Kidnapped on April 8, 2021, in Gao, northern Mali, Olivier Dubois, a French journalist, was released on March 20, 2023, in Niamey, Niger. On the eve of the release of the book of his personal experience he shared with Afrique XXI the knowledge he gained during his ordeal with Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimeen, the Sahel Branch of AI-Qaeda that held him captive for almost two years.
Olivier Dubois’s captivity became one of the most talked-about cases in the grim Pantheon of Sahel hostages, at a time when Franco-Malian relations were deteriorating. Since he willingly attended an unlikely meeting with a jihadist leader in Gao, and was both a journalist and French, his critics accused him of walking into the lion’s den.
At 50, nearly two years after his release, Olivier Dubois is publishing ‘Prisonnier du désert, 711 jours aux mains d’Al-Qaïda’ on January 30 with Michel Lafon. The book offers a personal yet detached account of his captivity. Written with remarkable honesty and precision, it provides a unique firsthand testimony from inside the Jama’at Nusrat al-Islam wal-Muslimeen (JNIM), al-Qaeda’s Sahel Branch, which now poses a major threat across the central Sahel region.
“They prefer to be called ‘mujahideen’”
Nathalie Prévost: Two kidnappings were recently reported, one involving an Austrian national in Agadez and the other of a Spaniard in southern Algeria. What does that bring to mind for you?
Olivier Dubois: It immediately reminded me of my own experience in April 2021. I can imagine their first hours in captivity, their first night, the questions and fear. You don’t know where you are being taken, you don’t know with whom you are; you don’t know how it will unfold; you don’t even know if you will survive the journey.
Nathalie Prévost: Your book is an account about being in captivity written by a journalist who was already covering these topics before being kidnapped. It provides many insights into JNIM, which held you between April 8, 2021, and, March 19, 2023. Why do you refer to them as “mujahideen1”?
Olivier Dubois: They completely reject the label of “terrorist”. For them, terrorists are the Islamic State or [the French military operation] Barkhane –those who came to attack them in their own country. They accept being called “jihadists”, but they prefer “mujahideen”. That’s the name they call themselves. It’s the term I used throughout my captivity and the one I use in the book.
Nathalie Prévost: You were moved several times during your captivity. Looking back, do you know where you were?
Olivier Dubois: Not really, except for a few times. I talk about two prisons: the prison in the sands and the prison in the woods, which are about ten minutes apart by car. I know that we were in Tinessako [in the Kidal region, near the Algerian and Nigerien borders, Ed.]. I had it confirmed by my guards. We met Tuaregs who told us we were about ninety kilometres south of Tinzaouaten [a town on the Mali-Algeria border, Ed.]. I have the feeling that we were moved back and forth for two years between Abeibara and Tinessako, but I can’t be sure.
A ‘prison camp’ in the middle of the desert
Nathalie Prévost: Some locations seemed to be improvised bivouac sites, while others appeared to be more structured for detention. You describe one such place as the “prison camp”.
Olivier Dubois: This was the only organised place where we stayed. There were shifts, a large tent for the guards. Everything else was temporary encampments.
Nathalie Prévost: Was the prison in the desert?
Olivier Dubois:Yes, in the desert, or in the undergrowth, wadis or rock formations. There are massive rock piles in the Kidal region where you can hide in crevices without being seen.
Nathalie Prévost: How many guards did you have?
Olivier Dubois: The largest number of guards I had around me was eight, during a drone threat in the sky within the first three weeks of my captivity. Later, when I was with the South African Gerco van Deventer 2, there were usually between two and four guards, who were rotated every two weeks or once a month. I believe the organisation does not want the guards to stay too long to prevent any bonds from forming. In my first weeks of captivity, I was always with people who didn’t speak French and were ordered not to answer my questions.
“Jihadist wasn’t a full-time job”
Nathalie Prévost: Do you know where they came from? Did they have a typical profile?
Olivier Dubois: What I can say is that they were often locals. The young ones came from nearby camps. They had all worked as shepherds or with camels, in the milk or meat trade, and they continued doing so. It was as if being a jihadist wasn’t a full-time job.
I tried to find out how they earned a living. They were a bit reluctant to answer, but basically, they told me they didn’t really receive a salary –rather, all their needs were taken care of. Apparently, their wages are calculated during the periods they guard hostages. Everything is recorded: “Abdallah, from such and such markaz (military unit), fifteen days,” and so on. That’s how they get paid. In any case, they were very motivated to guard us. A ransom means a significant sum of money. For example, when I was taken to see Seidane Ag Hita3, they were very curious to know what we had talked about –whether my case was progressing and if the money would arrive soon.
Nathalie Prévost: What was your relationship like with your guards?
Olivier Dubois: The younger ones were tougher to deal with. I got along better with the older ones because they had a life before all this, and they spoke French. The others were shepherds or sons of shepherds who had only read the Quran and never attended school. What they read is the absolute truth to them, and as a detainee, you are a koufar (infidel) and must be treated as such.
Nathalie Prévost: What were their political and personal goals?
Olivier Dubois: They were committed to “the project“. I got the impression that they were drawn to it, fascinated and dazzled by the idea and they wanted to make their own contribution to something much bigger – spreading Allah’s belief across the world. Perhaps, some of them, were more interested in money and the”Tuareg way of life" – having a tent, livestock, a wife, and a few weapons to protect it all.
“We’re preparing for death; we’re preparing for the afterlife”
Nathalie Prévost: Is the project more political than religious?
Olivier Dubois: No, no. For the young ones, it was religious. Not only were they working to restore God’s authority on Earth, but it also guaranteed them a ticket to paradise. At first, I was a bit mistaken. Based on what I heard, I thought they believed that life on Earth wasn’t worth much. They often told me, “We’re preparing for death; we’re preparing for the afterlife.” A magnificent life by rivers, with houris, fountains, honey, and so on. Whether life here is worth living or not isn’t really the issue. The goal is to prepare for the second life and, above all, to avoid going to hell.
Nathalie Prévost: What kind of Islam did they practise?
Olivier Dubois: They obviously observed the five daily prayers, and they rarely missed any. They prayed with their arms crossed and observed Ramadan strictly. Nothing out of the ordinary compared to other Muslims. What surprised me more was the respect given to those who knew and had memorised the Quran. It became a question people would ask: “How far along are you with the Quran? How much have you memorised?” They would respond, “Half, a little more.” Those who had the entire Quran memorised were highly respected. I asked them how one progresses in their organisation, and they told me that it wasn’t just a military matter. Religious knowledge also mattered.
Nathalie Prévost: Did they debate religion?
Olivier Dubois: I will say that 70 to 80% of what they talk about is religion. They reminded me of football fans. Football fans talk about football all the time. They know their teams inside out, every detail, every transfer… It’s the same for them. They know the who’s who of jihadism by heart. They love talking about it. They live in a sort of bubble. On their phones, they have apps to read the Quran. All the videos they watch are about attacks, atrocities, interviews and many old reports from France 24 dating back to the occupation of northern Mali in 2012. They also keep an eye on everything the media says about them. When I listened to RFI, they would ask me if they were being talked about, and they didn’t believe me when I told them that jihadists had been killed here or there. “No, that’s not possible; they’re on the path of Allah! ” They won’t believe it until their own radio announces it.
“They have hiding spots everywhere”
Nathalie Prévost: Do they live with the risk of death on their minds?
Olivier Dubois: Death is present in every sentence. At first, it struck me: “If I’m not dead; if I’m still here…”. But death isn’t experienced the way we see it. For them, there’s the second life they are preparing for. I also asked them a lot about the shahid (martyrs). Giving your life to the project is the ultimate stage, reserved for the bravest.
Nathalie Prévost: You describe a much-organised structure. What can you tell us about it?
Olivier Dubois: We were guarded by teams of two to four men, rotated every two weeks. There was equipment on-site, enough to cook and weapons. The equipment stayed, and the guards rotated. Every two weeks, a bog (a 1,000-litre water tank) was delivered to us, and once or twice a month, a sheep or goat would be brought, providing us with fresh meat for two days. Afterward, we salted and dried the meat in the sun. They had a rizzou, a messenger, who regularly came to pass on and collect information, acting as an intermediary between the hierarchy, the logistics chain, and the camp.
Nathalie Prévost: What about fuel?
Olivier Dubois: They have hiding spots everywhere. It happened that we ran out of fuel during a trip. They would drive into a forest; a guy would come out with a jerrycan; we’d fill up the tanks. Then he put the jerrycan back in the woods, and we’d continue on our way.
Nathalie Prévost: What about telecommunications?
Olivier Dubois: The radio network is extremely important. I understand this after my last escape4. One of them told me, “As soon as you escaped, we knew right away through the radio. Within an 80 km radius, everyone was informed, and everything was locked down.” It’s a very efficient communication chain, using Motorola walkie-talkies and a Chinese brand I’ve forgotten the name of. Apparently, there are relay stations in places where there is no one.
“We know exactly how your government works”
Nathalie Prévost: And you did you have your own radio?
Olivier Dubois: In October, they gave me a radio –I don’t know why. After my release, I was able to piece things together and realised that there had been messages, they had heard them, and they probably figured that people were starting to take an interest in me.
Nathalie Prévost: Is it not it in their interest to feed the chain of solidarity to put pressure on the states?
Olivier Dubois:That’s exactly what one of them told me. On March 8, 2022, I had an issue with a jihadist who shot at me [without injuring me, editor’s note]. Three days later, another one brought me photos of my children. I broke down in tears and he said to me, “You know what? You’re going to respond to them. We’re going to make a video.” For me, making a video was a real problem. I told him, “But videos, come on, that’s such an old trick! Do you really think it still works?” And he replied, “The videos aren’t for your government, they’re for your family. They’ll be very emotional and will put pressure on your government. That’s when things will start moving.” He said it coldly. Then he added, “We know exactly how your government works. This isn’t the first time.”
Nathalie Prévost: How were you transported?
Olivier Dubois: Mostly by motorcycle. Just like a Tuareg – headscarf pulled down below the eyebrows, sunglasses and another scarf covering the mouth. No rolled-up sleeves; they must cover tattoos. I have tattoos but Gerco had even more. A beard is a must because the few locals we came across weren’t used to seeing many people and they scrutinised everything! So, a short beard in this area would draw attention. We used a pickup truck when transporting equipment. In those cases, we knew we were going to be on the move for a long time.
A Guantánamo in the middle of the sands
Nathalie Prévost: You give a striking description of what you call “the prison of sands” where you were held alongside other prisoners.
Olivier Dubois: The night I arrived; it reminded me of Guantánamo. The prisoners moved slowly, chained at the neck, wrists and waist. I could hear the clinking of chains, see shadows moving sluggishly, and I truly wondered where I was.
There were about ten prisoners in total, and I could clearly see that not all of us were treated the same. Gerco and I were better off than the others, except for one guy who was said to be from the Islamic State, and he also had a radio. They would bring him tea, and he had access to milk in addition to the morning ration. His relationship with the guards was tense.
I was under a tent, but the others were not. They had four pieces of wood, less than a metre tall, with a tarp to shield themselves from the sun. They would lie underneath it, in the scorching heat.
Nathalie Prévost: Did you find out who your fellow prisoners were?
Olivier Dubois: We were able to talk with some of them. There was a cigarette smuggler between Libya and Mali, a fighter from the National Movement for the Liberation of Azawad, who had been captured in Kidal and then there was an informant for Barkhane. They would come to take him, apparently for interrogations. We wouldn’t see him for two nights and then he would return.
Nathalie Prévost: You mention that drones often buzzed overhead.
Olivier Dubois: When the area is being watched by a drone, you stay under a tree or in the rocks, and you don’t move all day. So, you end up hoping for the drone to disappear. At the start of my captivity, I dreamed of an intervention; I visualised it. But later, I began to dread it, because if everything is lost, the risk is the physical elimination of the hostages.
“It’s not possible that they can’t see us!”
Nathalie Prévost: When these drones are around, there are times when your guards hide you, and other times when everyone moves.
Olivier Dubois: The drones are signalled by radio. They call them “bedou,” “bedoun” (cans), or “kashifa.” So, there’s time to prepare. If you’re making a fire, you put it out. If there’s flour or cans on the ground, you have to make them disappear. When the drone lingers, they go on alert, and you have to leave quickly.
Nathalie Prévost: Were these drones from the French?
Olivier Dubois: For your guards, they were French. They referred to them as “Mirage, kashifa, bedoun.” This area is heavily monitored. At night, there are many “stars” moving in the sky over Kidal.
Nathalie Prévost: You must have been wondering if they were looking for you.
Olivier Dubois: I used to wonder. And I still do. Did they see me? We tried to alert them. We tried to make smoke signals. We used the excuse of going to empty our bladders to draw little by little a big SOS in the sand. But the wind blew everything away. It didn‘t work. After a while, we were thinking: “But it’s not possible that they can’t see us!”
Nathalie Prévost: What have you learned about the hostage business and ransoms?
Olivier Dubois: I was mainly told about former hostages, the amounts of money paid, for example, for Sister Gloria Narvaez, Serge Lazarevic, Pier Luigi Maccalli, and Nicola Chiacchio, and a bit about Sophie Pétronin too. What they hoped for was, of course, money or prisoner releases, or a mix of both. Then they said –but for me, it’s a lie– that all of this could be called into question in the case of conversion. However, there are many hostages who converted and were still released for money.
In pursuit of the impossible interview
Nathalie Prévost: You were taken hostage in the course of an interview that you had requested with a jihadist leader. You never quite clarified this episode. But you persisted in your interview project throughout your captivity. And it eventually was granted to you.
Olivier Dubois: At the beginning of my detention, in my mind, I was a victim of a misunderstanding: I had an invitation letter and they were supposed to take me there and bring me back safely. So, I was convinced that the people holding me were unaware that they had kidnapped me by mistake. So much so that I asked for a paper and a pen, and I wrote to the leader: I talked about respecting the word given. I asked him for an interview, in place of the one I couldn’t have. A month and a half later, I was confirmed that my letter had indeed arrived. In November 2022, I received a message, which I later learned came from Iyad Ag Ghali, saying: ’We will grant your request for communication shortly before you are released.
On March 6th, I learn of my imminent release through an audio message from Seidane Ag Hita. He calls me and says: ’The old man agrees for the interview. But prepare short questions and don’t overdo it.’ And the famous day arrives. I see a convoy of vehicles, a lot of dust, and I think: ’Here it is, it’s happening!’ Seidane Ag Hita gets out of a vehicle but I don’t see Iyad Ag Ghali. He comes towards me and tells me that the leader won’t be coming, but that he has been appointed to answer my questions. He adds that he came with Abdallah Ag Albakaye, the one I had gone to interview on the day of my abduction in Gao."
He apparently wanted to defend himself for having deceived me. Albakaye told me that he didn’t know me, that he had never received any of my messages, and that he had never sent me an invitation letter.
Nathalie Prévost: How did the interview go?
Olivier Dubois:Seidane Ag Hita, who speaks French but isn’t confident in our language, says to me: “You will give us your questions. We will translate them into Arabic and bring you the answers tomorrow morning on an SD card.” I was taken aback and replied, “Okay, but in order to have an idea of what you’ll be telling me in Arabic, we should still do the interview now in French. And tomorrow, we’ll verify.” And that’s how we proceeded. In the evening, when they left, I took notes. The next day, they handed me the official interview on the SD card.
Nathalie Prévost: Why don’t you publish this interview in the book?
Olivier Dubois: I’ve only used excerpts from it. Upon reading it, I realised that it was full of Quranic references that were quite obscure, and the interview was too complicated to reproduce in a book. In fact, I must say, the interview didn’t live up to what I had hoped for. But even though it was disappointing, this interview kept me going and helped me resist throughout my captivity. It gave me a sense of purpose. It was like revenge. They had taken two years of my life. I had to leave with something.
If you believe in the importance of open and independent journalism:
1This Arabic term refers to fighters of the faith engaged in jihad. In Africa, the fighters of the National Liberation Front (FLN) who fought in the Algerian War were called ‘moudjahidine’. The FLN newspaper is still called El Moudjahid and there is the equivalent of a veterans’ ministry called the “Ministère des Moudjahidine et des Ayants-droit”.
2South African hostage held for a year with Olivier Dubois. Kidnapped in Libya on November 3rd, 2017, he was released six years later, on December 16th, 2023.
3Right-hand man of Iyad Ag Ghali, leader of the JNIM.
4Olivier Dubois tried to escape four times.