How are spheres of influence being redrawn in the shadow of the war in Ukraine, and why is Africa increasingly choosing Russia over Paris?
At a conference in Cairo that brought together the foreign ministers of more than fifty African states, Sergey Lavrov symbolically rounded off something that has been unfolding in Africa for over a decade. While the West is preoccupied with the war in Ukraine, sanctions, and internal crises, Russia has quietly—but ever more decisively—moved into the space that has opened up on a continent long reserved for former colonial powers and their security and economic structures. Africa has once again become a strategic arena for Moscow, not merely a peripheral part of the world.
The roots of this return go back to the Soviet era, when Moscow supported liberation movements in Angola, Mozambique, Ethiopia, and South Africa. At that time, the Soviet Union positioned itself as an ally against colonial empires, and the memory of that assistance still lives on among many political elites today. After the collapse of the USSR, Russia largely withdrew from Africa, focused on its own fractured system and relations with the West. Only with Putin’s consolidation of power—and especially after 2014, when the first major round of Western sanctions followed—did Africa return to Russia’s map. The 2019 summit in Sochi was an important turning point, as it signaled an intention to treat the continent as an equal political partner, not merely as a source of raw materials.
Paradoxically, the war in Ukraine accelerated Russia’s rapprochement with Africa. As Europe shut its doors to Russian gas and oil and Washington escalated sanctions, Moscow began looking to the Global South as a space where isolation could be bypassed. It offered Africa what the West often no longer does: political support without moralizing, weapons without talk of reforms and human rights, and grain and fertilizer at a time when global food prices are soaring. This is clearly visible in votes at the United Nations. Most African states have not imposed any sanctions on Russia and avoid direct condemnation, or they abstain. Some regimes even openly adopt Russian rhetoric about the “fight against hegemony” and “true multilateralism,” a message now echoed at conferences like the one in Cairo.
The most dramatic shift has occurred in the Sahel, a zone that for decades was France’s security backyard. Mali is the clearest example. After a coup, the new military junta gradually broke with Paris. French troops, which had led operations against jihadist groups for years, left the country, and at the same time Russian instructors and mercenaries linked to Wagner began to arrive. In Bamako and other cities, scenes unfolded that undoubtedly stung Paris: young people carrying Russian flags, portraits of Putin, and chanting against “colonizers.” Polls show an overwhelming majority of citizens view Russian influence positively, while trust in France has almost vanished. A similar dynamic later developed in Burkina Faso and then in Niger. Where it was once said that there could be no stability without France, today people speak of a shared future with Moscow and a new alliance of Sahel states.
Another striking case is the Central African Republic. This poor, war-torn country has been almost a laboratory for a new Russian model of security engagement. Russian instructors and fighters linked to Wagner helped the regime survive rebel pressure, and in return gained access to gold and diamond mines. Russian influence has been imposed so strongly that the authorities in Bangui introduced the Russian language as an official one. Cars with Russian license plates drive through the city, and the president’s guards often wear insignia pointing to Moscow ties. For ordinary citizens, this may be just another in a series of foreign patrons, but symbolically it is a powerful message that the colonial Paris–Bangui axis has been broken and replaced by something new.
Economically, Russia’s footprint in Africa is still smaller than that of China or the West, but it is becoming increasingly visible and strategically focused. Trade revolves mainly around energy, grain, fertilizer, and weapons. Russia is one of the largest suppliers of wheat to African countries, and after the collapse of the Black Sea grain export deal, Putin announced that several of the poorest African states would receive shipments of Russian grain for free. This move is both humanitarian and political. It sends the message that Moscow, unlike Europe, will not shift the “side effects of war” onto Africa’s shoulders. In situations where the price of bread determines government stability, such gestures leave a deep mark.
There is also the nuclear energy sector. Rosatom is building Egypt’s first nuclear power plant, a project worth tens of billions of dollars that ties Cairo to Moscow for generations of engineers, technicians, and politicians. Similar agreements, at least on paper, have been signed with several other African countries. Nuclear technology is not just business; it opens the door to security and high-tech dependence. In the background is the idea that a future Africa, facing growing energy consumption, will meet part of its needs with Russian reactors and fuel.
The strongest channel of Russian influence remains the military-security sector. For years, Russia has held a leading share of arms exports to the African continent. Algeria, Egypt, and a number of other states buy fighter jets, air defense systems, and tanks of Russian manufacture. In many countries, officers are trained in Russia, exercises are held with the Russian military, and in crisis situations Moscow offers instructors and special units where the West conditions assistance on political reforms. Even South Africa, which formally insists on neutrality, holds joint naval exercises with Russia and China precisely on the anniversary of the invasion of Ukraine, sending a message that its foreign policy will not follow the wishes of Washington or Brussels.
An interesting and often underestimated part of the story is media and informational influence. RT and Sputnik have long broadcast in English, Arabic, and French, but in recent years they have specifically targeted the African market. Russian state agencies organize training for African journalists, offer free content to local portals and radio stations, and spread a narrative of Russia as the heir to the anti-colonial struggle. At the same time, in countries like Mali and Burkina Faso, authorities expel French media, creating an information vacuum that Russian sources readily fill. On social media, memes and videos circulate portraying Putin as a leader who defies the West, while French and American politicians are mocked. Combined with real frustrations toward the postcolonial order, this propaganda offensive has tangible consequences.
What Africans themselves think about all this is clearly shown in polls. In Sahel countries that have cut ties with Paris, the majority of the population views Russia as a positive force. In Mali, a large number of respondents say the country should side with Moscow in the conflict with Ukraine, while almost no one mentions Kyiv. Similar sentiments exist in Burkina Faso and Niger. In other parts of the continent, the picture is more complex. In Kenya, Nigeria, Senegal, or South Africa, respondents understand that the war in Ukraine is a violation of international law and do not openly support the Russian invasion, but they also do not want their countries to be part of a Western front. Most opt for neutrality, or for the view that Africa should not be dragged into someone else’s war that makes bread and fuel more expensive. In these societies, Russia does not have idol status, but it does have the image of a necessary counterweight to Western dominance.
The relationship between Russia and China in Africa is particularly interesting. China’s presence is enormous, from roads and ports to telecommunications and mines. Russia does not have anything close to that economic capacity, so it naturally turns to what it knows best: security, weapons, energy, and diplomacy. The two powers formally speak the language of partnership and mutual support, but their cooperation on the ground resembles a quiet division of labor. Where China builds infrastructure, it needs a minimum of stability, and often it is precisely Russian military presence that keeps regimes alive. At the same time, African governments use the rivalry between Beijing and Moscow to negotiate better terms for loans, repayments, or energy supplies. Africa is not a passive chessboard, but a space where the global order is renegotiated day by day.
Moscow’s plans for the future with Africa point toward institutionalizing this relationship. Regular summits, multi-year action plans, agreements on education programs, military training, food security, nuclear energy, and digital infrastructure create a framework that goes beyond mere trade. In the narrative offered by the Kremlin, Africa is a key pillar of a multipolar world, a continent that for the first time in modern history can choose its partners. Russia presents itself as a partner that understands colonial trauma and does not deliver moral lectures, but in return it seeks access to mines, ports, air corridors, and political votes.
It can be debated whether Russia’s advance truly brings liberation to Africa or merely a new version of dependency. Much depends on whether African states manage to use great-power competition to their advantage, or once again remain locked into others’ geostrategic plans. But one thing is clear: France and the wider Western powers no longer have a monopoly on influence, and the Russian flag is appearing ever more frequently where the tricolor of the former colonial ruler once stood.
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