A gunshot echoed across the jagged shells of homes pulverised by battle. Obeying orders to “watch and shoot”, a soldier had taken aim with his heavy machine gun down a road bleached white by the sun, spotted a target and fired a 0.5 inch round.

Fighters from al-Shabaab, the self-proclaimed followers of al-Qaeda in Somalia, were dug in opposite the green sandbags of this frontline position in the country’s shattered capital, Mogadishu.

This time, however, they fired no answering fusillade across the deserted street that served as “no-man’s land”, sparing the Ugandan soldiers deployed against them.

Incidents of this kind are played out every day in Mogadishu, where ordinary Somalis, wearied by years of war, ignore the crack of gunfire.

And yet something fundamental has changed in a city that became notorious as the most dangerous capital in the world, and the setting for America’s “Black Hawk Down” debacle.

For the first time in two decades, a recognised government has some measure of control over about 90 per cent of Mogadishu, including all of its strategic points, notably the airport, seaport and biggest market. Al-Shabaab, which ran most of the city as recently as last year, has been forced out of all but a few pockets.

Once, no senior official, let alone a world leader or wealthy businessman, would have risked visiting Mogadishu. In the last four months, the city has hosted Recep Tayyip Erodgan, the Turkish prime minister, Prince Waleed bin Talal, the Saudi billionaire, and Ban Ki-Moon, who became the first United Nations secretary general to visit for 18 years when he landed here on 9 December.

Somalia’s 25-year civil war is not about to end and the country remains divided between al-Shabaab, the official government, various warlords and the enclaves of Somaliland and Puntland, which have seized de facto independence.

Yet the return of some security in Mogadishu, combined with the recognised administration’s new control over most of the capital, amounts to a genuine turning-point, said Abdiweli Mohammed Ali, the prime minister.

“Somalia for the last 20 years became a danger to itself, to its neighbours, to the region and to the entire world,” he told the Daily Telegraph. “Now we are getting out of that. We are moving to a different era.”

Al-Shabaab has proclaimed its loyalty to Osama bin Laden’s heirs and launched attacks in Kenya and Uganda. Officials fear that it could send trained bombers as far away as Britain, home to perhaps 300,000 Somalis.

Yet the extremists suffered a crucial setback when they were expelled from most of Mogadishu in August, said the prime minister. “Between then and now is the difference between day and night,” added Mr Ali. “There was a huge improvement in the area of security.”

If so, the gains were made by the toil and sacrifice of a new form of military intervention. Bitter memories of “Black Hawk Down” in 1993, when 18 American soldiers died in one battle – with some corpses being dragged through the streets – have kept western armies and UN peacekeepers well away from Mogadishu.

Instead, the African Union, an alliance of all 53 countries on the continent, has deployed its own force of 9,500 soldiers, drawn from the armies of Uganda and Burundi.

Street by street, they have reclaimed most of the city. At another frontline position on the Dayniile road, Burundian troops have pushed al-Shabaab out of the capital altogether. Here, sandbags and blast walls, studded with machine gun nests, stretch across miles of open bush country – and counter-attacks are regular.

“The first night we were here, they attacked us,” said Capt Noel Nkuranziza. “They came in full force and they attacked all night. We were throwing grenades. When you are using grenades, that means they are close.”

That assault, like every other on this position, was repulsed. The African troops are fighting bin Laden’s heirs without the back-up that western soldiers take for granted. They have no air support, no heavy artillery, few tanks and no patrol boats in a country with some of the world’s ablest pirates.

They have no helicopters to evacuate their wounded and no fully-equipped field hospital. Their “level 2″ medical facility is designed only to keep casualties alive, pending their removal from Somalia.

Yet this force, known as the African Union Mission in Somalia (AMISOM), has achieved more than America’s intervention of 1992-93, with less than a third of the troops.

The key moment came in July 2010 when al-Shabaab exploded bombs in Kampala, the Ugandan capital, leaving 74 dead. AMISOM was then reinforced and given a tougher mandate allowing “pre-emptive defence” – a euphemism for going on the offensive.

But the price has been severe. While AMISOM refuses to disclose its losses, an informed estimate suggests that about 1,000 troops have been killed since the first deployment in 2007.

Al-Shabaab has switched tactics, resorting to landmines, roadside bombs and suicide attacks. Instead of urban warfare, Mogadishu now suffers terrorism: on a single day this week, two car bombs were defused.

Nonetheless, the bloodshed has measurably diminished. Every day, between 6 and 10 people with war-related injuries arrive at the AMISOM field hospital for civilians. In August, by contrast, the daily figure was 30-40.

AMISOM will expand to 12,000 troops next year, with the aim of clearing al-Shabaab from their last positions in Mogadishu. Striking beyond the capital and securing more of Somalia will, however, demand a much bigger force.

That will depend on AMISOM’s financial backers: America, Britain, the UN and the European Union. Whether they will pay for an expansion to meet the latest target of 20,000 troops – and fill the glaring holes in AMISOM’s military capability – remains unclear. Even if they do, officials fear that Somalia’s recognised government, riven by corruption and infighting, will squander any military gains.

Meanwhile, 185,000 new refugees have set up camp amid the white ruins of the city, fleeing Somalia’s famine. Al-Shabaab does it best to hinder the delivery of humanitarian aid. What has arrived is woefully inadequate for a famine affecting 250,000 people.

In Farsoole camp, Saida Haji Mohammed, 32, walks to a feeding centre every day to gather supplies for her family of seven children. “Sometimes when I get there, all the food is gone and I come back to my children with nothing,” she said.

But the street markets are full and some Somalis voice guarded optimism. “There is still fighting and bombings,” said Abdul Rahman, a 21-year-old trader at Fagah junction market. “But I can make money in Mogadishu and the situation is better than before.”

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The Telegraph