Burkina Faso’s military junta has announced the forced nationalisation of the country’s dominant cotton company, Dioxin, in a move that has sent shockwaves through West Africa’s agribusiness sector and reignited debates over who controls the land and the wealth it produces.
A Sudden Seizure
Under a decree signed by Captain Ibrahim Traoré’s transitional government in late March 2026, the state will take 100% control of Dioxin — previously majority-owned by Swiss agricultural trading giant Louis Dreyfus Company — for an undisclosed sum widely speculated to be far below the company’s estimated valuation of $607 million. Armed soldiers and police officers were deployed to company facilities in Ouagadougou and Bobo-Dioulasso to prevent any assets from being moved out.
Workers arrived at the company’s main ginnery outside Bobo-Dioulasso to find soldiers at the gates and a notice on the door announcing the transfer to state ownership. “They told us it was over. That the company now belongs to the state,” one machine operator, who gave his name only as Abdoulaye, told international media.
The Industry at a Glance
Cotton is the backbone of Burkina Faso’s agricultural economy. The country is one of the largest cotton producers in sub-Saharan Africa, with roughly 700,000 smallholder farmers depending on the crop for their livelihoods. Annual production had been running at around 600,000 tonnes before the political instability that followed the 2022 coup that brought Traoré to power.
Dioxin — formerly known as SOFITEX before its partial privatisation in 2009 — had been the sole buyer of cotton from Burkinabè farmers under a regulated monopsony, controlling seed distribution, fertiliser supply, and purchase prices for the entire supply chain.
Sovereignty or Sabotage?
The government’s official line is straightforward: Burkina Faso should control its own cotton, not hand the profits to a foreign corporation. “For too long, Burkinabè farmers have produced wealth that left our country,” said a spokesperson for the Ministry of Agriculture. “This is about sovereignty.”
Economists, however, are sharply divided. Critics note that Dioxin invested heavily in seed research, drought-resistant varieties, and supply chain infrastructure that the state has never managed. “You cannot simply seize the know-how along with the brand name,” said Dr. Aïcha Kaboré, an agricultural economist at the University of Ouagadougou. “The government may own the building now, but does it know how to run it?”
A Familiar Pattern?
The Traoré government’s move follows a broader trend across West Africa’s military regimes, several of which have moved to renegotiate or revoke mining and agricultural contracts with foreign companies in the name of sovereignty. Mali under Colonel Assimi Goïta seized a gold mine in 2023. Niger expelled Western mining executives in 2024.
But cotton is different. Unlike gold or oil, cotton is grown by hundreds of thousands of individual farming families whose daily survival depends on getting paid on time. Unlike a mine, a cotton ginnery cannot simply be seized and restarted by soldiers. The supply chain is living, relational, and depends on trust built over years between buyers and smallholders.
What Happens Next?
The government has promised a compensation process, but no details have been released. Louis Dreyfus Company has reportedly engaged international legal counsel and is considering arbitration proceedings. Meanwhile, the planting season is weeks away, and farmers who depend on Dioxin’s credit lines for seeds and fertiliser are in limbo.
Whether the nationalisation delivers on its promise of agricultural sovereignty or becomes another cautionary tale of state overreach in fragile economies will depend on one thing above all: whether the state can get the cotton to market before the rains come.