A recent international journalistic investigation has shed light on the covert detention network operated by Russian Wagner Group mercenaries in Mali, where torture, forced disappearances, and extrajudicial detention have become part of routine military operations.
The findings, while not necessarily revelatory in their novelty, confirm a historical pattern: wherever Russian forces entrench themselves, a system akin to the Gulag tends to follow.
This is not simply a story about war crimes in a remote corner of Africa. It is a stark illustration of how the Russian state, through its military proxies, exports repression as a tool of geopolitical influence. While some nations export culture, consumer goods, or technology, Russia exports prison camps.
The Wagner Group, nominally a private military company but widely recognised as an arm of the Russian intelligence services, has established a network of at least six detention centres across Mali. These facilities—located in Bapho, Kidal, Nampala, Niafunké, Sévaré and Sofara—operate beyond the effective oversight of the Malian military or civilian authorities, according to testimony gathered by Forbidden Stories and its partners. These secret prisons, often co-located on Malian army bases, are used to detain civilians accused of collaboration with jihadist groups, often with no evidence or judicial process.
Survivors describe a consistent pattern of abuse. Waterboarding, electrocution, beatings with cables, and prolonged confinement in metal containers under the sun are among the methods reported. One aid worker, known under the pseudonym Wangrin, was detained and tortured at the Nampala base in August 2024. He was subjected to repeated near-drownings and beatings—set to a soundtrack of blaring Russian music. Similar accounts appear from detainees across the country, suggesting a systematic methodology.
The use of Russian pop songs during torture sessions has become a chilling motif of these accounts. Ostensibly cultural exports, these songs serve in practice to muffle the screams of victims and reinforce a psychological regime of control. In these prisons, Russian culture finds its application not on concert stages but in darkened cells.
Following the military coups in Mali in 2020 and 2021, the country’s transitional authorities enlisted Russian support to replace Western partners, particularly after the withdrawal of French forces and the end of the UN peacekeeping mission (MINUSMA). This shift created the conditions for Wagner to entrench itself operationally. According to researchers and analysts, the introduction of Wagner forces has brought with it not just new tactics, but an entire extrajudicial infrastructure.
A Malian officer, speaking to the investigation team, acknowledged that Wagner operates without any formal accountability. “FAMa has no say,” he said, referring to the Malian armed forces. Decisions about detention, interrogation, and the use of force are made independently by the Russian mercenaries, many of whom are veterans of operations in Ukraine, Syria, or the Central African Republic.
Much of Wagner’s activity in Mali mirrors the tactics employed by Russian forces in Ukraine following the annexation of Crimea and the occupation of Donetsk, Luhansk, and later Kherson and Zaporizhzhia. Secret prisons, disappearances, ransom-based detentions, and torture have all been documented extensively in those regions as well. Donetsk’s notorious “Izolyatsia” facility—a former art centre turned prison—symbolises the inversion of culture into an instrument of terror, a theme echoed now in Mali.
In both contexts, host state institutions are largely irrelevant. The presence of a Russian security apparatus creates a parallel system of control. In Ukraine, the so-called “people’s republics” had no authority over FSB operations. In Mali, Wagner is free to act with impunity, often detaining individuals without any formal charges or trial.
In many cases, abductions are economically motivated. Testimonies indicate that families of detainees are often asked for large sums in exchange for their release. A Tuareg medical assistant, detained during an operation in Kita, reported being blindfolded and flown to Sévaré, where he encountered fellow prisoners who had already been subjected to torture. Another detainee, held in Niafunké, was forced to perform manual labour while confined in a shipping container under extreme heat.
Though Wagner’s original mission in Mali may be nearing its formal end, observers warn that the system it has established is unlikely to disappear. A large contingent of Wagner fighters has reportedly been rebranded and absorbed into formal Russian military structures operating on the continent. The infrastructure—physical and procedural—may now be under the stewardship of the Russian Ministry of Defence.
Human rights groups, such as Kal Akal and the CD-DPA, continue to record cases of abductions and forced displacement. Between October 2024 and March 2025, over 300 cases were documented. In many instances, those detained vanish without trace. The families of the missing, such as nomadic herder Moussa, are left in limbo. His two brothers were taken by a joint Wagner-FAMa patrol and never seen again.
In Mali, as elsewhere, Wagner’s presence does not simply alter the battlefield—it transforms the social fabric. Through violence, it imposes silence. Through impunity, it erodes the last vestiges of sovereignty. And through the calculated use of cultural symbols—songs, flags, and rituals—it crafts a new language of repression.
Wherever Russia plants its flag, it often plants a prison beside it.
