Blockades are not a new phenomenon in the storied history of central Mali. Ancient conflicts, such as those involving the Ségou State or the Hamdalahi Caliphate in the 19th century, left behind tales of villages encircled, cut off from vital supplies and movement until their eventual surrender. However, with the expansion of Katiba Macina, an affiliate of the Group for the Support of Islam and Muslims (JNIM), this tactic has evolved into a contemporary, systematic, and politically calculated strategy. A blockade no longer merely punishes a territory; it has become a method of governance through coercion, a way to enforce obedience without establishing a formal administration.
This harsh reality is evident across several emblematic locations in Mali’s Mopti and Bandiagara regions, including Marébougou, Saye, Kori-Maoundé, and the critical Parou-Songobia bridge on National Road 15. These areas reveal that a blockade extends beyond a simple military closure; it profoundly impacts mobility, agriculture, commerce, education, gender relations, and even local forms of authority. The objective is clear: to make life unbearable for those who refuse to submit.
In targeted communities, fighters often attempt to impose what residents refer to as a benkan, a Bamanan term generally denoting a pact or compromise. In practice, however, it functions less as an agreement and more as a series of unilateral injunctions: mandatory payment of zakat (an annual alms based on Islamic solidarity) on harvests and livestock, closure of schools, compulsory veiling for women, prohibition of music, and restrictions on social gatherings. The local terminology used for this arrangement masks a deeply unequal relationship, rooted in constant threat and violence.
Marébougou’s brief resistance
The overarching strategy remains consistent: suffocate communities to force compliance or, at minimum, resignation. Yet, the specific methods vary depending on local power dynamics. Where armed resistance is weak or has been dismantled, blockades can lead to forced submission. Conversely, if self-defense groups persist, the isolation intensifies, transforming the siege into a prolonged ordeal where civilians bear the heaviest burden.
In Marébougou, located in the Djenné circle, a breaking point occurred in 2021. Residents defiantly rejected the Katiba Macina’s directives, which included closing schools, enforcing the veil, abandoning certain markets, and imposing agricultural and livestock levies. This firm stance against Katiba Macina fighters was bolstered by regular patrols from security forces and the presence of a donso (traditional hunter) encampment.
Between 2019 and 2021, central Mali saw a surge of enthusiasm and confidence in the ability of self-defense groups to confront jihadist factions. Armed engagement by these groups was often framed as grassroots counter-terrorism, and some of their leaders maintained close ties with official security forces. However, much like the jihadist fighters, some of these leaders also enriched themselves through cattle theft and various levies on villagers, ostensibly for protection. Marébougou’s armed resistance proved short-lived; following the defeat of self-defense groups by jihadists in October 2021, the situation drastically shifted. A complete blockade was then imposed for six months.
Targeted assassinations of influential hunters
This dire situation gradually trapped Marébougou in an impasse. Access to markets was severed, travel on roads became perilous, fields were difficult to cultivate, and essential supplies were blocked. After this period, Marébougou accepted what many considered a pact for survival. This was not an act of conviction but a forced adaptation aimed at ending numerous deaths from starvation (residents reported that “even salt was scarce,” a commodity usually abundant), restoring some mobility for food and medicine, and restarting an economy paralyzed by months of market closures. In return, the village’s social and religious life underwent profound changes.
Beyond Marébougou, the consequences of this defeat reverberated throughout the flooded delta region, particularly in the Djenné and Macina circles of the Mopti region. Leading up to the confrontations, self-defense groups had amassed hundreds of fighters from various backgrounds. The defeat eroded popular enthusiasm and trust in these groups, and the lack of immediate response from security forces allowed Katiba Macina fighters to escalate pressure on neighboring localities like Sofara, Macina, and even Niono. In addition to harassing villagers, Katiba Macina carried out targeted assassinations of influential hunters, some of whom had coordinated the general mobilization for the battle of Marébougou. These eliminated hunter chiefs were also accused by jihadists of collaborating with security forces and monopolizing pastoralist resources, including livestock and access to water points and grazing areas.
In Saye, the 2023 blockade intensified through 2024 and 2025, completely disrupting economic and social life. While the dynamics mirrored those observed in Marébougou, the situation here differed. The rejection of the benkan was more direct and sustained. Residents believed they should not obey an external religious authority, especially since they considered themselves “good Muslims.” Beyond religious matters, villagers felt they had already lost most of their possessions and saw nothing left to protect by submitting to a local agreement whose proponents had already stripped them bare (burned harvests, stolen cattle, severed access to weekly local markets). Resistance in these localities coalesced around traditional authorities, youth organizations, and donsow fighters.
Humanitarian overload to force village surrender
The enforced immobility in Saye cut off access to agricultural lands, pastures, and numerous trade routes. Men were largely confined to the village perimeter; those who ventured out were often killed or abducted. Women, perceived as less threatening by the fighters, sometimes managed to leave the village to forage for food, firewood, and straw for weaving mats and fans. This relative freedom did not shield them from the structural violence of the siege; rather, it illustrated how the blockade reshaped social roles and risks.
The case of Saye demonstrates how armed groups exploit population movements to increase pressure on villagers and compel their submission. Due to its historical influence (Saye resisted the Ségou power in 1782), its refusal to accept the benkan led several defiant villages to seek refuge there starting in 2023. This influx created a sudden surge in demand for food and medicine and intensified pressure on local public services, already weakened by the blockade and the inability to resupply from nearby urban centers like Djenné or San. The siege did not merely confine; it intentionally created a humanitarian overload to force the village into surrender.
In other villages within the Bandiagara locality, the situation varies. Since 2018, Kori-Maoundé has been marked by the presence of Dan Na Ambassagou fighters, a self-defense movement staunchly resisting any negotiation with jihadist groups. Local authorities (village chiefs, imams, mayors) adhere to this hardline stance. Consequently, direct dialogue with Katiba Macina remains unconsidered, and the blockade has become increasingly punitive.
The memory of resistance against the french
Isolation in Kori-Maoundé was gradually imposed through targeted attacks, assassinations, movement restrictions, and prohibitions for transporters to stop or pick up passengers. By 2024, access to fields was almost entirely forbidden. The blockade aims not just to control the locality but also to send a message by targeting a territory considered an enemy stronghold, where some local authorities and populations remain loyal to Dan Na Ambassagou’s armed resistance. Similar to Saye, the collective memory here preserves fragments of resistance against French colonialism, including a decisive battle on the Kori-Kori hills in April 1892, the ultimate step in the colonial capture of Bandiagara. For the self-defense group fighters and villagers, the idea of a pact of submission is not on the agenda, despite pressure from Katiba Macina fighters. Moreover, this village has become a sanctuary for displaced people from other communities.
In this configuration, the plateau’s topography and the presence of the self-defense group may slow direct offensives but do not halt the village’s gradual strangulation. Civilians pay the price for non-negotiation, forced to flee to Bandiagara, Sévaré, or Bamako, or to survive in increasingly precarious conditions on site.
The role of mediators remains crucial. Figures of intermediation exist and possess a certain legitimacy, allowing for dialogue even under severe constraints. In Marébougou, neighboring mayors acted as intermediaries between the village and the fighters. In Saye, however, no such initiative truly developed. In Kori-Maoundé, Dan Na Ambassagou’s influence prevents local mediation, and attempts by the regional reconciliation support team (Ministry of National Reconciliation) remain disconnected from the village’s concrete challenges.
This comparison highlights a frequently overlooked reality in Mali politics: blockades are not solely a military affair. They also depend on the presence and capacity of political, traditional, or religious intermediaries to transform armed power dynamics into dialogue. In the absence of mediation, violence tends to persist.
Schools, agriculture, and livestock: village cornerstones
In all these villages, schools are far more than mere places of learning. They represent a cornerstone for families, a hub for social interaction, a promise of a future, and, crucially, one of the last tangible signs of state presence. In Kori-Maoundé, as in Marébougou and Saye, the arrival or pressure from armed groups has led to teachers fleeing, classes closing, and students dispersing.
The closure of schools is not just collateral damage. It is part of a broader shift where the withdrawal of administration gives way to other forms of regulation, whether religious or armed. When a school disappears, it’s not only education that diminishes; an entire collective future shrinks.
However, the primary impact of a blockade often falls on agriculture. When fields become inaccessible, when cultivators are attacked, or when harvests are burned, the very heart of the rural economy suffers. In Marébougou, only fields close to the village remain exploitable. Everywhere else, insecurity drastically reduces arable land, forcing households to depend on external supplies—which become impossible due to the siege.
Livestock farming and cattle trade, vital complements to agriculture, are also severely affected by blockades. Mass abductions of herds devastate entire families. Weekly markets, essential to the rural economies of the Ségou and Mopti regions, become rare, inaccessible, or dangerous. This particularly diminishes the autonomy of women, who are deeply involved in market gardening, processing, and small-scale trade. The blockade not only destroys incomes but also the networks of exchange that sustained these territories in West Africa.
Strengthening community bonds
Yet, living under blockade is not solely defined by suffering. In all three villages, our investigations reveal crucial forms of mutual aid essential for survival, including food sharing, water pooling, assistance to the sick, division of daily tasks, and support for vulnerable households. In both Saye and Marébougou, many speak of strengthened community bonds in the face of adversity.
These solidarities do not eliminate hunger or fear, but they temporarily delay the complete collapse of the social fabric. They demonstrate that residents are not merely passive victims of armed conflict. They actively participate in their own survival by locally creating forms of protection in the absence of state presence.
Marébougou, Saye, and Kori-Maoundé collectively reveal that the blockade in Mali is far more than a simple tactic. It now functions as a true technology of territorial control. By dominating roads, markets, schools, and social norms, these armed groups radically transform daily living conditions. While they do not systematically occupy all villages, they increasingly influence the daily lives of populations across Mali. From one village to another, responses vary—from forced surrender and prolonged resistance to outright refusal to negotiate, partial flight, or pragmatic arrangements. However, the fundamental question remains the same everywhere: how to survive when everything connecting a territory to the wider world (roads, fields, schools, markets) can be severed overnight? In the Ségou and Mopti regions, blockades not only cause shortages but also establish a political order based on fear, impacting Mali current affairs and the daily lives of its people.