Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, a Sudanese warlord better known as Hemedti, is now fighting the army for control of the country. Photo: Reuters/Mohamed Nureldin Abdallah
I first met Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, a Sudanese warlord better known as Hemedti, who is now fighting the army for control of the country, in 2020.
I traveled to Khartoum to report on the Sudanese Transition Period fluctuates.
Dictator Omar al-Bashir had been ousted a year earlier, and the bumbling triumvirate turned to the world for economic assistance and readmission to the global community after decades of isolation.
The civil protest movement, the Sudanese military and the Hemedti Rapid Support Force (RSF) ) formed a «transitional government» and I was itching to figure out where it was going.
Of the three centers of power, Hemedty's RBG was perhaps the biggest clue.
In a gilded mansion filled with diamond-studded furniture upholstered in pale blue, I passed through a series of lobbies until I reached Hemedti, who was finishing the meeting.
A descendant of Chadian camel herders, Hemedti became the leader of a pro-government militia fighting Darfur rebels in the 2000s, but became a billionaire businessman through the gold trade.
In his early 40s, dressed in a starched military uniform, Hemedti was witty and attractive, though his sparkling eyes couldn't quite hide his ruthlessness. He clearly intended to rule the country.
As we dined on rice and meat, Hemedti expressed his appreciation as I ate with my hands, the local style. Soon he was picking the pieces with his own hands to feed me, joking that I must be a Sudanese. The meal ended with him hand-feeding me orange slices.
It was Hemedti, the charismatic military leader. Surrounded by his trusted lieutenants, scheming and planning late into the night, he was clearly a cunning operator with immense loyalty. “He barely sleeps,” one of his men told me respectfully.
Hemedti asked to postpone our official interview. until the next day. Before I left, the assistant asked me to ask questions in advance, and I agreed, assuming that someone as confident as Hemedty would have no problem deviating from the script.
The next day, I checked out of a hotel near the airport, which was incredibly expensive, to meet with Abdallah Hamdok, then prime minister, a stolid former UN bureaucrat who represented Sudan's aspirations for a civilian government.
In his office on University Road, Mr. Hamdok told me that he hoped he could use Hemedty's RSF to «strike a balance» with the military to build democracy in what he called the «Sudanese model.» But even with his optimism, Mr. Hamdok did not seem completely convinced.
«I'd like to believe it's working,» Mr. Hamdok told me of a cumbersome power-sharing agreement that he hoped would eventually lead to the RSF and the military voluntarily surrendering their power.
That night, one of Hemedti's men picked me up after dark in a white SUV. After conquering yet another series of waiting rooms in another Hemedti mansion, we met again.
This time it was Hemedti's statesman, dressed in a white robe and turban. Sitting down, he took out his glasses and began to slurredly read the script he had prepared in advance. His former charm is gone.
Hemedty was clearly fed up with the language of democracy and human rights.
Whenever I tried to ask questions, his interpreter demanded to go back to the script. . Finally I stopped interrupting me to let the slightly irritable warlord finish his reading exercise. We were all relieved when he got to the end.
I've been thinking about this clumsy version of Hemedty this week .
Under the guidance of Western public relations firms and advisers in the United Arab Emirates, Hemedty has had to speak the language of justice and responsibility to win over the international community.
As RSF fighters are accused of massive looting and abuse as they fight for control of Sudan, it seems clear that it was all a show.
A version of this story first appeared in The Telegraph' s Sends a newsletter. Register here.
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