For the central regions of Mali, the concept of a blockade is not new. Historical conflicts, such as those involving the Ségou State or the Hamdalahi Caliphate in the 19th century, left behind memories of villages encircled, cut off from supplies and movement until they surrendered. However, with the expansion of Katiba Macina, a group affiliated with the Support Group for Islam and Muslims (JNIM), this tactic has evolved into a contemporary, systematic, and politically calculated strategy. Blockades are no longer merely punitive; they have become a method of governance through coercion, a way to enforce obedience without establishing a formal administration. This reflects a critical aspect of Mali politics and current affairs in West Africa.
The reality of these blockades is starkly evident in several key locations across the Mopti and Bandiagara regions, including Marébougou, Saye, Kori-Maoundé, and the vital Parou-Songobia bridge on National Road 15. These areas reveal that a blockade is far more than 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 unsustainable for those who refuse to submit.
In targeted communities, fighters frequently attempt to impose what residents refer to as a benkan. While this Bamanan term typically signifies a pact or compromise, in practice, it functions as a series of unilateral demands. These include the forced payment of zakat (an obligatory annual alms on harvests and livestock), the closure of schools, mandatory veiling for women, prohibitions on music, and restrictions on social gatherings. The local terminology used for these arrangements masks a deeply unequal relationship, one founded on pervasive threats and violence.
Marébougou’s brief stand against the siege
Across these areas, the core strategy remains consistent: suffocate to compel allegiance or, at the very least, resignation. Yet, the specific methods employed vary depending on the local balance of power. Where armed resistance is weak or has been dismantled, blockades can lead to forced submission. Conversely, in areas where self-defense groups persist, the isolation intensifies and hardens, transforming the siege into a protracted ordeal where civilians bear the heaviest burden.
In Marébougou, located in the Djenné circle, a significant rupture occurred in 2021. Residents openly rejected the demands of Katiba Macina, specifically opposing school closures, mandatory veiling, the abandonment of certain markets, and the levies on agriculture and livestock. This firm stance against the Katiba Macina fighters was bolstered by several factors, including regular patrols by security forces and the presence of a donso camp.
From 2019 to 2021, central Mali saw widespread enthusiasm and confidence in the ability of local self-defense groups to confront jihadist factions. Armed engagement within these groups was often portrayed as a grassroots form of counter-terrorism, and some of their leaders maintained close ties with official security forces. However, much like the jihadist combatants, some of these self-defense leaders also profited from cattle rustling and various levies on villagers, ostensibly in exchange for protection. Marébougou’s armed resistance proved short-lived. Following the defeat of the self-defense groups by jihadists in October 2021, the situation dramatically shifted. A complete blockade was then imposed for six months.
Targeted killings of influential hunters
This prolonged siege gradually trapped Marébougou in an impossible situation. Access to markets was severed, travel on roads became perilous, fields were difficult to cultivate, and essential supplies were blocked. At the end of this period, Marébougou accepted what many viewed as a pact for survival. This was not a submission born of conviction, but a forced adjustment aimed at ending the numerous deaths of villagers due to starvation—witnesses reported that even salt, usually abundant, became scarce. The agreement sought to restore some mobility for transporting food and medicine, and to revive an economy paralyzed by months of restricted access to local markets. In return, the village’s social and religious life underwent profound changes.
Beyond Marébougou, the consequences of this defeat resonated throughout the flooded delta region, particularly in the Djenné and Macina circles within the Mopti region. Leading up to the confrontations, self-defense groups had mobilized hundreds of fighters from diverse backgrounds. Their defeat eroded public enthusiasm and trust in these groups, and the lack of immediate response from security forces allowed Katiba fighters to intensify pressure on neighboring localities such as 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 the jihadists of collaborating with security forces and monopolizing resources from pastoralists, including livestock and access to water points and grazing areas.
In Saye, the blockade initiated in 2023 escalated through 2024 and 2025, completely disrupting economic and social life. While the dynamics mirrored those observed in Marébougou, the situation in Saye presented distinct differences. The rejection of the benkan here was more direct and sustained. Residents believed they should not obey an external religious authority, especially given their self-perception as “good Muslims.” Beyond religious concerns, villagers felt they had already lost most of their possessions and saw no benefit in submitting to a local agreement whose proponents had already stripped them bare through burnt harvests, stolen livestock, and severed access to weekly markets. Resistance in these localities coalesced around traditional authorities, youth organizations, and donso fighters.
Humanitarian overload to force surrender
The imposed immobility in Saye rendered agricultural lands, pastures, and numerous trade routes inaccessible. Men were largely confined to the village perimeter; those who ventured out risked being shot or abducted. Women, often perceived as less threatening by the combatants, sometimes managed to leave the village to forage for food, collect firewood, and gather straw for weaving mats and fans. This relative freedom, however, did not shield them from the structural violence of the siege; rather, it highlighted how the blockade reshaped social roles and risks.
The example of Saye illustrates how armed groups exploit population movements to intensify pressure on villagers and compel their submission. Due to its historical influence (Saye famously resisted the Ségou power in 1782), the village’s refusal to adhere to 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, further straining local public services already weakened by the blockade and the inability to resupply from nearby urban centers like Djenné or San. The siege thus not only confines but intentionally creates a humanitarian overload to push the village towards surrender.
In other villages within the Bandiagara locality, the situation differs. 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, including village chiefs, imams, and mayors, adhere to this uncompromising stance. Consequently, direct dialogue with Katiba Macina remains unthinkable, and the blockade has become increasingly punitive.
The legacy of resistance against the french
The 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 only 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 hardline armed resistance. Similar to Saye, Kori-Maoundé’s collective memory preserves fragments of resistance against French colonialism, including a decisive battle fought on the Kori-Kori hills in April 1892, a pivotal moment in the colonial capture of Bandiagara. For the self-defense group’s fighters and the villagers, the idea of a pact of submission is not an option, despite the pressures exerted by Katiba Macina combatants. Moreover, this village has become a refuge for displaced people from other communities.
In this challenging environment, the plateau’s topography and the presence of the self-defense group may slow direct offensives, but they do not halt the village’s gradual strangulation. Civilians bear the cost of non-negotiation, forced to flee to Bandiagara, Sévaré, or Bamako, or to endure increasingly precarious conditions locally.
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 combatants. In Saye, however, no such initiative truly materialized. In Kori-Maoundé, Dan Na Ambassagou’s influence obstructs any local mediation, and attempts by the regional reconciliation support team (from the Ministry of National Reconciliation) remain disconnected from the village’s immediate challenges.
This comparison highlights a frequently overlooked reality: blockades are not solely a military domain. Their outcome also depends on the presence and capacity of political, traditional, or religious intermediaries to transform an armed power dynamic into dialogue. In the absence of effective mediation, violence tends to persist, impacting Mali current affairs profoundly.
Schools, agriculture, and livestock: village cornerstones
In all these villages, schools are far more than mere learning centers. They represent a cornerstone for families, a hub for social interaction, a promise of a better future, and, crucially, one of the last tangible symbols of state presence. In Kori-Maoundé, as in Marébougou and Saye, the arrival or pressure exerted by armed groups has led to the flight of teachers, the closure of classrooms, and the dispersal of students.
The closure of schools is not merely collateral damage; it is part of a broader transformation where the withdrawal of state administration creates a void filled by other forms of regulation, whether religious or armed. When a school disappears, it is not only education that diminishes, but an entire collective future that shrinks.
However, the primary impact of the blockade often falls on agriculture. When fields become inaccessible, cultivators face attacks, or harvests are deliberately burned, the very heart of the rural economy suffers. In Marébougou, only fields close to the village remain viable. Everywhere else, insecurity drastically reduces the cultivable area, forcing households to rely on external supplies—which then become impossible to obtain due to the siege.
Livestock farming and cattle trade, which complement agriculture, are also severely affected by the blockades. Massive abductions of herds devastate entire families. Weekly markets, vital to the rural economies of the Ségou and Mopti regions, become rare, inaccessible, or dangerous. This particularly diminishes the autonomy of women, who are often involved in market gardening, processing, and small-scale trade. The blockade not only destroys incomes but also the crucial exchange networks that sustain 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 essential forms of mutual aid crucial for survival. These include sharing food, pooling water resources, assisting the sick, distributing daily tasks, and supporting vulnerable households. In both Saye and Marébougou, many residents speak of strengthened community bonds in the face of adversity.
These acts of solidarity 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 conflicts. 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 illustrate that the blockade in Mali is far more than a simple tactic. It has evolved into a sophisticated technology of territorial control. By dominating roads, markets, schools, and social norms, these armed groups are radically transforming daily living conditions. While they may not systematically occupy every village, their influence over the populations’ daily lives is steadily increasing.
From one village to another, responses vary: forced surrender, prolonged resistance, refusal to negotiate, partial flight, or pragmatic arrangements. However, the fundamental question remains the same everywhere: how can life continue when everything connecting a territory to the outside world—roads, fields, schools, markets—can be severed overnight? In the Ségou and Mopti regions, the blockade does not merely cause shortages; it establishes a political order founded on fear, a critical challenge for Mali English speakers seeking to understand the region’s plight.