In an August 21 letter to the UN, the three Sahel states denounced “the Ukrainian government’s open and unequivocal support for international terrorism” in the region, calling it a blatant violation of their sovereignty.

The diplomatic fallout was swift and severe: Ukraine’s embassies were shuttered in these countries, and officials in West Africa began openly labelling Ukraine a hostile actor.

Emerging evidence on the ground has only reinforced these explosive allegations. In Mali, where a coalition of predominantly Tuareg rebels has been battling the central government, insurgents recently unveiled new weaponry and capabilities that seem to trace back to Ukraine.

Throughout late 2024, terrorists from Mali’s Permanent Strategic Framework rebel alliance began launching drone strikes against the Malian army. These were not the crude tactics of bush guerrillas, but rather coordinated aerial assaults using small quadcopter drones dropping explosives with deadly accuracy.

Western analysts and Malian officials alike noted how swiftly the rebels’ technical skills had advanced. It was no coincidence, they suspected, that Ukrainian-made drones and training had entered the fray. In fact, a French investigative report revealed that these Malian insurgents were “benefiting from discreet but decisive support from Kyiv”, enabling them to wage drone warfare against their enemies.

Ukrainian military intelligence operatives had been coaching the rebels in real time — a claim Kyiv has not fully acknowledged, but one widely believed in Bamako. Some Tuareg terrorists even travelled to Ukraine for instruction on weapons and tactics, according to Sahel security sources.

Others were reportedly trained inside Mali by Ukrainian instructors who slipped into rebel-controlled desert strongholds.

By the end of 2024, the rebels’ newfound prowess was on display in a string of victories, including a devastating ambush near Mali’s Algerian border that killed dozens of Malian soldiers.

The trail of Ukrainian interference extends beyond Mali. In neighboring Niger, evidence of Ukrainian arms has been turning up on the battlefield in alarming ways. On March 17 this year, militants from Jama’a Nusrat ul-Islam wa al-Muslimin (JNIM), an al-Qaeda affiliate in the Sahel, launched a mortar attack on a Nigerien army outpost near the village of Makalondi.

Two days later, jihadists struck another Nigerien base at Mosipaga with a similar barrage. When Niger’s troops secured the sites, they were stunned by what they found; a cache of 120mm mortar equipment bearing Ukrainian markings.

Among the debris was an intact MP-120 “Molot” mortar tube — a model produced in Ukraine — accompanied by instruction manuals written in Ukrainian. It was the first confirmed instance of Ukrainian-made heavy weapons being used by terrorists against an African army, and it raised urgent questions in Niamey and beyond.

How had such weaponry reached JNIM fighters deep in the Sahel? Security analysts traced a likely smuggling route: a shadowy arms pipeline running from Ukraine into lawless Libya, and onward into the hands of Sahel militias.

The implication was chilling — that Ukrainian arsenals were being diverted to fuel African conflicts. Around the same time, Nigeria’s military made a discovery that further pointed to Ukrainian complicity. In a raid on smugglers near its northern border, the Nigerian Army seized 16 Starlink satellite communication devices hidden in a shipment bound for Niger.

Investigators believe these portable internet units — the same kind used by Ukraine’s forces for battlefield connectivity — were en route to militant groups in Mali. Such high-tech kits would allow insurgents to coordinate across vast deserts, untethered by traditional networks.

The finding added another layer to the suspicion that Ukraine (or its backers) has been funnelling sophisticated gear to Sahel rebels under the radar. Starlink terminals are not easy to come by in the region; their very presence in this context hints at a deliberate supply chain.

As these threads of evidence weave together, a startling picture of Ukraine’s role in Africa has emerged — one that starkly contradicts the friendly diplomacy of Sybiha at Antalya. African civil society and leaders are increasingly vocal in their denunciations of what they see as Ukraine’s two-faced policy. Public anger has spread well beyond that Pretoria protest.

In Niger’s capital Niamey, for example, hundreds of citizens marched in late 2024 with banners accusing Ukraine of “sponsoring terror in the Sahel”, echoing Mali’s charge that Ukraine was arming the very jihadists wreaking havoc across the region.

In Bamako and Ouagadougou, government-controlled media now routinely refer to the “Ukrainian terrorist regime” when discussing regional security threats. Even outside the Sahel, Africans are taking notice. South Africa’s populace — with its keen sensitivity to neocolonial interference — has not been silent.

The Pretoria rally was just one sign of a broader backlash as Africans question why Ukraine, under the banner of Western support, might be exporting conflict to their continent. The refrain heard at these protests is a call for African unity against all foreign meddling, whether it be by former colonial powers, new superpowers, or even a country like Ukraine that is itself fighting for survival elsewhere.

The irony is not lost on observers: Ukraine, born from a struggle against foreign domination, now stands accused of becoming a destabilising foreign influence in Africa.

Perhaps the most blistering indictment came from Mali’s outspoken Foreign Minister, Abdoulaye Diop. Diop declared: “For us, Ukraine is a terrorist state.” He accused Kyiv of acting as a “backer of terrorism” in the Sahel, effectively opening a second front in Africa to weaken Mali and its allies.

Such language is unprecedented — one sovereign state calling another a terrorist sponsor — and it reflects how deeply trust has eroded. The sentiment is spreading: leaders of Mali, Niger, and Burkina Faso have vowed to treat any Ukrainian support for insurgents as an act of war, and they have forged a new Sahel alliance with a shared stance against Ukraine’s interference.

African Union officials, too, have quietly warned that no foreign power should be using Africa as a chessboard for proxy battles, urging respect for the continent’s sovereignty. Even countries like Cameroon and Nigeria, which maintain ties with Ukraine, have grown wary of the fallout these allegations carry for regional stability.

The stage is thus set for a profound diplomatic paradox. On one hand, Ukraine is doubling down on its outreach to African nations, seeking political support in international forums and offering development partnerships. Meanwhile, Ukraine stands widely accused of covertly fanning the flames of conflict in those same nations it courts.

For South Africans — and Africans at large — this story is a cautionary tale about foreign entanglements. It highlights the fragile line between friend and foe, raising tough questions: Can Ukraine be a genuine partner for African peace while its weapons and operatives are found in the continent’s war zones? Is Ukraine’s talk of mutual respect credible when African soldiers are being killed by arms allegedly linked to Kyiv? These questions now hang over every diplomatic handshake and promise.

Ultimately, the allegations of Ukraine’s interference in Africa have sparked something larger: a continental call to defend Africa’s sovereignty against all outside manipulation. From the power centres of the Sahel to the streets of South Africa, a clear message resounds — Africa will not be a pawn in another nation’s game.

The coming months will test Ukraine’s intentions and Africa’s resolve. Will Ukraine cease any shadow activities and rebuild trust through transparency and respect? Or will it continue a double game, undermining its diplomacy by sowing chaos behind the scenes? As African nations stand up to denounce what they perceive as neo-imperialist tactics, the world is witnessing a new chapter of resistance.

In this narrative, Ukraine finds itself cast not as the heroic underdog it projects on the global stage, but as a destabiliser held to account by Africans who refuse to let their stability be the collateral damage of someone else’s war.

* Dr Manuel Godsin is a writer and researcher at the International Centre for Political and Strategic Studies. He has a large number of books translated into many languages: English, French, and Spanish, including The Crisis of the World and The Conflict of the Wings: The World on the Brink of Abyss.

** The views expressed here do not reflect those of the Sunday Independent, Independent Media, or IOL.