The global economic balance of power is shifting, and Africa finds itself at a crossroads. The traditional dominance of the US in shaping trade and aid policies is receding, creating both peril and possibility for African nations. Recent disruptions—from protectionist tariffs launched in Washington to the outsized influence of tech billionaires—have exposed how vulnerable Africa’s economies remain to external decisions. The once-stable antagonistic cooperation between Washington and Beijing, which long shaped the contours of the global order, now appears to be waning. Yet these shocks are also spurring a long-overdue conversation about self-reliance and sovereignty. Can Africa turn a decline in US influence into an opportunity to chart its own course, or will new dependencies simply replace the old ones?
.s.US President Donald Trump’s trade wars epitomize the jolts to the system. His administration’s sweeping tariffs did not stop at China—they struck African countries as well, abruptly undercutting the African Growth and Opportunity Act (AGOA), which for two decades had given African exporters preferential access to US markets. The effects were immediate and painful. In Lesotho, for instance, a flourishing garment industry that depended on tariff-free exports to American retailers suddenly faced levies of up to 50% on its goods. Thousands of factory workers—mostly women—saw their jobs put at risk overnight as orders evaporated and profit margins vanished. In Kenya, flower farmers braced for a 10% tariff hike on horticultural exports, threatening to price them out of the market. These were not mere economic policy shifts—they struck at the livelihoods of households and communities that had pinned their hopes on global trade.
Trump’s tariffs on African countries reached as high as 50% on goods from Lesotho, with steep duties also hitting Madagascar, Mauritius, and others. Industries painstakingly built under AGOA’s duty-free framework were thrown into crisis.
For African policymakers, the tariff shock was a rude awakening. It exposed how fragile the continent’s place in global trade truly is when a single policy reversal in Washington can upend entire sectors. “Can we continue to rely on the US, or is it time to find a path of our own?” became the question animating high-level discussions across the continent. The call for diversification grew louder. For decades, Africa’s development strategy had been anchored to ties with the US and Europe—ties that now revealed themselves to be tenuous, even illusory. Trump’s protectionism, though damaging in the immediate term, has forced a reckoning: Africa must reduce its overreliance on any single foreign market. If the status quo can no longer be taken for granted, then perhaps this moment of crisis might also serve as a catalyst to imagine a more independent economic future.
When billionaires shape foreign policy
Trade is only one side of the coin. Even as African nations grappled with tariff whiplash, a new challenge to their sovereignty has emerged—driven by powerful private actors like Elon Musk, the tech magnate-turned-policymaker. Under the auspices of a Trump-era initiative tellingly dubbed the Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE), Musk spearheaded an aggressive campaign to slash what he considered “wasteful” federal spending, including US foreign aid. In an unprecedented arrangement, the billionaire was effectively handed the reins to remold parts of the US government’s role abroad. One of Musk’s prime targets, the US Agency for International Development (USAID), has long provided development assistance to African countries.
Musk’s cost-cutting crusade quickly translated into severe aid reductions. Programs that had been funding health clinics, schools, and infrastructure across Africa were abruptly scaled back or terminated. The consequences have been dire. In March, the World Health Organization warned that the US decision to “pause” foreign aid deliveries had “substantially disrupted” the supply of HIV/AIDS medications in at least eight countries, including Kenya, Lesotho, and South Sudan—nations that could run out of life-saving treatments within months. Decades of progress against the HIV epidemic now risk unraveling, with officials fearing as many as 10 million additional infections and three million deaths if these disruptions continue. In Uganda, which relies heavily on US-funded HIV programs, clinics have already begun rationing antiretroviral drugs—a grim step backward into crisis. These cuts are more than just numbers on a budget sheet; they are measured in human lives, as the US retreat from foreign aid, led by Trump and Musk, has gutted support for some of the most vulnerable populations.
What makes this scenario especially unsettling for Africa is the erosion of accountability that comes with private influence over public policy. Musk is an unelected actor wielding outsized power: decisions made in a Silicon Valley boardroom—or an Oval Office backchannel—can determine whether a village clinic in Mali stays open, a clean water project in Kenya dries up, or maternal health programs in Ethiopia are shuttered. This trend, in which billionaire “diplomats” shape the destinies of nations, raises urgent questions about democratic oversight and sovereignty. Who ultimately holds the reins when development priorities can be reset on a whim by corporate titans? For African states used to negotiating with official departments and diplomats, the new paradigm is disorienting. It’s no longer just Washington’s whims they must navigate, but those of individuals operating far outside any diplomatic framework. Musk’s influence is a harbinger of a world where private wealth dictates the terms of global governance—often sidelining the governments of the very countries most affected.
The convergence of Trump’s tariff nationalism and Musk’s corporate-driven agenda lays bare a hard truth: Africa’s economic fortunes are still far too subject to decisions made elsewhere, for interests other than Africa’s own. Whether it’s a US president pursuing an “America First” trade policy or a tech CEO advancing a technocratic vision of efficiency, the result for Africa is the same: loss of agency. Each has challenged African leaders to ask: Are we masters of our own fate, or merely pawns in someone else’s game?
Yet amid these challenges, a cautious sense of empowerment is emerging. By exposing the pitfalls of dependence, Trump and Musk may have inadvertently done Africa a favor. They have made it impossible to ignore the structural vulnerabilities that have long been apparent. As one pillar of external support after another collapses, African nations are being forced to accelerate conversations about self-sufficiency and regional integration that have simmered for years.
New partners, old risks
If the US is stepping back—or pushing Africa away—who will fill the void? One obvious answer is China. In the past two decades, China’s presence in Africa has grown from a curiosity to a cornerstone of the continent’s external relations. Through the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), Beijing has poured money into highways in Kenya, railways in Ethiopia, ports in Tanzania, and beyond. For many African governments, China’s willingness to finance big-ticket infrastructure has been a godsend, especially as Western aid and investment waver. In the wake of Trump’s tariff shock, analysts predicted that Beijing would waste no time presenting itself as a more stable, “rules-based” partner—one that wouldn’t yank away market access on short notice. China has long emphasized its commitment to consistent engagement, a message likely to push countries even closer to its orbit.
But if US influence came with strings, so too does China’s. Critics warn that BRI projects can devolve into “debt-trap diplomacy,” a new form of economic subjugation by another name. The formula is familiar: Chinese state banks offer huge loans for infrastructure, African states eagerly accept, and when repayment becomes impossible, Beijing gains leverage—whether in the form of control over strategic assets or greater influence over domestic policymaking. Already, countries like Zambia and Sri Lanka—a cautionary tale outside Africa—have struggled with unsustainable debt linked to Chinese funding. Critics argue the BRI functions as a development scheme that saddles countries with unaffordable loans, leaving them vulnerable to coercion and weakening their sovereignty.
From an African perspective, the picture is more nuanced. Leaders like South African President Cyril Ramaphosa have pushed back on the “debt trap” narrative, arguing that Chinese investment, if managed prudently, fills crucial development gaps and that African states are not passive victims. Chinese capital has indeed built roads, power grids, and other infrastructure where it was desperately needed. And unlike Western aid, it often comes with fewer lectures on governance or human rights. Still, the long-term implications must be weighed. Who owns the mines and minerals after the deals are signed? Are local workers and businesses benefiting, or just foreign contractors? If a railway is built with Chinese loans and operated by a Chinese firm, how much of the profit stays in Africa? These questions strike at the heart of sovereignty: can Africa truly be sovereign if its most critical assets are externally controlled, whether by Washington or Beijing?
The same caution applies to other emerging partners. For example, India, Turkey, and the Gulf states have also increased trade and investment across Africa in recent years. They offer African governments more diplomatic options and the promise of diversified economic ties. In theory, this competition for African markets could increase African leverage—a chance to play suitors off one another for better terms. But in practice, it could also become a race to the bottom. Without clear-eyed strategies and strong negotiating positions, African nations risk simply replacing one set of extractive arrangements with another.
Ultimately, diversifying external relationships—whether through trade deals with Asia or South-South cooperation—is a necessary strategy, but not a sufficient one. True autonomy won’t come from swapping patrons. It will come from reducing the need for patrons altogether.
The promise of AfCFTA and regional integration
One bright avenue for reducing external dependence is strengthening ties within Africa itself. The African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), operational since 2021, is an ambitious project aiming to knit together 54 African countries into a single market of 1.4 billion people with a combined GDP of $3.4 trillion. It represents Africa’s boldest effort yet to boost intra-continental commerce, which currently makes up only about 15% of Africa’s trade, compared to over 60% in Asia and 70% in Europe. The logic is straightforward: if African countries trade more with each other, they will be less beholden to external markets. A more self-contained African economy could better withstand global shocks—whether financial crises, pandemics, or the whims of foreign leaders—because it would spread risk across a broader internal base.
Early analyses of AfCFTA’s potential are encouraging. The World Bank estimates that by 2035, full implementation of AfCFTA could raise Africa’s exports by 32% and lift tens of millions of people out of poverty. It could also make the continent far more attractive to investment in manufacturing and services, as companies tap into economies of scale beyond their home country. In short, AfCFTA aspires to do nothing less than reconfigure the African economy—shifting it from an exporter of raw commodities into a diversified production base serving African consumers. Over time, this could help break the historic pattern where Africa sends out unprocessed minerals and crops and buys back finished goods at a premium, a cycle that has perpetuated underdevelopment since colonial times.
However, turning the paper agreements of AfCFTA into real commerce on the ground is a formidable challenge. Infrastructure gaps are a major bottleneck—you can’t trade if you can’t transport goods efficiently from an inland factory to a port or land border. Many African countries still lack reliable roads, railways, and electricity to support industrial growth. Customs procedures and regulatory standards need harmonization to ease the passage of goods. And some countries remain wary that opening up their markets might undercut local industries in the short term.
Implementing AfCFTA will require not just political will but also significant investment in connectivity and competitiveness. It is encouraging that even amidst these concerns, regional blocs and governments are actively working on these issues—from new cross-border highway projects to unified customs protocols. The direction is clear: Africa sees regional integration as key to its economic future, even if the journey will be long.
Beyond dependency
Whether dealing with Washington, Beijing, or any other capital, one theme becomes apparent: Africa’s leverage will ultimately depend on its internal strength. Diversifying trade partners and signing new deals can only go so far if underlying vulnerabilities persist. The most fundamental question is one Africans are increasingly posing to themselves: What would it take to truly stand on our own feet?
The answers usually begin at home. Stronger institutions, better infrastructure, and skilled human capital are the foundation of any self-sufficient economy. For Africa to negotiate as an equal on the world stage, it needs capable states that can deliver public goods and foster an environment where domestic and foreign businesses can thrive. This means tackling everything from corruption and bureaucratic inefficiency to gaps in education and technology. It means investing in roads, ports, power grids, and internet bandwidth that connect African producers with African consumers. It also means nurturing local entrepreneurship and industry, so that value is added within Africa rather than overseas. As long as African countries primarily export raw minerals or crude oil and import the finished electronics, machinery, and processed foods they consume, they will remain at the mercy of external price swings and foreign suppliers.
Consider the stark reality: many African economies are still overly dependent on a narrow range of commodity exports—whether it’s oil in Nigeria, copper in Zambia, coffee in Ethiopia, or cocoa in Côte d’Ivoire. This makes them extremely vulnerable to global market fluctuations and leaves them with little bargaining power. Breaking out of that pattern requires deliberate strategy. Governments might, for example, incentivize the growth of local agro-processing industries, so coffee and cashew nuts are roasted and packaged in Africa rather than exported raw. Or they might invest in mineral refining and battery manufacturing at home to climb up the value chain from just mining cobalt or lithium. Some of this is already happening: Rwanda and Ghana have begun processing more of their minerals locally, and Kenya has nurtured a booming tech sector dubbed the “Silicon Savannah.” But scaling these successes across the continent is the challenge ahead.
Reimagining Africa’s role in the global economy also requires a shift in mindset. For too long, the focus has been on attracting foreign aid and foreign investment as the primary drivers of development. This often meant tailoring policies to please donors or multinational corporations, sometimes at the expense of nurturing domestic capacity. Now, a new generation of thinkers and leaders is emphasizing build your own over beggar thy neighbor—the essence being that aid can only ever be a stopgap; real wealth comes from productive economies, not perpetual assistance. This perspective doesn’t reject globalization; rather, it seeks to engage on Africa’s terms. It’s about creating the conditions where African nations can engage in trade not as junior partners competing mainly on low wages or raw materials, but as equal players offering competitive industries and innovation.
None of this is easy. The road to true economic sovereignty is long and complex, and progress will be measured in years, if not decades. There will be setbacks and compromises. In the near term, African governments must still contend with external pressures—whether it’s negotiating debt relief with Chinese banks, haggling over trade terms with Europe, or managing the fallout of US policy shifts. Globalization is not going away, and interdependence is a reality. The goal, however, is to reshape that interdependence into a healthier form—one where Africa is not a passive recipient but an active shaper of global norms and networks.
What might that look like in practice? It could include steps such as strengthening governance and the rule of law to ensure that agreements are transparent and resources—whether aid or revenue—are managed responsibly, reducing opportunities for foreign exploitation of instability. Investing in education and skills would equip Africa’s massive youth population to drive the industries of the future, from agribusiness and manufacturing to digital services, rather than relying on expatriate expertise. Developing critical infrastructure—such as highways, ports, rail corridors, and power pools—would prioritize projects that connect African economies to each other and enable local businesses to become more competitive. Fostering entrepreneurship and innovation by supporting small and medium enterprises, start-ups, and research could unlock homegrown solutions and diversify the economic base. These initiatives, many of which are underway to varying degrees, would help build a resilient foundation. Only on such a foundation can Africa truly mitigate the whims of external forces—be it a trade war, an aid cutoff, or a global recession.
Choosing the future
As Africa moves through this era of transition, one thing is clear: the continent is no longer willing to be a pawn in great power games or a stage for billionaire experiments. There must be a new determination to seize the moment—to leverage the cracks in the old order to build something new and more equitable. The decline of US dominance in Africa—symbolized by Trump’s retreat—has, paradoxically, given African leaders more room to assert themselves. They must actively seek new alliances while also being careful not to jump from the frying pan into the fire of neocolonialism. They must double down on regional solutions like AfCFTA, even as they court outside investors to create jobs.
There is, of course, a long way to go. Africa’s share of global trade remains tiny, and its growing economies are still vulnerable to shocks beyond their control. Setbacks such as the COVID-19 pandemic and the Ukraine war’s ripple effects on food and fuel prices have illustrated how global crises hit African countries hard. The task of building resilience is urgent. This means not only economic diversification, but also strategic diplomacy: African countries must be represented in international forums where decisions about trade rules, climate action, and technology governance are made. Encouragingly, we see more African voices in the G20, the World Trade Organization, and other bodies, pushing for reforms that consider developing world interests—from special drawing rights in financial crises to waiver of vaccine patents.
In the end, the question is not simply whether a world with less US influence is good or bad for Africa. Rather, it’s how Africa can respond to a world of many powers and actors in a way that serves its people’s interests. If the US retreat leads to a scramble where China, Europe, Russia, and private companies all vie for influence, Africa can either be the prize or set the terms of engagement. The difference lies in preparation and unity. African nations will benefit by presenting a coherent voice where possible—for instance, bargaining as a bloc on trade issues—and by insisting on reciprocity and respect in all partnerships.
The coming years will test Africa’s resolve and creativity. Will leaders capitalize on this turning point to implement the tough reforms needed for genuine independence? Will Africa’s elites invest at home or continue capital flight abroad? Will regional solidarity overcome old rivalries to make initiatives like AfCFTA succeed? These are open questions.
What is certain is that the old patterns of dependency have been disrupted. The “business as usual” of relying on Washington’s favor or Beijing’s loans is being questioned as never before. A new generation of Africans is acutely aware of their nations’ fragile gains and is impatient for a more secure future. They seek a future where Africa engages with the world on its own terms—harnessing global opportunities but not beholden to any single foreign agenda.
Africa’s pursuit of economic sovereignty in this changing landscape is not just an African story; it is a global one. It will help define the 21st-century economic order. If successful, it could lift hundreds of millions out of poverty and open a new chapter of shared prosperity. If it falters, we may simply see a reshuffling of masters. The stakes could not be higher. But as the saying goes, crisis is opportunity. Africa now has the chance—hard-won and fraught with risks though it may be—to redefine its relationship with the world and ensure that “partnership” is not just a euphemism for dependency, but a pathway to true autonomy.