The sudden unraveling of a multi-million-dollar uranium deal between Niger’s junta-led government and France’s nuclear energy giant Orano has done more than halt shipments from Africa’s largest uranium producer. It has laid bare Europe’s growing anxiety in a continent where its influence is no longer assured—and where every power vacuum invites a new patron.
Niger’s announcement this week that it has revoked Orano’s mining license at the vast Imouraren uranium site, citing “national interest,” might seem like a bureaucratic move. But in a country ruled by a military junta that seized power in July 2023, such bureaucratic decisions are unmistakably political. It is a sharp pivot away from France, Niger’s former colonial ruler and long-time economic partner, and a signal that the Sahel is recalibrating its alliances—again.
Orano (formerly Areva), which had been counting on the Imouraren mine to revitalize its aging uranium portfolio, saw not just a project frozen but a symbol of decades of French dominance erased. For decades, uranium from Niger has powered the lights of Paris and Lyon, even as Nigerien towns surrounding the mines sat in darkness. In 2021, nearly 15% of France’s nuclear fuel came from Niger. Now, France must look elsewhere—likely Kazakhstan or Canada—for fuel, while its influence in the Sahel continues to shrink.
What’s replacing it? A complex web of new actors—Russia, China, Turkey, the United Arab Emirates—all circling the Sahel with offers of investment, weapons, security training, and rhetorical solidarity. Moscow in particular has been eager to fill the vacuum left by the West’s retreat. Russian flags were waved in Niamey after the coup last year. Its emissaries now walk the halls of African ministries once frequented by French and EU officials.
The Imouraren mine is no small matter. With estimated reserves of 200,000 tonnes of uranium, it is one of the largest untapped deposits in the world. Orano has held the license for over a decade, but delays, falling uranium prices, and local resistance kept full-scale production at bay. The French firm had just begun moving equipment back in this year, hopeful that rising global prices and shifting geopolitics would finally bring the mine to life.
Instead, Niger’s junta said “non.”
That decision reflects more than nationalist bravado. It’s part of a wider Sahelian rebellion—not just against France, but against an entire post-colonial order that is now viewed with disdain by younger African officers and politicians. Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger—now part of a new military-led alliance dubbed the Alliance of Sahel States—have all kicked out French troops, torn up long-standing agreements, and aligned themselves with anti-Western rhetoric that resonates with segments of their populations.
For the European Union and France, the Niger fiasco is a diplomatic embarrassment. Despite dispatching envoys, offering incentives, and threatening sanctions, Paris seems unable to stop the unraveling of its Sahel strategy. Orano’s loss comes on the heels of France’s expulsion from Burkina Faso and Mali, and follows the steady closure of French media and language institutions across the region.
Critics argue that France’s policy was always built on brittle foundations—too reliant on military bases and elite networks, too dismissive of local agency. The Imouraren license revocation is not merely a business setback; it is a referendum on that very approach.
Meanwhile, Niger’s military rulers have promised to reassess “all partnerships” and build a “new, sovereign economic model.” That’s a tall order for a country still reliant on donor funds and security assistance. But in a world of multipolar suitors, even African juntas are spoiled for choice.
Orano says it is “surprised” by the decision and will “engage in dialogue” with Nigerien authorities. But the writing seems to be on the wall: the days of quietly mining Africa’s riches with little political cost are over.
In its place is something messier, more contested—and perhaps more African.
