Since September 2025, the JNIM’s blockade of fuel convoys has turned Mali’s supply routes into veritable front lines. In Bamako as well as in cities in the interior, the shortage has made transport more expensive, disrupted electricity, paralyzed economic activities, and affected essential services. A year later, this strategy of economic asphyxiation primarily highlights a major weakness of the military power: its difficulty in securing the country’s vital arteries.
An economic weapon rather than a mere road blockade
On September 7, 2025, Abou Houzeïfa Bina Diarra appeared to announce the prohibition of transporting fuel to Mali from several neighboring countries, notably Senegal, Côte d’Ivoire, and Guinea. At the same time, Diarra Transport was targeted.
The first incidents could have been presented as isolated events. Malian authorities at the time cited accidents and driving difficulties linked to the rains. But within days, the reality became difficult to conceal.
On September 14, the JNIM, affiliated with Al-Qaida, attacked a major convoy of tanker trucks on the Kayes-Bamako axis. Attacks then multiplied on main commercial roads. An investigation by Bellingcat had already documented, as early as autumn 2025, more than 130 tanker trucks destroyed in several verified attacks.
The choice of targets is far from trivial. Mali is a landlocked country heavily dependent on fuel imports carried by road. The routes linking Bamako to the Senegalese and Ivorian ports and borders thus constitute a true national economic artery.
The JNIM has not only sought to burn trucks. It understood that by striking fuel, it could affect almost every sector of the economy.
Fuel becomes the nerve of the crisis
In Bamako, the first consequences were visible at gas stations. Endless queues, closed stations or rationing: the capital gradually found itself facing an unusual shortage.
By autumn 2025, the price of available fuel on some markets had soared, while transport became more expensive. Reuters reported long queues in the capital and shortages also noted in Ségou, Mopti, and San.
The mechanics are simple: when a tanker truck cannot circulate, dozens of other activities slow down. Taxis and intercity transport increase their fares or reduce rotations. Goods cost more to transport. Merchants pass on the extra costs. Households see their purchasing power diminish.
Fuel thus becomes much more than an automotive expense: it becomes a component of the price of almost everything.
This situation also impacted electricity. The energy sector’s dependence on fuel makes supply disruptions particularly sensitive. A Bellingcat analysis, relying notably on satellite imagery, observed a decrease in Bamako’s nighttime lighting during the crisis.
From schools to hospitals, the whole society pays the price
The economic effect was not limited to businesses.
Schools and universities were disrupted, or even closed during certain periods. As transport became difficult, pupils, students, and teachers could no longer move around normally.
The health sector was also hit. Médecins sans frontières reported that fuel shortages complicated patient transport, limited the electrical supply of medical facilities, and made evacuations slower and more costly. At the Point G hospital in Bamako, the organization notably noted a 15% drop in consultations in its breast and cervical cancer treatment program.
In interior cities, the situation is even more worrying. Bla, San, or Mopti do not have the same absorption capacity as the capital. When supplies become scarce, consequences can quickly become systemic: generators at a standstill, reduced transport, slowed commerce, and disrupted public services.
In other words, the blockade turns a military operation into a social crisis.
A strategic humiliation for the junta
For the JNIM, this strategy has a considerable advantage: it allows striking the power without needing to seize Bamako.
The group attacks what makes the capital function. It does not need to physically control each gas station. It simply needs to make roads dangerous enough to dissuade transporters.
This is precisely what makes this campaign particularly embarrassing for Assimi Goïta’s junta.
Since coming to power, the military regime has made sovereignty and territorial reconquest the heart of its discourse. It has broken with several Western partners, ended the MINUSMA presence, and strengthened its partnership with Russia. But the fuel crisis raises a much more concrete question: what is the use of this security strategy if the state cannot guarantee the circulation of a tanker truck to its capital?
Convoys escorted by the army have indeed managed to reach Bamako. Some arrivals were even celebrated as victories. But the mere fact that the arrival of a hundred tankers can become a national event says a lot about the scale of the crisis.
Propaganda may present each convoy arrival as a show of force. Economically, it is also an admission of vulnerability: ordinary supply has become a military operation.
On April 25, the security crisis reaches the heart of power
The fuel crisis obviously does not alone explain the attacks of April 25, 2026. But their political significance has been considerable.
That day, coordinated attacks struck several localities and military positions, notably Kati, Bamako, Mopti, Gao, and Kidal. General Sadio Camara, the Minister of Defense, was mortally wounded in the attack on his residence in Kati. His death was officially confirmed by the Malian government.
The event constituted a shock for a regime whose legitimacy largely rests on its ability to restore security.
A few months earlier, the authorities had to mobilize military escorts to protect fuel convoys. In April, it was the heart of its security apparatus that was directly struck.
The symbol is difficult to ignore: while the junta promised to regain control of the territory, armed groups demonstrated their ability to disrupt trade routes, suffocate the economy, and reach centers of power in the immediate vicinity of Bamako.
A year later, the economy remains hostage to insecurity
The last reported attack on fuel convoys, on September 2, 2026, between Fana and Ségou, reminds that the crisis is far from over. Tankers were reportedly burned again and soldiers killed.
According to evaluations published in 2026, more than 300 tankers have been destroyed since the start of the campaign.
However, these figures should be handled with caution: access to the ground is limited and information from parties to the conflict is difficult to verify independently. This opacity has itself become a problem.
Because behind the numbers lies a much simpler reality: an entire country cannot function normally when its main supply routes become war zones.
The JNIM has succeeded in turning a geographic weakness — Mali’s landlocked status — into a strategic weapon. The junta, for its part, struggles to demonstrate that it has a lasting response to this threat.
Conclusion: when securing the economy becomes a battle
A year after the start of the blockade, fuel has become one of the best indicators of the Malian crisis. Each tanker truck that reaches Bamako testifies both to the state’s capacity to react and its inability to sustainably normalize the roads.
The JNIM has understood an essential thing: it is not necessary to conquer a capital to destabilize a regime. Sometimes it is enough to cut off its supplies.
For the junta, the challenge therefore goes well beyond counterterrorism. It is now about restoring traffic, protecting economic infrastructure, and restoring the confidence of transporters, businesses, and populations.
Yet it is precisely on this ground that its discourse of sovereignty faces its most brutal test: a state is sovereign when it can protect its roads, feed its economy, and guarantee essential services to its population. One year after the start of the blockade, Mali is still far from that.
