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According to the Government’s Minister of Communication, Patrick Muyaya—the Head of State expressed his 'regret and strong disapproval' of remarks made by Major General Sylvain Ekenge, judging them 'incompatible with republican values and national cohesion.' One almost expects violins to accompany such moral anguish.

Except that what General Ekenge delivered was not a verbal faux pas. Neither was it a slip of the tongue, nor a surge of patriotic excitement at a parade. It was a venomous, structured outburst on the national broadcaster RTNC—mobilizing hatred against an identifiable group, Tutsi, and specifically dehumanizing Tutsi women. That is not 'remarks.' That is hate speech with a pedigree, a lineage, and lethal historical consequences in the Great Lakes region.

Nevertheless, in the DR Congo’s highest moral court—the Presidency—this metastasizes into a matter of indiscipline. The sanction? Suspension from spokesperson duties. Not arrested. Not prosecution. Not referral to a court of law. Just a professional timeout, as though the General had missed a briefing or forgotten to salute his seniors.

One must respect the restraint. When speech is a real danger to the lives of hundreds of thousands—perhaps millions—across a volatile region, the Commander-in-Chief reaches not for the law but for a communications strategy. Indeed, President Tshisekedi 'ordered the immediate establishment of a coordinated public communication strategy, in order to prevent any further excesses.' Proper translation: the problem is not the ideology, the incitement, or the uniformed authority projecting it. The problem is messaging. The General strayed from the script.

Here lies the correct parody. General Ekenge spoke in a military uniform, decorated with official insignia, embodying the state’s monopoly on force. Yet the offense, we are told, is not criminal but rhetorical. He did not say it properly. Had he whispered it in coded language, outsourced it to militias, or covered it in nationalist lyrics, perhaps it would have passed muster.

This minimization ruins the law into etiquette. It is precisely what international norms were built to prevent.

The law is without euphemism

The prohibition of incitement to hatred is not a matter of taste—it is a matter of binding obligation. Article 4 of the International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination (CERD) requires States to criminalize dissemination of ideas based on racial hatred and incitement to discrimination or violence. Article 20 (2) of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) mandates prohibition by law of 'any advocacy of national, racial or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence.'

To spell out how these obligations operate alongside freedom of expression—jurists articulated the Camden Principles on Freedom of Expression and Equality. Principle No. 12 is unambiguous: 'All States should adopt legislation prohibiting any advocacy of national, racial or religious hatred that constitutes incitement to discrimination, hostility or violence (hate speech).'

The Principle 12.1 defines their terms with surgical precision. 'Hatred' and 'hostility' refer to 'intense and irrational emotions of opprobrium, enmity and detestation towards the target group.' 'Advocacy' requires an intention to promote hatred publicly. 'Incitement' denotes statements that create an imminent risk of discrimination, hostility, or violence against persons belonging to the targeted group.

Measured against this standard, what General Ekenge did on RTNC on December 27, 2025 is not ambiguous. It is incitement to hatred—and nothing less. When such speech is delivered by a military General on a national broadcaster, in a country riven by ethnic violence and cross-border militias, the 'imminent risk' threshold is not imaginary. It is a historical fact.

Principle 12.2 adds another safeguard against strategic amnesia: 'States should prohibit the condoning or denying of crimes of genocide, crimes against humanity and war crimes, but only where such statements constitute hate speech as defined by Principle 12.1.'

This matters because denial and condoning are not neutral acts; in the Great Lakes region of Africa, they are accelerants. When Kinshasa invites and supports a convicted genocide denier such as Charles Onana or hosts and tolerates a genocidaire outfit like the FDLR, it knowingly violates the spirit and letter of these principles, normalizing narratives that prepare future crimes while play-acting to honor peace.

Further, UNESCO’s normative framework removes any remaining ambiguity. In its work on combating hate speech and preventing mass atrocities, UNESCO stresses that States have a positive obligation not only to refrain from hate speech, but to actively prevent its dissemination, especially when it emanates from public officials or state-controlled media.

UNESCO’s 2015 and 2022 guidance on hate speech emphasizes that expressions which dehumanize protected groups, particularly in fragile or post-conflict societies, pose a direct threat to peace and must trigger legal accountability, not administrative correction.

UNESCO further warns that state silence, euphemism, or 'balanced' communication in the face of incitement amounts to institutional complicity. Memory, UNESCO maintains, is hollow without justice. And, for that matter, prevention is difficult or impossible without naming perpetrators. Peace built on rhetorical neutrality is just violence adjourned.

Genocidal language as a matter of tone

For President Tshisekedi, it seems—would have us believe that his General improvised. He didn’t. Ekenge’s speech draws from a well-rehearsed canon: the reference list of Rwandan Hutu Power, refined over decades—exported, adapted, and dispatched wherever accountability is fragile or nonexistent. This is not ignorance speaking; it is mastery. And mastery of genocidal ideology is not cured by suspension from a microphone.

Extend the President’s reasoning just a little further, and history itself begins to be dirty. If incitement to genocide is merely a lapse in discipline, then the architects of humanity’s darkest chapters were not criminals but poor communicators. Had President Tshisekedi been a judge at the ICTR, justice would have been swift and nonexistent.

Théoneste Bagosora was not a planner of extermination, but a man careless with words because he was inadequately trained in restraint. Jean Kambanda would be judged as a man who betrayed republican values but did not preside over a genocidal government. For Tshisekedi? Kambanda merely failed to align his rhetoric with 'national cohesion.'

And what about Hassan Ngeze? His crime, according to Tshisekedi, was not turning hatred into print—it was publishing without editorial moderation—and demonstrated unnecessary zeal. Major General Augustin Bizimungu? Suspended from duties. None of them, after all, personally wielded any machete or threw a grenade. In such outrageous moral universe, genocide is not illegal; it is inelegant.

By the same logic, one shudders to imagine how President Tshisekedi might have judged Europe’s most infamous propagandists. Josef Goebbels did not personally gas anyone; Julius Streicher wielded ink, not a pistol and bullets. Both might have been summoned before a council of ministers, solemnly informed that their language was regrettable, advised to lower the temperament, diversify their metaphors, and submit future editorials for approval.

Possibly Der Stürmer would have been suspended, not proscribed. Conceivably Goebbels would have been urged to adopt a 'coordinated communication strategy' to avoid excesses while continuing to prepare the population psychologically for annihilation.

In Kinshasa’s ethical universe, both men might have escaped justice with a stern lecture on moderation, urged to temper their vocabulary, refine their metaphors, and align their rhetoric with 'national cohesion.' Their crime, it seems, would not have been preparing the ground for Holocaust, but speaking at the top of their voice, too openly, and without sufficient communicational restraint.

Here you have the endpoint of laundering ideology into good manners. When an extreme form of mass violence is reduced to a breach of politesse, the State becomes an accomplice—not by action, but by rewording.

This is how ideology survives: not by denial, but by procedural downgrading. When the law retreats into etiquette, mass murder no longer requires justification. It only requires better phrasing.

Propaganda at cruising speed

Still fresh in public memory—and apparently still ringing uncomfortably in the corridors of power—attempts to muffle the noise of the Ekenge scandal have driven the Congolese government into yet another performance of extraordinary mediocrity. And in this domain, it must be said, President Félix Tshisekedi’s administration is unmatched. When confronted with credibility crises, it does not correct course; it doubles down on farce.

Thus, in the early hours of Saturday, 3 January 2026, propaganda shifted into cruising speed. The FARDC paraded prisoners before the press, dressed in military uniforms, solemnly presented as captured soldiers of the Rwandan Defence Force (RDF). The choreography was familiar, the acting wooden, the plot thin. Rwanda’s Minister of Foreign Affairs, Olivier Nduhungirehe, summarized the spectacle with devastating economy on X: 'What we are witnessing is a crude media spectacle, one in which even its own directors no longer believe.' It was not diplomacy but diagnosis.

Indeed, the production collapsed under the weight of its own recycling. One of the alleged RDF soldiers, presented that day, was none other than Ndayambaje Abuba, a figure already known to the public. On 16 February 2024, Colonel Guillaume Ndjike Kaiko—then FARDC spokesperson in North Kivu—had introduced to the press, the same emaciated young man as an RDF soldier 'from a place called Kayonza,' conveniently without a service number, and wearing a conspicuously brand-new uniform. Authenticity, it seems, can be tailored overnight.

What Colonel Ndjike either forgot—or assumed the public amnesia—is that the same individual had been paraded roughly a year earlier, in mid-January 2024, wearing filthy civilian clothes, barefoot in appearance, with feet that had clearly never known the discipline—or discomfort of military boots. The transformation from a rag-tag civilian to RDF soldier required no training, no enlistment, and no time. Only a uniform and an obliging narrative.

This is not intelligence failure; it is disrespect. Contempt for evidence, for memory, and for the intelligence of both Congolese citizens and international observers. When states recycle actors in different costumes, they are not merely lying—they are testing how little truth still matters.

On the very same day, MONUSCO took to X to express ritualized outrage: 'MONUSCO is deeply concerned by reports of a drone strike in Masisi Centre. It strongly condemns any attack, including by drones, that targets or affects civilians and civilian infrastructure.' The tears were public; the perpetrators were not. This institutional amnesia becomes less mysterious when one recalls that President Tshisekedi had already promised to 'recalibrate' his government’s communication strategy. In this new doctrine, clarity is replaced by concern, and responsibility by grammar.

The halfhearted condemnation—carefully avoiding mention of FARDC as the authors of this war crime against Congolese civilians—is entirely understandable. On 4 November 2025, MONUSCO proudly announced on X that it had trained 120 FARDC soldiers in Ituri, including in the use of drones and heavy weapons. When the graduates of that training applied their newly acquired skills not against armed enemies but against civilian homes in Masisi Centre, discretion became the last refuge. Condemn the act, erase the actor.

This is how allies behave when accountability threatens partnership. Or how accomplices behave when exposure looms. Propaganda, well lubricated and shamelessly repetitive, continues its work—not to persuade, but to exhaust. In such a system, truth is not defeated by better lies; it is buried under layers of mediocrity, until fatigue replaces outrage and spectacle substitutes for justice.

Médecins Sans Frontières echoed the outrage, counted the wounded, treated the shattered bodies—while equally declining to name the hand that shattered them. Thus the doctrine was perfected: violence without authors, victims without aggressors, suffering without accountability. This is not neutrality; it is narrative management. When bombs fall and no one is named, communication does not prevent excesses—it erases them. And erasure, history teaches us, is not the opposite of violence. It is its accomplice.

Impunity baptized unity

We are told by Kinshasa that national cohesion will be preserved by managing speech rather than confronting its meaning. The lesson is unmistakable: hate may be broadcast, as long as it is properly packaged. Lives may be endangered, as long as cohesion is rhetorically affirmed.

No communication strategy has ever stopped a genocide. Only law, accountability, and moral clarity have—and only when leaders choose them over comfort. Scholars of mass violence have warned about this for decades. Gregory Stanton identified dehumanization as a decisive stage of genocide; Jacques Sémelin demonstrated how language normalizes the unthinkable; Martha Minow showed how failure to prosecute signals permission. These are not abstractions. They are warnings written in graves across this region.

In Kinshasa, comfort won the day. The General’s uniform was gently folded. The microphone was removed. The ideology was left intact. Incitement was rebranded as indiscipline. The law was replaced with tone-policing. And history—patient, precise, and unforgiving—took notes.

If 'republican’ values are to mean anything in the DRCongo, they must be enforced when it is uncomfortable, not merely invoked when it is convenient. Otherwise, Tshisekedi’s 'regret and strong disapproval' is not a moral stance, but a rehearsal for denial.

In Kinshasa, comfort did not merely win the day—it was enthroned as doctrine. The uniform was gently folded, the microphone discreetly removed, and the ideology carefully preserved, like a dangerous family treasure wrapped in 'republican’ language.

Incitement was downgraded to indiscipline; hatred was reframed as excess; and the law was replaced with tone-policing. This is governance by code word, where mass violence is never denied—only grammatically softened. History, however, has an unforgiving ear. It does not listen for civility; it listens for consequences.

What emerges is a state that does not fail to recognize danger—it chooses to manage it cosmetically. A state that believes genocide does not begin with ideology, but with poor phrasing. A state that treats uniforms as absolution and silence as wisdom. In such a country, perpetrators are not prosecuted; they are repositioned. Victims are not protected; they are managed for future violence. And justice is not denied outright—it is indefinitely postponed in the name of cohesion.

But cohesion built on denial is not unity; it is a ceasefire with truth. 'Regret and strong disapproval,' repeated often enough, becomes a ritual—performed after the speech, after the bombs, after the funerals. And history, patient and merciless, records not the words spoken at councils of ministers, but the choices made when law demanded courage and leaders chose comfort.

Lessons from selective outrage

What makes the Ekenge episode truly revealing is not what was condemned, but what never has been. For years, individuals such as Justin Bitakwira and others have engaged in unrestrained incitements against Tutsi. Their language is so categorical, so repetitive and venomous that it hardly bothers to disguise its intent. Yet President Tshisekedi has never once publicly admonished them. No regret. No strong disapproval. No sudden concern for 'republican’ values or national cohesion. Silence, instead—long, deliberate, instructive.

The shame, it seems, was not the caustic words. It was the military uniform on RTNC. Hate speech, when delivered by politicians, so-called activists, or civilian demagogues, is tolerable—even useful. But when spoken by a general in full regalia, broadcast to the world, it disrupts the carefully curated fiction. It exposes what is usually outsourced: the ideological continuity between civilian inciters, tolerated extremist Tutsi-haters, and the armed force that finally acts.

None of this is novel. It follows a pattern so exhaustively documented that its repetition now borders on farce. Every major failure of genocide prevention begins the same way: incitement is detected, contextualized, minimized, and finally normalized.

President Tshisekedi knows this calculus well. He also knows that the world rarely lifts a finger. It issues statements, expresses concern, urges restraint, and avoids naming names. Silence has never been punished; it has been rewarded with diplomatic patience. And so the message is perfect: hatred is not the problem—its visibility is. Say it unnoticeably, say it often, say it outside a uniform, and the state will look away. Say it too openly, too officially, and you will be suspended—not for what you meant, but for making it impossible to pretend otherwise.

In Rwanda the genocide against Tutsi was preceded by public incitement, openly and often by officials but were dismissed as non-actionable. The United Nations’ own record is damning. The doctrine of 'never again' repeatedly collapsed into 'not yet,' then into 'too late.' Genocide does not erupt from chaos but from permission: a go-ahead granted when leaders treat its ideology as speech, hate speech as excess, and excess as someone else’s problem.

The Democratic Republic of Congo’s Council of Ministers, convened on Friday, 2 January 2026 presided by President Félix Tshisekedi.

Tom Ndahiro

Photos from U.S. media show Maduro landed in Manhattan by a helicopter from a Brooklyn detention center and was placed in an armored car, accompanied by heavily armed law enforcement officers.

Protesters gathering outside the court were shouting slogans and holding banners writing “Free Maduro” and “USA hands off Venezuela.”

U.S. troops carried out a raid on Saturday to kidnap Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, and flew them out of Venezuela, then put them in custody in New York.

Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro made his first appearance Monday morning at a New York courthouse after he was seized by U.S. forces in his country.

Xinhua

The updated legislation imposes harsher penalties for violations, emphasizes modern technology for enforcement and management, and aims to boost transparency, accountability, and road safety while cutting accidents and fatalities.

The previous framework, Law No. 34/1987 dated September 17, 1987, has been superseded. The new law was approved on January 5, 2026, at 9:30 p.m., with 77 parliamentarians in the plenary session voting in favor after a full day of article-by-article review.

Lawmakers highlighted that the reforms align with national development, introducing tougher sanctions to deter intentional breaches and encourage responsible driving.

Under Article 37, driving with a blood alcohol level exceeding the legal limit of 0.80 g/L is an offense. For drivers of public transport vehicles, those carrying students, employees, or tourists, heavy goods vehicles over 3.5 tonnes, or income-generating vehicles, conviction carries a fine of Rwf 100,000 to 400,000 and 3—6 months in prison.

For other drivers, penalties include a fine of Rwf 150,000 to 300,000 and up to 10 days in prison, or one of these alone. If the blood alcohol level is at least double the limit, penalties rise to a fine of Rwf 200,000 to 500,000 and 3—6 months in prison, or one of these. Repeat offenders within one year face the maximum penalty, which may be doubled.

Refusing a blood alcohol test is also an offense. For higher-risk category drivers, it brings a fine of Rwf 300,000 to 600,000 and 3—6 months in prison. For others, a fine of Rwf 400,000 to 600,000 and up to 10 days in prison, or one of these.

The prospect of jail terms sparked discussion in parliament. Deputy Christine Mukabunani argued against imprisonment where possible, proposing longer driving suspensions and steeper fines instead, believing higher financial consequences would be more effective.

Deputy Pie Nizeyimana raised concerns about potential psychological impacts.

In response, Ambassador Hope Gasatura Tumukunde, Chairperson of the Committee on Foreign Affairs, Cooperation and Security, defended the tough measures as necessary to shift attitudes toward road safety.

He stressed that the penalties were weighed against the gravity of offenses, their threat to lives, and the need for strong deterrence, addressing an urgent issue requiring shared responsibility.

Article 39 states that refusing to stop when signaled by a police officer or authorized official is an offense, punishable upon conviction by a fine of Rwf 400,000 to 700,000 and 3—6 months in prison. Driving without a valid license carries 15—30 days in prison and a fine of Rwf 100,000 to 200,000, or one of these.

For serious safety-threatening offenses, police must prepare case files and forward them to the National Public Prosecution Authority within legal deadlines. A forthcoming ministerial order will define administrative offenses, fines, and demerit points.

Those issued administrative fines must pay within 30 days of notification. Late payment incurs a 30% surcharge, due within another 30 days.

Non-compliance leads to vehicle impoundment. However, alleged offenders or vehicle owners can appeal in writing or other means; if no reply comes within three days, the offense is canceled.

Rwanda’s Chamber of Deputies has passed a new law on road traffic, replacing a 38-year-old statute that no longer suited modern conditions.

IGIHE

In a public notice released on January 5, 2026, RDB said the decision is aimed at reinforcing Rwanda’s position as a leading destination for domestic and regional tourism. RDB, however, clarified that the promotional rates will not apply during the peak tourism period from June to October 2026.

Under the extended promotion, Rwandan citizens and East African Community (EAC) nationals are required to pay $200 (over Rwf290,000) for a gorilla trekking permit. Eligible visitors must present a national identity card, a valid passport, and a birth certificate to benefit from the discounted rate.

Africans and African residents from outside the EAC will pay $500 for a permit during the promotional period. To qualify, visitors in this category must present a valid passport, a resident identity card or diplomatic card, and a valid visa covering at least four consecutive months.

Outside the promotional window, the standard gorilla trekking fee is $1,500.

Volcanoes National Park remains one of Rwanda’s most significant tourism assets. In 2024, the tourism sector generated $647 million in revenue, driven largely by a 27 percent increase in earnings from gorilla-based tourism.

The Rwanda Development Board (RDB) has announced the extension of promotional rates for gorilla trekking permits in Volcanoes National Park, allowing Rwandans and other African visitors to continue accessing discounted prices until December 31, 2026.

IGIHE

'I am innocent. I am not guilty,' Maduro told the court, according to journalists present at the hearing. He told the court he had been 'kidnapped' from his residence in Caracas and insisted that, despite being in US custody, he was still the president of Venezuela.

Maduro appeared alongside his wife, Cilia Flores, who also rejected all charges levelled against her by US prosecutors, saying she was completely innocent.

The court set March 17 as the date for the next hearing in the case.

The courtroom proceedings were tense and closely watched, coming just days after Maduro and Flores were seized in a dramatic US military operation. According to US officials, special forces extracted the pair from their residence within the heavily guarded Fort Tiuna military complex in the Venezuelan capital early on Saturday before flying them to New York.

During Monday’s hearing, a brief but heated exchange broke out between Maduro and a member of the public in the courtroom. At one point, Maduro described himself as a 'prisoner of war”.

Earlier in the day, images circulated showing Maduro and Flores being transferred to the courthouse in handcuffs, surrounded by heavily armed officers. The scenes fuelled strong reactions both inside Venezuela and internationally.

In Caracas, Vice President Delcy Rodríguez was sworn in as interim president, a move that Venezuelan authorities said was aimed at ensuring continuity of government. During the ceremony, Rodríguez praised Maduro and Flores as 'heroes,' accusing the United States of carrying out an illegal act against a sovereign nation.

Outside the New York courthouse, protesters gathered to denounce the US action. Demonstrators waved banners reading 'Free Maduro,' 'No War on Venezuela,' and 'USA hands off Venezuela,' while chanting slogans against what they described as foreign intervention.

The US operation has triggered widespread condemnation and raised serious concerns across the international community, with critics warning that it represents a dangerous escalation in Washington’s long-running campaign against Maduro.

US officials have said the operation was planned for months and carried out without prior congressional authorisation. The Trump administration has defended the move as part of broader efforts to combat alleged drug trafficking networks linked to the Venezuelan leadership.

Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, were escorted by armed guards in tactical gear from a Brooklyn detention centre to a helicopter bound for a federal court in Manhattan, where the couple pleaded not guilty to a raft of drug trafficking and related charges.

Wycliffe Nyamasege

The discussion took place on January 5, 2026, as lawmakers reviewed a draft law amending existing road use regulations. A central provision of the draft is the introduction of a points-based penalty system, which will be managed using technology.

Concerns over implementation

MP Mukabalisa Germaine questioned how the system would operate. 'Will penalties be consistent, or could a driver be penalised multiple times?”

While supporting the system, she noted its potential benefits for insurance companies, which often require proof of good driving behaviour, but stressed the need for careful implementation.

MP Nizeyimana Pie proposed a transitional period to help drivers adapt. 'I recommend a three-month training period so drivers understand the system without immediate penalties. This will better equip them to follow the rules,' he said.

MP Nyirabazayire highlighted that while the law links penalties to the vehicle owner, the system must ensure the person who actually committed the offence is the one penalised.

'Points should be deducted from the record of the driver who committed the offence, not someone else. The system must ensure the right person is penalised,' Nyirabazayire added.

MP Mukabunani Christine sought clarification on the criteria for point deductions and the process for license suspension or revocation, while MP Ngiruwosanga suggested linking the points system to existing infrastructure to prevent unfair penalties.

Government clarifies system

The Chairperson of the Foreign Affairs, Cooperation, and Security Committee, Amb. Tumukunde Hope Gasatura, explained that the system is new and that additional details will be provided in a Ministerial decree.

Minister of Infrastructure, Dr. Jimmy Gasore, emphasised that the points system is intended to promote responsible driving rather than serve as punishment. He explained that drivers will start each year with 15 points, which will be deducted automatically based on violations. If a driver’s points fall below one, their license will be temporarily suspended until they regain sufficient points.

The draft law categorises traffic offences by severity, with points deducted accordingly. Drivers who flee the scene of an accident will lose six points, while failing to use a speed governor will result in a five-point deduction.

Driving under the influence of alcohol or drugs carries a four-point penalty, and offences such as speeding, driving without a license, or ignoring traffic signals will lead to a three-point deduction. Lesser violations, including driving an uninsured vehicle or using a mobile phone while driving, will result in a two-point deduction.

Minister of Infrastructure, Dr. Jimmy Gasore, explained that the system for deducting points from drivers is not intended as a punishment, but as a measure to promote responsible behaviour among road users.

The discussion took place on January 5, 2026, as lawmakers reviewed a draft law amending existing road use regulations.

The discussion took place on January 5, 2026, as lawmakers reviewed a draft law amending existing road use regulations.

The Chairperson of the Foreign Affairs, Cooperation, and Security Committee, Amb. Tumukunde Hope Gasatura, explained that the system is new and that additional details will be provided in a Ministerial decree.

MP Ngiruwosanga suggested linking the points system to existing infrastructure to prevent unfair penalties.

MP Nizeyimana Pie proposed a transitional period to help drivers adapt.

MP Mukabunani Christine sought clarification on the nature of the penalties and how they would be enforced.

IGIHE

Voter turnout was approximately 52.43% in the December 28, 2025, elections, which included presidential, legislative, regional, and municipal votes. The final results will be confirmed by the Constitutional Court in mid-January.

Analysts credit Touadéra’s victory to his efforts to restore peace and security in a country long plagued by armed groups and civil conflict. These efforts were bolstered by support from Rwandan and Russian forces, which helped the government regain control over much of the territory.

Following the pacification of key armed factions, Touadéra’s administration negotiated peace agreements aimed at ending hostilities and promoting collaboration on national development projects.

During his campaign, Touadéra highlighted that while his nine years in office had brought significant progress, challenges remained that he aimed to address in a third term. The election outcome suggests that a majority of citizens continue to place their confidence in his leadership.

Touadéra has been in power since March 2016. He was permitted to run for a third term following a constitutional amendment in 2023, which was upheld by the Supreme Court in November 2025.

Faustin-Archange Touadéra, President of the Central African Republic, has been re-elected with 76.15% of the vote, according to a provisional announcement by the National Election Authority on Monday night. His main rival, Anicet-Georges Dologuélé, received 14.66%, based on the preliminary results.

Rania Umutoni

Speaking at an engagement ceremony in Uasin Gishu County on Saturday, January 3, the Head of State said the government is drafting a law that would make drug-related offences a capital crime, punishable by hanging. He emphasised that the legislation is a response to the failure of current penalties, which have not deterred traffickers and have left communities and families vulnerable to the devastating impact of drugs.

'For all these people who are involved in the illicit alcohol trade, we are going to change the law. In the past, we had a law with a clause that if you were caught selling substances, including hard drugs such as heroin, the only penalty was a fine of Ksh1 million (approximately 11 million Rwandan francs). Now we are changing that so that you can be hanged,' Ruto said.

He added that the law will also empower authorities to confiscate assets obtained through illicit drug and alcohol trade, including vehicles and property.

The President called on Members of Parliament to support the new legislation, noting that over five million Kenyans are affected by drug and alcohol abuse, which he described as a national crisis that threatens the country’s social and economic development.

The announcement follows Ruto’s plans to strengthen the government’s law enforcement response. In his New Year’s address at Eldoret State Lodge on December 31, the President outlined plans to establish a robust Anti-Narcotics Unit (ANU) within the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI). The unit, he said, will be trained to operate at the level of Kenya’s elite Anti-Terrorism Police Unit, with capabilities in intelligence, surveillance, forensics, and financial investigations.

Interior and National Administration Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen supported the move, noting that countries such as the Philippines, Malaysia, and China impose the death penalty for serious drug offences.

'We cannot achieve first-world status while the most productive generation is being wiped out by drugs and alcohol,' he said, highlighting the ineffectiveness of current fines in curbing trafficking.

Murkomen added that the government’s crackdown will target major drug barons and operators of illicit alcohol, with special attention to young people from well-off families who are increasingly becoming addicted.

Currently, one in every six Kenyans aged 15 to 65 uses at least one substance, with alcohol being the most prevalent, affecting over 3.2 million people.

President William Ruto has proposed introducing the death penalty for individuals involved in the sale and trafficking of hard drugs and illicit alcohol, in a move aimed at tackling Kenya’s escalating substance abuse.

Wycliffe Nyamasege

The soldiers had been operating in several areas of South Kivu province, including Luvungi, Sange, Luberizi and Kiliba, where heavy clashes took place between December 2-9, 2025.

The fighting pitted fighters from the M23 rebel group against Congolese government forces, supported by troops from Burundi, alongside Wazalendo militia groups and the FDLR.

At the start of the clashes, Burundi had deployed an estimated 20,000 soldiers in South Kivu. During the fighting, the Burundian contingent suffered heavy losses, including soldiers who were killed, captured or wounded.

Those injured were evacuated to several medical facilities, among them Kamenge Military Hospital, Tanganyika Care Polyclinic and Kira Hospital.

The AFC/M23 rebel coalition has acknowledged capturing a number of Burundian soldiers during the fighting in the Rusizi Valley. It said it would continue to respect the rights of those in its custody and indicated that it would facilitate their return home.

While M23 has not released an exact figure, sources in South Kivu indicate that the number of captured Burundian soldiers is believed to be in the hundreds.

On January 4, 2026, the Burundian human rights organisation FOCODE reported that more than 1,000 Burundian soldiers had gone missing in the Rusizi Valley.

The organisation said it remains unclear whether the missing soldiers are alive, were captured, deserted or were killed during the fighting.

'Following the recent fighting in Congo, soldiers deployed in the Kamanyola Lubarika Luvungi area of the Rusizi Valley confirm that more than 1,000 soldiers are unaccounted for by the army,' the organisation said. 'It is not known whether they were killed in combat, deserted, were captured, or are still wandering in the forests.'

Meanwhile, another reliable source in Burundi claims that the number of Burundian soldiers missing in the Rusizi Valley stands at 1,794, asserting that all of them deserted the army and that their current whereabouts remain unknown.

On January 4, 2026, the Burundian human rights organisation FOCODE reported that more than 1,000 Burundian soldiers had gone missing in the Rusizi Valley.

Some of Burundian soldiers captured by M23 during the recent fighting in South Kivu.

IGIHE

At a press briefing, First President of the Supreme Court Fode Bangoura officially announced Doumbouya’s election to a seven-year presidential term in accordance with the Constitution.

According to data previously released by Guinea’s General Directorate of Elections, about 6.8 million voters were registered for the election. Voter turnout was initially announced at 80.95 percent and later revised by the Supreme Court to 82.86 percent.

The presidential election marks a significant step in Guinea’s efforts to restore constitutional order. In September 2021, then-President Alpha Conde was overthrown in a military coup, after which a transitional government led by Doumbouya assumed power.

In September this year, Guinea adopted a new constitution through a nationwide referendum and announced that the presidential election would be held on Dec. 28. The new constitution lifted restrictions on junta members running for office and extended the presidential term from five to seven years, clearing the way for Doumbouya’s candidacy.

Throughout the election period, the overall situation across the country remained stable, with no major security incidents reported. Guinean political figures, electoral authorities, as well as domestic and international observers said the voting process was largely calm and orderly and that the organization of the election broadly complied with relevant legal procedures.

According to the official website of the Guinean presidency, Doumbouya, 41, was born on Dec. 5, 1984, in Kankan, northeastern Guinea.

Guinea’s Supreme Court on Sunday evening confirmed the final results of the presidential election held on Dec. 28, declaring Mamady Doumbouya the winner with 86.72 percent of the vote and proclaiming him president of the West African country.

Xinhua