In early 2022, a euphoric crowd in Mali’s capital marked the end of one era. “Thousands gathered in Bamako… to celebrate the departure of the French anti-terrorism operation, Barkhane,” relief mixing with pride as French soldiers left Malian soil. For years, many Malians had blamed France for backing corrupt elites and failing to stop insurgents. But as the French flag was lowered, a new shadow soon fell over Mali, that of Russian mercenaries stepping in to fill the void. Across West and Central Africa, two foreign powers now vie for influence over fragile states: France, the former colonial master still defending its interests, and Russia, whose proxy militias promise salvation while eyeing riches and strategic gain. Their competition plays out in Mali, Burkina Faso, Chad, and the Central African Republic, where the legacies of imperialism collide with modern geopolitics. Ordinary people, caught between exasperation with France and suspicion of Moscow, face dire choices as violence and uncertainty grip their homelands.
To comprehend the present rivalry, it's crucial to delve into history. France's dominion over most of West and Central Africa persisted until the 1960s, and even after independence, it upheld a system often referred to as Françafrique. Paris maintained military bases, currency control, and friendly regimes. The CFA franc, established by Charles de Gaulle in 1945, still binds fourteen countries’ economies to France. The currency is pegged at a fixed rate to the euro, and half of each country’s foreign reserves must be held in a French Treasury account. Critics view this as a 'neocolonial device' that suppresses African sovereignty and growth. French companies and elites also reaped benefits. For instance, the Bolloré conglomerate earned billions in palm oil, mining, and port businesses across Francophone Africa. Mali, often described as 'richest in natural resources,' remains impoverished. This paradox reverberates throughout the region. In essence, France’s presence in the Sahel long after independence created advantages for Paris, even as many Africans grew resentful of the legacy of colonial exploitation.
From the 1960s onward, France supported a network of friendly leaders, tolerating dictators who kept order and business going. It intervened militarily at the drop of a hat, sometimes under UN or NATO flags, most famously in its former colonies. In 2013, after Islamist rebels nearly seized Bamako, France launched Operation Serval in Mali and quickly drove militants out of major towns. Within months, France expanded to Operation Barkhane (2014–2022), deploying some 5,100 troops across the Sahel from Senegal to Chad. Barkhane aimed to stabilize the region by hunting jihadists. Still, it was never enough; militant groups spread into new areas, and violence escalated despite the mission. Over ten years, French soldiers chased insurgents through dusty villages and deserts. Still, essential services collapsed in war-torn towns, and civilians grew weary. By 2022, many Sahelians angrily blamed the French for “failed anti-terror and stabilization efforts.” Popular anger against France was widespread; for example, protestors in Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger regularly demanded the French leave, and even Senegal’s president in 2024 mused that having foreign troops at home was incompatible with sovereignty.
As France’s Sahel campaign faltered, it faced budget pressures and domestic debates about its role in Africa. A series of military coups, two in Mali (2020, 2021), two in Burkina Faso (2022), one in Niger (2023), and later one in Chad (2021), undermined the old partnerships. Post-coup juntas often cast themselves as defenders of sovereignty and targeted the French presence. In Mali and Burkina, the new leaders publicly blamed Paris for past failures: indeed, back-to-back coups drove a sharp wedge between Bamako and Paris. France found itself isolated: it was forced to withdraw all troops from Mali by August 2022, and by early 2023 had also lost forces in Burkina Faso and Niger. France 24 lamented 'the end of Françafrique': where once soldiers controlled strategic bases, now African capitals wanted a fresh start. This unraveling was grim for France: 'the military coup in Burkina Faso deals another heavy blow to France's fading efforts to stabilize the Sahel region.' Successive coups 'weakened Paris’ local alliances, emboldened jihadists… and opened the door for Russia to fill the vacuum.'
Into that vacuum stepped Moscow. Russia has long seen Africa as a chessboard for significant power influence, but after 2020, it accelerated its Sahel push. Russian state and private actors, especially the Wagner Group (a secretive mercenary organization tied to the Kremlin), signed contracts with new juntas. They offered “unconditional security assistance” without the human-rights or democracy conditions that Western partners insisted on. In Mali, for example, ministers curtly told the French ambassador that “we have paid a price with France” and now needed new allies, an opening that Wagner eagerly exploited. The first Russian military trainers arrived in Bamako in 2021, officially to teach commando tactics. By the time Prigozhin’s rebellion shocked the world in June 2023, Wagner’s reach in the Sahel was clear: thousands of mercenaries were on the continent, and Russia’s Foreign Minister boasted that Russian “military from Russia” would continue to work in Mali and CAR, with leaders having “requested a private military company” after being “abandoned by the French.” A Carnegie analysis noted: “Through the infamous Wagner mercenary group, Moscow is inserting itself in countries such as Mali and Burkina Faso and is taking advantage of Western policy missteps, growing anti-European sentiment, and longstanding failures of international and local actors…” In other words, Russia portrays itself as the ally that doesn’t lecture, only delivers weapons and instructors, conveniently aligned with junta narratives of resisting neocolonialism.
The rivalry for Africa has deep resource and strategic roots. In practical terms, France and Russia view the Sahel states as sources of valuable commodities. Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger boast vast gold deposits (Mali and Burkina are among Africa’s top producers). Chad is an oil exporter. The Central African Republic (CAR) is rich in diamonds, gold, and timber. Control of these resources translates to money and influence. French companies, for example, have built stakes in West African oil and mining, and French nuclear reactors heavily rely on Nigerien uranium. This economic backdrop underscores the high stakes of the geopolitical competition and the potential impact on the local populations.
Access to gold, diamonds, and timber for Russia can bankroll companies and evade international sanctions. An Atlantic Council expert noted that Wagner’s mercenaries secured “lucrative concessions giving it control over assets ranging from diamond mines to oil wells.” In the CAR, France explicitly accused Wagner of “predation,” that is, plundering resources. Georgetown analysts report that by 2019 Wagner “exploited natural resources such as gold, diamonds, and timber” in CAR. These profits not only enrich Russian backers, they also tie African rulers closer to Moscow: a local regime might forgive human-rights abuses if, for example, a dam or railway is built by Russian firms. Indeed, a recent analysis candidly observed that behind Russian activities lurked “much broader interests — from winning Mali’s leaders’ loyalty to gaining access to local natural resources.”
Yet the competition is not solely about minerals. Control over these countries also gives strategic leverage. Air bases, ports, and political allegiance in the Sahel can project power into neighboring regions, North Africa, the Red Sea corridor, and even further afield. In CAR and Chad, for instance, Russia’s presence puts it right in the heart of Central Africa, bordering the volatile Lake Chad basin and Sudan. Paris fears that every base ceded to Russia narrows Europe’s ability to respond to threats or even to shape international forums like the UN. Conversely, for Moscow, these friendly regimes can serve as a geopolitical counterweight to Western influence, a talking point Putin and Lavrov often stress as “liberation from French and European abandonment.” Reports from Russia’s press herald Mali’s drift to Moscow as “a fundamentally new geopolitical configuration on the African continent,” a narrative intended to signal that Africa is becoming a second front in wider great-power rivalry.
In practice, the twin interventions of France and Russia have brought mixed results, especially for the people on the ground. France’s anti-jihadist wars have only partially succeeded; thousands of militants still roam, and French strikes occasionally kill civilians. According to one analysis, violent incidents in Mali, Burkina and Niger increased sharply after France’s troops pulled out. In areas governed by juntas, security operations have been brutal. A study cited in Al Jazeera found that since 2021, government troops targeted more people than armed rebels, a recipe for radicalization when innocent villagers are caught in crossfire. In Mali’s Moura incident (March 2022), for example, Malian soldiers and alleged Russian fighters reportedly killed hundreds of villagers. International bodies have called for investigations; Mali’s junta insists it's war against terrorists, while Moscow claims the victims were insurgents. Either way, such incidents fuel fear and resentment among rural communities. In CAR, UN experts have documented dozens of atrocities by Wagner-linked forces, summary executions, torture, and forced labor, even as Russian advisors publicly help recapture rebel towns. A Le Monde correspondent described how villagers acclaimed soldiers retaking their village. At the same time, a government spokesman quietly reminded listeners that “without the intervention of our Russian allies, none of this would have been possible.” The subtext is chilling. A foreign army holds power instead of French peacekeepers, and local voices fear what comes next. NGOs report that in Burkina Faso, the junta’s crackdown includes jailing journalists and forcing critics into the army, leaving many towns under martial law.
No wonder that ordinary Africans have mixed feelings. In Mali and Burkina, anti-French slogans abound and many cheer Russian overtures, at least on first glance. Demonstrators burn French flags and cover their roads with pro-Russian posters, tired of paying with blood for France. Jonathan Guiffard of Institut Montaigne observes that populist governments have “played up” these anti-French feelings. But underlying this is a contest of propaganda as much as force. African publics see the downsides: deepening instability, new foreign guns, and local jobs going to foreigners. The rising death toll undercuts the Russians’ narrative that they offer security. By late 2024 the Sahel had recorded its highest ever levels of violence, a surge that coincided with the first Wagner deployments. A researcher at the Africa Center noted despairingly that while correlation isn’t causation, “their methods are not helping, they are only making things worse.” Indeed, some African voices now question whether trading France for Russia is any gain: one Mali citizen from Kidal observed about the Wagner Group, “The army is moving through the town with white soldiers—we don’t know who they are... People are afraid of them.” Testimony from a Civilian Witness in Moura further states regarding the Wagner Group, “I was at the market when the military and Wagner [fighters] came... They stood in front of us, pointing their guns. Then, a Wagner [fighter] took a Quran... He said: ‘God authorized us to secure you... If you refuse, we will kill you.” Overall, many Africans are expressing discontent with Russia and Wagner's methods.
Meanwhile, French officials argue that their remaining role, training local armies, running intelligence, and providing occasional air support, remains crucial. They insist that leaving entirely leaves a vacuum that only criminals can fill. France stresses counterterrorism and development in public and points to long-term joint projects (schools, hospitals) as evidence of benign intentions. Critics counter that such projects were minimal and selective, and that “security” essentially meant propping up dictators and accepting corruption. Indeed, many French commentators acknowledge a sense of hubris: Paris often did what it wanted with too little African consent. For instance, the Nigerian scholar Achille Mbembe has likened parts of the Francophone bloc to a form of “reservation” controlled by France. In late 2024, France agreed to renegotiate its military accords on its own terms and under protest. Even Senegal’s new president, Bassirou Faye, said French troops must go (Senegal hosts a regional command base). Europe is scrambling: some NATO allies have promised aid or forces (e.g. Poland to Niger), but Western publics are weary. In Washington, meanwhile, analysts urge pairing humanitarian aid with military support to counter Wagner’s inroads, but U.S. policy remains cautious, especially after its withdrawal from Niger (2023).
For local governments, choices are fraught. The juntas claim both Paris and Washington have few future commitments, so they turn to Russia not only for guns but for political cover. Chad’s young leader, President Mahamat Deby, announced in late 2024 that France’s century-old defense treaty was “outdated.” He cited France’s inability to stabilize his country or adapt to Chad’s needs. Yet even as he expelled French troops, Deby echoed the Russian line that Chad could still work with friends: he carefully added that Chad remained open to partners including France. In practice, Chad quietly entertains both: reportedly signing new arms deals with Russia even as French forces depart. In Bamako and Ouagadougou, junta leaders have urged the abandonment of the CFA franc and the letting in of banks from China or Russia. The new currencies they plan to launch would cut French oversight, a huge symbolic step away from Paris. But practical questions loom: where will their new armies get ammunition? Who will rebuild schools?
Amid this turbulent great-power tug-of-war, ordinary men and women endure the worst. Villagers in northern Mali fear jihadists and what might come from Russian-backed armies alike. Many Africans now no longer know whom to fear more, the insurgents or our soldiers. In CAR’s gold mines, small-scale miners are harassed by Wagner guards demanding a cut. Across the region, food prices are climbing, aid is hard to get, and a generation of children is growing up mainly knowing war. The rivalry between France and Russia plays out in checkpoints and military convoys on dirt roads, but its toll is paid in human lives and shattered communities.
No neat moral line divides these interventions. France’s military history in Africa is laden with colonial-era atrocities and modern-day arrogance, and its economic arrangements often enriched a few at the expense of many. That legacy justifiably fuels suspicion. Yet Moscow’s surge is not a benevolent alternative but a self-interested bid for influence. Wagner’s presence has ushered in opaque deals, resource exploitation and reports of grave abuses. As one analyst noted, “Wagner’s modus operandi” of impunity and patronage has brought harsh rule rather than genuine stability. In both cases, populist slogans of liberation hide realpolitik: new governments are quick to blame foreigners for failures, and big powers are quick to exploit those grievances.
Ultimately, West Africa’s recent coups and conflicts are also homegrown tragedies. Leaders who ousted elected governments are themselves far from democratic. Corruption and ethnic rivalries are omnipresent. External actors like France and Russia may tip the scales, but they do not directly cause all the region’s problems. For ordinary people, the question is not abstract geopolitics but survival. Should they side with troops funded by Paris or by Moscow? Helped or harmed? As security deteriorates in every direction, many West Africans feel caught in a vice. They often protest foreign armies on their soil, yet when terrorist violence strikes, they also demand better protection, a demand that ironically brought more foreign guns back in.
The picture is complex and shifting. Both France and Russia make grand claims: France as savior against terror and guardian of an orderly alliance, Russia as partner against colonialism and provider of easy guns. In truth, each plays on local frustrations for strategic gain. The Sahel’s people, weary of decades of exploitation by distant powers, deserve better than to become chess pieces in a new cold war. As one West African peace researcher warned, “the grand strategy of both West and East has always been to attack each other’s interests on the continent.” In 2025, with famine looming and fight fatigue setting in, African voices from Bamako to Bangui are increasingly asking: Whose interests are being served, and when will it be our turn to be heard?
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