PARIS — Many years ago in Ouagadougou, the dusty capital of Burkina Faso, a visiting couple from France ordered dinner in a French-owned restaurant called Le Safari whose offerings included dishes listed as “selon arrivage,” loosely translated as “depending on availability.”
The overhead thunder of a French airliner on final approach to landing offered a more telling definition.
“Not long now,” the owner told the impatient couple. And, as promised, a rickety moped driven by a man in robes arrived from the airport within minutes, bearing chilled oysters to landlocked northwest Africa, fresh from distant Paris.
The episode seemed to say something about the umbilical cord binding France and its former colonies, like Burkina Faso, in a hard-nosed relationship designed to anchor French ways and to secure French benefits in commerce, diplomacy and influence going far beyond a plate of fines de claire.
But the relationship always had its darker, more muscular side. A year before the dinner at Le Safari, in another West African nation, 1,000 French soldiers had deployed to resist a southward advance by Libyan troops in Chad, intent on blocking what was depicted as a vision of Islamic expansionism sponsored by the former Libyan leader, Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi.
Almost 30 years later, the echoes of that moment — and many others like it — resonate through the fighting in Mali, whose desert north has become a crucible of Islamic fervor where French troops now risk being drawn into a protracted campaign to cement at least a semblance of government control.
And, much as President François Hollande of France denies that his country is still the gendarme of francophone Africa, the columns of French soldiers and planeloads of paratroops embroiled in the newest fighting recall much earlier campaigns.
“There was a time when General Faidherbe pursued armed bands attacking the forts of the Sahel, and even then they professed radical Islam,” Bertrand Badie, a political science scholar in Paris, wrote in Le Monde, referring to Gen. Louis Faidherbe, who played a central role in solidifying French interests in the broad swath of desert known as the Sahel in the 19th century. “What have we done since then?”
For many years, French military intervention in Africa functioned as the guardian of French economic interests and of the large expatriate French communities who benefited from them in cities like Libreville in Gabon and Abidjan in Ivory Coast. French troops defined the longevity of protégé African leaders. The French presence was a postcolonial bulwark, too, against British influence in southern and eastern Africa.
When Graham Greene crossed the border between Liberia and what was then the French colony of Guinea in the 1930s, as he recounted in his “Journey Without Maps,” the Liberians did not call their neighbor “Guinea” but “France,” so pervasive was French colonial influence.
But French Socialists, including Mr. Hollande, have long professed unease with the role of post-imperial puppet-masters.
As recently as December, when rebel forces advanced on Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, France dispatched 600 soldiers there. “If we’re present, it is not in order to protect a regime,” Mr. Hollande declared. “It’s to protect our citizens and our interests and in no way to intervene in the internal affairs of a country.”
The era of interference, he said, “is over with.”
A few days later, his words might have seemed somewhat premature when French warplanes halted a lightning southward advance by Islamist extremists in northern Mali. Paris deployed 4,000 soldiers for a ground campaign to recapture the insurgents’ northern redoubts.
After the quagmire of Afghanistan, welcome to the shifting sands of Sahelistan.
Mr. Hollande, indeed, had already cast the jihadi presence in northern Mali not in terms of a challenge to Francafrique, as the pervasive French presence in its former African colonies is known, but in the global terms of an international struggle against terrorism. “We face a threat that concerns the entire world,” Mr. Hollande told the United Nations in September.
That assessment, said Patrick Smith, the editor of a London-based newsletter, Africa Confidential, has spread a “geopolitical patina” over the “very, very local” mistakes and miscalculations in Mali and elsewhere.
Indeed, as France seeks an exit strategy based on handing over the fight to Malian and West African troops, “the next part of the war is going to be much more complicated,” Mr. Smith said in an interview.
Many years ago, when the French Foreign Legion had been drawn into an easy contest against rebels in what was called Zaire, a French diplomat in the capital, Kinshasa, concluded that “in Africa, there are never big battles.”
The official may have been making comparisons with cataclysms woven into French history, like the Somme during World War I, or Dien Bien Phu in Vietnam. But, if Mr. Hollande is borne out in his analysis of the jihadi menace, Sahelistan might just put the diplomat’s adage to a critical test.
