Since September 2025, the blockade of fuel convoys by the JNIM has turned Mali’s supply routes into veritable front lines. In Bamako and cities throughout the interior, the shortage has driven up transport costs, disrupted electricity, paralyzed economic activities, and hindered essential services. A year later, this strategy of economic strangulation has thrown into sharp relief a critical weakness of the military government: its struggle to secure the country’s vital arteries.
An economic weapon, not just a road blockade
On 7 September 2025, Abou Houzeïfa Bina Diarra appeared to announce a ban on fuel deliveries to Mali from several neighboring countries, notably Sénégal, Côte d’Ivoire, and Guinée. At the same time, the operations of Diarra Transport were targeted.
Initial incidents might have been dismissed as isolated events. Malian authorities at the time attributed them to accidents and rain-related travel difficulties. But within days, the reality became impossible to conceal.
On 14 September, the JNIM, which is affiliated with Al-Qaïda, attacked a major convoy of tanker trucks on the Kayes–Bamako axis. Attacks subsequently multiplied along principal trade routes. An investigation by Bellingcat had already documented, as early as autumn 2025, more than 130 tankers destroyed in several verified attacks.
The choice of targets was far from arbitrary. Mali is landlocked and heavily dependent on fuel imports transported by road. The corridors linking Bamako to the ports and borders of Sénégal and Côte d’Ivoire form a true national economic artery.
The JNIM did not merely seek to burn trucks. It understood that by striking at fuel, it could affect nearly every sector of the economy.
Fuel becomes the nerve of the crisis
In Bamako, the first consequences were visible at petrol stations. Endless queues, closed stations, or rationing: the capital gradually found itself facing an unusual shortage.
By autumn 2025, the price of fuel available on certain markets had skyrocketed, while transport became more expensive. Reuters then reported long queues in the capital and shortages also noted in Ségou, Mopti, and San.
The mechanism is straightforward: when a tanker truck can no longer circulate, dozens of other activities slow down. Taxis and intercity transport raise their fares or cut rotations. Goods cost more to move. Merchants pass on the extra costs. Households see their purchasing power shrink.
Fuel thus becomes much more than a motoring expense: it becomes a component of almost everything’s price.
This situation also impacted electricity. The energy sector’s reliance on fuel makes supply disruptions particularly sensitive. A Bellingcat analysis, based in part on satellite imagery, observed a decrease in Bamako’s nighttime lighting during the crisis.
From schools to hospitals, society picks up the tab
The economic effect was not limited to businesses.
Schools and universities were disrupted, and some even closed at various times. With transport difficult, pupils, students, and teachers could no longer move about normally.
The health sector was also hit. Médecins sans frontières reported that fuel shortages complicated patient travel, limited power supply to medical facilities, and made evacuations slower and costlier. At the Point G hospital in Bamako, the organization noted a 15% drop in consultations in its breast and cervical cancer treatment programme.
In interior towns, the situation is even more worrying. Bla, San, and Mopti do not have the same absorption capacity as the capital. When supplies dwindle, consequences can quickly become systemic: generators idle, transport reduced, businesses slow, and public services disrupted.
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 significant advantage: it allows striking at the government without having to capture Bamako.
The group targets what makes the capital function. It does not need to physically control every petrol station; it simply needs to make roads dangerous enough to deter transporters.
That is precisely what makes this campaign particularly embarrassing for the junta led by Assimi Goïta.
Since coming to power, the military regime has made sovereignty and territorial reconquest the core of its rhetoric. It has broken with several Western partners, ended the MINUSMA presence, and strengthened its partnership with Russia. But the fuel crisis raises a far more concrete question: what is the point of this security strategy if the state cannot guarantee the passage of a single tanker truck to its capital?
Certainly, some convoys escorted by the army have managed to reach Bamako. Some arrivals have even been celebrated as victories. But the very fact that the arrival of a hundred tankers can become a national event says much about the scale of the crisis.
Propaganda can present each arriving convoy as a show of strength. Economically, it is also an admission of vulnerability: routine supply has become a military operation.
On 25 April, the security crisis reaches the heart of power
The fuel crisis alone obviously does not explain the attacks of 25 April 2026. But their political impact was considerable.
On that day, coordinated attacks struck several towns and military positions, notably Kati, Bamako, Mopti, Gao, and Kidal. General Sadio Camara, the Minister of Defence, was fatally wounded in the attack on his residence in Kati. His death was officially confirmed by the Malian government.
The event was a shock for a regime whose legitimacy rests largely on its ability to restore security.
A few months earlier, the authorities had already had to mobilize military escorts to protect fuel convoys. By April, the very core of its security apparatus was directly hit.
The symbolism is hard to ignore: while the junta promised to regain control of the territory, armed groups demonstrated their capacity to disrupt trade routes, suffocate the economy, and reach power centres in the immediate vicinity of Bamako.
A year on, the economy remains hostage to insecurity
The latest reported attack on fuel convoys, on 2 September 2026 between Fana and Ségou, is a reminder that the crisis is far from over. Tankers were reportedly burnt and soldiers killed.
According to assessments published in 2026, more than 300 tankers have been destroyed since the campaign began.
However, these figures should be treated with caution: access to the ground is limited, and information from conflict parties is hard to verify independently. This opacity is itself becoming a problem.
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 landlockedness — into a strategic weapon. The junta, for its part, struggles to show it has a durable response to this threat.
Conclusion: when securing the economy becomes a battle
A year after the blockade began, fuel has become one of the best gauges of the Malian crisis. Each tanker that reaches Bamako testifies both to the state’s capacity to react and its inability to sustainably normalize the roads.
The JNIM has grasped an essential truth: it is not necessary to conquer a capital to destabilize a regime. Sometimes cutting supplies is enough.
For the junta, the challenge thus goes far beyond counter-terrorism. It is now about restoring traffic, protecting economic infrastructure, and rebuilding the confidence of transporters, businesses, and people.
And it is precisely on this ground that its sovereignty rhetoric faces the harshest test: a state is sovereign when it can protect its roads, feed its economy, and guarantee essential services to its people. A year after the start of the blockade, Mali is still far from that.
