On the shimmering waters off the coast of Gambia, the sound of waves has lately been joined by shouts, angry confrontations, and, at times, violence. What was once a way of life for generations of Gambian fishermen has become a struggle for survival, with local communities pitted not only against foreign trawlers but increasingly against each other—a situation many now grimly call a "sea war."
The roots of this conflict run deep, tangled in government reforms, global seafood demand, and a dwindling natural resource. According to the Associated Press, the trouble intensified after the Gambian government, seeking to give locals more say and pay in the lucrative fishing industry, mandated that foreign vessels operating in national waters must carry at least 30% Gambian crew—a quota bumped up from 20% over the past two years. While intended to empower local workers, this policy has inadvertently made Gambians targets of their own neighbors’ frustrations.
Kawsu Leigh, a 24-year-old Gambian sailor, knows this all too well. In 2024, while working on the Egyptian-owned vessel Abu Islam, Leigh was caught in an arson attack at sea. The attack, documented in a video obtained by AP and filmed just minutes after the incident, left Leigh with severe burns covering much of his upper body. "I just want to work for me and my family to survive," he told reporters, still struggling to recover a year later. He’s spent all of the 51,000 dalasi he received as compensation from the foreign vessel—along with three months of his 17,000-dalasi monthly salary—on medical treatment, and now contemplates abandoning fishing altogether to seek a new life in Europe.
Leigh’s story is not unique. Since 2023, the AP has reviewed more than 20 videos depicting confrontations at sea—some deadly, others deeply traumatic. Over the past 15 years, at least 11 local fishermen have reportedly lost their lives in clashes with foreign vessels. "It’s like most of them, when they are going for fishing, it’s as if they’re going for war," said Abdou Sanyang, secretary general of the Association of Gambia Sailors. The association now urges fishermen to film suspected violations and altercations rather than resort to violence. Yet, the anger and desperation are hard to quell.
For fishermen like brothers Famara and Salif Ndure from Gunjur, the daily struggle is as much about survival as it is about justice. They’ve lost more than half their fishing nets to foreign trawlers—nets that cost around $100 each to replace, a steep price in a country where per capita income is under $1,000. "You see them cutting your net, but you cannot do anything, because two men cannot go against 20 to 30 men in the sea," Famara explained. Their nets, once 15 strong, have dwindled to just three. The brothers oppose attacking vessels with fellow Gambians aboard, but they say foreign trawlers have grown bolder since President Adama Barrow’s government reopened Gambian waters to foreign fleets after the ouster of former dictator Yahya Jammeh in 2017.
Local fishermen are supposed to have exclusive rights within nine nautical miles of the shore, but according to multiple sources, foreign trawlers routinely encroach as close as five miles. "Anywhere they want, they come and feast. That’s why we’re suffering," said Famara. Reporting violations is a bureaucratic maze—compensation for lost nets is only possible if a fisheries ministry observer, stationed on a foreign vessel, files a report. Many fishermen, like the Ndure brothers, feel helpless. "The trawlers are destroying the nation," they said, adding that the government’s reliance on licensing fees—sometimes as high as $275 per ton—may be a key reason for the lack of enforcement.
Lamin Jassey, president of the Gunjur Conservationists and Ecotourism Association, claims most foreign trawlers operate with improper documentation and unauthorized gear. Omar Gaye, a local fisheries advocate, described nighttime scenes so brightly lit by illegal trawlers that "you even think that here is a town because of the lights." Despite repeated complaints, action is rare. Salif Ndure once accompanied a naval officer to report a foreign trawler, but no action was taken. Frustrated, he posted footage of the incident online, hoping for an official response that never came.
Occasionally, enforcement does occur. In March 2024, Gambia’s navy detained eight foreign trawlers—including the infamous Majilac 6—for offenses such as fishing in protected waters, lacking valid licenses, and using illegal gear. Yet, vessels soon returned to sea, and, according to locals, continued their activities unchecked. The Majilac 6 was later involved in a collision that killed three Gambian fishermen, a case that remains unresolved. "We don’t know why till now this thing is pending. No one is talking about it. And this is a criminal case, this is a crime against the state!" Gaye exclaimed to the AP. The families of the deceased have not received restitution or even a visit from authorities. "This is very painful, and nothing can pay us for his soul," said Maget Mbye, father of one of the victims. "They are continuing to work as if nothing happened … We want the government to help."
Justice, it seems, is unevenly applied. "When it is the artisanal fishermen, there is no justice. But when this is industrial fishing vessels, immediate effect, there will be justice," Gaye observed. Fines for violations are negotiable, and repeat offenders rarely face meaningful consequences. Jassey noted that many local fishermen believe trawlers are often tipped off before navy patrols. Because Gambia is so small, foreign vessels frequently dock in neighboring Senegal, making it harder for authorities to intercept them.
The consequences of unchecked overfishing are dire. According to Amnesty International, stocks of grouper, cuttlefish, sardinella, and bonga are over-exploited, threatening both business and food security. Fish prices have soared, leaving even fishermen unable to afford the very catch they once relied on. "The majority of Gambians depend on chicken that is imported from the world, which is very sad," Jassey lamented. The situation is "very fragile" for local fishermen, many of whom are now selling their boats to human traffickers. "These agents have a lot of money. They can buy the fishing boat, like three to four hundred, five hundred thousand dalasi, you know, from the fisherman who is sitting for like six to seven months without fishing," Jassey explained. The result? A growing exodus of young Gambians risking their lives to migrate to Europe across the treacherous Atlantic.
With international conservation groups like Sea Shepherd unable to maintain a constant presence, and government reforms yielding mixed results, Gambia’s once-thriving fishing communities find themselves at a crossroads. The sea, which sustained them for generations, has become a battleground—one where the stakes are nothing less than survival, dignity, and the future of an entire nation’s way of life.