MINUSMA, a post mortem

Part Three: departure

So the vote is in: MINUSMA will depart and the drawdown will begin immediately. Departure procedure will end on December 31 this year. 

Let’s be blunt. MINUSMA has been a disaster, not seen since the doomed UNAVEM II mission that sent Angola back to civil war. UNAVEM II was the mission during which the late Dame Margaret Anstee, its leader, famously quipped that she had been asked to fly a 747 (the UNSC resolution number that established UNAVEM II) with only enough fuel for a DC3, given the gigantic task UNAVEM had to perform with the resources available. In the end, MINUSMA was more like a Volkswagen Beetle that had been given the engines and enough fuel to power an Airbus. It just had nowhere to land the damn thing. 

To the Bamako junta MINUSMA was, to paraphrase its populist parlance, “the last enemy of Mali”. For the reasons explained in the previous part the colonels want it out because they detest the prying human rights eyes of these UN busybodies. We want to kill people in peace, thank you very much. Couple that with the just-adopted new constitution, which will concentrate even more power in the hands of the president (Macron must be green with envy) and we have the contours of a fully-fledged military dictatorship, ostensibly put in place with the full consent of the Malian people – at least those of the 39% that bothered to show up for the constitutional referendum vote.

The junta has thus removed the last bulwark standing between the Malian populations, especially in the Centre and the North – and the armed gangs stalking the land: jihadists, self-defence militias, the army, Wagner, other bandits, proxies, rebels. None of these groups portend anything good for the ordinary men, women and children who are trying to survive and stay out of harm’s way. Which will be even more difficult for them now than it was before. As the Dakar-based Timbuktu institute Bakary Sambe says, and I paraphrase: “To those safe, relatively well-off and internet-connected people in Bamako, MINUSMA has always meant something totally different compared to people those in Gao, Ménaka and Timbuktu, where it meant at least some protection.” Insecurity is something a Bamakois rarely has to worry about, even when the armed gang menace has been crawling ever closer to the capital. 

_{UNSG Guterres; he won’t be back in Bamako any time soon}

The Mission’s departure will inevitably mean serious job losses. This is of no concern to the junta, as we could already glean from an earlier one of their actions, when they prohibited any and all activity of NGOs financed from France. Late one February night this year, in one of Badalabougou’s watering holes (a dépôt), I got talking to a very dejected elderly man who had been working for one of those NGOs. He told me that he had been fired as a result of this petty vindictiveness on the part of the junta and was just floating from one informal job to another, barely making enough to survive. He knew of others, who had been returning to their lands and hoped to survive that way. Multiply this by a couple of thousands and you’ll have an idea of what this will mean to the economy. 

Of course, just like the development circuit, these are all artificial economies with vastly inflated salaries that bear little connection to the actual economy out on the streets. But the shock will nevertheless be significant as those salaries end, spending ends, kids may well drop out of schools because their parents can no longer afford the tuition fees. Supermarkets will see their revenues fall, no so much Bamako’s wonderful and ubiquitous we-sell-everything corner shops, which will continue as before. 

But the larger picture goes beyond that of a violent vindictive military junta hell-bent on maintaining itself in power. It is the entirety of the UN mission model that is in urgent need of a fundamental re-think. The ones I witnessed that were successful were Mozambique (1992-94), Sierra Leone up to an extent (1999 – 2005) and ditto for Liberia (2003 – 2018). And even then serious question should have been asked about the purpose and the effectiveness of these colossal and costly missions. And Angola should have been a wake-up call: when the conditions for a peace mission are absent, don’t send one. But as we saw earlier: conditions obtaining on the ground rarely if at all inform the ones making decisions about such missions. 

At its most fundamental level, then, this is about the yawning disconnect between what missions like MINUSMA are supposed to be doing on the ground and what the air-conditioned policy makers say they should be doing. It’s like organising a workshop about the correct use of fire extinguishers – and tweeting about it – while studiously ignoring the fact that the meeting place has already been doused with gasoline and there’s someone on the way carrying matches. Carayol quotes the French researcher Thierry Vircoulon, who puts it well: “UN missions no longer solve conflicts and bring peace. They stabilise conflicts.” And thus help make them go on forever. MINUSMA’s departure is bad news for the communities where it provided a modicum of protection. But for the dynamics conflicts themselves, the difference will be negligible. To the extent that it is allowed through, there will be more bad news from Mali. 

MINUSMA, a post mortem

Part Two: shifting mandates, human rights

Today, June 30, will see some final horse trading about MINUSMA and this time it is about when it should actually leave. This part deals with MINUSMA’s shifting positions and mandates – and why the Bamako junta hates it with a passion. 

One of the many things often forgotten when discussing these missions is what they can and cannot do. In the case of UN missions, everything hinges on The Mandate and that’s discussed in the UN Security Council, prior to the vote. MINUSMA’s mandate was essentially to protect the civilian population and assist the state in Mali to extend its authority to the entirety of the country. So here you already have the first conundrum: extending state authority inevitably implies the use of violence and thus instability. Non-state armed groups are not known for their propensity to willingly give up areas they control. And non-state armed groups already controlled large chunks of Malian territory when MINUSMA came in. However, MINUSMA never had an offensive mandate, even when it said in its original mandate of 2013 that one of its tasks was to prevent armed elements to return to areas from where they had been removed. Contradictions were built in from the start. 

Going after the b*st*rds that were killing and raping civilians, burning their homes and stealing their stuff was always going to be the work of the Malian Army or the new regional French anti-terrorism force, Barkhane, headquartered in the Chadian capital N’Djamena. MINUSMA was not allowed to do this. Barkhane, meanwhile, quickly morphed from a liberating force into a neo-colonial occupation force, both in terms of behaviour and public perception. Worst of all: security never got any better. It is, of course, easy to see how any and all foreign intervention, French or multilateral, was going to be seen as part of the problem. 

_{The memorial shrine dedicated to those who fell while on MINUSMA duty, Bamako, 2018.}

Meanwhile, a lot of the Dutch MINUSMA troops supposed to do all manner of things (from gathering intel and patrolling dangerous areas to helping the people living in these areas), shared a pervasive sentiment: boredom. Partly because The Mission took forever to take shape* and party because the situation had already started to deteriorate, with violence spreading to other parts of the country, prompting the UN Security Council to change MINUSMA’s mandate on several occasions. And that was a sure sign that the mission was bound for failure. 

*This is in no small part owing to the UN’s absolutely maddening bureaucracy. I got an early glimpse of that in Mozambique, during the fairly successful ONUMOZ operation. A small Dutch contingent was building a school in the central town of Beira, which was going to train landmine clearing personnel, landmines probably being the most evil deposit of guerrilla warfare and counter-insurgency in places like Mozambique, Angola, Guinea Bissau, Afghanistan, Somalia and many more. It prompted me to get involved with the admirable International Campaign to Ban Landmines, which has been remarkably successful. The reason, according the engineers, why things were going so terribly slowly was “Bureaucrats. Even if you need a box of nails you need to send a memo to New York…”. They told me that at times and in complete and utter frustration they’d end up buying these things around the corner, from their own money. 

Some of the other things The Mission managed to do successfully, especially in Bamako, was to drive up house prices, make the Lebanese-owned supermarkets a ton of money and create a thriving prostitution industry. As one of my Bamako friends, a taxi driver, put it (slightly differently from what I’m telling you here): “When night falls, all I take to these MINUSMA hotels are girls, all the time…”. 

_{A Bamako sunset}

As security deteriorated and human rights abuses multiplied on all sides, the one part of The Mission that proved resilient was the way it consistently reported on human rights abuses, until the current lot in power made that impossible. 

Let us be extremely clear about one thing: all participating sides in this conflict have committed human rights abuses. None excepted. Carayol documents French excesses in their secret prison at their base near Gao. The French-led bombardment at Bounty on January 3 2021, which killed 22, was widely reported and it was MINUSMA’s Human Rights Division that pointed the finger at the French for bombing a wedding party. The French Ministry of Defence has always shrilly and stridently denied this, using the exact same arguments as the Malian junta in order to delegitimise the findings. 

The non-state actors in this conflict, all those marauding armed gangs that rain terror on the populations who flee in large numbers have committed terrible crimes against innocent unarmed Malians. They have had their loved ones killed, their homes burnt down, their possessions stolen, their cattle taken, their fields destroyed and nowhere to go. And then there are the exactions carried out by the Malian armed forces, something they have been doing since the 1960s, when they violently put down the first post-Independence Tuareg rebellion. Now with their Russian ‘partners’, essentially consisting of an estimated 1,000 to 1,500 thugs belonging to the private military outfit Wagner, they have been involved in extended killing sprees, the worst of which occurred in Moura late March 2022, where 500 men, women and children were murdered in cold blood. The point of sending MINUSMA packing is that these killings must continue without anybody looking. 

_{PIC: acotonou.com}

There were of course enough indications that the colonels who took power through two coups (August 2020, May 2021) and are in absolute charge of politico-military proceedings had MINUSMA in their crosshairs. Nothing says “I want you to leave” more clearly than when you commit crimes against those you want to depart. This was one of the objectives behind their act of taking 49 Ivorian blue helmets hostage on July 10 last year. Sure, the UN’s mind-boggling bureaucracy in tandem with the neo-liberal idiocy of sub-contracting out certain tasks (air transporting the troops in this case) previously performed by the UN were all contributing to this perfect sh*t storm. But the main culprits are of course the colonels in Bamako, who cooked up a nonsense story about 49 ‘mercenaries’, in order to send the signal to MINUSMA that they were no longer wanted. 

The two other objectives were to cock a snook at the Ivorian president Ouattara for his leading role in applying heavy sanctions to Mali in the wake of the coups, even when his own continuation in power is highly controversial and very questionable. And the last objective was a classic Mafia move: taking hostages to get what you want. In the old days, when criminal gangs were taking hostages in Mali’s deserts the point was money. This time, their kindred spirits in the comfort of their air-conditioned offices wanted two ministers (including the former defense minister Tieman Hubert Coulibaly) but most of all Karim Keita, the despised, venal, violent and corrupt son of the president they had deposed in August 2020, who is said to be “sipping champagne in Assinie”, a high end resort area just outside Abidjan where only the rich and the privileged go. 

When it became clear that their methods would not yield what they wanted, the Bamako colonels ended the whole farce by staging a show trial and then wheeling out transitional president Assimi Goïta to ‘pardon’ the remaining 46 (three female blue helmets had been released earlier) and send them all home. It is to the credit of the Ivorian authorities that this has not escalated. Ivorian social media, highly notorious for their inflammatory rhetoric, had already started circulating calls to attack Malian citizens (“chacun son malien”) who work in Côte d’ivoire and send money home. In any case, this was the clearest indication yet that time was running out for MINUSMA and its annoying emphasis on human rights. 

The vote at the UNSC is expected later. Once it’s out I will publish the conclusion of this MINUSMA saga.

MINUSMA, a post mortem

Part One: horse trading

Today, June 30, the United Nations Security Council will vote to end – and I will say this only once – the United Nations Multidimensional Integrated Stabilisation Mission in Mali, a name that was as bloated as its size, budget and remit. It’s MINUSMA (using the French acronym) for the rest of this piece. Or simply: ”The Mission”. I will offer you a three-part post mortem as the day goes on and the vote seals The Mission’s fate.

MINUSMA’s departure, though earlier than expected, is not a surprise. It was the latest in a geopolitical scuffle between – roughly – the world’s autocracies under the ideological aegis of a brutal violent rogue state (Russia) and a group of ageing democracies that have no idea how to deal with the brutal new world order and whose own track record is far from stellar – and that’s putting it very mildly. Mali’s military leaders have chosen the former camp, by helping the French anti-terrorist force Barkhane and a similar but much smaller European effort (Takuba) leave the country, blowing up the doomed regional (and France-sponsored) G5 Force Sahel and now by ejecting one of the worst large-scale missions in United Nations history. 

_{MINUSMA fanfare, their instruments. UN Day, Bamako, 2018}

Compared to previous UN missions I visited, the one in Mali was difficult. No more “Here’s your press pass for the next year” (UNMIL, Liberia) or getting in a taxi and driving up to the nearest office in Bouaké to get the name of the rebel spokesman you needed so you could work in his fief (UNOCI, Côte d’Ivoire). None of that: you wait outside a sprawling camp close to the airport under a modest tree in the blistering heat at Bamako-Sénou, until someone shows up to collect you. In fairness, the welcome thereafter was very warm. 

With varying degrees of intensity, I have been following eight such missions since 1992, from Mozambique and Angola through Liberia and Sierra Leone and into Côte d’Ivoire and Mali and a few more besides. So this one’s about the end of MINUSMA in Mali. How it began, how its genesis has little if anything to do with Mali, how it never fullfiled its mandate, how its mission creep ended up giving it a purpose and how that purpose was precisely what the military junta and its new Russian masters hated about it…

No peace to keep, nothing to stabilise

The origins of MINUSMA are murky. Already the ridiculously long name bestowed on The Mission bore no relationship to the situation on the ground. What was there to stabilise? Nothing. The French that had paved the way for The Mission through Opération Serval had swept some of the invading bands of armed criminals from the main towns of Gao, Ménaka and Timbuktu but these groups were readying themselves for a return – and return they did. So why would the UN Security Council decide on a $800m (now $1.2bn) per year that had no chance to succeed, when regarded form a neutral standpoint? 

Well the answer is of course that the decision to establish the mission had nothing to do with the situation in Mali. In his excellent book (and yes, I owe you a review as promised) Le mirage sahélien, my colleague Rémy Carayol talks about the way France used its influence and clout at the UN and especially its Department of Peacekeeping Operations to a) shape MINUSMA in its image and b) ensure that MINUSMA could not be framed as a French operation. However, the objective remained the same and that was: combat terrorism, entirely in keeping with the French #1 obsession. So while the mandate talked about protecting civilians and helping to restore state authority throughout all of Mali, the main sponsors of The Mission had other designs, for which MINUSMA was never intended.

_{MINUSMA was a multinational effort, except for human sacrifice. Most of the almost 200 troops that died were African.}

Similar with another great mover and shaker for MINUSMA at the time, my country – The Netherlands. And while the Dutch government was completely on board with the twin obsession of halting migration and terrorism – often conflated in European political discourse – and considered the security of the Malian population an afterthought, like the other major sponsors, there was another agenda: overcoming the Srebrenica trauma. 

One of the last Dutch actions in a UN peacekeeping force oversaw the cold blooded mass murder of almost 8,400 men and boys at Srebrenica, now in Bosnia-Herzegowina. Dutch politics at the time still possessed a shred of honour and Srebrenica caused the fall of the government. But also the withdrawal of The Netherlands from the international arena. Mali was going to herald the Dutch return to that arena. 

Domestic politics and diplomatic horse trading at the UN Headquarters in New York ended up producing MINUSMA. Mali, where there was nothing to stabilise and no peace to keep, was but an afterthought. The Dutch cabinet, for its part, made it abundantly clear that when it came to assessing merit, purpose and objectives of its participation in The Mission, the opinions of experts were irrelevant. French and Dutch agendas converged a little more when Bert Koenders, who was struggling to find his feet during another UN operation in neighbouring Côte d’Ivoire (it was mostly regarded as a nuisance by all sides in that conflict) was moved to Mali where he very usefully and conveniently proved equally out of his depth. But his French is excellent and this was of course pleasing to Paris, which wanted someone in the job that would listen to them. Koenders lasted just over a year in the job before expeditiously making his way back to the safety of a plum ministerial job in The Hague. 

On the Malian side there was of course also a keen sense of business. After all, it was none other than Foreign Minister Abdoulaye Diop, the very same Abdoulaye Diop who shrilly demanded MINUSMA’s departure in June this year, who spoke very warmly of the fine cooperation between his government and The Mission, back in 2014. MINUSMA was a good thing to have and rent could most likely be extracted from it. 

(to be continued shortly)

An Afghanistan scenario in Mali? Part 4 and conclusion.

Interrupted by a very severe malaria attack on this author and a missing laptop, hence the gap between Part 3 and this, the final installment. But here it is, at last.

I do not know how close the interpretation of Islam as espoused by the Taliban is to the majority of Afghans. In the case of Mali, though, I can safely say that while the majority of the country’s population is staunchly conservative, it cannot abide by Sharia Law. The cosmopolitan, spiritual, open, tolerant, flexible, family-run versions of Islam that prevail in West Africa are proving remarkably resilient under the sustained attacks from its poor, claustrophobic, rigid and backward cousin from the Middle East. The Gulf states plus the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia continue to throw a lot of their money – paid for by the rich world’s petrol addiction – into the impoverishment of West African Islam but it remains to be seen whether the investment is paying off, especially seen against the background of diminishing revenues from an increasingly tainted commodity: oil.

Besides, the choices African individuals and families make are often informed by pragmatism. I caught an early glimpse of this three decades ago in Southern Africa, where parents sent their children to Catholic or protestant schools, not because they were staunch adherents to these religions but simply because these schools often offered the best education. This pragmatism surely persists to this day.

Similarly, the lavishly funded mosques and their attached associations provide services others do not. This does not mean that every West African – is turning into a Wahabist Muslim…there is, for instance, still a reassuringly small number of fully veiled women out on the streets. They use the service provided and keep thinking their own thoughts. After all, one of my colleagues stated with laser beam precision and clarity what it is we are dealing with: “Make no mistake. The Islamic variant coming from the Gulf constitutes a full frontal assault on our African culture and values.” Reducing women to fully covered quasi-inanimate objects runs counter to traditions that are much older and have deeper roots. In my own book on Guinea, I mentioned the destruction of sacred statutes and masks in Guinea Forestière, in the name of Islam fighting false idols. The vandalism in Timbuktu springs to mind again, described by one elder as his city being robbed of its soul. One would like to believe that after the forced departure of most of the illiterate vandals it may get some of its soul back. 

A neighbourhood bar

In short, then: popular support for this strictest of interpretations of the faith is not happening, even though people take their faith very seriously. But they also value their ancestral roots and culture, traditional music, and certainly like to be left alone to pursue their way of life in ways they see fit. And that includes enjoying their drinks and worshipping their families, the indestructible cornerstone of West African life. 

No Taliban-style force will show up in the capital the minute the French leave, which they will do before too long. No bearded “fool of god” (copyright: my Malian friends) will reside in Koulouba, the presidential Palace on Power Hill in Bamako, no matter how ardently Iyad ag Ghaly desires this – and I continue to suspect that he will remain an ardent apostle of the true Faith until a better deal comes along and he may change tack yet again…

The much more fundamental problem, as the human rights veteran and UN expert Alioune Tine argues following a recent visit to Mali, is the problem of an absent state. With no formally recognisable structures visible, however colonial-alien-superimposed they may be, the upshot is that in their absence others have moved into this void. And those filling the void have been, by and large, armed gangs whose behaviour is frequently as atrocious as that of the state representatives (read: the armed forces), they have come to replace. In the first six months of this year, the UN mission to Mali has recorded almost 600 human rights violations. All of the groups I have mentioned in this series are involved. That is a hell of a lot for the population to take. And it is the women like the ones I spoke with in Fana and Ségou, the elderly, the children, who are most at risk. It is, says Tine, so bad that this proliferation of horror could precipitate the end of Mali as a state-run unified unit. You can argue that in some areas this is already the case. Gao, as close to the Wild West as you are likely to get at this point, gets its supplies from Algeria taken across the desert by experienced drivers who have deals with the gangs of bandits reigning in and around town. The situation may be replicated in other places. 

And this is the real menace to Mali. Not a lightning takeover by an insurgent force but a slow and inexorable decline, leaving Bamako and maybe a few other key cities as islands of relative safety and stability in an ocean of chaos. Are there solutions? Yes, and the most obvious one is unpalatable: turning the country into a federation, which could in fact make this ungovernable and frequently ungoverned space of 1.2 million square kilometres governable again, at least up to an extent. This reduces the influence of Bamako, shorthand for the place where all the money goes and where all political and military power players and influencers converge. And once you’re in, the place is sweet. This is why even the soldiers running the show today are disinclined to let federation and the concomitant decline of Bamako happen. 

But circumstances may force the hand of whoever is in power. After all, as I am hearing so often: the problem is not the North or the Centre, or the militias, or the jihadists. The problem is Bamako. Solve that, and you solve the insurgency. If ever this happens it will not be pretty. But it may well save the country, as it re-emerges in a different form. 

An Afghanistan scenario in Mali? Part 3

So the parallels, superficial or less so, between Mali and Afghanistan, have a limited shelf life. This is illustrated very well by Lyammouri’s assessment, which I share, that we are not going to see gun-toting turbaned men at the presidential palace (called Koulouba) on the Colline de Pouvoir, along the road to the military base at Kati. In fact, Koulouba’s current occupant is the colonel from Kati who took power a year ago, Assimi Goïta. And he shows no signs of departing. Mali’s decadent political class – propped up by the West – that brought the country to its current lamentable state was not removed by a religious insurgency, as happened in Kabul this week; they were kicked out by a popular movement followed by a coup. And what the people now want most of all from this military-dominated government is a return to security. And this is where things get really complicated.

Because there is not one dominant Islamic insurgency. When discussing religious insurrectionism in Afghanistan, talks are generally restricted to one word: Taliban. (Whether this is fair or not I don’t know.) Mali is home to a dizzyingly large number of outfits with guns that often fight each other, like the Al-Qaeda and Islamic State franchises (JNIM and Islamic State in the Greater Sahara) that have been at each others’ throats on and off for roughly two years. There are also any number of self-defined self-defence militias that attempt to secure their communities and then go out and attack other communities. Some of these attacks have been particularly bloody. We also have the old phenomenon of proxies. The Malian army has been working with them for decades and they have also been associated with Opération Barkhane in the border region with Niger and Bukina Faso, near the town of Ménaka.

But most of all, we have widespread and spreading banditry that can take the guise of any of these groups. It also happens that they throw away any and all pretence and just go after your stuff and your money. “Not a single road in and out of Gao is safe,” asserts a friend who lives there. And he cannot even properly describe the tit-for-tat killings going on there because he knows that some of these hired guns enjoy protection at the highest possible official level. And we just had the revelation of yet another scandal that implicates a private businessman and army personnel with the sale of arms to jihadist and/or self-defense units. Reports of hold-ups, break-ins, armed robberies and active gangs of highwaymen come in from all corners of the country. Mali is far less safe from folks with empty pockets, a propensity for crime – and, crucially, in possession of guns, mobile pones and motorbikes – than it was even three, four years ago.

If this is giving you vertigo, worry not. You are not the only one. Take a boat stroll on the calming waters of the eternal river.

Understand, then, that the simple “us” versus “them” scenario (“the single story”) that the media are so fond of and that is portrayed to be playing out in Afghanistan simply does not exist in Mali, which is why international media, by and large, igore this story. Too darn complicated.

The proliferation of armed groups – including those self-styled, self-professed and sometimes genuine jihadis – is the result of a collapsed state. State collapse did not happen overnight or in a blitz offensive by an insurrectionist army. It happened slowly, death by a thousand cuts, scandal after scandal after scandal. Bribes over here, reported by Malian journalists and blithely ignored by Mali’s so-called “partners” in development. (Thou shalt not speak ill of a donor darling.) The importation of unusable agriculture inputs with some well-connected traders getting rich and farmers left destitute and desperate. A drugs flight here. A deal with insurgents there. Kickbacks from lucrative negotiations for the release of Western hostages. Unvetted rebels like the one we met yesterday sent to diplomatic posts. And on and on it went. By the time, early 2012, that the MNLA made its ill-fated invasion and established its stillborn Azawad, the army had been demoralised to the point of immobility, the jihadists Algeria had tossed across its border ito Mali’s vast desert were already waiting in the wings as the state lay on its death bed. And yes, as always and everywhere, the poor and the vulnerable end up paying the highest price.

What is left of the state in Mali is kept in place by donor money and revenue from gold mines, all but one foreign-owned. It is kept safe principally by foreign troops that are on the way out. And in the meantime, it continues to rot from within. Nobody seems to care. The assault on the country by a bewildering array of armed groups continues and even though none of them will run this country (and certainly not under an Islamist extremist flag), the horror they visit on ordinary people continues unabated and goes unnoticed by the world at large. As if they do not even exist.

An Afghanistan scenario in Mali? Part 2

So, after foreign intervention and religious insurrectionism, there’s your third parallel between Afghanistan and Mali: a fatally weakened military. Both armies have been prone to demoralisation and bad practices, in spite of numerous and often intensive foreign interventions: training, drills, exercises, workshops…you name it.

The official website of the Malian Armed Forces

There is an excellent article in International Affairs (behind a paywall, unfortunately but you can at least read the abstract) on army “reforms” in Mali. They are supposed to take place and they could theoretically contribute towards returning the FAMa to their (historical) glory. In measured prose, the author lays out the non-dilemma: everyone knows the reforms are not working, everyone continues to pretend they do and in so doing they keep a lucrative and utterly pointless exercise up and running, while the situation remains as it is. To be fair, Mali’s army has a strong reputation among the population and is seen as a source of pride, which is why the military removal of the discredited political class hat presided over the demise of the FAMa was met with such widespread approval. However, the colonels now in charge must deliver on security and this has – so far – proved Mission Impossible, not in the last place because of this man.

From his latest video

This, ladies and gentlemen, is Iyad ag Ghaly, a colourful character with a chequered history that brought him in contact with the Libyan leader Gaddafi when the latter was busy financing rebellions across the continent. Ag Ghaly is said to have participated in some of the Great Libyan Leader’s armed incursions into neigbouring Chad. But he was also and already occupied with the struggle for an independent homeland for his people, the Tuaregs: Azawad. This brought him into contact with music and the mythical band Tinariwen, which aligned itself with the Tuareg cause, mostly through music. Ag Ghaly gave them money for musical instruments but he was never part of the band as some French media have suggested.

At this point, he was in Tripoli and led the life of the true rebel leader: drinking, dancing, clubbing, chasing girls. But that changed when after the Second Tuareg Rebellion in the 1990s (which ended with the famous foreign-sponsored Flame of Peace in Timbuktu, March 1996) he was integrated into Mali’s central government structures in Bamako and sent to the north of the country to help negotiate the liberation of Westerners taken hostage by ordinary criminals who would later re-emerge as…jihadists. Ag Ghaly knew most of these characters already.

It was at this point that he embarked on a slow but sure process of radicalisation, which was crowned by his encounters in Saudi Arabia (where he got a post as a diplomat) with the Pakistani zealots of Jamaat al-Tabligh. He returned from the Middle East a proper zealot and ready to…start another short-lived Tuareg rebellion. Opportunism is ag Ghaly’s middle name and it still remains to be seen whether the religious principles he has adopted are as resilient as his laser-precise instinct for survival.

*

In sum, you have (and the list is not even exhaustive): religious radicalisation, the immensely complex and intricate Tuareg family and clan politics, Bamako politics, the Algerian secret service, the Algerian military, the criminally stupid operation that removed Gaddafi, more failed rebellions, money, alignment with former criminals from Algeria turning to jihad, the death or disappearance of some of these… and in all this the constant factor is ag Ghaly’s extremely adroit manoeuvring that made him, over time, the most prominent jihad chief in the country and the region. In the second decade of this century he became the nominal head of Jamaat Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimin (Support Group for Islam and Muslims or JNIM), an Al Qaeda franchise that incorporates among others the MUJAO already mentioned and a hyper-active outfit called the Front for the Liberation of Macina, led by a fanatical priest from the centre of Mali, Amadou Koufa.

“Our time has come,” intones ag Ghaly in a video released six days before the Taliban victory. In his message he praises the bloody jihadist expansion in Mali and beyond, which has led to thousands of deaths and millions of refugees and internally displaced persons in Mali, Niger, Burkina Faso and neighbours. He adds that he cannot be stopped and demands the departure of France, a notion that goes down very well with some radical circles in Bamako. I have covered some of their demonstrations and talked to the organisers.

Like his friend and ideological ally imam Mahmoud Dicko, Iyad ag Ghaly opportunistically combines a relish for Islamic rule and a dislike for Western-style democracy and mixes this into a potent highly conservative ideological cocktail. But, as the researcher and analyst Rida Lyammouri of the Rabat-based Policy Center for the New South argues, none of the armed Islamist extremist groups out there in the vast savannas have the rear bases, the numbers, the capacity or the popularity to rule. This is why they do not lay siege to the capital but terrorise poor defenceless villagers. And they do so with utterly depressing frequency: 15 soldiers dead in Mali, 80 soldiers and civilians dead according to latest count on August 20 in Burkina Faso, 137 dead in Niger – month after month after month. Ordinary women and men, working their land, going to market, sent to an invisible moving frontline, and mostly trying to mind their own business and wanting to be left in peace.

An Afghanistan scenario in Mali? Part 1

The August 16 Taliban takeover of Afghanistan has – supposedly – sent shockwaves through Mali. In fact, what was more on Malians’ mind was the first anniversary, the next day, of the coup d’état that ended a failed experiment in democracy that lasted a decade longer than America’s “longest war”.

Sure, in the many “grins” (pronounce this in French), the nighttime talking circles around cups of tea you see everywhere, the Taliban takeover will have come up for debate. But the subject will then have been followed by discussion about last year’s military takeover, the corrupt leftovers from the previous political era, the chances of Mali’s national soccer squad in the next African Championship…

We have been here before. When the “Arab Spring” happened (a historically illiterate moniker if ever there was one) we were told that “Africa” – yes, it’s always the ENTIRE continent – was waiting its turn, patiently, to have a stab at democracy, too. Never mind that popular movements against unpopular autocrats have been part of the political landscape since the 1960s and earlier, from South Africa to Burkina Faso (twice) by way of Zanzibar and…Mali, 1991.

So, Mali and Afghanistan, then. Are there no parallels between the two? Of course there are. But they need careful examination, rather than the hurried hackery of the easy comparison. Both countries have religious insurgencies on their hands, even though methods and status are widely different. The similarity is that Western powers have used the might of their military to blunder their way in and out of these situations, leaving some success in their wake and a lot of damage. The US Army, the French Opération Barkhane – both of which are in the process of being dismantled after 20 years and 8 years respectively – have been employed to tackle issues that were either non-existent or tagged on the original mission for good measure. In many parts of the receiving countries, they will largely be remembered for drone strikes on wedding parties.

The US invasion was the result of 9/11; the French invasion was the result of an armed jihadist outfit crossing a red line and threatening Bamako, the capital city. The US got its attacker in the end; the French chased away the menace. Both suffered mission creep and engaged in things they should have left to the people living there. The pretence that you can bomb a country into becoming a nation, for instance. Now, presidents Biden and Macron must paper over the multiple cracks left behind by their policy wonks with the kind of smooth rhetoric both are very good at.

The French and US operations tagged lots of partners along, from NATO to the EU to individual states including my country, The Netherlands and, of course, the bewildering alphabet soup of NGOs wanting a piece of the action. Their presence illustrated more than anything else the intimate links, pioneered by France in Biafra, between the civilising mission that NGOs have become to personify and brutal military action. Mali became the scene of MINUSMA, the UN multidimensional integrated stabilisation mission, one of the deadliest UN operations in the history of the organisation. MINUSMA has clear nation building pretenses, even though there is no peace to keep or enforce, nothing to stabilise and the dying is mainly done by African troops, in the best colonial traditions.

When it comes to pretenses, the other protagonists are pretty serious about one thing and here’s a second parallel between the two countries: the religious insurgents in Central Asia and the Sahel have as their goal to establish Sharia Law in the areas they control. Now that the Taliban are back in power in Afghanistan, their brutal rule from 1996 to 2001 is the obvious reference and the first signs do not look good. Jihadist vandalism in places like Bâmiân and Timbuktu leaves no illusions of how Islamic extremists treat the culture and traditions of the areas they occupy or colonise. Let alone the people…

The original attraction of jihadist rule is that it restores order. This happened, for instance, when one such group (called MUJAO, Movement for Unity and Jihad in West Africa) removed the thieving looting unruly rebels of the Tuareg rebels of the MNLA from the remote town of Gao in 2012. But the new Islamist order soon solidified into asphyxiating oppression – and the people of Gao took to the streets again. Any imposition of Sharia Law in Mali will prove deeply unpopular and I do not get the impression that the idea is universally shared in Afghanistan either.

Are they lurking on the other side? This is the Djoliba; it runs through Bamako and past Ségou, Timbuktu and Gao. In Ségou, they are said to be “just behind the river”. I never saw them. In Timbuktu and Gao they are hiding among the population. Mali’s sole artery has become a dangerous place, a haven for bandits instead of a prospering waterway.

Sure, Malians profess support for Sharia Law and applaud the Taliban takeover – on that most modern of communication vehicles: social media. Facebook messages are blindly copied and shared. None of this sharing makes you any the wiser about what a country run by the Taliban actually looks and feels like. The pro-Taliban position in the capitals around the Sahel is much better explained by a profound and widespread detestation of everything Western, in particular, France. Opération Barkhane is seen as an occupying force, although not necessarily by the people living in the North. They know, from experience, that the presence of foreign troops is some guarantee that Mali’s national army will behave itself.

Mali’s army, FAMa, is an inheritor of a long and proud military tradition that has been thrown to the dogs during the democratic era, when successive presidents sought and succeeded to divide and corrupt it. This is not to say that there have not been excesses before; the ultra-violent suppression of the first Tuareg insurrection after Independence (1963-64) has left deep scars in the soul of a nascent nation, which have never received proper treatment. But the rapid decay in morale and resources – the direct cause for the 2012 and the 2020 coups – happened during the era of democracy, while the international donor community held its nose, looked the other way and praised the country to the heavens while pretending nothing was amiss as the rot set in.

part 2 tomorrow.

The face mask: a status symbol

An upmarket riverside restaurant in Ségou. A collection of FourWheelDrives has been parked before the entrance. Inside, a party of clearly well-to-do individuals, dressed to the nines. It is lunchtime and they have come to this place to be very well fed and watered. And another thing they have in common: all wear face masks. Not while they are eating of course; the masks are then lowered to cover their chins. This fashion statement is marginally more ridiculous than the already quite ridiculous habit of shoving your spectacles up your crane when you don’t use them, instead of putting them safely away. As for the masks, only a few have stored them in their bags or inside pockets but they will appear again once lunch is over and they get back into their FourWheelDrives to wherever they are having their gathering.

Here’s another frequent phenomenon: a lone man or a lone woman, behind the wheel of their luxury vehicle. Nobody else is there but they drive around in a face mask. I will confess to having a good old laugh when I see this but it clearly points at a social phenomenon.

One more, then. In spite of all the problems and troubles and asymmetrical violence this country has been subjected to over the past nine years, there is one phenomenon that is inexplicably resilient: the workshop. This whole region is absolutely addicted to the workshop, invariably dedicated to subjects that are fashionable in the donor countries that supply the money for these occasions. We call this ‘development’.

Workshops, trainings, evaluations and assorted other gatherings of VIPs are typically held in an upmarket place in the capital (Bamako, Niamey, Ouagadougou) or any other major urban centre (Ségou, Sikasso, Bobo Dioulasso…) that is still accessible. The deteriorating security situation, something these gatherings are not designed to address, limits the available options. But there are still more than enough accessible urban centres with multiple star hotels, the natural habitat of workshops.

On one such occasion, it was lunchtime, a procession of ladies filed out of the conference room on their way to the tables, where the food had been lovingly and lavishly laid out. My lunch table was, rightly and correctly, relegated to the margins of the establishment. The participants all wore fine clothes, some had elaborate head dresses; quality mobile phones were on display and they all marched to the tables wearing face masks. Yes, every single one of the development-oriented (upper) middle class gentlewomen wore one, without exception. No doubt they proceeded to discuss the plight of the poor, over lunch. I was out of earshot and should, of course, have been out of sight, too.

Alright then, one more…

Recently, we had a Very Important Visitor in town. That fact that this was a Very Important Visitor was made obvious by a Gendarmerie pickup truck ordering everybody off the Boulevard 2000, a very wide and very smooth stretch of road that takes all dangerous traffic (including Very Important Visitors travelling at high speed) around Ségou, instead of through the city, where they have to negotiate a stretch of tar road that has been in an utterly horrendous condition for at least a decade and a half…but I digress, unlike the caravan of the Very Important Visitor.

After we all had been made to stop going about our business, an impressive number of vehicles careened past. I’d say a dozen and a half. FourWheelDrives, of course. Pickup trucks. Even the odd saloon car, obviously in excellent condition. If she brings along a caravan this long I wonder how many cars wil accompany the President if ever he decides to come over here. You may as well close business for the day…

The next day, I saw the same procession move away (slowly this time) from the Governor’s Office, located of course in a very leafy part of town, and it was here that I was able to notice the many lone men and the occasional woman sitting at the wheel of their vehicles. Only a few had someone to talk to during the drive and almost all of them wore…a face mask. I am sure the maskless will get a stern lecture before too long. The visitor, incidentally, was the Minister of Health. She had first paid her respects to the town’s bigwigs and religious leaders, had then paid a visit to the various health facilities, had been able to see for herself the deplorable condition they were in and naturally terminated the tour by promising to do something about it. I was told the same has been said numerous times about the decaying tarred surface of Ségou’s main thoroughfare…

So what is this social phenomenon you may wonder. The penny dropped when I witnessed the following scene in one of Bamako’s upmarket supermarket our affluent friends – and expats – frequent.

A classy lady had parked herself and her rapidly filling trolley in one of the aisles. Meanwhile, her underling, a girl in a dress that was intended to denote her inferior status, was being sent around the shop to get the required items. (In fairness, I will add here that this does not happen very frequently; most of the time the girl is left at home and Madame does her own shopping.) And there, as if to emphasize the different stations of life these two women occupied, I noticed that Her Ladyship was wearing a face mask; her servant was not.

Couple that with the astute observation of an old friend who is a regular visitor to Mali, when he remarked that it looked to him as if the face mask had become a status symbol and the insight became even clearer: that is precisely what it is. It may be the case – not very frequently though – that the face mask wearer signals the aspiration to belong to this exclusive top class club but in almost all instances the face mask says: “I belong to the elites. I’m wealthy. I’m connected. I’m in.” Hence the ubiquitous presence of face masks at summits of heads of state, meetings between important representatives of international bodies and ministers, UN representatives, international NGOs and businesses. Money not only talks these days; it wears a face mask too.

Ordinary people in the streets, in Bamako’s green Sotramas (those privately run public transport minibuses), in the markets, on their motorbikes, working on the land, in the downmarket shops and eateries…do not wear one. My conservative estimate is that 95 per cent never bother with a face mask. And yet these are places where space is in far shorter supply than in the upmarket abodes of the elites.

It has been said before: in Mali, Covid19 is an issue that virtually never invites itself in any discussion. Of course it is an issue – for people who travel by air and these are mostly the same people who are found in expensive cars, expensive homes or expensive workshops. Besides, in a country where you are far more likely to die of malaria, water-borne diseases, meningitis or the incredibly polluted air in the homestead or the city, Covid19 takes its place at the back of the queue. Of course, the initial responses were quick and adequate because people remembered the horrors in next door Guinea (and to a limited extent back home) of that other deadly virus, Ebola. But Covid19 is mainly an obsession for those who can afford to be obsessed – and buy the masks at 500 francs apiece, the price of a roadside meal.

A mask or a meal: now you understand the priorities.

(More on Covid in Mali? Read my Corona Chronicles, written last year.)

Sidiki and Mamacita: a Malian love story from Hell

‘Oh, they knew for years that he was doing it. Everybody knew!’ 

“He”, in this account by a colleague of mine is Sidiki Diabaté, arguably Mali’s biggest musical star and export. He produces syrupy love songs, invariably accompanied by videos that feature large bungalows, swimming pools, big cars, expensive clothes – and jewellery that bedecks beautiful women. Mariam Sow, affectionately known as ‘Mamacita’, would not have been out of place in these videos. She was Sidiki’s girlfriend and it is her we should be mostly talking about. 

This story has nothing to do with sweet syrup or jewellery and that’s where the “doing it” part of the opening quote comes in. It began on September 14, when Mamacita put photos on her Tik Tok account, showing a body. The body was covered in wounds and bruises, as if someone had been using whips, fists and even sharp instruments to inflict pain and damage on the victim. Mamacita made it unequivocally clear that the body in the picture was hers and that the scars and bruises were the result of the actions of her boyfriend, with whom she had been living for as much as six years. She told a Senegalese television station that she had been held captive for months and that she had been hit with electric cables. Probably other things too. 

Let’s get the eternal question out of the way first: why stay? I can give you a number of reasons, and that’s speaking from experience. First, your abuser is not only an abuser. He or she also has qualities that attracted you to him/her in the first place. Your abuser is still capable of either turning on the charm or simply showing you why and how you fell for them in the first place. It is only when the balance flips decisively that you start thinking that this relationship may be unhealthy and you should be leaving. This is a long drawn-out process. 

The second reason is best summarised in that short English phrase: it is the hope that kills you. In short, you never lose hope that sometime, somehow – and preferably as a result of your benign interventions – your abuser will change and/or improve. It takes time and effort to be disabused of that notion. Which brings me to the third reason: normality. Abusive relationships tend to adopt a pattern: abuse – resistance – fights – make up – abuse – resistance – fights – make up and so on, ad nauseam. Gradually, you begin to regard this pattern as normal. It takes a blinding flash of insight on your part or (more often) external intervention to snap you out of this doom-laden reverie. Hence the efforts abusers put into isolating you, either by simply preventing you from getting out or by throwing an almighty tantrum if and when you do de-isolate. It is a highly pernicious game they play and Mamacita was, by all accounts, subjected to all of this. 

And to violence, at the hands of an entitled violent little brat, who counted the equally dysfunctional DJ Arafat from neighbouring Côte d’Ivoire among his friends. He paid just under €11,000 for Arafat’s funeral, after the Ivorian icon rode himself to death last year, whilst doing ‘demonstrations’ with his beloved motorbike on a public bridge in Abidjan. In an ante-echo of Mamacita’s, the fate of the female journalist Arafat injured during his deadly antics was of no interest to his fans. 

Sidiki’s family has asked for forgiveness, and I think this includes his father Toumani (yes, that Toumani, arguably the best kora player the world has ever known). Even – and to my massive astonishment – Oumou Sangaré added her voice to those pleading for forgiveness, a plea she later retracted. Others have joined her.

Indeed, this may astound you. Large chunks of Mali’s music scene have migrated to Camp Sidiki, which decided from the moment that Mamacita broke her story to go as low as inhumanly possible to tarnish her name and save their hero. One commentator on social media summarised rather awkwardly that a minority painted Sidiki as the devil incarnate, while a rather larger portion went out of its way to paint Mamacita as manipulative. Highly suggestive below-the-belt remarks were directed at his now former girlfriend (like I said: no low is low enough for these people). Some went still further and claimed that she, a poor girl from Guinea with a troubled family history, was being used by feminists to destroy Mali’s top selling artist. In short, they wheel out the tired old conspiracy trope, to which activists like Fatou Harber (Tubuntu Woy on Facebook and her friends have only one reply: to hell with that nonsense. A demonstration on the streets of Bamako, late September, beautifully captured by the very talented photographer Ousmane Makaveli, featured placards that said among other things: “You beat a drum. Not your wife.” 

From the demonstration at the Place de l’Indépendance. Retrieved from afrik.com

Mamacita’s lawyers have recounted what their client has told them: Sidiki stands accused of (at the very least) sequestration and causing grievous bodily harm. Those syrupy love songs suddenly sound not just hypocritical but downright sinister. Meanwhile, Camp Sidiki elected it necessary to leak a sextape onto the internet, in which the girl from Guinea apparently was a participant. No, I have not seen it and I never will. 

Just under a fortnight after Mamacita released her images, Sidiki was finally arrested. And while African Muzik Magazine Awards (Afrimma) did the honourable thing and removed his nominations, musicians playing for other well-known Malian artists went on a demonstration in Paris, demanding his release. A Dutch radio maker, journalist and blogger, Alie de Vries, also a hugely committed fan of Malian music, had enough of the double standards and pulled the plug on her Music from Mali channel. You can read her comments on the events here. It is called “The fallen star” and written in Dutch. The damage to the carefully curated image of Mali’s musicians, frequently met with the starry-eyed gaze of Western adulation, could be considerable. 

Will justice be done? This is a hard question to answer, even today, when the political protection the Diabatés used to enjoy has been yanked away following the August 18 coup that removed president Ibrahim Boubacar Keita and his clans from power. (The Diabatés, father and son, were part of the campaign for the re-election of the deposed president.) The other problem is that, like everywhere else in the world, a prominent position means that you can literally get away with murder. I still have the article from an Angolan newspaper in which it is described how a high-ranking military officer escapes the law after he has drunk-driven a schoolgirl to her death on the Ilha de Luanda and makes it so that the journalists covering this scandal and the family sharing their grief with the newspaper are subjected to threats. We do not have many intrepid journalists wanting to pursue a story featuring the violent acts allegedly committed (yes, even here we must retain the principle of the presumption of innocence, however difficult) by one of Mali’s biggest selling artists. But we should not lose hope, as activists have argued. This case is so terrible that it could be a marker for change. 

office du tourisme, Mali

Indeed, impunity seems almost written into the DNA of the elites, of which Sidiki is most decidedly a part. It takes one visit to one of Bamako’s most exclusive discotheques to get a sample of that. The place, called Ibiza, is a horrid hell of bad taste, awful music played extremely loud, overpriced drinks and unpleasant people, where nauseating entitlement mingles with utter disdain for those lower in the pecking order, like the taxi driver who was beaten up for not getting out of the way quick enough as a luxury car was looking for a place to park. To the surprise of no one, the lowlifes who perpetrated this act were said to be Sidiki’s mates, cut from the same cloth of those who went out of their way to diminish Mamacita in every way they could, reducing her to nothing and the violence meted out to her as a non-event. Ibiza, also the scene of shootouts, is a showcase of the moral decrepitude of Mali’s elites that got so bad that people were willing to go out on the streets in their thousands to ask – and even die – for the departure of Bamako’s champaign class, and applauded when soldiers took them away.

Anyone who has ever lived through short or prolonged periods of abuse (psychological, physical, or both) knows that any and all abuse is a full negative and should have no place in the place you call your home. Justice must take its course. If Sidiki is found guilty he must go to jail. What this means for his career is irrelevant. To those still agonizing about his talent and worried about his future and asking for forgiveness I would direct these questions: where is Mamacita in all this? Does she not deserve compassion and justice? Should you not worry about her future? Or do you just continue to spit in her face, like so many in Mali’s musical community are currently doing? Will you help her get up and reconstruct her life? The answers to those questions will tell you a lot about yourself. 

Mali: the death of 1991

President Ibrahim Boubacar Keita (IBK) is gone. And Mali will be none the better for it. Parallels with the exact same event, in March 2012 will inevitably be drawn. Yes, some things are the same: working conditions and pay of the soldiers supposed to fight Mali’s asymmetrical wars were terrible – they still are. Corruption and poor morale permeated the Army in 2012; they still do.

Other things were also present in 2012 and have become considerably worse. Insecurity, previously mostly a problem of the North, has spread to the centre and is now threatening Bamako. Is it the jihadists? Well, that’s what the Islam-obsessed West wants to believe. But truth be told, jihad is either a poor disguise or an ideological fig leaf for mostly criminal activity, born out of a complete lack of any perspective, thanks to the now ousted government and the ones that preceded it. Will this coup make these things better? No, it will not.

Corruption stalked the land in 2012 and still does. The roads in Bamako have fallen apart during this last rainy season because they are not maintained. Why are they not maintained? Because the money that is supposed to go into this rather crucial repair work disappears. This country relies on donor money for just about everything and the fact that we are living with terrible roads, appalling electricity delivery, grotesquely bad drinking water services, dreadful education and dire health care is testimony to the fact that the donor money earmarked for this work never arrives where it should. We send the money and close our eyes. Will this coup make that problem go away? No, it will not.

So we have spreading insecurity, corruption and the absolute point blank refusal to deliver basic services to the population. Anything left, then? Oh yes, religion has risen, as I have argued in various places. The opposition movement that was clamouring for IBK’s departure has in imam Mahmoud Dicko the leader that fills the gargantuan hole where a government should be. And more than anything, that hole is moral. Will this coup address that moral deficit? No, to all intents and purposes the ones who organised this chain of events are very much part of the problem.

1991 ushered in an era of democracy, we are told. The popular uprising + coup that put an end to the repressive reign of General Moussa Traoré was most decidedly welcome. But democracy is not the same as ‘doing whatever the hell I want’…and that’s what we have seen Mali’s new elites do and that behaviour has been extensively copied.

At the heart of Mali’s problems lies the absence of moral leadership that should have come from Generation 1991, of which IBK was a part from the very beginning. But there are no ideals, no agenda, no moral leadership…just greed and money. Yesterday’s coup has laid to rest three decades of increasing moral bankruptcy. Will it invent some moral leadership? Posing the question is answering it.

IBK’s government was besieged by three different contesting groups. One, the M5 Movement, did not know what it wanted. I know this because I asked them: “OK, you want IBK gone. Fine. Then…what?” To which came this shocking answer: “Oh, we don’t know. It’s all in the hands of God.” Well sorry folks, but that just will not do for a country of 22 million souls, some of whom are looking at you for guidance.

The second, the Army, has solved whatever issues it had with the government by removing it. This was about pay and positions. The head of the Presidential Guard was fired on the eve of the coup and you can bet your last euro that he wasn’t too damn well pleased with that… He also has friends in Kati, from where this coup came, just like the one in 2012. The soldiers have no truck with a political opposition and religion is something between you and Allah.

However…imam Dicko and his entourage see things very differently. They are the only ones who actually have a plan for Mali, which is to turn it into a Sharia state. To be sure, this is an idea that appeals to conservative tendencies present among the majority. But I am not convinced that said majority fully support Dicko’s desired flight backwards into history, before the hated French colonisers were here with their lay republic and their laws and their institutions, none of which are relevant to Malians and their lived daily experience.

After all, Islam is imported, too. And the kind of Islam Dicko wishes to impose on 22 million Malians is not the kind of Islam they aspire to, no matter how conservative they are. Because people also like their music (live, if you please), their drinks (in the privacy of the drinking dens) and their sex (in the privacy of the backrooms behind the aforementioned dens), all of which will be illegal once Sharia law is introduced.

So now you see: none of these agendas run parallel. We had the government and its plan for self-enrichment and lip-service to development, the Army and its nefarious networks and interests, the clueless political opposition and a bunch of adroit political Islamist operators… And then we have the interests of the outside world. ECOWAS has already cut Mali off, like they did in 2012. “We don’t endorse coups,” has been their message to Mali, consistently. The African Union, European Union, UN and the rest of the ‘international community’ will engage in its favourite pastime, prolonged handwringing, and do very little if anything at all. The plethora of military missions will not now be augmented by yet another futile attempt (the European Operation Takuba) and the rest is likely to wind down sooner (Barkhane) or later (MINUSMA).

Post coup, Mali finds itself on its own, borders closed, isolated and alone. Friends will turn their backs until ‘constitutional order’ is restored. In some circles, France will continue to be blamed for everything, which conveniently ensures that the proponents of this noise do not have to reflect on their own responsibilities in all this.

Unless, and only unless…the military finds itself ushered into a position of mediator between what is left of the State and the various insurgencies – and takes this role seriously, only then we just may get somewhere. But for now, we’re in an even greater mess than before.

Malians would be right to think: thanks for nothing, everyone.