State Capture by Invitation: How Russia Is Expanding Power in Africa

To understand what Russia wants in Africa, it helps to first strip away the illusion that Moscow is behaving differently from other global powers. The United States, Europe, China, the Gulf states — all seek influence on the African continent for the same fundamental reasons: access to natural resources, control over trade routes, diplomatic leverage, and geopolitical relevance. Russia is no exception. What sets it apart however, is not its objective, but its methods.

Russia’s African strategy is built around low-cost, high-impact interventions. Rather than large-scale investment or trade integration, Moscow relies on security partnerships, arms deals, disinformation campaigns, political interference, and the physical presence of mercenaries. It is influence by proxy, and increasingly, influence by force.

Nowhere is this clearer than in the Central African Republic (CAR), the first African country to formally accept the Wagner Group, Russia’s notorious paramilitary outfit. Officially, Wagner was invited to help defeat rebel groups and stabilize the country. In reality, its arrival marked a turning point: a shift from indirect foreign involvement to literal boots on the ground. While Western powers had long interfered through diplomacy, aid, and selective military engagement, Russia arrived with guns, contractors, and extractive contracts.

CAR’s vulnerability is not unique. Like many African states, it struggles with internal security and weak institutions. Historically, such countries have looked to former colonial powers or Western allies for assistance. These arrangements have rarely been altruistic, but Russia’s entry into this space has been particularly blunt. In exchange for security services, Moscow secured access to diamonds, gold, uranium, and timber. Stability, where it emerged at all, was secondary.

France’s withdrawal from CAR after overseeing the country’s 2016 elections created a vacuum. Russia filled it swiftly, presenting itself as a historical ally rather than a neo-imperial power. By 2018, Russian trainers and weapons had arrived, with the approval of the United Nations. That the UN — with all its resources — has failed to resolve conflicts in Rwanda, Mozambique, or the Sahel only strengthened the appeal of a partner that promised immediate results, no questions asked.

But Russia’s African engagements are rarely centered around states; they are, usually, about leaders. Moscow’s partnerships are typically forged with isolated, embattled, or illegitimate regimes — military juntas, presidents clinging to power, or governments facing popular dissent. In CAR, Mali, Sudan, and Burkina Faso, Russian backing has been instrumental in keeping such leaders afloat. This is not traditional diplomacy. It is elite co-option.

By aligning itself with individual rulers rather than institutions or citizens, Russia gains disproportionate leverage over national policy. In countries with weak checks and balances, this amounts to state capture. Decisions that benefit Moscow — mining concessions, military basing rights, diplomatic support — are pushed through at the expense of public interest. 

Egypt offers a more sophisticated example. President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi is a key ally in Russia’s efforts to reshape power dynamics in North Africa. Through Egypt, Moscow has sought to influence Libya’s civil war, backing General Khalifa Haftar in a bid to install a proxy strongman and secure an enduring naval presence in the southern Mediterranean. Control here would give Russia strategic access to NATO’s southern flank and proximity to vital maritime corridors.

By cultivating ties with Egypt, Algeria, and Sudan, Moscow is also positioning itself as a powerbroker across the southern Mediterranean and the Red Sea. Port Sudan, in particular, offers potential naval access to one of the world’s most critical shipping routes. More than 30 percent of global container traffic passes through the Suez Canal and the Bab al-Mandab strait. Influence here is not symbolic; it represents significant leverage over global trade — leverage that would make Russian interests difficult to ignore on the world stage.

Despite these sweeping ambitions, Russia’s economic footprint in Africa is surprisingly thin. Trade volumes have declined since the first Russia–Africa Summit in 2019, falling to around $14 billion — heavily skewed in Russia’s favour and concentrated in just a handful of countries. Russian foreign direct investment accounts for barely one percent of Africa’s total inflows. By most economic measures, Moscow has little to offer the continent.

And yet, its influence has grown rapidly.

This paradox is explained by Russia’s reliance on unofficial and extralegal tools. Mercenaries, arms-for-resources deals, precious metal trafficking, and disinformation campaigns allow Moscow to punch far above its economic weight. At least 16 documented disinformation operations across Africa have sought to amplify anti-Western sentiment, undermine democratic institutions, and create political confusion. The aim is often not persuasion, but disillusion — to convince citizens that democracy is no better than authoritarianism, and given the steady decline of truly democratic governments on the continent, this narrative is not particularly difficult to push.

The Wagner Group sits at the centre of this model. While ostensibly deployed to enhance security, Wagner’s operations are tightly focused on protecting regimes and securing economic assets. In CAR’s diamond-rich town of Bria, Wagner effectively took control of mining operations. Similar patterns have emerged in Mali and Sudan. These deployments are rarely large enough to defeat insurgencies; instead, they carve out zones of control that benefit both Moscow and its local clients.

The human cost is significant. Wagner forces have been implicated in widespread human rights abuses, particularly against marginalised communities. In CAR and Mali, violence against the Fulani has exacerbated ethnic tensions and fuelled further instability. The promise of security often produces the opposite result.

Russia’s influence campaign also extends into education and culture. Thousands of scholarships for African students, the expansion of “Russian Houses,” and visa-free travel agreements are framed as soft power initiatives. Critics, however, warn that these programmes double as propaganda channels. Allegations that foreign students have been pressured into military service in exchange for legal status only deepen concerns.

African leaders who facilitate Russia’s advance are not passive victims of global power politics but  active participants. Many trade national interest for personal survival, embracing Moscow’s support to suppress dissent, bypass term limits, or entrench dynastic rule. In doing so, they weaken democratic norms and narrow the space for popular participation.

What Russia stands to gain from Africa is clear: resources, strategic territory, diplomatic allies, and a platform from which to challenge the Western-led international order. What Africans stand to lose is less abstract. Compromised sovereignty. Entrenched authoritarianism. Prolonged conflicts. And the erosion of democratic aspirations under the guise of security and anti-colonial solidarity.

Russia’s presence in Africa is not an anomaly. It is a reflection of both the continent’s unresolved governance crises and the willingness of external powers to exploit them. The danger lies not only in Moscow’s intentions, but in how easily they align with the ambitions of Africa’s own ruling elites.