THE FIRST IMAGES CAST an antic light on Operation Restore Hope. As Navy SEALs waded ashore in the moonlight, their faces blackened with camouflage paint, their bodies braced for confrontation, they were met and blinded by the glare of television lights. But the farcical aspect of the first live military landing soon faded as the troops fanned out from their beachhead into the anarchic city of Mogadishu. By daylight, the airport was secured, the city port occupied, and for the first time in two years, most of the firepower belonged to friendlies. Though it had barely begun, the U.S. operation had already raised great expectations among Somalis that peace might actually come to a starving land that had been ruled for the past two years by rival clans and wild kids with guns.
The sense of a dangerous mission rapidly gave way to a more human drama. Everywhere the U.S. troops turned, they found themselves hemmed in by Somalis eager to touch American flesh, gesture their relief, smile their thanks. People skills seemed more important than military ones as the need to establish a friendly rapport battled with the demand to maintain order. In those first hours, it was hard not to be swept up in the euphoria. Declared Fatima Mohammed, 32, a mother of seven: "I'd like the U.S. troops to stay here for life."
And that is precisely the problem that may bring this humanitarian mission to a rancorous and divisive ending. The U.S. troops, backed by soldiers from 10 other nations, are digging in to do a job that their leaders suggest will end in a matter of weeks or at most a few months. The Bush Administration has repeatedly stated that the sole objective of Operation Restore Hope is to open up a food pipeline to feed the starving, not to wage war on the country's armed gangs or impose political solutions. The Somalis, however, expect nothing short of a Marshall Plan. They want the Americans to stay long enough to fix not only their diet, but also their broken government and lawless society. Between the objective and the dream lies much room for disappointment and misunderstanding.
As the operation slowly got under way, the 3,000 U.S. troops found themselves spread thin, trying to answer a host of competing demands. Most of the capital's armed thugs crept away, but soldiers had yet to impose more than a veneer of security. On Saturday, U.S. combat helicopters destroyed three armed Somali vehicles that had opened fire on the American gunship. Relief workers groused about poor communications and stalled food shipments; more urgent were the calls for help from Good Samaritans trapped in their compounds in outlying towns where marauding gunmen were still stealing, fighting and killing. Somali clan leaders pitched hard for at least a yearlong commitment, and Somali children vied for attention. "There is a lot of confusion as to who is in charge," observed a U.S. relief worker.