Senegal Is On The Brink: The IMF, The World Bank, And The Debt Crisis That Imperils West Africa

BY HANNAH NRAE ARMSTRONG AND JOHN MCINTIRE

W est Africa is reeling. Over the past five years, coups have racked Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger, and the juntas now in charge are dismantling the countries’ institutions. Even as they repress their subjects, they are losing territory to emboldened insurgents. And as these insurgent groups become more entrenched in the central Sahel, they are beginning to threaten the coastal states of Benin, Côte d’Ivoire, Ghana, and Togo.

But amid this upheaval, Senegal remains a democracy in which strong institutions mostly govern capably. The country possesses skilled civil servants with track records of transparent, efficient fiscal management. In 2024, Senegal faced a severe political crisis when the outgoing administration resisted leaving power, but an independent Constitutional Council and an engaged civil society prevented an unconstitutional postponement of elections. Senegal is essentially the only major country in Francophone West Africa whose government remains accountable to its citizens; its stability telegraphs to its neighbors that democratic rule is both desirable and achievable.

Now, however, Senegal is grappling with its own existential threat. On a single day in February 2025, the country went from being considered one of Africa’s most stable economies to one of its most vulnerable after the discovery that President Diomaye Faye’s predecessor, Macky Sall, had hidden extensive debt. The country’s debt-to-GDP ratio has since soared from under 75 percent to over 132 percent. Amid a recent fallout between the country’s top two political leaders, Senegal is attempting to negotiate a new program with the International Monetary Fund. Without help, Senegal could default.

A little support in the form of debt relief from the IMF and the World Bank would quickly help restore balance. A punishing debt burden, on the other hand, would sap resources for badly needed public services, infrastructure, and economic development initiatives. Beyond weakening Senegal’s governing capabilities, such an outcome would create new political and security vulnerabilities throughout West Africa at precisely the moment when Russia is trying to exploit disorder to recruit new proxies.

HIDDEN FIGURES

Over the past five years, military regimes seized power in the central Sahel states, Côte d’Ivoire elected an 83-year-old fourth-term president who banned opposition candidates from running, and Togo pushed through constitutional reforms to keep a two-decade-old dynasty in power. But Senegal managed to remain stable and accountable. In 2024, civil society actors and an independent judiciary drew on what the political scientists Ibrahima Fall and Catherine Lena Kelly describe as Senegal’s democratic “muscle memory”—decades of mobilizing to defend checks and balances—to ensure elections proceeded on schedule. A duo of youthful reformers (Faye and the fiery Ousmane Sanko, who now serves as speaker of the National Assembly) defeated Sall’s handpicked candidate in a decisive first-round victory.

And until February 2025, Senegal’s economic outlook was mostly sunny, having enjoyed a strong recovery after the COVID pandemic. In recent decades, Senegal has expanded access to quality public services, closed the gender gap in school enrollment, and significantly reduced infant mortality rates. New hydrocarbon projects were expected to allow for increased government investments in roads, energy, and water.

But when Faye took over from Sall, his government commissioned an independent audit of state finances to establish the extent of Senegal’s public debt amid rumors of anomalies. The audit’s findings, published on February 12, 2025, came as a shock: they revealed an estimated $7 billion to $13 billion in unreported debt incurred between 2019 and 2023. It became clear that over the course of his second term, Sall had significantly boosted government borrowing and spending as he pursued an unconstitutional third term, all while intentionally misreporting debt figures in legally mandated public accounting to Senegal’s parliament.

The huge debt had gone unnoticed because Senegal’s presidency and finance ministry had hidden it from the National Assembly, the IMF, and the World Bank by keeping unrecorded loans off the books. But the latter two institutions played a role in the accrual of the illegal debt. Since the 1990s, the IMF and the World Bank have been long-term development partners for Senegal, making substantial technical and financial commitments intended to promote growth and reduce poverty. The most recent were a $1.8 billion loan package from the IMF and $300 million in budget support from the World Bank. At that point, these institutions had enough material evidence to discern anomalies, yet they kept financing Sall’s government.

Under Senegal’s program with the IMF, the multilateral lender would have had full electronic access to the government’s fiscal and financial data, enabling it to closely monitor financial activity. Senegalese authorities were required to provide electronic reporting every three to six months, often giving the IMF more detailed oversight of the government’s finances than the country’s own parliament enjoys. Such a discrepancy is reprehensible but by no means unusual. Members of parliament and ministry officials across Africa often appeal to World Bank officials for more detailed information about government finances than their own finance ministry provides.

Red flags appeared in Senegal’s reporting to the IMF as early as June 2021, according to IMF biannual reviews that showed that Dakar had requested modifying performance criteria regarding borrowing and fiscal balance; one review in June 2022 even waived the performance criteria altogether. By the summer of 2023, as Sall faced growing public demands that he step down when his term ended, the IMF would already have flagged serious reporting inconsistencies. But despite the IMF’s substantial access to Senegalese records (and, no doubt, misled by reporting that mixed legitimate data with alleged falsifications and significant omissions), the IMF and the World Bank gave Senegal extra money in 2023: in May, the World Bank greenlighted an extra $300 million in budget support to maintain essential public services, and in June, the IMF approved a new $1.8 billion loan package for Dakar, disbursing $279 million immediately.

Sall likely used the June 2023 disbursement as implicit collateral to convince other lenders, such as the West African Economic and Monetary Union’s regional debt market, to keep loaning him more money. Senegalese authorities submitted internal documents to the IMF in the second half of 2023 that clearly showed overborrowing. In its public December 2023 program review, the IMF identified that a financing “shift” had occurred in Senegal between 2023 and 2024, but it claimed the shift constituted “a debt management operation with no material impact” on Senegal’s debt level.

At best, the IMF failed to carry out the supervision that is essential to its role. At worst, it was pressured to ramp up lending to try to help Sall stay in power. There is some evidence for the latter in the highly anomalous way that the IMF’s reporting acknowledged and rationalized overfinancing, tarting it up as “precautionary liquidity buffers.” Western partners, and France in particular, certainly had reasons for preferring Sall over Faye and Sonko. Sall was a solid Western ally, whereas Faye and Sonko were campaigning on a sovereigntist platform and threatening to leave the French-backed regional currency. At a time when France was rapidly losing African allies to Russia, keeping Senegal close would have been a strong priority.

A DEBT BOMB DETONATES

The IMF and the World Bank are pushing Dakar for talks about restructuring. Yet they have not undertaken efforts to adjust Senegal’s debt service payments or investigate their own roles in exacerbating the crisis; they have merely asked Senegal to create a unified debt directorate and are waiting for the credit crunch to force it to the table. Meanwhile, Sall’s successors, Faye and Sonko, have been harshly punished for the sins of his regime. Senegal’s mushrooming debt problem has hovered over their administration, compelling them to abandon promises to lower electricity and fuel prices, freeze funding for dozens of planned infrastructure projects, impose austerity measures (such as reducing health-care spending by nearly 20 percent), and scramble for new financing.

Worse, the debt crisis has driven a wedge between the reformist duo. Sonko has taken a sovereigntist line and advocated against restructuring the debt (without laying out a convincing alternative), while Faye has preferred to negotiate with the IMF. In May, this dispute blew up their alliance. Faye sacked Sonko from his prime minister role; Sonko resumed his parliamentary seat and was elected the body’s president, with 132 out of 165 members of parliament voting for him. The resulting institutional crisis has pitted Senegal’s executive against its legislature. The latter has the authority to block any budget legislation or debt-restructuring framework that the presidency tries to pass. Sonko warned in June that even if Senegal enters “a crisis involving the dissolution of parliament … there will never be an agreement with the IMF.”

As Senegal’s executive and parliamentary branches remain in a deadlock, the country’s debt continues to grow and the options to address it narrow. The deadlock, however, also reflects the strength and independence of Senegalese institutions, which are nourished by a steady stream of inclusive debate. It highlights the health of a democracy that has been revitalized by a new generation’s participation.

As the leaders of neighboring countries insist that authoritarian rule is necessary to stabilize their countries, Senegal’s democracy stands as a vital rebuttal and applies positive pressure on the citizens and leaders of those countries to seek similar freedoms. Exiled West African civil society leaders often travel to Dakar to pursue graduate degrees, investigate and prepare reports on human rights abuses, and convene conferences on civil liberties. And at a time when West Africa’s rural areas are experiencing deepening abuse and neglect, it is worth noting that these freedoms extend well beyond Senegal’s capital. A few years ago, when Malians and Senegalese people living along the Falémé River mobilized to protest its devastation by gold mining practices, the state responses could not have been more different. Malian forces, siding with miners, beat and detained activists, while Senegal’s Faye issued a decree suspending all mining within 550 yards of the river.

WIN-WIN SOLUTION

Senegal is left with two ugly options: borrow more on worse terms to service its debt or restructure under a new IMF program. Faye is under significant pressure from Sonko’s legislature and the public not to pursue restructuring: the term has acquired a stink, with Sonko calling it a “disgrace.” Restructuring would likely entail highly unpopular measures such as removing fuel subsidies and lowering teachers’ salaries. For many Senegalese people, restructuring recalls the catastrophic structural adjustment programs the IMF imposed on their country in the 1980s and 1990s, which crimped the government’s autonomy and led to cuts in key sectors such as health and education without meaningfully freeing Senegal from cycles of debt and dependence. But in late June, Sonko softened his opposition to restructuring, likely to pave the way for a presidential bid by opening the door for a painful restructuring that will inevitably make Faye look bad.

If Senegal does not restructure its loans, its colossal and criminally acquired debt could crush the economy. Some public salaries are already in arrears, and pensions and energy subsidies could soon face cuts, events that could spark riots and wider unrest. And if the institutional deadlock persists, it could start to erode Senegalese democracy. The IMF already bears some responsibility for the crisis. And now its official insistence on full repayment to creditors is putting Senegal’s macroeconomic stability at risk and undermining the government’s ability to provide health care and education, transition from agriculture to manufacturing, and invest in much-needed public infrastructure.

To pull Senegal back from the brink, Washington should push the IMF and the World Bank to take a significant haircut. Between 2027 and 2031, Senegal is due to pay principal, interest, and fees on its IMF debt amounting to about $891 million; it will owe the World Bank roughly $1.37 billion in debt service over the same period. Taken together, these figures neatly parallel the $2 billion that these institutions lent Senegal in 2023, when it should have been abundantly clear not to. Relief on the approximately $2 billion owed to the IMF and the World Bank could reduce the country’s total external debt service by 16 percent, leaving it with still considerable yet more manageable payments.

The IMF and the World Bank should cancel these payments. These institutions’ principal shareholders, especially Washington and Paris, should urge them to support cancellation and bring other shareholders such as Beijing on board. The IMF and the World Bank likely believe that new oil revenue and increased fiscal pressure (that is, higher taxes and lower fuel subsidies) will allow Senegal to continue to service its debt. They are wrong. Over the past three years, oil revenue has proved disappointing, and much of it may already have been pledged as future sales. Revenues from sharply raising taxes and lowering subsidies will destabilize the country.

Although board members may argue that debt relief sets a bad precedent, the IMF and the World Bank have already helped Argentina on a much bigger scale, and in 2004, the two organizations’ HIPC debt relief initiative, aimed at helping heavily indebted poor countries, granted extensive forgiveness to reduce debt burdens to sustainable levels in Senegal. Canceling Senegal’s debt service would entail trivial losses for these international institutions, which—unlike Senegal—can seek special replenishment from other sources. Beyond assisting Dakar, this relief would benefit Paris and Beijing, its two largest bilateral creditors, by allowing the country to make good on its payments to them. And Paris has an interest in stabilizing Senegal’s debt to prevent a wider contagion. Senegal’s debt crisis threatens the larger regional economic bloc, the West African Economic and Monetary Union, whose shared currency is guaranteed by the French Treasury.

Breathing room would allow Senegal’s leaders to get back to governing and shore up stability in a region that badly needs it. It would also help the IMF and the World Bank retain their reputation for integrity at a moment when such institutions are viewed with increasing skepticism.

Dakar must also launch an investigation into the Senegalese actors responsible for the illegal debt. So far, Faye has declined to do so, likely because he worries his government may have to expose or prosecute political figures whose support he will need in the future. To incentivize Senegal to investigate its own institutions, significant debt relief from international organizations could be made contingent on a public investigation into the illegal debt to ensure a crisis like this cannot happen again and make the country’s institutions even more accountable.

El-Ghassim Wane, a former senior African Union adviser from the Sahel steeped in how good governance helps ward off conflict, noted to us that “the cost of supporting a country that has remained committed to constitutional governance and democratic principles is far lower than the cost of managing instability once it takes hold.” Debt forgiveness would help protect Senegal’s achievements; without it, the country risks falling into a debt trap for years, if not decades. And the region will lose its democratic anchor.

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Appolonia: The Story Of An African Kingdom That Resisted The Atlantic Slave Trade

Hundreds of thousands of enslaved Africans were shipped from the Gold Coast, today’s Ghana. National Maritime Museum, London, CC BY

BY NANA KESSE

ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF HISTORY,

CLARK UNIVERSITY

The transatlantic slave trade was a multilayered, highly commercialised global enterprise that lasted from the early 1500s to the mid 1800s.

The events over this period are far too complex to fit into a straightforward perpetrator-victim narrative. While the trade catastrophically dehumanised and commodified over 12.5 million Africans, it was not just an external conquest.

Europeans lacked the geographical knowledge, immunity to endemic tropical diseases, and the military power to venture into the African interior. So they became dependent on African states and merchant elites for the supply of captives.

By controlling coastal ports, regulating market access, and managing the interior trade routes that brought captives to the coast, these African brokers enabled and shaped the European trade in human beings.

Yet, this internal participation was rarely uniform. While certain powerful African societies and groups largely procured captives from weaker communities through warfare or raids, a few centralised African states chose neither to fully participate in nor completely abstain from the slave trade.

One such society was the Kingdom of Appolonia (today known as the Nzema State) in the southwestern Gold Coast (present-day Ghana). Throughout the four centuries of Atlantic slavery, Appolonia traded only 352 captives while other Gold Coast towns like Elmina and Cape Coast each shipped hundreds of thousands of enslaved people.

As a historian of west Africa, particularly Ghana, specialising in environmental and water history as well as the slave trade, I have spent nearly a decade researching Appolonia’s role in the Atlantic slave trade. My recent study reveals that Appolonia was the only port region on the Gold Coast where the Atlantic slave trade did not thrive, although indigenous African slavery was practised in the kingdom. Appolonia stands out as a statistical and geographical outlier within the slave trade economy.

Appolonia’s story raises several critical questions. Why did the kingdom trade so few enslaved people? Why is it important to study regions of Africa where the slave trade was less dominant? And what do outliers like Appolonia teach us about historical and reparative justice?

Appolonia in historical context

Appolonia is an Akan society in southwestern Ghana, located at the border with Côte d'Ivoire. The Portuguese named this region after Saint Appolonia, an Egyptian Christian virgin, because they discovered the area on her festival day.

The region was made up of small villages that came together to establish the Appolonian Kingdom in the late 1600s. It was here that Ghana’s first president, Kwame Nkrumah, was born in 1909.

The founding of the Appolonian Kingdom coincided with other grand historical developments on the Gold Coast. These include the rise of the Asante Kingdom to superpower status and the transformation of the region into a centre for the Atlantic slave trade.

These events drew Appolonia into the larger Atlantic economy. However, Appolonia was probably the only Gold Coast society that effectively said “no” to the Atlantic slave trade.

Saying “no” did not mean a complete abstinence. The 352 enslaved individuals that Appolonia shipped account for 0.0028% of the Africans transported across the Atlantic Ocean. My intention is not to reduce these precious lives to mere statistics. Rather, I aim to show that, in percentage terms, Appolonia’s involvement in the trade was minimal.

To illustrate this point, let’s examine some comparative data.

Distribution of slave exports from the Gold Coast. Nana Kesse, Author provided (no reuse)

The table displays slave exports from various regions of the Gold Coast. This information was obtained from the SlaveVoyages database, compiled over decades by various researchers in an international collaborative effort. It offers statistics on enslaved individuals shipped from Africa and those who survived the journey.

For instance, in the 18th-century Gold Coast, port towns like Anomabo recorded 168,348 slave exports, Cape Coast 100,434 and Elmina 85,636 – compared with Appolonia’s 352.

Consider the figures alongside the historical population densities of these areas.

During the 1700s, Anomabu had approximately 8,750 inhabitants; yet a staggering 168,348 captives were shipped from there. This indicates significant slave trading. Similarly, Cape Coast and Elmina had projected populations of around 5,000 and 25,000 residents, yet recorded high slave exports.

Appolonia, on the other hand, had an estimated population of 15,600-19,600 inhabitants but traded only 352.

What this means

Why did Appolonia trade so few enslaved people? Using demographic database analysis, European archival records, and oral histories, my research suggests two main reasons.

First, Appolonia was not a slaving society. Its economy depended rather on the gold and ivory trade.

Second, the kingdom implemented policies, such as the amonle covenant, that prevented the sale of Appolonian subjects. Amonle was a sacred ritual involving human sacrifice of Appolonian royals and the mixing of their blood with a special herbal concoction. It was then drunk by both Appolonian rulers and migrants who settled in the kingdom.

This powerful ritual served as the binding oath against selling Appolonian locals and refugees, cursing anyone who broke the oath. This policy undermined any internal system for producing enslaved people within the kingdom for sale.

The question of reparations

Appolonia’s story further complicates our understanding and approach to seeking historical justice and reparations for the slave trade. It is one thing for a known victim to demand justice and reparations from an identifiable perpetrator, whether through symbolic acts like an apology, or through monetary compensation.

It’s a different matter when the identities of both the victim and the perpetrator are unknown – or when the perpetrator and the victim are one and the same. Who dispenses reparations to whom?

In the case of Appolonia, we do not know the identities of the 352 victims exported, nor have scholars, including myself, been able to trace these captives to a specific African homeland.

We have not found historical records indicating that the people of Appolonia captured or purchased these individuals for resale. Given this context, should Appolonia be expected to offer reparations? If yes, to whom?

Conversely, is it ethically justifiable for Appolonia to seek reparative justice from the unknown Europeans who purchased the 352 captives?

Appolonia’s story complicates the call for reparative justice. However, it does not contradict the landmark March 2026 United Nations resolution officially declaring the transatlantic slave trade as the “gravest crime against humanity”. For the slave trade is indeed the most violent and catastrophic of the many atrocities committed against Africans and African descended people.

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Washington Killed An ISIS Commander In Nigeria, But Has More To Do In West Africa

BY SAMUEL BEN-UR

Nigeria’s Christians are among the most persecuted in the world. They face threats from Muslim Fulani herdsmen who have raided villages and killed hundreds of believers. They also face threats from terror groups known around the world for their brutality, such as Islamic State (ISIS), against which a significant victory was recently achieved.

In a joint operation on May 16, U.S. and Nigerian forces killed Abu Musab al-Minuki, a key figure in ISIS and its affiliate, Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP). The Nigerian military described the raid as a “meticulously planned and highly complex precision air-land operation.” President Donald Trump called al-Minuki “the most active terrorist in the world,” and “second-in-command of ISIS globally.”

Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth put the matter in a different light: U.S. forces had hunted an ISIS leader “who was killing Christians.”

Al-Minuki’s death represents a major achievement in Washington’s ongoing campaign to stem the growing tide of Christian persecution and instability in Nigeria. While ISWAP is neither the only nor the most pervasive threat facing Abuja’s Christian community, killing al-Minuki represents tangible progress. To capitalize on this success, Washington should attend to all threats making Nigeria unsafe for Christians and other citizens alike.

Analysts dispute whether al-Minuki was truly ISIS’s global No. 2. What is not in doubt is that one of ISWAP’s most important commanders is dead. His network has helped make Nigeria one of the deadliest countries in the world for Christians.

Nigerian reporting tied al-Minuki to the February 2018 Dapchi schoolgirls kidnapping, when ISWAP terrorists abducted more than 100 students from the Government Girls’ Science and Technical College in Yobe State. Leah Sharibu, a Christian girl who reportedly refused to renounce her faith, remains in captivity and has become a symbol of Nigeria’s persecution crisis.

In December 2019, ISWAP released a video of its terrorists executing 11 blindfolded Christians in northeast Nigeria. The killers called the murders “a message to Christians all over the world.” The next year, ISWAP abducted and executed Ropvil Daciya Dalep, a Christian university student, declaring that Christians “must know that we will never forget their atrocities against us.”

ISWAP also carried out the Pentecost Sunday massacre at St. Francis Xavier Catholic Church in 2022. Gunmen disguised as worshippers detonated explosives and opened fire during Mass, killing at least 40 people and wounding more than 100. In 2026 testimony before the Federal High Court in Abuja, a witness identified the attackers as members of an ISWAP-linked cell based in Kogi State, operating under the alias “Al-Shabaab,” and tied to the broader command network al-Minuki helped oversee.

To describe all this merely as “insecurity” is to miss the point. Nigeria’s Christians are not the only victims of jihadist violence. Muslims in the northeast and northwest have also suffered grievously at the hands of Boko Haram, ISWAP, bandits, and other armed groups.

While organized Islamic terrorists may make headlines, they are not the greatest threat to Christians in Nigeria. Instead, the greatest threats facing Nigerian Christians are from militant gangs of Fulani herdsmen.

This is especially true in Nigeria’s Middle Belt, where armed Fulani militant networks have attacked Christian communities in Benue, Plateau, and surrounding states. The Fulani are an ethnic group of about 25-40 million in West Africa, historically defined by cattle-herding. While many of them no longer practice pastoralism as a way of life, their group identity is still strongly associated with raising livestock. Land, water, grazing routes, and criminality all contribute to the anti-Christian violence perpetrated by some Fulani militants, and yet these factors do not tell the whole story.

Instead, as scholars of international religious liberty such as Baylor’s Paul Marshall have shown, there is a significant element of anti-Christian violence inexplicable by material explanations alone, something a commonly used phrase like “farmer-herder conflict” works to obscure.

In the case of the Plateau State Massacre in 2023, Fulani gangs killed nearly 200 Christian men, women, and children on Christmas Eve while reportedly shouting, “Allahu Akbar, we will destroy all Christians.” Policymakers and journalists should not hide behind sociological euphemisms to explain away attacks that have clear religious motivations.

The Nigerian government’s response has also often been a mix of incapacity and denial. Abuja resists the “Christian persecution” label even as it often fails to prevent attacks on communities and subsequently lies about the scale of and motivations behind massacres and kidnappings. Village communities complain that security forces arrive late or not at all.

In the northeast, ISWAP survives because it exploits weak governance, borderland sanctuaries, and inconsistent intelligence coverage. The result is a state that can sometimes strike terrorists but often fails to protect Christians from slaughter.

Increased cooperation between Washington and Abuja is a start, but Nigerian President Bola Tinubu’s government must publicly and accurately diagnose the challenges facing its people. Killing al-Minuki wasn’t significant purely because he was an archterrorist. He also perpetrated atrocities, including the massacre of hundreds of Christians, though Abuja has yet to highlight this fact.

Nigeria’s Christians need a government willing to name their persecutors, protect their villages, rescue their children, prosecute their attackers, and accept help when its own capabilities fall short. The United States cannot solve Nigeria’s religious violence for Nigeria. But it can make clear that anti-Christian persecution is not a peripheral humanitarian concern; it is central to Nigeria’s security crisis and to America’s counterterrorism interests.

The United States should create a Nigeria religious-violence targeting cell inside the embassy in Abuja, linking State, Defense, Treasury, and intelligence officials working with trusted Nigerian civil society groups and church networks. Its job should be to map ISWAP, Boko Haram, Fulani militant, and bandit networks that attack religious communities. It can then identify commanders, financiers, arms suppliers, cattle-rustling facilitators, ransom brokers, and corrupt local officials, and feed that evidence into Treasury and State sanctions packages.

The State Department should also make any major expansion of U.S.-Nigeria security cooperation contingent on Abuja producing a public, incident-level accounting of attacks on Christian communities, including listing the perpetrators, the religious identity of victims where relevant, security response times, arrests, prosecutions, and convictions.

Al-Minuki’s death will not bring Leah Sharibu home or rebuild every burned church. But it proves the men who organize this violence can be found. The question is whether Washington and Abuja will treat that success as final—or as the beginning of a serious campaign to defend Nigeria’s most vulnerable communities.

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In Senegal, A 2,000‑Year‑Old Iron Workshop Sheds New Light On The Past

Slag shaped like the seeds of the rattan palm reflects a unique cultural choice. © David Glauser, Fourni par l'auteur

BY MELISSA MOREL, ANNE MAYOR AND LADJI DIANIFABA

How was iron produced 2,000 years ago in Senegal? A recent study at the Didé West 1 archaeological site, in the Falémé Valley in eastern Senegal, sheds light on an ancient iron production technique.

Passed down from generation to generation for nearly eight centuries, this technology appears to have been developed to meet local needs. African archaeology specialists Anne Mayor, Mélissa Morel and Ladji Dianifaba explain the significance of this discovery and what it reveals about the transmission of technical knowledge over the long term.

What did you find?

For over 2,000 years, metalworkers produced iron in what is now Senegal. By studying the remains they left behind, we have been able to reconstruct their technical choices, the natural resources they used, and, to some extent, aspects of their way of life. Beyond their scientific value, these studies also highlight the expertise of ancient blacksmiths, since iron production represented a major technical and social transformation, particularly for agriculture.

In eastern Senegal, in the Falémé Valley, within the Boundou Community Nature Reserve, many ancient iron production sites have been identified in recent years. Archaeological surveys and excavations carried out by an international research team involving scholars from the universities of Geneva and Fribourg in Switzerland, as well as the Institut Fondamental d’Afrique Noire at Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar, revealed at least five distinct technical iron traditions.

The new study focused on one of these iron production techniques (named FAL02) identified in the region, which is represented at around 100 sites.

The site of Didé West 1 (DDW1), the largest and best-preserved of these sites, stands out for two major reasons. First, it provides one of the earliest known dates for iron-smelting furnaces in Senegal. Second, it documents a long sequence of metallurgical activity spanning nearly 800 years, from 400 BCE to 400 CE. These radiocarbon dates were obtained from charcoal directly associated with the furnaces.

The exceptional preservation of this site allowed us to document this technique in detail, trace its transformations over time, and better understand the choices made by the metallurgists.

How were you able to prove it?

The main evidence of ancient iron metallurgy comes from slag, which is the waste produced when ore is transformed into metal. During the smelting process, this slag flows like molten lava within the furnace before solidifying into rocky masses. Once the operation was completed, the slag was discarded and gradually piled up into large heaps.

Our study of the Didé West 1 slag heap revealed 35 furnace bases, attesting to repeated activity over several dozen generations. Certain technical features define this tradition, including multi-perforated tuyères (clay pipes pierced with holes to allow air to circulate within the furnace), as well as the use of African palm nuts as packing material at the bottom of the furnace. This system appears to have facilitated the separation of metal from slag.

By combining these observations, we were able to reconstruct how this technique worked. The metalworkers used small circular furnaces equipped with a removable chimneys rather than permanent shafts. The iron ore likely consisted of laterites (a type of soil) collected from the immediate surroundings. Taken together, these elements reflect a high level of technical expertise.

Who were the people behind this technology?

Research on African societies during the first millennium BCE and the first millennium CE comes with several challenges. Written sources are scarce, and organic materials that could provide information about housing or diet are poorly preserved. Even iron artefacts are usually too degraded to survive.

On many sites, only pottery fragments remain. It is therefore still difficult to identify precisely the populations behind the FAL02 technique. This specific technical tradition was recognised through the shapes of the furnaces, tuyères, and slag found at the sites. Iron production techniques are not merely technical processes. They reflect traditions, choices and know-how specific to each cultural group.

Analysis of the slag volumes also helps estimate how much iron was produced. At Didé West 1, the data point to modest and irregular production, likely seasonal. These elements suggest that the activity was intended to meet local needs, rather than large-scale production for export.

Why this matters

The origins of iron metallurgy in west Africa are still debated. Two major hypotheses continue to be discussed. One argues that ironworking spread from the Hittite world in Anatolia (in present-day Turkey) via the Maghreb or the Nile Valley. The other suggests an independent invention in sub-Saharan Africa. To date, the available evidence does not allow a definitive conclusion.

However, several ancient iron production sites dating from the first millennium BCE have been identified in sub-Saharan Africa, including in Nigeria, Niger, Togo, and Burkina Faso, and now in Senegal. These discoveries tend to strenghten the case of local development.

Within this context, the dates obtained at Didé West 1, reaching at least the 4th century BCE, make it one of the earliest known ironworking techniques in Senegal. The site therefore contributes important new data to a still limited body of evidence and helps document the early development of metallurgy in the region.

What happens next?

This study marks an important milestone, but several questions remain unanswered. The next challenge is to better understand the other iron production techniques identified in the Falémé Valley. At least four other traditions have been recognised.

Some of these techniques were in use at the same time, revealing a complex metallurgical landscape where very different traditions coexisted. This diversity raises several questions: which groups of metallurgists were behind them? How can we explain their transformations? Why do certain techniques disappear? Were some techniques more efficient than others?

The study of the FAL02 technique over nearly 800 years demonstrates that these practices evolved, with phases of continuity and transformation. By cross-referencing this data with findings from the study of ceramics and settlements, it becomes possible to better understand the societies that produced this iron and how they changed over time.

These remains allow us to move beyond the purely technical question: they offer insight into settlement dynamics, the circulation of knowledge and expertise, and long-term societal transformations, even before the emergence of medieval kingdoms and the expansion of trans-Saharan trade.

We hope that future research will help to answer some of these questions.

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The Sahel Region Is Less Secure Than Ever: Foreign Forces Just Add To The Cycle Of Violence

French soldiers on patrol in Diabaly, Mali, 2013. Issouf Sanogo/AFP via Getty Images

BY NINA LILEN

ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR,

LUND UNIVERSITY

Several of Mali’s major cities experienced coordinated attacks in April by a new coalition of jihadists and separatist groups.

As the coalition took over the town of Kidal in the north of Mali, images of Russian troops being escorted out of the town after negotiations were cabled out across global media.

Russia, now in the shape of Africa Corps and previously the Wagner Group, has been the Malian military’s external security partner since the beginning of 2022. It replaced French and European troops from the counter-terrorism operation Barkhane and Taskforce Takuba. France had deployed a force of 5,000 troops from 2014 to 2022. European special forces numbered 1,000 between 2020 and 2022. Both missions were forced to leave as relations between France and the Malian junta grew tense.

The strategic realignment, from western and multilateral forces to Russian troops, expanded in the region. In Burkina Faso, which experienced two coups in 2022, the French troops were expelled at the start of 2023, as 200 Russian troops moved in.

In the summer of 2023, the Malian authorities also kicked out the decade-old 13,000-strong UN peacekeeping mission. Niger’s junta, which took power the same year, followed suit and expelled the EU’s operations in the country six months later, before accepting a few hundred Russian troops.

During the past decade I have researched external security interventions in the Sahel and analysed their justifications, development on the ground, and consequences for political and security environments.

I conclude from my research that the external interventions have not stabilised the region. More than a decade after the first major interventions, the Sahel is more fragmented, militarised and violent than before.

Yet the persistence of insecurity also serves political purposes.

For military juntas, the jihadist threat justifies continued rule and repression. For Russia, the region has become a showcase for anti-western influence and security partnerships in Africa. For western actors, jihadist expansion, migration concerns and fears of regional instability are used as reasons for security engagement despite repeated failures.

The complex interactions between these actors have resulted in a continuous, strategic circle of violence, where civilians are the first victims.

On the ground

On the ground, interventions have often evolved in unpredictable ways through ad hoc decisions and informal interactions between local and external actors.

For example, they have shared logistical and medical assistance and intelligence.

More broadly, the external interventions strengthened militaries as political actors, reinforcing an already biased civil-military balance across the region.

“Security in the Sahel” became the moniker that framed the western and multilateral interventions in the region from 2013 onwards. Improving the capacities, capabilities and professionalism of the national security forces became the official objectives of these interventions, closely linked to the broader aim of defeating the jihadist insurgencies.

Framing the intersecting crises in the Sahel as a security issue also meant that security actors had the task of resolving it. The importance, status and budgets of the national militaries thus increased as the security situation deteriorated. A heavily tilted civil-military imbalance was the result.

As military officers took over power through coups in Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger, a strategic realignment towards Russia began, to maintain military rule.

The Russian Wagner group allowed the newly installed juntas to entrench their power, while “deprofessionalising” the forces through harassment, attacks and massacres of civilians.

Research shows for example that civilian targeting accounted for 71% of the Wagner Group’s involvement in political violence in Mali between December 2021 and July 2022. This strategy of attacking civilians has made recruitment easier for jihadist groups. They could increase their ranks by exploiting grievances.

The latest attacks in Mali in April 2026 demonstrate the military junta’s failure, together with its Russian security partners, to contain the jihadist groups’ expansion.

They also reveal that Russia is in the country mainly to keep the military junta in power. Assimi Goïta, Mali’s military leader, reconfirmed the partnership with Russia after the attacks in spite of their failure on the battlefield.

The military leader needs regime maintenance more than ever, and the Russians need to be in the country for continued geopolitical influence on the African continent.

Conclusion

The result is that while all external actors claim to fight instability, the current regional order depends on continuing insecurity.

Stabilisation risks becoming less about resolving conflict than about managing insecurity in ways that sustain regimes, partnerships and geopolitical influence.

Foreign interventions, in combination with national actors’ ambitions, have helped to transform the region into a space of militarised regime survival, jihadist expansion and geopolitical competition between Russia and western democracies.

As military approaches have repeatedly proven insufficient to solve the intersecting crises in the Sahel, pressured military juntas may now be forced to negotiate with jihadist groups. That is likely to result in new, hybrid spaces of power and governance.

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Mali’s Security Crisis Holds Warnings For Nigeria: Here’s Why

Nigerian soldiers prepare to patrol in Maiduguri. Audu Marte/AFP via Getty Images

BY SAHEED BABAJIDE OWONIKOKO

RESEARCHER, CENTER FOR PEACE AND

SECURITY STUDIES, MODDIBO ADAMA

UNIVERSITY OF TECHNOLOGY, YOLA

Mali and Nigeria, two of the countries in the Sahel region of west Africa, are separated by approximately 1,000 kilometres, with the Niger Republic between them. They differ in population size and government, but they face some of the same threats.

Mali has a population of about 22.4 million, while Nigeria has about 223.8 million. While Nigeria has been a democracy since 1999, Mali has had a military government since 2020.

The two are similar in that they are threatened by multiple armed groups operating in their territories.

Three armed groups – Islamic State Sahel Province (ISSP/ISGS), Jama'a Nusrat ul-Islam wa al-Muslimin (JNIM) and the Azawad Liberation Front (FLA) – are shaping the conflict in Mali.

This reached a new high in April 2026 when Jama'a Nusrat ul-Islam wa al-Muslimin and the Azawad Liberation Front carried out coordinated attacks across Mali.

The northern cities of Kidal and Mopti, as well as military bases in Sevare and Gao, were captured. The heart of Bamako, the capital city of Mali, was also struck, leading to the death of the defence minister, Sadio Camara.

Nigeria too has been threatened by jihadist insurgence and banditry in the north as well as secessionists and militancy in the south. Jama’at Ahl al-Sunna li al-Da’wa wa al-Jihad (JAS) and the Islamic State West Africa Province (ISWAP) are active in the north.

Nigeria lost two brigadier generals fighting the insurgents in the north-east between November 2025 and April 2026.

The weakness of the state plays a significant role in the vulnerability of both countries to attacks. As a scholar who has followed the unfolding events in the Sahel, I draw lessons for Nigeria from the April attacks in Mali.

Those lessons include the possibility of alignment among armed groups, the danger of the jihadists advancing to other Sahelian countries, the audacity of the groups, and the possibility that gains of JNIM in Mali could incite rival groups in Nigeria.

Key lessons for Nigeria

The first lesson concerns armed groups teaming up to fight the state. The April attackers were a combined force of FLA and JNIM. These groups share a common aim: securing enclaves within Mali. They joined efforts to carry out the attacks, each focusing on the areas they wished to control.

In the same vein, Nigeria has battled many armed groups. Competition, rather than cooperation, has defined the relationship between these groups, especially in northern Nigeria. This has always been to the advantage of the Nigerian state. The erstwhile charismatic leader of terror group Boko Haram, Abubakar Shekau, survived for more than a decade but died during clashes between his group, JAS and ISWAP members.

This led to a decline in Boko Haram’s activities, although they are now gradually resurging.

However, there is evidence of an unfolding alliance between terrorists in the north-east and bandits in the north-central and north-west areas of Nigeria. Such alliance have often been in terms of tactical cooperation as well as exchange of members and arms.

There is also a possibility of closing ranks and joining forces between Boko Haram and ISWAP, especially if leaders who favour working together with ISWAP take over Boko Haram from Bakura Doro, the current leader of JAS, after the death of Abukakar Shekau. If this happens, it may escalate terrorist activities that may be difficult for Nigeria to manage.

The second lesson is that the audacity of the JNIM/FLA coalition and the results achieved can motivate related groups to act in other parts of the Sahel. The al-Qaeda-linked and ISIS-linked terrorist groups have been involved in a competition for control of the Sahel for a long period.

This comes in the form of direct armed attacks against each other, competition over territory and recruiting, and attempting to demonstrate the ability to cause more violence than the other. This has led to an increase in jihadist attacks.

JNIM’s takeover of some cities in Mali may encourage its ISIS-affiliated rivals in the Greater Sahara and Lake Chad to also increase their violence.

In the Lake Chad Region, ISWAP has intensified attacks against military formations while also building parallel states in many areas of the Lake Chad basin, with Nigeria being the most affected.

Lastly, with the capture of Kidal and attacks near Bamako, JNIM may be close to capturing Mali. If Mali falls, it could be a training ground for terrorists in the Sahel. This fear was the reason Nigeria mobilised its forces for a peacekeeping mission in Mali in 2012. And if Mali falls, Burkina Faso and Niger will be threatened.

The threat to Niger is a significant problem because it is a buffer zone for Nigeria. Meanwhile Nigeria is a major target of the jihadist insurgents in their move to extend towards coastal west Africa.

What should Nigeria do?

Mali’s experience could turn the lens on Nigeria. Mali, Niger and Burkina Faso have opted out of the Economic Community of West African States, Ecowas. But Nigeria and other countries in the region should not abandon the breakaway states at this stage. Necessary regional support should be galvanised and Nigeria can still play a leading role in this.

In my view, Nigeria also needs to rejig its counter-terrorism to be more responsive. Rather than its current defensive posture, which gives jihadists the opportunity to plan, Nigeria ought to adopt sophisticated and strategic offensive counter-terrorism that takes the war to the jihadists.

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Combating Kush in West Africa: A Conversation with Dr. Kars de Bruijne

A young man rolls a kush joint while others sleep in Freetown, Sierra Leone. THE ASSOCIATED PRESS

In this interview, Dr. Kars de Bruijne shares his insights regarding the ongoing kush epidemic in West Africa. Dr. Bruijne argues that the rise of kush in Sierra Leone represents a broader trend towards synthetic opioid drug usage in low-income countries. Although kush remains embedded in local West African economies, Dr. Bruijne highlights how regional and international organizations can play a role in training law enforcement, providing medical support, and facilitating information sharing to prevent a further entrenchment of kush in the region.

Georgetown Journal of International Affairs: Can you please provide a brief overview of the kush epidemic? What is kush, and when did it first start appearing in West Africa?

Dr. Kars de Bruijne: Kush is a cheap synthetic drug that emerged in Sierra Leone in 2016 and quickly spread to neighboring countries, including Liberia and Guinea. Kush became increasingly prevalent between 2020 and 2022, and it remains a source of major concern across West Africa.

Until last year, the composition of kush was the subject of significant speculation. Rumors abounded that kush contained rat poison and ground human bones. To rectify these rumors and determine kush’s true makeup, the Global Initiative on Transnational Crime and my organization, the Netherlands Institute of International Relations Clingendael, conducted a research project. We identified two main variants of kush. The first contains synthetic cannabinoids, and the second contains synthetic opioids called nitazines. Nitazines can be more potent than fentanyl, and as a result, they are more deadly when consumed. This finding was particularly shocking and helps to explain why symptoms of kush consumption—such as dozing off and standing immobile for over 30 minutes at a time—are disturbingly similar to fentanyl.

GJIA: Why has Sierra Leone, as opposed to other coastal countries in West Africa, become the epicenter of the kush epidemic? Did any socioeconomic or political factors make Sierra Leone particularly conducive to the rise of kush?

KB: Rather than a particular factor endemic to Sierra Leone, I would argue that kush demonstrates the global threat posed by the rise of cheap synthetic drugs entering low-income markets. I think that kush is a starting point, and that similar epidemics will continue to emerge in impoverished regions worldwide.

That being said, two factors can help contextualize the rise of kush within Sierra Leone. First, there exists Sierra Leonean diaspora communities in the United Kingdom and the Netherlands, and these communities facilitated the initial export of substances required to produce kush. However, these communities alone are not solely responsible for kush’s emergence. The second factor is Sierra Leone’s persistent gang problem, which became increasingly severe under the last regime. When the new government was elected in 2018, gangs aligned with the opposition were seen as a threat. Whether intentionally or accidentally, the rise of kush helped reduce the gang threat. It mollified gang leaders by providing an alternative way to make money, and it provided the gangs’ “foot soldiers” with a cheap drug to consume for enjoyment. I have heard one explanation for the government’s slow response which points to an implicit recognition that drug consumption had a positive effect on the security problem that the government inherited. Conversely, the government likely did not foresee kush becoming as problematic as it eventually did. Kush consumers were going missing and dying on the streets, but addressing the kush epidemic was not seen as a priority until several years after it emerged.

GJIA: In the recent report that you co-authored on kush, you mentioned that the Sierra Leonean government declared tramadol use a national emergency in 2016. How does the ongoing kush epidemic differ from the tramadol epidemic?

KB: The main difference between tramadol and kush is that tramadol can be used for legitimate medical purposes. Tramadol is commonly sold in pharmacies, and people in Sierra Leone are able to purchase it without a prescription. As tramadol usage worsened, pharmacy boards played an important role in regulating the inflow of tramadol. Pharmacies also staunched the flow of tramadol by raising prices. As tramadol prices increased, the consumption rate decreased.

Unlike tramadol, kush is an illicit drug whose production is firmly rooted in local communities. Kush production generally involves drug peddling and local cartels, so cracking down on production involves a significant law enforcement response. Since the kush production and distribution business is so localized, it is much more difficult to beat than tramadol. For example, a local community leader may be a prominent gang member with the power to co-opt local law enforcement into ignoring kush production. These local protection structures, combined with the challenges of detecting sellers and hideouts, present significant obstacles for combating kush. Likewise, the “cooks”—those who distill kush’s ingredients into its drug form—often operate out of small sheds and use cheap tools, which makes it harder to identify supply lines.

GJIA: You mentioned that materials required to produce kush are imported from abroad. Do you foresee a risk of kush, in turn, being exported to Latin America, Europe, the United States or other drug markets?

KB: Latin America, Europe, and the United States are all fairly saturated drug markets, in which users are accustomed to and can afford particular drugs. Since these markets have more options available, and users tend to have a comparatively higher income, it would be very difficult for kush to infiltrate them.

However, there may exist a relationship between the markets for opioids and nitazenes. Since the Taliban is cracking down on heroin production in Afghanistan, there has been an expectation that the global supply of heroin will decrease in the coming years. Some observers predict that nitazenes will replace this deficit. Although this possibility should not be ruled out, I do not foresee nitazenes in Western markets being sold in the form of kush. In the United States, the Netherlands, and elsewhere, nitazenes have already emerged in oxycodone tablets and other synthetic opioid medicines. These substances will likely continue to increase in popularity as heroin becomes more scarce and expensive.

GJIA: To what extent are West African terrorist groups involved in the trafficking of kush? Do you see potential for terrorist organizations to get involved?

KB: There is a preconception that Sahelian terrorist groups, such as al-Qaeda and Islamic State affiliates, are involved in the drug trade. In reality, very little evidence indicates that this is true. Armed forces will occasionally find cannabis when they raid a terrorist camp, but in general, drug use is considered haram—forbidden—under Islamic law. When I speak to smugglers, they emphasize the importance of concealing drugs and avoiding detection when moving through terrorist-controlled territory.

GJIA: Do you think that regional bodies, such as the Economic Organization of West African States (ECOWAS) have a role to play in addressing the kush epidemic?

KB: Yes, ECOWAS definitely has a role to play. ECOWAS must draw attention to the crisis and reduce its spread by enacting early warning procedures. For example, in November 2024, a series of raids on kush production sites in Sierra Leone displaced some important players to other countries in the region. Through a regional body like ECOWAS, officials from neighboring states can collaborate and coordinate their response to this dispersion.

Outsiders should also play a role in staunching the epidemic. From what I have observed, the substances that give kush its potency are not produced within Sierra Leone. Rather, these ingredients are shipped from the United Kingdom, Netherlands, and China. Law enforcement in these countries must crack down on illegal exports and develop stronger oversight mechanisms for monitoring the outflow of goods to international markets.

GJIA: What steps can international organizations, such as the United Nations (UN), take to aid West African states in reducing the severity of the epidemic?

KB: The two UN branches that can have the greatest impact on the kush epidemic are the World Health Organization (WHO) and the United Nations Office of Drug Control (UNODC). One of the challenges in countering kush is the lack of access to medicines that can help people who use drugs to detox. The WHO should help local authorities establish rehabilitation clinics, where kush users can obtain medication to fight their addiction. The UNODC can play a dominant role in providing law enforcement training. Fundamentally, mitigating the kush epidemic requires preventing the drug from crossing borders and infiltrating new markets in West Africa. To achieve this goal, the UNODC can promote information sharing between different law enforcement agencies and train law enforcement officials to identify and interdict kush shipments.

GJIA: Lastly, you mentioned that you recently travelled to Sierra Leone to research kush. Did you see any differences between the current environment in Sierra Leone and your past trips?

KB: One change that I immediately noticed was a substantial increase in the price of kush, which far outpaced inflation. While kush is still a widespread problem, higher prices will likely facilitate a decrease in consumption rates. Secondly, the drug market in Sierra Leone has become increasingly diversified. Tramadol remains rampant, and marijuana—which became nearly obsolete amidst the rise of kush—appears to be regaining a share of the market. Although kush remains a deadly, unsolved, and extremely complex problem, these observations lead me to believe that the situation has marginally improved. This improvement may signify a short-term change, but it does not guarantee that kush is on the decline. Given the push-and-pull dynamics of regional drug markets, West African countries must remain vigilant to prevent the situation from worsening again in the future.

This transcript has been lightly edited for clarity and length.

Interview conducted by Sydney Pappas.

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Mali’s Armed Groups Fill A Government Vacuum – Addressing This Is Key To Ending The Violence

BY NORMAN SEMPIJJA AND MUHAMMED NDIAYE

Mali has been in a state of political turmoil since 2012. That year saw a military coup as well as armed groups taking over northern regions of the west African country. In the intervening years, efforts at establishing transitional governments have failed, culminating in the military junta dissolving and banning all political parties in May 2025.

In addition, the country has seen waves of military interventions by outside players like France, the US and most recently Russia. All have invested heavily in trying to contain the extremist threat in Mali.

But groups linked to al-Qaeda and the Islamic State have continued to expand their influence. And in late April 2026 the military government found itself having to fend off coordinated attacks from separatists and jihadists across the country. The defence minister, General Sadio Camara, was killed.

Foreign interventions over the past decade have often misunderstood what was happening on the ground. Extremist groups have capitalised on issues such as land disputes, corruption, and resource competition to gain legitimacy, often aligning with the community’s tensions. The weakness of state institutions and security forces has allowed groups such as Jamaat Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM) and the Islamic State in the Greater Sahara (ISGS) to consolidate power.

These groups have adapted by forming alliances and tailoring their narratives to local grievances, prioritising immediate issues over ideological objectives.

We are political scientists who have researched the security situation in Mali and the Sahel. Our recently published paper showed that non-state armed groups in the Sahel, particularly in Mali, have emerged as key power brokers, shaping local governance by filling gaps left by weak state institutions.

While external actors such as France, the US and Russia have prioritised counter-terrorism and state-building, they often overlook the governance functions of non-state armed groups. These groups often provide essential services and gain local legitimacy.

Recognising the role of armed groups as local power holders does not mean accepting or legitimising their actions. However, ignoring this reality has led to policies that miss the mark. When interventions focus only on military solutions, they risk misunderstanding why people interact with these groups in the first place.

Our findings challenge conventional interventions that focus solely on defeating non-state armed groups or reinstating centralised state control. We argue that security solutions alone are insufficient. We advocate for a more nuanced approach that integrates the potential for non-state armed groups when it comes to governance, legitimacy and local agency. Non-state armed groups have provided governance over territories in countries like Colombia, Syria and South Sudan, among others.

Armed groups as de facto authorities

Armed groups in Mali are not just fighting forces. In many parts of the country, they play a more complex role. It is difficult to estimate the exact number of groups operating within Mali. The largest and best known, Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wa al-Muslimeen, is a coalition of five organisations and claims to have over 10,000 fighters in the country.

In central and northern Mali, bordering Algeria, the state is often distant, absent or mistrusted. Armed groups step into this vacuum. They settle disputes, enforce rules, collect taxes, and sometimes provide a basic sense of order.

For communities living with daily insecurity, these functions are not abstract; they shape everyday life.

Our study established that this does not necessarily mean the population agrees with these groups or supports their ideology. Many do not. However, when there are few alternatives, people adapt. They follow the rules because they need to survive, not because they believe in them.

This distinction is important. This helps explain why these groups are so difficult to dislodge. Their strength does not come only from weapons but also from how deeply they are embedded in local realities.

Why military strategies fall short

International efforts have largely focused on fighting these groups and rebuilding the authority of the Malian state. Although well intentioned, these kinds of interventions often overlook something essential: what happens to the spaces these groups leave behind?

An example is France’s 2013 intervention. The French army helped the Malian army to regain control of the northern part of the country from advancing Islamists during Operation Serval. The aim was to stop extremist forces from advancing to Bamako. This did not end the conflict. Many fighters moved to rural areas where the state had little presence and built ties with local communities.

In central Mali, where cattle farming is a key source of income, this dynamic contributed to the spread of violence between Fulani and Dogon communities, reinforcing grievances exploited by extremist groups.

Simultaneously, attempts to strengthen state institutions have struggled. In some places, security forces are seen as ineffective and even abusive.

Faced with this reality, people often turn to whoever can offer some level of predictability and protection, even if that actor is an armed group.

External involvement has also become increasingly fragmented. France’s withdrawal, rising anti-western sentiment, and the arrival of Russian-linked forces have created a crowded and sometimes conflicting intervention landscape.

Different actors bring different agendas, and their presence does not always translate into greater security. In some cases, it can even worsen things by reinforcing tensions or weakening trust in already fragile institutions.

Caught in the middle, civilians make difficult choices daily. Their decisions are rarely ideological but rather about survival.

Rethinking the response

We conclude from our findings that a more grounded approach would begin by listening to local realities. It would address the gaps that allow armed groups to take root. This means improving access to justice and security, supporting local institutions, and taking grievances seriously. It also means recognising that legitimacy is built from the ground up, not imposed from above.

Mali’s experience shows that there are clear limits to what military force can achieve on its own. As long as interventions overlook the everyday realities of governance and survival, they are unlikely to bring about lasting change. Until that shift happens, armed groups will remain hard to dislodge, not only because they can fight but also because, in many places, they have become part of how life is organised.

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How Off-The-Shelf Drones Are Changing Jihadist Warfare In West Africa

BY MAKUOCHI OKAFOR

Jihadist groups are increasingly carrying out drone strikes in West Africa, raising alarm that they are building the capacity to wage a "war from the skies".

A leading violence monitoring organisation, Acled, has recorded at least 69 drone strikes by an al-Qaeda affiliate in Burkina Faso and Mali since 2023, while two Islamic State (IS) affiliates have carried out around 20 - mostly in Nigeria, which has been battling numerous insurgent groups for almost 25 years.

The latest drone attack took place in Nigeria's north-eastern Borno state on 29 January, when jihadists carried out a two-pronged assault - with multiple armed drones and ground fighters - on a military base.

The military said nine of its soldiers were killed in the attack by the Islamic State of West Africa Province (Iswap) - identified by Acled as the "most prolific" IS African affiliate in "drone warfare".

The jihadists tended to carry out strikes with "commercially available, relatively inexpensive quadcopter [unmanned] drones" that were "rigged with explosives", while also using them for reconnaissance and surveillance missions in preparation for ground attacks, Acled senior Africa analyst Ladd Serwat told the BBC.

Despite the fact that Nigeria's government tightly controls the import of commercial and hobby drones and prohibits their use without official permission, the jihadists were able to obtain them through their smuggling networks across the region's porous borders, said a Nigeria-based senior researcher at the Good Governance Africa think-tank, Malik Samuel.

"The growing use of armed and surveillance drones by violent extremist groups in the Sahel and Lake Chad region is deeply concerning, and it marks a significant shift," security analyst Audu Bulama Bukarti told the BBC.

"Drones lower the cost of conducting attacks, allow militants to gather intelligence with minimal risk and enable strikes on military targets that were previously harder to reach," he added.

According to Serwat, Iswap has carried out 10 drone strikes since 2024 in north-eastern Nigeria as well as in northern Cameroon, southern Niger, and southern Chad - all countries affected by the insurgency in Nigeria.

A similar number of drone attacks were carried out by another IS affiliate, the Islamic State of Sahel Province (ISSP), in West Africa, Acled data shows.

In its latest attack, ISSP carried out an assault on the international airport in Niger's capital, Niamey, and nearby military bases, also on 29 January, with the defence ministry saying that four military personnel were injured and 20 of the assailants were killed.

Serwat said that while some reports claim ISSP used mortars and RPGs, others suggest that the militants carried out a drone strike.

"If a drone was used, this represents the first time ISSP used an explosive-laden drone in Niger," he added.

The jihadist group that has used drones the most is the al-Qaeda-affiliated Jama'at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (JNIM). Acled says it has carried 69 strikes in neighbours Mali and Burkina Faso, and one across the border in Togo.

"JNIM's drone programme has developed rapidly and spread across interconnected networks in Mali and Burkina," Acled's senior West Africa analyst Héni Nsaibia said.

Military Africa, an online defence industry source, reported that last February, JNIM had also used what are known as first-person view (FPV) drones - when the pilot has a live feed from the drone - to drop improvised explosive devices, made from plastic bottles, onto military positions in Burkina Faso's Djibo town.

"This marked a significant escalation, as FPV drones - small, agile, and often used in Ukraine - allow precise targeting," Military Africa reported.

Samuel said the jihadist groups were influenced and trained by foreign fighters to constantly adopt new methods - from making roadside bombs and suicide belts, they had now learned to turn "off-the-shelf" drones into weapons.

Drone attacks could reduce casualties among jihadists, while achieving greater "effectiveness" in hitting targets, Samuel said.

Acled analyst Nsaibia told the BBC that while the majority of JNIM's drone attacks in Mali and Burkina Faso had targeted the military and allied militias, some had also hit civilians, including markets in communities perceived as being aligned with government forces.

As for Iswap, it was known to have carried out only one drone attack that hit civilians - in June 2025, when two pastoralists were killed and one injured in northern Cameroon, Nsaibia said.

In a report last year, a researcher at the South Africa-based Institute for Security Studies, Taiwo Adebayo, wrote that to combat the threat, West African armies needed to carry out "preemptive strikes" to destroy drone assembly and launch sites, and acquire more counter-drone technology, including jamming devices and air defence systems.

Otherwise, he warned, the jihadists could enhance their drone warfare capabilities and carry out "high-impact assaults" that could worsen instability in West Africa.

Trump’s Framing Of Nigeria Insurgency As A War On Christians Risks Undermining Interfaith Peacebuilding

AILI MARI TRIPP

VILAS RESEARCH PROFESSOR OF

POLITICAL SCIENCE, UNIVERSITY

OF WISCONSIN-MADISON

Nigeria “must do more to protect Christians,” a senior U.S. State Department official demanded on Jan. 22, 2026, during a high-level security meeting in the African nation’s capital, Abuja.

The comment followed an attack just days earlier in which more than 160 worshipers were kidnapped from three churches in Nigeria’s northern Kaduna state.

The security meeting came a month after the United States, in cooperation with the Nigerian government, launched an airstrike from a U.S. Navy ship in the Gulf of Guinea on the northwest Sokoto state. During the Christmas Day incident, 16 Tomahawk missiles costing around US$32 million hit several locations the U.S. claimed were being used by extremist groups.

There were no verifiable casualties, although the strike did send a signal that the U.S. administration is willing to take military action when it is deemed necessary. President Donald Trump heralded the attack a “Christmas present” to Christians and later warned that there would be more strikes if the killings of Christians continued.

As a scholar of African politics, I know that calling the insurgency in Nigeria a persecution of Christians – as the U.S. administration has repeatedly done – is simplistic and ill-informed. Yes, Christians have been killed and kidnapped as part of the prolonged terrorism campaign by Boko Haram and other extremist groups. But so too have other groups in the country, including Muslims. Moreover, the religious identity of the victims masks other motives of the militant groups involved.

I recently carried out interviews in Maiduguri, Borno State – the epicenter of Boko Haram activities in northeast Nigeria – as part of research into interfaith efforts to counter threats from Islamic extremists. For many of those interviewed, the insurgency and violence have often served to unite Nigerians with different religious identities against a common enemy: the groups making their life a misery. The danger of Trump’s narrative of this being a war on Christians is that it could undermine such efforts to build cross-community trust.

A complex conflict

Since 2009 there have been 54,000 deaths related to the violence in Nigeria and the surrounding Lake Chad region, according to independent violence monitor ACLED.

The Christmas airstrike by the U.S. was in northwest Nigeria, targeting a small group of Lakurawa militants. But 85% of all incidents related to Islamic fighters in 2025 were in northeast Nigeria, according to ACLED.

Northern Nigeria is primarily populated by Muslims, in contrast to the whole of the country, whose 240 million people are split roughly 56%-43% between Muslims and Christians.

Many of those killed and abducted in the insurgency in the north have been Christian. But the exclusive focus on Christians by the U.S. administration overlooks the complex realities behind the violence in Nigeria, which incorporates not just extremist groups but also farmer-herder tensions, land and water disputes exacerbated by climate change, ethnic rivalries, poverty and organized criminal gangs referred to as “bandits.”

Boko Haram, which regards the Nigerian state as its main target, has killed both Christians and Muslims, as has the Ansaru, an al-Qaida affiliate. The Islamic State – West Africa Province, another major insurgency group, targets state forces and Christians.

While the most recent high-profile attacks have been on churches, Boko Haram also targets markets, mosques and homes. They are opportunistic attacks that don’t discriminate between Muslims and Christians.

To be sure, the Nigerian government’s response to the insurgency has been inadequate. But again, the reasons are complex and the result of a confluence of factors, including corruption in the security sector, negligence and the difficulty of targeting groups that employ guerrilla tactics outside of government control, which make them especially elusive. Political factors may also be at play, since elements within the Nigerian government may be complicit with northern politicians backing some of the land-grabbing and kidnapping bandits.

Even with these barriers, some progress has been made. According to the Africa Center for Strategic Studies, Boko Haram attacks have declined by 50% since 2014-2016, when they were most active, although rates have been increasing again since 2023.

Interfaith efforts

The Nigerian government itself has welcomed assistance from the U.S. targeting insurgents, but with the proviso that Nigeria’s sovereignty and territorial integrity be respected.

The concern is that military action on the part of the U.S. under the guise of protecting Christians in Nigeria could make matters worse. It risks exacerbating tensions within the country and giving credence to those in Nigeria and abroad who focus only on the killing of Christians for their own narrow purposes.

At the same time, it could undermine the efforts of civil society organizations and women’s associations, in particular, that have worked hard to build interfaith trust between Muslims and Christians to tackle the insurgency threat.

Some of these organizations, such as the Women of Faith Peacebuilding Network, have been at the forefront of the fight against militant groups. An interfaith movement founded in 2011, it now comprises over 10,000 Christian and Muslim women. It carries out vocational training and promotes interfaith dialogue and strategies to reduce conflict.

Following the abduction of over 300 schoolgirls by Boko Haram in Chibok, Borno State, in 2014, a coalition of women’s rights organizations – comprising both Christian and Muslim members – mobilized to protest the kidnappings.

The Federation of Muslim Women’s Associations in Nigeria, or FOMWAN, is another organization that is actively engaged in interfaith initiatives nationwide. In a January 2024 interview, a FOMWAN member based in Maiduguri told me that the Boko Haram crisis has united women across religious divides more than ever before.

Maryam, whose name I have changed along with other interviewees to protect their identity, explained: “FOMWAN has been in existence for many years before the insurgency. And in our activities we had been teaching our Muslim women religious tolerance in Borno. But the insurgency has made us put more efforts into making sure there is religious tolerance among Muslims and Christians.”

A Christian evangelist preacher, Mary, told me that working together had significantly reduced the mutual fear and mistrust between Muslims and Christians. Before the rise of Boko Haram, interfaith collaboration between the two groups was low. But today, she noted, it is far higher.

“We came to understand that this set of people doing this killing are neither Christian nor Muslim. They’re working for selfish interests, not for religious interests. We now strategize and come together to work as one. The key issue to (the conflict) is poverty. The only solution is for us is to speak with one voice. That’s the only way for us to survive.”

‘Each other’s keeper’

The U.S. administration would, I believe, do well to listen to the voices of these Christian and Muslim peacebuilders in northern Nigeria who live with the daily threat of violence.

Their lived experience has informed an approach to Nigeria’s insurgency based on shared purpose that cuts across religious divides.

In the words of activist Mama Pro, when asked why she was so keen to build interfaith bridges in Northern Nigeria: “We are always each other’s keeper.”

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