Armed men on motorbikes keep conflict in motion in the Sahel | Armed Groups News

Parakou, Benin – Until a few years ago, the sound of Iliyasu Yahuza’s matte black Qlink X-Ranger 200 motorbike would bring the neighbourhood children out into the street. They would abandon their games and rush to the roadside, waving excitedly and shouting his name.

Now, they scatter and hide.

And it is not just the children; across all walks of life in the remote villages of northern Benin, the rumble of a motorbike engine now stirs fear and terror as it’s become synonymous with armed fighters roaming the region.

For Yahuza, a 34-year-old trader who has spent years navigating the bumpy roads between remote farms and local markets, the switch “cuts deep”.

His motorbike was once a symbol of success in his community in rural Brignamaro, some 500km (310 miles) away from the capital city, Porto-Novo. Now, he feels it’s a liability that marks him as a potential threat.

“People have begun seeing me as a member of the armed group launching attacks in this region,” Yahuza told Al Jazeera.

“I no longer feel secure riding a motorbike.”

In recent years, motorcycles have become the preferred mode of transport for armed groups operating not only in Benin, but across the Sahel from Burkina Faso to Mali to Niger. Fighters on motorbikes have changed the face of conflict, experts say.

According to a 2023 report by the Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime (GI-TOC), motorbikes are “one of the most widely trafficked commodities in the Sahel”, deeply embedded in the region’s criminal economy, and “indispensable to the violent extremist armed groups” operating in West Africa’s borderlands.

In the process, public sentiment towards these vehicles, and those who drive them, has shifted, with a shadow now cast over daily riders like Yahuza.

Pride before the fall

Life in Brignamaro used to move to a different rhythm years ago, Yahuza remembers. Children’s laughter chased the echo of his Qlink X-Ranger – at that time a rarity in these parts – as his peers looked on in admiration and delight.

The shift began in 2023, when approximately 12 suspected armed fighters, all mounted on motorbikes, attacked his community.

They terrorised the village and kidnapped a known businessman. Throughout that year, similar incidents rippled across northern Benin’s provinces, from Alibori to Tanguita and Materi. The pattern was always the same. Armed men would arrive fast, strike hard, and disappear into the landscape on their versatile machines.

As a businessman dealing in soya beans, maize, and groundnuts, Yahuza had chosen his motorbike for purely practical reasons. The vehicle could navigate the rough terrain connecting scattered farming communities, and would last longer than ordinary motorcycles.

“That was the major reason I chose the motorbike. Also, it lasts longer than an ordinary motorcycle and for that, it takes about two years before I change one,” he explained.

But more recently, practicality has given way to paranoia.

Security forces regularly stop Yahuza, demanding documentation and explanations. Even minor disagreements with neighbours can take on sinister undertones.

“The locals in my community are raising eyebrows at me. I could remember having a minor misunderstanding with a colleague, and he was quick to profile me as a militant,” he recounted.

Weapon of choice

Much like the Toyota pick-up trucks that became synonymous with ISIL (ISIS) fighters in Syria and Iraq more than a decade ago, motorbikes have emerged as the tactical vehicle of choice for Sahelian fighters.

Groups like al-Qaeda affiliate Jama’a Nusrat ul-Islam wa al-Muslimin (JNIM), with an estimated 6,000 fighters forming the region’s most heavily armed rebel force, have perfected the art of motorcycle warfare. Fast, nimble, and easy to conceal, these bikes enable hit-and-run tactics perfectly suited to the Sahel’s vast, sparsely populated terrain.

In early 2025 alone, JNIM fighters launched a coordinated campaign of attacks: 30 soldiers killed in Benin, more than 50 people near Kobe in Mali, 44 worshippers in Niger’s Fambita, and 200 troops at Burkina Faso’s Djibo military outpost. In each assault, motorbikes provided the speed and surprise that made these attacks possible.

“Motorbikes have become a critical mobility tool for terrorists, including bandits across the Sahel,” explained Timothy Avele, a counterterrorism expert and managing director of Agent-X Security Limited.

The appeal is multifaceted, according to the expert. “Concealment becomes easier” when fighters can scatter and hide their vehicles. The Sahel’s challenging terrain, with desert expanses, dense forests, and mountainous regions, “favours two-wheeled transport over larger vehicles”. Perhaps most importantly, the economics work in the fighters’ favour.

“Another key factor is the lower fuel cost using motorbikes for their operations and mobility compared to, say, Hilux trucks,” Avele added.

Built to last

In the workshop of Abdulmajeed Yorusunonbi in Tchatchou, some 510km (317 miles) from Porto-Novo, the 31-year-old mechanic swears by the durability of these machines. As a local mechanic, he sees firsthand why armed groups favour these vehicles over ordinary motorcycles.

“The only simple fault motorbikes sometimes get is flat tires. It’s only on rare occasions that you will see the engine needing a repair. Their durability is second to none,” Yorusunonbi noted.

This reliability makes them perfect for rebel operations, where mechanical failure could mean capture or death. But it also means that once acquired, these vehicles remain in the hands of armed fighters for years, multiplying their tactical value.

Like many in his trade, Yorusunonbi has developed his own informal screening system to filter out unscrupulous clients. He watches for telltale signs – customers who pay in cash without haggling, those who avoid eye contact, or groups arriving together. But in a region where poverty is widespread and many legitimate customers share these same traits, certainty remains elusive.

The psychological impact on communities has been profound. Yaru Mako, 41, a farmer in Kerou, 482km (300 miles) from Porto-Novo, told Al Jazeera he now forces himself to believe that whoever drives a motorbike has affiliations with the armed groups. “Because in all the cases of attacks we have had and heard, the perpetrators always used motorbikes. Mostly, they are two persons per motorbike,” he explained.

This suspicion has real consequences. In early 2024, Yahuza found himself detained for hours by soldiers in Kerou who questioned his identity and motives. Only his local connections saved him from a worse fate.

“I was lucky that I know many people who properly identified me as an innocent person,” he said.

Junaidu Woru, a Tanguita resident, voices what many now believe: that non-fighters should abandon motorbikes entirely for their own safety.

“Innocent people should avoid using those bikes for their own safety. Because when an attack happens, and an innocent person drives around the area at that particular time, they can be mistaken for a militant,” he warned.

The underground economy

The flow of motorbikes into the hands of armed groups follows complex routes through West Africa’s porous borders. Benin, once a major importer of motorcycles, saw its official trade disrupted in 2022 when new taxes were imposed, including higher VAT rates and import levies.

Before that, motorcycles were exempt from import duties. The government later imposed customs levies to boost domestic revenue, a fiscally driven move. However, the policy spurred increased smuggling through border hotspots like Malanville and Hillacondji, raising security concerns about untracked vehicles potentially reaching criminal groups in the Sahel.

According to traders in northern Benin, these measures have pushed the trade underground, with buyers increasingly sourcing bikes from neighbouring countries and smuggling them across borders. The motorcycles enter through various routes; from Nigeria across the northern border into Niger, or through Beninese territory, where they are loaded onto pirogues and transported upstream on the River Niger.

In Parakou’s markets, Zubair Sabi sells motorbikes like Yahuza’s Qlink X-Ranger 200 for about 900,000 CFA francs ($1,590). Some models fetch more than one million CFA ($1,770), while others sell for as low as 750,000 CFA ($1,330), prices that put them within reach of well-funded armed groups.

“As a businessman, all I’m interested in is selling my goods,” Sabi said, before acknowledging the moral complexity of his position. “I don’t mind verifying the identity of the customer before selling to them. But I can’t really say who exactly is buying the bikes or what they are using them for.”

Like other traders, Sabi has implemented informal checks, asking for identification, noting suspicious bulk purchases, or refusing sales to unknown customers arriving in groups. Yet, he admits, these measures are far from foolproof.

Governments across the Sahel have responded with blunt instruments, with at least 43 motorcycle bans having been recorded since 2012, according to GI-TOC. Yet these sweeping restrictions often hurt civilians more than armed fighters, cutting off rural communities from markets, clinics and schools.

For traders like Yahuza, the situation presents an impossible dilemma. Without his motorbike, he cannot reach the remote farms where farmers sell their produce. With it, he risks being mistaken for the very criminals terrorising his community.

“It’s not just about riding any more,” he reflected. “It’s about what people think when they see you on it.”

This article is published in collaboration with Egab.