On the remote island of Annobón, a tiny volcanic outpost belonging to Equatorial Guinea and located some 315 miles off the country’s mainland, life has been upended in ways few could have anticipated. Since July 2024, the island’s roughly 5,000 residents have endured a near-total internet blackout, a move that has not only isolated them from the outside world but also crippled basic services like banking and emergency healthcare. The reason? A protest letter sent to the central government in Malabo, complaining about dynamite explosions from a Moroccan construction company, set off a chain of events that would leave the islanders disconnected and, many say, in fear for their lives.
According to reporting by the Associated Press, the trouble began when a group of Annobón residents wrote to authorities last July, raising the alarm over the environmental and health impacts of the explosions carried out by Somagec, a Moroccan firm with a history of large-scale infrastructure projects across West and Central Africa. What followed was swift and severe: dozens of those who signed the letter were imprisoned for nearly 11 months, and the island’s internet connection was severed almost overnight. As of September 14, 2025, the blackout remains in place, with no signs of relief.
Local residents, some of whom have since fled Annobón, describe a climate of fear and hardship. "The current situation is extremely serious and worrying," said one signatory who spent nearly a year in prison, speaking anonymously to the Associated Press out of fear of government reprisal. Many others have left in recent months, citing both the difficulty of living without internet and concerns for personal safety. The effects have been devastating: with no online access, banking services have collapsed, emergency hospital care has ground to a halt, and communication is now limited to costly and closely monitored phone calls. As Macus Menejolea Taxijad, a recent exile from the island, put it, "Phone calls are heavily monitored, and speaking freely can pose a risk."
The government’s response fits a pattern of repression that has drawn criticism from rights organizations. Amnesty International’s 2024 report highlighted Equatorial Guinea’s use of mass surveillance and other tools to stifle dissent. But the Annobón internet shutdown marks a new chapter. Tutu Alicante, an Annobon-born activist and head of the EG Justice human rights group, told the Associated Press, "This is the first time the government cut off the internet because a community has a complaint." In the past, internet restrictions were typically reserved for election periods. This time, the blackout appears to be a direct response to local protest.
Annobón’s long history of tension with the central government is well documented. The island, a former Spanish colony, has sought greater autonomy for years, accusing the authorities in Malabo of neglect and marginalization. Mercè Monje Cano, secretary-general of the Unrepresented Peoples and Nations Organization, explained, "Their marginalization is not only from a political perspective, but from a cultural, societal and economic perspective." Despite the opening of a new airport in 2013—also built by Somagec—little has improved for residents. In fact, activists and locals argue that living conditions have worsened since the internet cut, with already limited infrastructure now barely functioning.
Somagec’s involvement on the island dates back to a 2007 business deal with Equatorial Guinea, after which the company began building ports and exploring mineral extraction. The recent dynamite explosions, which triggered the protest, have been blamed by residents for polluting farmland and water supplies. Somagec, for its part, denies any role in the internet shutdown. CEO Roger Sahyoun told the Associated Press that the company itself has had to rely on a private satellite for connectivity and defended the use of explosives: "After having undertaken geotechnical and environmental impact studies, the current site where the quarry was opened was confirmed as the best place to meet all the criteria." Still, the company’s private satellite has not helped the islanders, who remain cut off from the digital world.
The blackout’s timing is notable, coming as the Trump administration reportedly considers loosening corruption sanctions on Equatorial Guinea’s vice president—President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo’s son. The vice president has faced convictions for money laundering and embezzlement in France and has been sanctioned by the United Kingdom. Meanwhile, the president himself, now 83, is Africa’s longest-serving head of state, having ruled for more than half his life. Despite the country’s wealth from oil and gas, the World Bank estimates at least 57% of Equatorial Guinea’s nearly 2 million people live in poverty, while the ruling elite enjoy a life of luxury.
International scrutiny continues. Just two days before the one-year anniversary of Annobón’s internet outage, the United Nations’ top court rejected Equatorial Guinea’s request to recover a Paris mansion seized as part of a French corruption investigation, ruling that the country had failed to prove a "plausible right to the return of the building." The government in Malabo, for its part, has not responded to repeated inquiries from the Associated Press about Annobón’s condition or the ongoing communications blackout.
For the people of Annobón, the consequences of the internet shutdown are not just inconvenience—they are existential. The collapse of banking and healthcare has left many unable to access money or medical help in emergencies. The sense of isolation is profound. "Annobón is very remote and far from the capital and the (rest of) continent," Alicante said. "So you’re leaving people there without access to the rest of the continent ... and incommunicado."
Internet rights advocates say such shutdowns are becoming an increasingly common tool for authoritarian governments to silence dissent. Felicia Anthonio of Access Now, an advocacy group, noted, "The power of the internet to enable people to challenge their leaders threatens authorities. So, the first thing they do during a protest is to go after the internet."
Yet, for all the international attention and condemnation, there is little sign that the situation will improve anytime soon. The island’s residents remain caught between a government determined to quash dissent and a company whose operations continue despite local resistance. As Annobón’s story shows, the cost of protest in Equatorial Guinea today is not just freedom of speech—it’s the very ability to connect with the world beyond the island’s shores.
