African al-Qaeda

The murderous mission of the Somali rebel group al-Shabaab.

Din Hassan is standing by a petrol station in a densely packed Somali suburb of Kampala, the Ugandan capital. Since the suicide bombers attacked football fans while they were watching a World Cup match in bars just a few miles away, the residents of Kisenyi have been keeping their heads down. But Hassan smiles widely when he sees me and beckons me over. He is tall, with a round, bearded face and a belly that tests the limits of his grey safari suit. We cross the road and walk down an alley to his modest house.

Hassan was born here 64 years ago - "I am a Ugandan!" he says - but his grandfather grew up in what was then British Somaliland. Drafted into the army in 1909, the old man fought for George V against the Germans in Tanganyika (now Tanzania) before coming to Uganda as one of the original Somali settlers.

For most of the past 25 years, Hassan has been chairman of the Ugandan Somali community. His term coincided with Somalia's descent into chaos, which has swelled Uganda's immigrant population to about 40,000. "Ugandans have always been very friendly to Somalis," he tells me. "They know the people there are suffering."

By the time Hassan handed over to a younger chairman 18 months ago, relations between the two countries had become closely intertwined. President Yoweri Museveni of Uganda sent thousands of troops to Mogadishu in 2007 to help protect the fragile Somali government from the Islamist rebel group known as al-Shabaab. Many Ugandans wondered why they were getting involved in a country where there was no strategic interest. Hassan saw the move as honourable. "Museveni was just trying to help make Somalia like a normal country."

Al-Shabaab has a different idea of normality. Hassan first heard of the Kampala attacks when he arrived at a mosque early on the morning of Monday 12 July. He went straight home and stayed there. The death toll rose to 74. As families of the victims crowded around a tree outside the main hospital in Kampala, where a list of dead and injured had been pasted, al-Shabaab was holding a triumphant press conference in Mogadishu. A spokesman thanked "the mujahedins that carried out the attack", which he said was punishment for Uganda's role in the peacekeeping mission.

There was fear among the local Somalis: would Ugandans blame them for the bombings? Hassan's mobile rang constantly. "People were saying to me: 'You were our chairman for a long time. You must be the one to explain our position on this to the press,'" Hassan says. His expression hardens. "The people who did this are criminal killers. They have destroyed Somalia, and now they want to do something very bad to us here."

Something very bad - indeed, the most deadly terror attack in East Africa since the 1998 US embassy bombings in Kenya and Tanzania, which put al-Qaeda on the world map - could have been even worse. At the government media centre, a flimsy black canvas bag that was found in a disco sits on a table at the front of the room. Beside the bag are its contents: a piece of thin khaki material with orange trim and swatches of Velcro - a suicide vest. Next to it are two packets containing brownish slabs of explosive, roughly the size of a paperback, with blue electrical cord.

Some ball bearings have shaken loose from the explosive casing. When the bomb detonates, the ball bearings act like so many bullets; similar evidence has been recovered at the bars where many of last month's dead were torn to pieces. The device was probably meant to strike the disco at the same time, the police chief says.

Alien values

Who are al-Shabaab? So far, the militants have brought order to the areas they control in southern and central Somalia. Some aid agencies there have complimented them on their administrative capacity. But most of al-Shabaab's professed values are deeply alien to Somali culture - and to Islamic norms in most parts of the world. Western songs, films and ringtones are banned. Men used to strolling around in sandals and sarongs as they chew the narcotic khat leaf are expected to grow beards and attend mosque five times a day, or face beatings.

Women who previously covered only their hair must now wear full face veils. Alleged criminals have limbs hacked off while local residents are forced to watch. Whatever the Somali government's faults - and the list is long - it is for fear of al-Shabaab that people risk their lives to reach countries such as Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda and Yemen.

A short walk up the hill from Hassan's house is a modest hotel. In the restaurant, a few dozen Somali men are having lunch: rice mixed with potatoes, cabbage, raisins and large chunks of goat meat. The television is tuned to al-Jazeera.

I order some food and sit down. Eventually I strike up a conversation with the restaurant manager, Abdi Mohamed. He arrived in Uganda from Somalia in 2009. He says his reaction to the bomb attack was "like any Ugandan . . . scared. I was expecting to find peace when I arrived here." Mohamed knows all about al-Shabaab. His family lived in Kismayo, a port city in southern Somalia that is under the Islamists' strict control.

“If you are not one of them, it is very difficult," he says. "They are doing in Somalia what they have done here. Only 100 times more."

Xan Rice is Features Editor at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 09 August 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The first 100 days

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“I felt so frantic I couldn’t see my screen”: why aren’t we taking mental health sick days?

Some employees with mental health problems fake reasons for taking days off, or struggle in regardless. What should companies be doing differently?

“I would go to the loo and just cry my eyes out. And sometimes colleagues could hear me. Then I would just go back to my desk as if nothing had happened. And, of course, no one would say anything because I would hide it as well as I could.”

How many times have you heard sobbing through a work toilet door – or been the person in the cubicle?

Jaabir Ramlugon is a 31-year-old living in north London. He worked in IT for four years, and began having to take time off for depressive episodes after starting at his company in 2012. He was eventually diagnosed with borderline personality disorder last January.

At first, he would not tell his employers or colleagues why he was taking time off.

“I was at the point where I was in tears going to work on the train, and in tears coming back,” he recalls. “Some days, I just felt such a feeling of dread about going into work that I just physically couldn’t get up ... I wouldn’t mention my mental health; I would just say that my asthma was flaring up initially.”

It wasn’t until Ramlugon was signed off for a couple of months after a suicide attempt that he told his company what he was going through. Before that, a “culture of presenteeism” at his work – and his feeling that he was “bunking off” because there was “nothing physically wrong” – made him reluctant to tell the truth about his condition.

“I already felt pretty low in my self-esteem; the way they treated me amplified that”

Eventually, he was dismissed by his company via a letter describing him as a “huge burden” and accusing him of “affecting” its business. He was given a dismissal package, but feels an alternative role or working hours – a plan for a gradual return to work – would have been more supportive.

“I already felt pretty low in my self-esteem. The way they treated me definitely amplified that, especially with the language that they used. The letter was quite nasty because it talked about me being a huge burden to the company.”

Ramlugon is not alone. Over three in ten employees say they have experienced mental health problems while in employment, according to the Chartered Institute of Personnel and Development. Under half (43 per cent) disclose their problem to their employer, and under half (46 per cent) say their organisation supports staff with mental health problems well.

I’ve spoken to a number of employees in different workplaces who have had varying experiences of suffering from mental ill health at work.

***

Taking mental health days off sick hit the headlines after an encouraging message from a CEO to his employee went viral. Madalyn Parker, a web developer, informed her colleagues in an out-of-office message that she would be taking “today and tomorrow to focus on my mental health – hopefully I’ll be back next week refreshed and back to 100 per cent”.

Her boss Ben Congleton’s reply, which was shared tens of thousands of times, personally thanked her – saying it’s “an example to us all” to “cut through the stigma so we can bring our whole selves to work”.

“Thank you for sending emails like this,” he wrote. “Every time you do, I use it as a reminder of the importance of using sick days for mental health – I can’t believe this is not standard practice at all organisations.”


Congleton went on to to write an article entitled “It’s 2017 and Mental Health is still an issue in the workplace”, arguing that organisations need to catch up:

“It’s 2017. We are in a knowledge economy. Our jobs require us to execute at peak mental performance. When an athlete is injured they sit on the bench and recover. Let’s get rid of the idea that somehow the brain is different.”

But not all companies are as understanding.

In an investigation published last week, Channel 5 News found that the number of police officers taking sick days for poor mental health has doubled in six years. “When I did disclose that I was unwell, I had some dreadful experiences,” one retired detective constable said in the report. “On one occasion, I was told, ‘When you’re feeling down, just think of your daughters’. My colleagues were brilliant; the force was not.”

“One day I felt so frantic I couldn’t see my screen”

One twenty-something who works at a newspaper echoes this frustration at the lack of support from the top. “There is absolutely no mental health provision here,” they tell me. “HR are worse than useless. It all depends on your personal relationships with colleagues.”

“I was friends with my boss so I felt I could tell him,” they add. “I took a day off because of anxiety and explained what it was to my boss afterwards. But that wouldn’t be my blanket approach to it – I don’t think I’d tell my new boss [at the same company], for instance. I have definitely been to work feeling awful because if I didn’t, it wouldn’t get done.”

Presenteeism is a rising problem in the UK. Last year, British workers took an average of 4.3 days off work due to illness – the lowest number since records began. I hear from many interviewees that they feel guilty taking a day off for a physical illness, which makes it much harder to take a mental health day off.

“I felt a definite pressure to be always keen as a young high-flyer and there were a lot of big personalities and a lot of bitchiness about colleagues,” one woman in her twenties who works in media tells me. “We were only a small team and my colleague was always being reprimanded for being workshy and late, so I didn’t want to drag the side down.”

Diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, which was then changed to anxiety and depression, she didn’t tell her work about her illness. “Sometimes I struggled to go to work when I was really sick. And my performance was fine. I remember constantly sitting there sort of eyeballing everyone in mild amusement that I was hiding in plain sight. This was, at the time, vaguely funny for me. Not much else was.

“One day I just felt so frantic I couldn’t see my screen so I locked myself in the bathroom for a bit then went home, telling everyone I had a stomach bug so had to miss half the day,” she tells me. “I didn’t go in the next day either and concocted some elaborate story when I came back.”

Although she has had treatment and moved jobs successfully since, she has never told her work the real reason for her time off.

“In a small company you don’t have a confidential person to turn to; everyone knows everyone”

“We want employers to treat physical and mental health problems as equally valid reasons for time off sick,” says Emma Mamo, head of workplace wellbeing at the mental health charity Mind. “Staff who need to take time off work because of stress and depression should be treated the same as those who take days off for physical health problems, such as back or neck pain.”

She says that categorising a day off as a “mental health sick day” is unhelpful, because it could “undermine the severity and impact a mental health problem can have on someone’s day-to-day activities, and creates an artificial separation between mental and physical health.”

Instead, employers should take advice from charities like Mind on how to make the mental health of their employees an organisational priority. They can offer workplace initiatives like Employee Assistance Programmes (which help staff with personal and work-related problems affecting their wellbeing), flexible working hours, and clear and supportive line management.

“I returned to work gradually, under the guidance of my head of department, doctors and HR,” one journalist from Hertfordshire, who had to take three months off for her second anorexia inpatient admission, tells me. “I was immensely lucky in that my line manager, head of department and HR department were extremely understanding and told me to take as much time as I needed.”

“They didnt make me feel embarrassed or ashamed – such feelings came from myself”

“They knew that mental health – along with my anorexia I had severe depression – was the real reason I was off work ... I felt that my workplace handled my case in an exemplary manner. It was organised and professional and I wasn’t made to feel embarrassed or ashamed from them – such feelings came from myself.”

But she still at times felt “flaky”, “pathetic” and “inefficient”, despite her organisation’s good attitude. Indeed, many I speak to say general attitudes have to change in order for people to feel comfortable about disclosing conditions to even the closest friends and family, let alone a boss.

“There are levels of pride,” says one man in his thirties who hid his addiction while at work. “You know you’re a mess, but society dictates you should be functioning.” He says this makes it hard to have “the mental courage” to broach this with your employer. “Especially in a small company – you don’t have a confidential person to turn to. Everyone knows everyone.”

“But you can’t expect companies to deal with it properly when it’s dealt with so poorly in society as it is,” he adds. “It’s massively stigmatised, so of course it’s going to be within companies as well. I think there has to be a lot more done generally to make it not seem like it’s such a big personal failing to become mentally ill. Companies need direction; it’s not an easy thing to deal with.”

Until we live in a society where it feels as natural taking a day off for feeling mentally unwell as it does for the flu, companies will have to step up. It is, after all, in their interest to have their staff performing well. When around one in four people in Britain experience mental ill health each year, it’s not a problem they can afford to ignore.

If your manager doesn’t create the space for you to be able to talk about wellbeing, it can be more difficult to start this dialogue. It depends on the relationship you have with your manager, but if you have a good relationship and trust them, then you could meet them one-to-one to discuss what’s going on.

Having someone from HR present will make the meeting more formal, and normally wouldn’t be necessary in the first instance. But if you didn’t get anywhere with the first meeting then it might be a sensible next step.

If you still feel as though you’re not getting the support you need, contact Acas or Mind's legal line on 0300 466 6463.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 09 August 2010 issue of the New Statesman, The first 100 days