By Mohamed AG Ahmedou.
In the western part of the Goundam district, a region on the outskirts of Timbuktu, an elderly Tuareg man speaks in a trembling voice. He makes no political demands, offers no ideological agenda. He asks for blessings. He asks for help. He simply asks to be able to sleep again.
His raw, almost biblical testimony sheds light on a reality that official statements tend to gloss over: the extreme vulnerability of nomadic civilians caught in the Malian security apparatus and the intervention of foreign troops, particularly Russian mercenaries operating under the name Afrika Korps.
“We are not seeking wealth.”
The first striking element of this heartfelt cry is its moral detachment. “We are not seeking wealth,” he says. This sentence is essential. It immediately dismantles the security argument that equates nomadic areas with armed sanctuaries or criminal economies.
This old man describes a marginalized pastoral society, living off flour bartered for a few goods, traveling with “old donkeys and carts.” In other words: a survival economy. Nothing that corresponds to the fantasy of an insurgent logistical power.
“We have neither weapons nor support.”
The man insists: they are not affiliated with any warring party. This point deserves attention. In northern Mali, a climate of collective suspicion has prevailed for years. In certain areas, being Tuareg or Arab is tantamount to being presumed to be complicit with an armed group.
The testimony implicates the punitive expeditions carried out by Russian elements of the Afrika Korps, acting alongside Malian forces. He speaks of villages raided, hamlets destroyed, and livelihoods wiped out.
If these accusations are true, they would constitute not targeted counterinsurgency operations, but a strategy of collective terror, legally equivalent to serious violations of international humanitarian law.
“The men are hiding, the women and children are being abused.”
This sentence forms the moral core of the testimony. The men flee into the bush. The women, children, and elderly remain exposed.
In any asymmetric war, the first casualty is the boundary between combatant and civilian. Here, the old man asserts that this boundary has vanished. He speaks of extermination.
Of the systematic destruction of livelihoods, livestock, encampments, and basic supplies. The terror, he says, has lasted “for more than two years.” It is not a one-off outbreak. It is a climate.
The impossibility of escape:
Another crucial point: geographical confinement.
“We can go neither to Algeria nor to Mauritania.” These two countries, Algeria and Mauritania, have historically served as refuge or exile zones for nomadic Sahelian-Saharan populations. Today, according to this testimony, this escape route no longer exists.
The man describes an isolated people, immobilized by poverty and fear. No vehicles. Rare exchanges. No apparent humanitarian corridor.
A War That Destroys Sleep:
“We’re not asking for money, just to get our sleep back.”
This sentence might seem metaphorical. It isn’t. Sleep, here, is an anthropological indicator: that of basic security. A community that can no longer sleep is a community under permanent siege. Collective insomnia becomes the concrete measure of terror.
International Silence and a Hierarchy of Outrage:
Why hasn’t this testimony crossed media borders? Why haven’t these elderly voices, filmed in isolated rural areas, become urgent diplomatic issues?
The answer lies partly in the geopolitical realignment of the Sahel. Since the gradual withdrawal of Western forces, particularly French forces, and the rise of Russian actors through Africa Corps, the dominant narrative rests on regained sovereignty.
But can sovereignty justify opacity? Can it absolve operations that indiscriminately strike civilians and combatants?
Tuareg and Arab Civilians: Between Suspicion and Abandonment:
The old man specifies that it is the Tuareg and Arab civilian populations of the Timbuktu region who are affected. This communal dimension is explosive.
In an already fragmented Malian context, the perception of ethnic targeting—whether real or perceived—fuels divisions and sets the stage for future conflicts. The Malian state has a responsibility to protect all its citizens. While it may delegate some of the coercion to foreign actors, it remains legally and morally accountable for their actions.
What this cry truly says:
This testimony does not call for foreign military intervention. It does not demand weapons. It does not formulate a separatist agenda.
It asks for: An end to punitive expeditions, the protection of civilians, the ability to sleep, and international attention.
It is precisely this minimalism that makes it so devastating.
A collective responsibility:
If this cry is genuine and it is the responsibility of independent organizations to investigate, several urgent actions are required:
An independent international investigation into the operations conducted in the western part of the Timbuktu region, specifically in the departments of Goundam, Gargando, Niafunke, and Léré. Guaranteed humanitarian access to nomadic areas.
A public clarification of the exact role of Africa Corps in the region. A mechanism for the protection of civilians, under neutral supervision.
The old man concluded by invoking God and blessings. When a people has nothing left but that, it means all political structures have failed.
This heartfelt cry is not merely that of a very old man from the Goundam region. It may well be the sign of a silent shift: a war that no longer dares to speak its name, but which is taking root in the sleepless nights of Sahelian civilians.
And the world, for now, still sleeps.
02-03-26