In search of the "Russian dream": How African nationals end up in Russia's army

In September this year, Fedir Popadiuk, one of the hosts on Ukrainska Pravda's Kliati Pytannia podcast, and I travelled to a camp for Russian prisoners of war to ask African nationals why they had joined the Russian Armed Forces.

Back in early 2025, Ukrainska Pravda wrote that mass recruitment into the Russian army across Africa was only a matter of time. By February 2026, Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha said that more than 1,700 Africans from 36 countries had been identified as serving in the Russian forces.

There are indications that the actual number of African recruits may be higher. Kenyan intelligence, for example, reported that around 1,000 Kenyan nationals had fought against Ukraine, although journalists have officially identified 45 recruits out of more than 1,400.

Prisoners from African countries are extremely reluctant to speak to Ukrainian media. Representatives of the camp administration told us this was due to the influence of other prisoners from Russia and Central Asia, who tell their fellow inmates that Africans who give interviews will "have problems".

The camp administration warned us from the outset that the prisoners might manipulate information. And indeed, at times they contradicted themselves – but we were prepared for that. More surprising was the fact that two of the three servicemen we managed to speak to claimed that they had signed contracts not for the money, but for Russian-issued passports.

What does the "Russian dream" mean to African nationals? How does the Russian army recruit foreigners? And does Russia honour its commitments to those who fought in its ranks and subsequently ended up in Ukrainian captivity? Ukrainska Pravda explores these questions.

"The student"

Jax (name changed at his request) is a 23-year-old Egyptian from Sharm el-Sheikh. He is from an upper-middle-class background: his father holds a PhD and works at a local university. Before moving to Russia, Jax was already working as a programmer and, by his own account, earning a fairly good salary.

He recalls having interacted with Russians and Ukrainians since childhood, as his hometown is a popular holiday destination for people from both countries. In Sharm el-Sheikh, he met a woman and fell in love with her. Their relationship prompted him to move to Volgograd, Russia, to be with her and study programming at a local university.

"I'd known my girlfriend since I was in Egypt. She came there as a tourist and then took me back with her. She said, 'If you want to come and live in Russia, you can.' So I came, got a student visa, and enrolled at university.

I'd read a lot about Russia and the people who live there. So even before going, I knew quite a lot about Russian culture. I liked Russian literature. That's what interested me – I wanted to go to Russia and see how people lived there," the Russian serviceman says.

When asked who his favourite Russian writer was, however, he said he didn't know because reading wasn't really his thing.

It is hardly surprising that Jax began considering joining the Russian army. According to an investigation by Masrawy, one of Egypt's largest online news outlets, recruiting students is one of Russia's strategies.

Since 2022, Russia has systematically made it relatively easy for foreigners from Arab and African countries to enrol at its universities. For example, according to statistics from Russia's Ministry of Education and Science, 16,000 Egyptians were studying in Russia in 2023, compared with just 2,300 in 2018.

Students may be approached through Telegram channels or by so-called recruiters – Russian nationals or foreigners who have themselves come to Russia in search of the "Russian dream". Some Egyptians knowingly agree to enlist to earn money or obtain citizenship. Others find themselves under pressure because of problems with their documents, expired visas or the threat of deportation.

During our conversation, Jax was visibly offended when asked whether he had joined the Russian army for money. He insisted that his main motivation was obtaining Russian citizenship, which he had been promised immediately after signing a contract.

"I came to Russia in 2023. But I lived far away from the war. Not in Rostov-on-Don, for example, or near the front, where it could be dangerous. I didn't read about the war because I wasn't interested in politics – I'm not a politician.

I wanted to join the army because I wanted a Russian passport. But they didn't tell me I'd be sent to fight on the front line. They promised I'd be an ordinary soldier serving in the rear. But once I'd signed the contract, I had to follow the orders I was given," Jax recalls.

After completing the paperwork, he was sent for three weeks of training. According to Jax, he did not understand the contract because it was written entirely in Russian. Later in the interview, however, he boasted to Ukrainska Pravda about his command of the Russian language.

"I went to the military recruitment office myself. I was the only foreigner there. But if you look at me, you'll see that I don't look any different from Russians, and I speak good Russian.

The training lasted three weeks. I was assigned to a physical training group because they told me I'd be digging. You don't need to know how to use weapons for that. At first, I was doing the work they'd promised me. But then an inspection team arrived.

They inspected our entire battalion and selected the healthy young men. They had orders to transfer people to another unit. They took me, and that's how I ended up on the front line. A week later, I was a prisoner of war," Jax recalls.

According to Jax, his fellow servicemen taught him how to handle weapons over the course of just one or two days. He never even received an order to take part in an assault, as Ukrainian drones struck their positions almost immediately, leaving him wounded. He was captured in Rodynske, on the Pokrovsk front, in September 2025.

The young man is convinced that he is a Russian citizen and is waiting to be exchanged. However, Ukrainska Pravda was unable to confirm whether or not he holds a Russian passport with the administration of the prisoner-of-war camp or with the Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War.

"The migrant worker"

Okaite Prince is in his early thirties. Back home in Ghana, his wife and two daughters, aged four and five, are waiting for him. While his wife was still pregnant with their second child, he decided to go abroad to earn money. He ended up in Dubai, where he worked as a security guard at a restaurant.

While he was in the UAE, friends suggested that he try going to Russia to earn even more money. They had seen a TikTok video posted by a Ghanaian man who had joined the Russian forces and was enthusiastically promoting it as a way to make money. Eventually, they all decided to sign contracts.

"I was offered the chance to earn more money. They promised that after signing the contract, I'd serve in the rear, near the border. My friends booked my tickets, and I ended up in Moscow. Unfortunately, I didn't really understand what was going on because it was a new country for me.

Unfortunately, I also didn't understand what I was signing up for because the contract was written in Russian and I had no way of translating it," Prince recalls.

Russia's strategy for recruiting Ghanaian nationals largely relies on intermediaries. According to local investigative journalists, these are typically pro-Russian influencers on Facebook and TikTok who specifically target Ghanaians with content offering jobs in Russia. The recruiters do not work for free. They charge US$4,000-4,500 per person to arrange the paperwork, promising salaries of US$3,000-3,500 a month.

"This is effectively human trafficking disguised as recruitment for legitimate jobs. In reality, people are being recruited to fight in a war. People who don't follow what's happening in the Russia-Ukraine war have no idea where they're really going or what awaits them. It's trafficking in human lives," says Petro Yatsenko, head of the press service of the Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War, commenting on Russia's recruitment of foreigners into its army.

Some job advertisements targeting Ghanaians offer seemingly ordinary positions in Russia – drivers, bartenders or factory workers – but conceal recruitment into the Russian Armed Forces. Other accounts openly encourage people to join the Russian army.

The Ghanaian diaspora is another target audience. For example, we found a TikTok account targeting Ghanaian nationals living in the Gulf states.

Okaite Prince signed his contract in October 2025 and served for approximately a year. Initially, as promised, he served in a rear-area role with the Russian Armed Forces' Military Police, but was later transferred to an assault unit.

"My training lasted one month. My job was to investigate misconduct by soldiers. Then, after eight months, I was sent to the front. I don't speak Russian, so it's very difficult for me to remember Russian place names, but it was a forest. I was captured by chance. It was August this year," Prince recalls.

Under Ghanaian law, citizens are prohibited from joining the armed forces of another country without written permission from the president. Such a violation is classified as a first-degree felony, for which the law allows a sentence of up to life imprisonment. Okaite Prince claims he was unaware of these legal provisions when he signed his contract with the Russian army.

"The friend"

Willy describes himself as a Russian of Kenyan origin. When asked whether he had obtained Russian citizenship, he refused to answer. Back home, he trained as a military mechanic. He says he went to Russia to continue his education but declined to provide details about the university or his course.

"I was promised free education, so I took up the offer. Russia is a big country with lots of opportunities. I didn't know much about it, but I grew to love it because of the opportunity to obtain citizenship – and my experience of the war has only strengthened that feeling," he says.

It was a friend who suggested that Willy join the Russian army. According to Willy, his well-meaning friend did not enlist alongside him. What's more, the friend stopped communicating with him as soon as Willy was sent to the front line.

From there, Willy's story follows the same familiar pattern as those of the other men we interviewed: a contract whose terms he says he did not fully understand, a month of basic training and then a transfer to an assault unit. He was captured after three months of service.

According to Petro Yatsenko, the Russians generally deploy foreign recruits to sectors of the front where so-called meat assaults take place. Their life expectancy is usually very short.

"The Russians need what the British call cannon fodder.

If they're lucky enough to end up in a sector where the fighting is less intense, they may survive longer. Many of those who end up in our captivity are wounded – with burns or shrapnel wounds from drone attacks. Often, these are people who have lost their weapons, become disorientated or have been injured, and surrender in that condition," Yatsenko explains.

Willy has been in captivity for over a year but is still waiting for Russia to add his name to a prisoner exchange list. He also hopes that his family will receive Russian citizenship as he is a Russian serviceman.

Throughout the interview, Willy avoided giving details or answering questions directly. Yatsenko attributes the prisoners' reluctance to speak openly with Ukrainian journalists to their fear of losing their "Russian dream".

"Most of them don't have any documents with them. They don't take their passports or contracts into assaults, so it's quite difficult to verify this information. We know that some of them really are granted some form of citizenship, but again, it's difficult to verify. The same goes for claims that Russia supposedly continues to pay money into their bank accounts.

At first, it was very interesting to observe how their attitudes evolved. Previously, when they had just been captured, they would express remorse, repeatedly saying that they had done something very wrong and regretted it.

Then, over time, they apparently came to believe that if they kept condemning themselves, word might somehow reach Russia, and they might not be given this supposedly existing passport or receive their money," says Yatsenko.

He stresses that Ukraine repeatedly asks Russia to include these "new Russians" on prisoner exchange lists, but the aggressor country has no interest in them.

"And since the Russians don't want to take them back, they will continue to be held in accordance with all the relevant rules until active hostilities cease," the press service chief adds.

***

In fact, we recorded a fourth interview – with an Iraqi man. It happened by chance. During our visit to the prisoner-of-war camp, we were advised to approach prisoners who were out for a walk in the camp's exercise yard and ask whether they would agree to an interview. If the Russian servicemen agreed, we noted down their names and passed them on to the staff accompanying us. The camp is a secure facility, and interviews were scheduled for the afternoon.

We set up our filming equipment and waited for the camp administration to bring in the prisoners we had arranged to speak to – when an Iraqi man suddenly burst into the shot.

The first thing he said, before even introducing himself, was: "I love Russia." When we tried to get him to give us at least one rational reason why, he told us about his dream of a happy life in Russia. He couldn't describe what that life would look like, but his devotion to the aggressor state seemed almost like the courtly love of a medieval knight for a beautiful lady.

Each of the prisoners of war quoted in this article had their own version of the "Russian dream". Now, however, they all share the same hope: that Russia will remember them and put their names on a prisoner exchange list.

Sofiia Cheliak, Ukrainska Pravda

Translated by Myroslava Zavadska

Edited by Carina Macdonald