http://bbparty.eu/cmo-comprar-zithromax-antibiotic-online-pedido-por-correo.php Then came bigger, more complex IED attacks and foiled plots to bomb tourist hotels on the Kenyan coast. When the assault on the Westgate Mall happened, it was shocking — but not surprising. Kenyan, U. All it took was four young men with a willingness to die, four assault rifles, and a handful of grenades: low-tech, low-cost, low-profile, and hard to stop.
Even now, little is known about the four Westgate gunmen. The only one so far conclusively identified was year-old Hassan Abdi Dhuhulow, born in Somalia and brought up as a refugee in Norway. Norwegian security forces confirmed his identity only this month, scotching rumors that he may have escaped the mall. The other three were also believed to be young Somalis: Ahmed Hassan Abukar, Mohammed Abdinur Said, and Yahya Ahmed Osman grew up in a country that existed in name only, wracked by war and routine violence, where al-Shabab offered an alternative to the venality of warlords and predations of foreign armies.
Standing in the corner of the rooftop car park, Ahmed Hassan Abukar, a. Khattab al-Kene, surveyed the dead, the wounded, and the terrified. Why should we spare yours? Then he and his partner, Mohammed Abdinur Said, a. Umayr al-Mogadish, opened fire. Not like a fanatic at all. No different, she thought, than if he were a greeter welcoming shoppers to the mall. Katherine Walton left runs with another woman, carrying children to safety.
Adults and children run through the mall to escape the gunmen. The two shooters opened fire again. A bullet grazed the head of Seema Manji, the wife of another radio DJ called Aleem, who was also struck by shrapnel. Aleem knew that if he did not act now he would not get another chance. Elaine Dang, a year-old American who was a judge in the cookery competition, was surprised. She was too far away to hear what Aleem had said, but he was a friend and she knew that he was Hindu. Another woman stood up, raising her hand. She also asked to leave.
The gunmen asked her a question about the Islamic faith. When she failed to answer correctly, one shot her dead. Another man stood, begging for the women and children to be spared. He, too, was shot. Elaine kept her head down, using her yoga breathing exercises to stay calm, wondering how she would get out of this alive. The shooting started up again, and hiding beneath the car, Simon was hit. Sandeep tried to crawl to safety as bullets skimmed over his head. One of the shots broke a gas pipe and set the propane alight, scorching his right arm. He stifled a cry of pain.
Another volley of bullets hit a cooking gas cylinder, which exploded. Even the gunmen seemed surprised by the blast, and Elaine used the distraction to scurry under a table. She was bleeding from a shrapnel wound to her right thigh, and a chunk of her right arm, just below the elbow, was missing. Still bleeding beneath the car, Simon watched in horror as a couple and their child tried to run and all three were shot down, crumpling to the ground in front of him. There was more shooting as the gunmen moved around the rooftop, picking out targets and firing.
Then suddenly it stopped. Less than 30 minutes after they had come onto the roof, the two attackers made their way into the mall, leaving behind them bloodied corpses, empty bullet casings, and an eerie quiet that was soon broken by the crying and moaning of the injured and traumatized. Minutes passed, and the gunmen did not return.
Slowly, people who could move began to crawl out from their hiding places under or behind cars, or to drag themselves away from the heaped bodies in the corner. The two other gunmen, Hassan Abdi Dhuhulow, a. Omar Abdul Rahim Nabhan, were unleashing similar carnage inside the mall after walking in through the main entrance on Mwanzi Road. Both men paused to reload their weapons before entering the mall. Each had fired a full round magazine in just the first few minutes of the attack. Sudani, in a loose black jacket and white trousers, fired through the open door of Urban Burgers and then walked in.
Faith, Kennedy, and another colleague, Anne, were hiding behind the counter. He shot, and she collapsed with a cry and a sigh on top of Faith who was hunched up out of view. Then he turned to a white couple laying on the floor clutching each other in front of the counter, where they were afforded some protection from the initial shooting on the road but none from the door where the gunmen now stood.
Bodies lie strewn on the floor at Urban Burgers. Then he shot them both with bursts of fire from his rifle. Neither was American: Australian architect Ross Langdon, 32, and his pregnant partner Elif Yavuz, a year-old Dutch malaria specialist who was due to give birth two weeks later, were both hit multiple times and died. Niall Saville, a year-old British development economist, and his South Korean wife, Moon Hee Kang, were also shot repeatedly at close range and left bleeding on the floor. Outside on the terrace, Arnold came to.
His right eye was swollen shut, and he was bleeding from the chest. He heard the gunfire and saw the upturned tables, chairs, and broken glass. Two customers lay by the door, wounded and moaning. Arnold smeared blood across his face and played dead. Nancy Kadesa, the year-old cashier, was hiding in a small storage area behind a louvered door at the back of the shop. Her colleague lay flat on the floor by the till. There were three customers in the shop, including a white man. Nancy peeked through the slats in the door as Nabhan, standing in the shop entrance, fired a volley of six bullets into the white man.
One round smashed through the door Nancy was hiding behind, inches from her head. She slid to the floor and shut her eyes. The four gunmen controlled two of them, and no one inside or outside knew how many more terrorists there were. Hundreds of people had found their way to the Nakumatt service entrance, either through the store or via the nearby emergency exit, and were rushing onto the street outside. Satpal Singh, a turbaned year-old Sikh, directed terrified shoppers and diners from the upstairs food court into a large bookshop that occupied most of one side of the mall directly beneath the cinema.
Others made for the Millionaires Casino, a beauty salon, and other shops on the second floor. Doors were shut and locked, and people huddled at the back of the shops, hoping they would not be seen. Dozens of people crowded into a storeroom at the Java House coffee shop, blocking the door with a refrigerator. In the bookstore, security guards pulled down the rolling shutter, and Satpal told the 30 or so people inside to put their phones on silent. As the gunfire increased in volume and frequency, both outside in the car park and downstairs on the ground floor, the group made its way up the escalator from the bookshop to the cinema above.
From there, Satpal could see into the mall through the large upper windows as Mogadish and Kene, black scarves around their heads, strode around the upper floor. Downstairs on the ground floor, the other two terrorists were also hunting for people to kill. Faith Wambua and her two children, aged 21 months and 9, were playing dead. They had been at the main entrance when the attack started and were part of the initial surge of dozens of panicked people who tumbled into the mall.
Faith scooped her toddler son, Ty, into her arms and took her daughter, Sy, by the arm. Michael, the waiter and barista, was on the other side of the counter. He saw a running man fall to the ground in front of him. They staggered into Nakumatt together. Faith wanted to follow, but knew that with her two children she would move slowly and be a big target. She stayed where she was. Faith could see a young woman in a black T-shirt and black jeans — the Urban Burgers uniform — crouching behind a pillar and talking on her phone. She shut off the call, switched her phone to silent, and then rang back.
We are at Westgate. Then she ended the call. Faith kept eye contact with the woman from Urban Burgers. It was Ruth. She saw light-colored trousers and a black jacket: It was the terrorist, Sudani.
Faith heard him talk to Ruth for a moment and then heard two shots, deafening and heartbreaking. Ruth was flung against the pillar by the close-range fire.
Faith Wambua and her two children: Sy and Ty. Terrified, Faith pressed Sy and Ty to the ground. Just a few yards away, Katherine crouched with her three young daughters. When the shooting started, Katherine had been waiting for her two sons outside Nakumatt. The first potential hiding place they came upon was a cardboard promotional stand for a new tablet computer.
Katherine pushed her two older daughters inside and then crawled in herself with her youngest, Petra, in a sling. The cardboard stand provided cover, but no protection at all. The initial chaos and pandemonium was followed by an eerie quiet, punctuated by deafening gunshots that echoed through the mall. Then came footsteps: slow, almost casual, Katherine thought. Nabhan passed Faith and her children. He passed the body of a man, shot in the head outside Barclays bank, and turned left toward Nakumatt. His stride was nonchalant. He looked around, like the gunmen upstairs, more curious than wary.
Katherine was bewildered. It seemed as if the killer was out for a stroll, casually ambling around the emptied mall. He was just yards away, but did not see them huddled in the tablet stand. Instead, he fired three rounds from the hip into prone bodies lying in the open. Nabhan was joined by Sudani, and together they entered Nakumatt, the largest and busiest shop in the mall, with hundreds of terrified shoppers and workers cowering inside.
Michael had helped the injured man reach the rear of Nakumatt, where there was a door to the delivery area in the refrigerated section just beyond the meat counter. He laid the man down on the ground among scores of other people, some wounded, most simply terrified. The man was bleeding and thirsty, so Michael went back into the shop to get water.
He was running low between the aisles, bent over at the waist, when he felt a stab of heat and pain in his left buttock that spun him to the ground. Realizing he had been shot and that the gunmen were now inside the superstore, Michael scrambled back to his feet. But a moment later, more shots struck him.
One bullet passed clean through his right arm, tearing the flesh but missing the bone. Another struck his left elbow. Michael stumbled to the back of the shop, slipping in his own blood. Instead, they walked over to the meat counter, where many people, including year-old Amber Prior and her two children, were hiding behind the refrigerated display counter. Until they did. The shots were aimed and fired deliberately. Amber lay partly on top of her 6-year-old daughter and 4-year-old son to shield them. She felt a bullet thump into her left thigh but stayed still.
Their killing spree at the rooftop cookery competition over, Kene and Mogadish took the escalator down to the first and then the ground floor. Then they also entered Nakumatt. He barely broke pace as he passed, raising his rifle and shooting the man in the gut. By p. There had been no security response. The only resistance they had met was from a policeman guarding a bank on the first floor who had fired, wounding Sudani in the lower right leg, leaving him limping. A boy lay next to Amber on the blood-slicked floor, behind the meat counter.
He was wounded and whimpering, his dead mother and sister next to him. Amber squeezed his hand urging him not to cry out. The minutes ticked by. Moans fell silent as the injured succumbed to their wounds. Then came the footsteps again. This time there was a voice too, speaking in clear English with a light Somali accent.
One of the four gunmen walks a civilian out of the Nakumatt supermarket. Amber got to her feet and begged him to let her children leave. We will do the same to them. Kene asked where Amber was from. He said they were only interested in Kenyans and Americans. Kene let Amber and her two children leave. He also allowed the injured boy to be wheeled out in a shopping trolley and another wounded girl to follow behind.
Kene gave him and his sister two Mars bars each and ushered them out of the store. Upstairs on the first floor of Nakumatt, Fred, the electrical technician, had shepherded more than 70 people into the storeroom in the minutes after the gunfire started. Elsewhere on the upper floor, customers and shop workers hid beneath furniture or barricaded themselves into glass-walled sport and footwear concessions.
Fred pushed boxes up against the double-swing door linking the shop to the storeroom, leaving just enough space so that he could peer through the small glass window. He slipped the padlock in place and then returned to the swing door to stand guard. On the ground floor, the four gunmen were roaming about looking for targets. Sisters Annie Gichanga, 31, and Sharon Nderitu, 33, were hiding with dozens of others among the aisles at the back of Nakumatt.
Every few minutes there were more gunshots. It would flicker on again sporadically, but in between all they could hear was silence, footsteps, and gunshots. The footsteps came close, slow and deliberate. Through the gloom, Sharon could see part of a torso, an arm, and a gun. Westgate is not the kind of place a Kenyan career police officer hangs out. Nura Ali of the Nairobi Flying Squad was following his usual routine: cruising the streets with his crew, waiting for trouble to call. After 25 years in the police force, Nura was relaxed and confident as he sat in the front passenger seat with his walky-talky in his hand, a Ceska 9mm pistol in his lap, and an AK assault rifle beside him.
The rifle held a round clip, the pistol a shot magazine, and he carried a spare in the pocket of his loose-fitting slacks. Nura and his two colleagues were having an early lunch of beef stew with chapati while the mechanic worked nearby when a call came through on the radio. Robbers inside. He was excited, eager even.
As the unmarked squad car sped up the road, Nura hung out the window, waving his radio and shouting at drivers to move out of the way. News of the assault was beginning to spread via frantic phones calls, texts, and WhatsApp messages. Westgate is in the heart of a Kenyan-Indian part of the city, and the close-knit community there knew better than to rely on the authorities to send help. A police officer tries to secure an area inside the mall.
Men identified as security officers try to secure an area inside the mall. Harish Patel, a member of an outfit calling itself the Krisna Squad, was returning home from a morning spent volunteering at the nearby Hindu crematorium when he received a distress call: There was a robbery at the Nakumatt store in Westgate, with shooting going on. A couple of minutes later, the year-old was within sight of the mall. He patted the pistol he wore on his hip and grabbed the spare magazine he kept in his car.
On the western side of town, Abdul Haji was in a business meeting at the Yaya Centre, another Nairobi shopping mall. The year-old bitumen trader was sipping an Americano when his white iPhone chirruped. Terrorist attack. Pray for me. Abdul abandoned the business meeting and rushed to his silver SUV in the basement.
As he sped toward Westgate, swerving around cars and over sidewalks to cut through the traffic, he ran through a mental checklist: He had his gun, as always, a Ceska 9mm, but no spare magazine and no body armor. As Nura approached the mall, he saw cars stopped on the road at wonky angles, some with their engines running, some with bullet holes in the windows, and some with bloodied bodies hanging out of doors or slumped against seats. He dashed and crouched, ducking behind vehicles, reaching the main mall entrance at the same time as Amber emerged from within, her two children and two others in tow.
Amber Prior walks past the body of a man as she escapes Westgate shopping mall. An armed security officer assists civilians escaping from the Westgate shopping mall. Abdul and Harish got off to a bad start. When Abdul, an ethnic-Somali Kenyan who is Muslim, arrived carrying a pistol, Harish got in his face, shouting. Abdul pulled out his gun license ID and calmed Harish down.
Nura was the first to go up the ramp toward the rooftop car park, spurred on by shame at the cowardice of his police colleagues rather than the desire to be a hero. The carnage in the car park was horrifying. There was a mess of bodies in the corner, more scattered beneath the open-sided marquees, and still others poked out from beneath and between cars.
Nura thought he was spearheading a rescue mission, but all he could see were bodies and blood. It looked like a slaughterhouse. Nura noticed some movement and stopped, suddenly realizing how he must appear: an ethic-Somali man in civilian clothes, clutching an AK The first Kenya Red Cross medics had followed Nura up the ramp. They began doing triage, finding the wounded among the dead and providing emergency first aid. Simon was pulled out from under the car and put in an ambulance with Amanda, who was unhurt. Out on the street, journalists had begun to gather.
Both Elaine and Sandeep were photographed, staggering and bloodied, from the mall. The crowd outside Westgate was growing, but with no sign of any official or organized security response. Instead, an ad hoc volunteer rescue mission had begun to take shape, comprising a motley crew of uniformed, plainclothes, and off-duty police and licensed civilian gun holders. Nura led the way with Abdul and Harish and two plainclothes armed officers: two Muslims, a Hindu, and two Christians.
All Kenyans. They moved cautiously around the upper floor, checking for gunmen. It was slow, nerve-wracking work. Abdul, Harish, and Nura found groups of people hiding in every shop and behind every shut and locked door. They ushered them out to the car park, where an evacuation effort was taking shape. Dozens of people at a time were being led down the ramp, distraught and running, escorted by police to the ambulances that had begun to arrive.
Realizing that the shooting was coming from downstairs, the five men formed a vanguard and took the stairs to the first floor. Progress was slow as they moved cautiously, unsure of where the gunmen were, checking shops and banks and lavatories for hiding people. They found dozens everywhere they looked and encouraged them to hurry upstairs to the roof and out. By the time they reached the ground level, it was mid-afternoon and they came under direct fire for the first time. Nura was hit. A bullet entered his back an inch from his spine, then ricocheted off the pistol tucked in his waistband and tore back through his intestines.
Hiding behind a pillar, Nura slumped to the ground, clutching his stomach and watching his blood pour out. He blacked out momentarily and awoke to rainfall.
As his confusion lifted, Nura realized that the raindrops were bullets glancing off the floor all around him. He tried to stand and was hit twice more in his upper thigh, the bullets tearing a fist-sized hole in his right leg. Nura dragged himself out of the line of fire and into the Artcaffe restaurant. As he prayed to Allah in preparation for death, Nura felt hands helping him up and carrying him out of the restaurant into the daylight outside.
Abdul was crouched behind an ice-cream kiosk, trying to work out where the shots were coming from. He reckoned he had found a blind spot along a wall adjacent to the Nakumatt entrance, and during a lull in the shooting, he dashed toward it. Nairobi has been here before. In September gunmen unleashed similar slaughter on the Westgate shopping mall, barely a mile away, killing 67 people.
Al-Shabab, a Somali militant outfit linked to al-Qaeda, have claimed the credit for both attacks; retaliation, they say, for a Kenyan military incursion into Somalia to root out the jihadists. The latest attack was designed to inflict more than just mortal wounds. As at Westgate, 14 Riverside is frequented by both foreigners and rich Kenyans. Businessmen from the West liked to stay at the hotel on the compound.
The five office blocks surrounding it housed the local headquarters of multinational firms such as Colgate-Palmolive and BASF, a German chemical producer. Kenyans will take comfort from the fact that some lessons seem to have been learned since Police and army units squabbled over who was in command. When assaulting the building to free hostages, soldiers opened fire on a special forces police unit advancing from another part of the building and killed its commander. A government tendency to dissemble during attacks by the Shabab has proven harder to shake off.
Some Kenyan soldiers are reckoned to have died. The president is yet to fulfil a promise to allow an investigation into the Westgate atrocity, during which soldiers were accused of looting the mall and blowing part of it up to cover their tracks. Old habits die hard. On Tuesday evening, echoing similarly dubious statements made during the Westgate attack, the interior minister declared the operation over.
It continued for several hours. As a result, many were sceptical when Mr Kenyatta declared that the area had been secured on Wednesday morning. He also announced that 14 people had been killed, even though the local Red Cross put the number at Most worrying, the attack has shown how capable al-Shabab remains despite years of military operations against them in Somalia.
African Union peacekeepers have been in the country since Kenya mounted its own invasion of southern Somalia in There have been five alone this month. Although it has lost territory, the movement has proved difficult to break. And mass atrocities in Kenya have also died away since people were killed at a university in the town of Garissa in But al-Shabab has continued frequently to mount complex attacks on African Union soldiers and government targets in Somalia.
The group is also fighting a low-level insurgency across the border in north-eastern Kenya. The Riverside attack will increase worries that even as it loses territory, al-Shabab is growing bolder rather than more timid.