Late last year, the world was alerted to the disturbing news that Russia was recruiting hundreds of young African women, aged 18–22, to go and manufacture drones in a military-industrial compound a thousand km east of Moscow called Alabuga. The reports also stated that the recruits—from at least 15 African countries—were promised good salaries and skills training but, once there, were often trapped, facing tax deductions, dangerous working conditions, strict surveillance, and difficulties in returning home.
In the past six months, a ZAM team in seven African countries, including PREMIUM TIMES in Nigeria, investigated the Russian recruitment exercise—and why so many young Africans take the opportunity, sometimes even after being warned. This Great Lakes chapter shows that not only women but also young men are recruited to Alabuga, where they face pressure to join the army and fight at the front. It also shows that their own governments offer little help and that returnees experience shame and trauma.
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When 19-year-old Silas* left his family home in Sampeke, rural Burundi, in early 2023, he believed he was embarking on the opportunity of a lifetime. Russian recruiters had promised him vocational training, steady employment, and a chance to send money home through the prestigious Alabuga Start programme. He had seen videos of modern factories, comfortable dormitories, and smiling African workers. “What they didn’t show us were the uniforms waiting for us,” he says, telling how, 18 months later, he was dodging Ukrainian artillery fire in a frozen trench outside Bakhmut.
Mr Silas’s journey from the Alabuga drone factory to the battlefield illustrates how the programme connects to the military, especially for men. After six months assembling drone components, he and several other East Africans were transferred to a military training facility in Rostov-on-Don. “They said it was the next phase of our vocational training, security work,” Mr Silas recalls. “By then, we understood what was really happening, but the contracts were clear: desertion meant prison or worse.”
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The training was brief and brutal. Within weeks, Mr Silas found himself in eastern Ukraine, part of a unit that included men from Ghana, Nigeria, Morocco, and other African nations. Many of these recruits did not volunteer at all, he says; they were sent to the front lines through deceit and coercion. “The mortality rate was horrific,” Mr Silas continues. “They used us in human wave attacks, treating men as cannon fodder. So many of the people I trained with in Rostov-on-Don were lying dead on the ground in Donetsk.”
His escape came during a chaotic retreat when Ukrainian forces overran their position. Rather than regrouping with Russian forces, Silas surrendered to Ukrainian authorities, who classified him as a prisoner of war. He was subsequently included in a prisoner exchange at the Belarus border, a common location for such swaps. From Belarus, he made his way to the Polish border, where he applied for asylum and was granted temporary protection status as a conflict refugee. He later travelled within the Schengen zone to another EU country, where he is now awaiting formal asylum and refugee status.
Sophisticated recruitment
In Africa’s Great Lakes region, Russia is systematically exploiting economic desperation and educational aspirations to fuel its war in Ukraine. Searching social media and network contacts, ZAM found young people from Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda, Kenya, and Tanzania recruited into roles ranging from drone assembly to frontline combat. They had enlisted by responding to the “Academic Mobility Consortium” through a website called RAFU, the Russian-African Network University, which offers thousands of Russian-sponsored scholarships, or through the site of a group of Russian state universities, RACUS, which specifically lists Rwanda, Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania, and Burundi as priority recruitment countries.
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The recruitment websites look legitimate, featuring official Russian government endorsements. Recruitment also occurred at events at Russian cultural centres and embassies in Dar es Salaam and other major cities in the region, which regularly host education fairs promoting study opportunities. Additionally, so-called Russia Houses have been established in several regional capitals, ostensibly to promote language learning and cultural exchange.
On social media, TikTok videos featuring young African women at modern Russian facilities garner hundreds of thousands of views across East Africa. Facebook groups with names like ‘Study in Russia – Great Lakes’ and ‘African Success in Russia’ share success stories and application information. In Kenya, social media influencers target university students and recent graduates frustrated with limited employment opportunities, offering STEM graduates advanced training in engineering or technology. The recruitment networks extend into the Democratic Republic of Congo, where ongoing conflict has created large populations of displaced youth, and the Central African Republic, where Russian Wagner mercenaries have established a significant presence.
In Uganda, a security source confided that he has seen many young men go to Alabuga or the Russian front after having been promised “jobs as guards, security trainers, or military advisors. They work with local recruiting companies here, and most of the people go without knowing exactly what they are getting involved in. For young men with limited prospects, earning ten times their local salary seems worth any risk.”
Modernity and opportunity
Analysis of social media activity shows coordinated efforts across platforms, with content specifically tailored to different regional audiences. “The content is professionally produced and psychologically sophisticated,” explains Burundian medical doctor Rodrigue Ndabashinze, who has worked with communities affected by displacement and labour export, including individuals like Mr Peter, who have returned from Russia. “(The promoters) understand exactly what appeals to young East Africans—modernity, opportunity, escape from limited prospects.”
But the returnees Mr Ndabashinze has seen have been disappointed and damaged, he says. “The psychological impact may be even worse than the physical. These young people, who left home with dreams and hope, return traumatised, ashamed, and often unable to discuss their experiences with their families.” He adds that their silence is sometimes because they were forced to sign non-disclosure agreements as a condition of their release. “Others fear retaliation against family members if they speak publicly.”
The Alabuga Special Economic Zone in Tatarstan has become ground zero for Russia’s most sophisticated recruitment operation in Africa. An estimated 800 women aged 18–22, but also young men like Mr Silas, have been recruited under the pretences of a “work-study programme,” with participants earning a starting salary of $860 a month while, as the brochures say, “gaining valuable experience” in fields described as the services industry, IT, and logistics.
Also, like Mr Silas, recruit Peter* (23, from Burundi) discovered a different reality upon arrival. First, “they immediately confiscated our phones and passports.” The drone factory itself offered mainly very labour-intensive manual work, particularly in the manufacture of the airframe. Peter worked at the facility for six months before managing to return home. He describes the 12-hour shifts assembling components for Shahed drones as agonising: “The worst part wasn’t the work, it was realising that the things we were building were going to kill people—Ukrainian civilians, maybe children. But for that period, leaving wasn’t an option. I was trapped.” Reluctant to provide details of how he did it, Peter eventually made his way back home.
ZAM was able to verify both his and Mr Silas’s accounts of events with families and acquaintances in Burundi, as well as through photos on their phones.
Stuck in Belarus
ZAM also established contact with a 22-year-old Rwandan who is currently stranded in Belarus after joining and completing the Alabuga programme. Speaking anonymously, he says he has made four attempts to cross into Poland, only to be arrested and returned each time. “His family in Belgium has tried everything—lawyers, diplomatic contacts, even hiring smugglers,” says a family friend, speaking from Brussels. “The Belarusian authorities won’t let him leave; they don’t care much about migrants.” Belarus has weaponised migrants’ presence in border zones by trapping people on its territory and pushing them toward the Polish border, creating pressure and instability for neighbouring countries. “But the Polish border guards won’t let him in either,” the relative continues. “He’s trapped in the midpoint, and we’re running out of options. Belarus is not a good place to be. He was once arrested, and we had to bribe the Belarusians for him to be released.”
The case highlights a broader pattern of abandonment by Russia after recruits decide they don’t want to continue on the path (often military) presented to them. Several sources confirmed that once recruits complete their “training” or labour assignments, many find themselves effectively stateless, unable or too ashamed to return home, and unwelcome in Russia without continued service.
Their own governments are not offering help, they say. A mother from Kanyosha, Bujumbura, in Burundi, whose 21-year-old son vanished four months after his arrival in Russia for purported engineering studies, expressed her frustration with official inaction: “We’ve approached everyone we think can help. Everyone expresses sympathy, but no one takes action. It’s like our children don’t matter.” Her son had travelled to Russia accompanied by a close friend, who disappeared at the same time, according to the mother. “We just hear unconfirmed reports that they might have been killed by a drone strike in Ukraine. There is no official confirmation or any information from Russian authorities, nor from officials here in Burundi,” she stated.
A troubling lack of care
Indifference, or the implicit cooperation of East African governments with the Russian agenda, permeates all the experiences. African governments have generally shown a troubling lack of care for their citizens, with some official documents even promoting the programme. In East Africa, Ugandan ambassador Moses Kizige publicly announced in 2022 that “this year Alabuga Polytechnic offered Uganda five scholarships and is open to enrolling more”; he was later seen visiting the compound. Kenyan ambassador Peter Mathuki has publicly promoted the programme, saying he was “impressed” with Alabuga (1). No public statements warning of the military-adjacent nature of the Alabuga programme have been issued by any African government to date. Rwanda and Burundi have remained entirely silent on the issue, offering no official responses despite requests from media outlets for comment.
In Rwanda, Batamurizi* (24) almost fell for the Alabuga programme’s promises of hospitality and tourism training for young women. “The videos they show feature African women in modern kitchens, serving food to Russian customers. But it’s a fantasy designed to exploit dreams of escape from poverty here.” She had wanted to go herself but aborted her flight to Russia after an alert from her cousin, who shared a screenshot of a message he had received from a friend in Poland. “In Russia, new job offers specifically for young girls (is) slavery,” it said, explaining that recruits were paid “700 US$ per month and most of the money goes to the company to pay for bed and food. Labour all day and night. They produce the drones and other weapons to attack Ukraine. And now way to go out!! (sic).” The message stopped her in her tracks. However, three of her friends, with whom she had studied, went to Alabuga nevertheless. “I have lost contact with each of them,” Ms Batamurizi says.
Family formation
Among the perils facing female Alabuga recruits is pregnancy. Media reports, including from Alabuga’s own PR, show that the programme promotes romantic possibilities, and materials include sections on “intercultural marriage” and “family formation.” “Several girls became pregnant during our time there,” Mr Silas says. “The Russian authorities encouraged this, offering additional payments and benefits. But the girls who got pregnant couldn’t leave, even when they wanted to. They became completely dependent on the system.”
Vulnerability
Understanding why young East Africans are vulnerable to these recruitment schemes, including what appear to be broader demographic goals on the part of Russia, requires examining the region’s economic realities. Youth unemployment across the Great Lakes region averages over 60 per cent, with limited opportunities for advancement even for university graduates. Russia’s recruitment drive explicitly targets this desperation. Application materials reviewed by ZAM ask detailed questions about family financial situations, employment history, and future goals. Recruiters appear to prioritise applicants from rural areas with limited educational opportunities and strong financial motivations. Mr Peter confirms that, in his experience, Russia is not “randomly selecting people.” “They choose people who are desperate enough to take risks but smart enough to be useful. People with families to support, people facing limited futures at home.”
He fully understands why people like himself might flock to Russia, even when they know or suspect they may end up in the military. “When your family is struggling to eat, and someone offers you $800 a month plus free housing, you don’t ask many questions.” He believes that “many of those who go there know what may await them, but choose to lie to their friends and parents, saying they’re going to school. The money is too good to pass up, even if it means risking your life, considering the life we live here in Burundi.”
Orders from above
Among the few African state functionaries who have expressed concern about the fate of her country’s youth in the Russian war machine is Uwimana*, a senior education official in Kigali, the capital of authoritarian-ruled Rwanda. Speaking on condition of anonymity, Uwimana told ZAM, “We’ve seen a significant increase in young people expressing interest in Russian educational opportunities. But we are concerned about the vague nature of many of these programmes and the fact that some students who left have simply vanished from communication.”
When asked how the department can allow this to continue, she added: “Baker, you know how things work here; even I can’t dare ask anyone or hold anyone accountable… This also applies to the whole ministry, because sometimes the decisions or discussions with these programmes are beyond our capacity to handle—the orders to work with these people are always coming from above.” Ms Uwimana says she can only wish for “truth and transparency,” and for “governments [to] publicly acknowledge what’s happening, warn citizens about deceptive recruitment practices, and establish systems to monitor and assist their nationals abroad.”
Besides emphasising the need for better governance of African leaders, Ms Uwimana also believes that international pressure on Russia to end deceptive recruitment practices is essential. “This is a form of human trafficking that violates international law. The international community has tools to address this, but it requires political will and coordinated action.” A doctor, Rodrigue Ndabashinze, in Burundi, concurs: “Educational institutions and civil society organisations have roles to play in raising awareness and providing alternatives to vulnerable youth. We also need to address the underlying economic desperation that makes these schemes attractive.”
The Rwanda Investigation Bureau, the main body responsible for criminal investigations in the country, including human trafficking, did not respond to repeated requests regarding Russian recruitment activities.
Friendly Africa
While the Alabuga programme focuses on drone production, it represents just one element of a broader military recruitment effort. The total number of African recruits in Russia’s army is thought to exceed 35,000. According to the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs, 3,344 foreign nationals who went to fight in Ukraine have received Russian citizenship since the start of 2024.
The military recruitment fits within the broader context of Moscow’s expanding influence across the continent. The Wagner Group’s activities in the Central African Republic, Mali, and other West African nations have established Russian military and political footholds, which now exist throughout Africa. The recruitment programmes also serve domestic Russian needs. With military losses mounting in Ukraine and domestic resistance to mobilisation growing, foreign recruits from what Russia terms “friendly countries” provide a politically acceptable source of manpower.
Meanwhile, hundreds of young people remain trapped in various stages of the Russian recruitment pipeline. Some assemble weapons in Alabuga factories, others undergo military training in Rostov-on-Don, and still others dodge artillery fire in Ukrainian trenches. Mr Silas and others ZAM spoke to all want the international community to act. “Every day we delay action, more families lose their children to this system,” warns Mr Silas. “I was lucky to escape, but so many others won’t be.”
Letters asking the embassies of Burundi and Rwanda if they were in touch with their nationals at Alabuga, or whether they were monitoring their safety and well-being, were left unanswered. A request for comment to the Ugandan ambassador to Russia, Thomas Kizige, and a letter to the Kenyan embassy in Moscow were not responded to.
*Names in asterisks have been changed to protect the sources.
This article was first published by ZAM Magazine, a PREMIUM TIMES partners. PREMIUM TIMES took part in this transnational investigation, and the Nigerian report will be published soon.
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