tk27 · 02-26-2006, 22:45

In recent months, Western and Malian officials have detected a surge of Islamic recruitment efforts in the Malian Sahara. The Malian government has closely followed the travels of several itinerant imams from Pakistan who have proselytized throughout the north. "They've let the Pakistanis know they're not welcome," one Western official tells me. In Kidal, a desolate Tuareg trading post 150 miles north of Gao, not far from where the European hostages were held, the town mayor established close ties to Al Para in 2003 and has since become a convert to Dawa Al Tabligh, an extreme branch of Islam whose adherents often advocate using violence to spread the religion. In recent months, sources say, more Tuareg women have been wearing the burka in Kidal, and the mayor has given impassioned speeches urging people to send their children to madrassas and to reject secular influences. Meanwhile, the Saudis have constructed dozens of Wahhabi mosques in Timbuktu and other desert communities, founded orphanages, and lavished cash on local charities. "The north is huge and impoverished, with lots of unemployed and angry young men," a Western diplomat in Bamako tells me. "The potential for the exploitation of disenfranchised youth definitely exists."

I get a sense of the new atmosphere one stiflingly hot afternoon in Timbuktu. With a blinding sun high overhead, my driver and I wind along the edge of town, where concrete huts give way to Tuareg canvas tents, sand dunes, and herds of goats foraging through piles of trash. Amid the squalor rises a bright yellow stucco mosque, built recently by Saudi Wahhabists and topped by a 30-foot-high minaret. It is by far the best-constructed new building in Timbuktu. The imam, a member of the local Songhai tribe, has succeeded in attracting about two dozen residents of Timbuktu to Friday prayers, my driver, Baba, tells me, including some of the same young men who proudly displayed Osama bin Laden t-shirts after September 11. But Azima Ali, the Tuareg tourist guide, tells me that the imam's message is still unpopular in Timbuktu. "The people here are not extremists," he says. "The kind of Islam that we practice is generous and kind. We don't believe in spreading the religion through violence. If you are not a Muslim, nobody can force you to be one."

It remains unclear whether the Islamists will find a safe haven in Mali's desolate north. But everybody knows that the threat is there. After our visit to the Saudi-built mosque, Baba and I drive through the center of town. We pass Timbuktu's renowned Djingareyber Mosque, an imposing mud fortress built in the fourteenth century, when Timbuktu was a commercial and intellectual center of north Africa. "As long as this mosque rises over the city," Baba tells me, "the Wahhabis can never become strong." Baba's confidence isn't thoroughly convincing. A few moments later, a jeepload of Malian troops roars past, kicking up clouds of dust, back from an exercise in the Sahara. Baba watches them somberly. "We are glad to have them here," he murmurs. "Who knows what is happening in the desert?"

Joshua Hammer is the correspondent at large for Newsweek.

02-26-2006, 22:45	#3
tk27 BANNED USER Join Date: Sep 2004 Location: RI/MA Posts: 230	Hammer cont In recent months, Western and Malian officials have detected a surge of Islamic recruitment efforts in the Malian Sahara. The Malian government has closely followed the travels of several itinerant imams from Pakistan who have proselytized throughout the north. "They've let the Pakistanis know they're not welcome," one Western official tells me. In Kidal, a desolate Tuareg trading post 150 miles north of Gao, not far from where the European hostages were held, the town mayor established close ties to Al Para in 2003 and has since become a convert to Dawa Al Tabligh, an extreme branch of Islam whose adherents often advocate using violence to spread the religion. In recent months, sources say, more Tuareg women have been wearing the burka in Kidal, and the mayor has given impassioned speeches urging people to send their children to madrassas and to reject secular influences. Meanwhile, the Saudis have constructed dozens of Wahhabi mosques in Timbuktu and other desert communities, founded orphanages, and lavished cash on local charities. "The north is huge and impoverished, with lots of unemployed and angry young men," a Western diplomat in Bamako tells me. "The potential for the exploitation of disenfranchised youth definitely exists." I get a sense of the new atmosphere one stiflingly hot afternoon in Timbuktu. With a blinding sun high overhead, my driver and I wind along the edge of town, where concrete huts give way to Tuareg canvas tents, sand dunes, and herds of goats foraging through piles of trash. Amid the squalor rises a bright yellow stucco mosque, built recently by Saudi Wahhabists and topped by a 30-foot-high minaret. It is by far the best-constructed new building in Timbuktu. The imam, a member of the local Songhai tribe, has succeeded in attracting about two dozen residents of Timbuktu to Friday prayers, my driver, Baba, tells me, including some of the same young men who proudly displayed Osama bin Laden t-shirts after September 11. But Azima Ali, the Tuareg tourist guide, tells me that the imam's message is still unpopular in Timbuktu. "The people here are not extremists," he says. "The kind of Islam that we practice is generous and kind. We don't believe in spreading the religion through violence. If you are not a Muslim, nobody can force you to be one." It remains unclear whether the Islamists will find a safe haven in Mali's desolate north. But everybody knows that the threat is there. After our visit to the Saudi-built mosque, Baba and I drive through the center of town. We pass Timbuktu's renowned Djingareyber Mosque, an imposing mud fortress built in the fourteenth century, when Timbuktu was a commercial and intellectual center of north Africa. "As long as this mosque rises over the city," Baba tells me, "the Wahhabis can never become strong." Baba's confidence isn't thoroughly convincing. A few moments later, a jeepload of Malian troops roars past, kicking up clouds of dust, back from an exercise in the Sahara. Baba watches them somberly. "We are glad to have them here," he murmurs. "Who knows what is happening in the desert?" Joshua Hammer is the correspondent at large for Newsweek.
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