As the sun dips below the horizon on Gambia’s Atlantic coast, a fleet of small wooden boats pushes out from Brufut beach, their crews hoping for a good night’s catch. But these days, fishing off Gambia is less about tradition and more about survival—and sometimes, it’s about war. A brewing conflict, described by the Associated Press as a “sea war,” is pitting local fishermen against foreign trawlers and, increasingly, against each other. The stakes? The very survival of Gambia’s fish stocks, the backbone of its coastal communities and a pillar of its fragile economy.
“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, in an interview with AP. And he’s not exaggerating. In the last two years, the waters off Gambia have become a battleground. Video footage obtained by AP and reviewed from more than 20 incidents since 2023 shows confrontations between Gambian fishermen and foreign-owned commercial vessels—most notably, the Egyptian-owned Abu Islam—sometimes escalating into violence.
One such confrontation had devastating consequences for Kawsu Leigh, a Gambian fisherman. Leigh was working as part of the crew on the Abu Islam when local fishermen, angered by what they saw as illegal encroachment and sabotage by foreign vessels, set the boat on fire. Leigh, caught in the middle, suffered severe burns in what AP described as a seabound arson attack. “I am surprised to have survived,” Leigh told AP, expressing his unhappiness at being made a rival to his countrymen. His story is a stark reminder of the unintended consequences of reforms meant to help local workers.
Driving this tension is a policy shift by Gambia’s government. In an attempt to give locals more say—and pay—in commercial fishing, authorities now require foreign vessels to employ at least 30% Gambian crew, up from 20% just two years ago. But instead of bringing prosperity, this move has sometimes made Gambians accidental targets of their own community’s frustration. As foreign trawlers continue to operate offshore, local crew members find themselves caught between their need for work and the anger of fellow fishermen struggling to compete with industrial-scale operations.
The root of the problem is overfishing, fueled by global demand for seafood. Experts warn that Gambia’s fish population could collapse within years if current trends continue. According to an Amnesty International report cited by AP, species such as grouper, cuttlefish, sardinella, and bonga are already over-exploited. The consequences reach far beyond the water’s edge: food security is threatened, prices are rising, and the livelihoods of thousands of Gambians hang in the balance.
For generations, fishing has been more than just a job for Gambians—it’s been a way of life. Famara Ndure, a fisherman for over 40 years, told AP how the arrival of foreign trawlers has changed everything. He and his brother Salif have lost more than half their nets, often cut at night when trawlers stray inside the 9-nautical-mile zone reserved for local fishermen. “The trawlers are destroying the nation,” the brothers said, pointing to the rising aggression since President Adama Barrow’s government reopened Gambia’s waters to foreign vessels in 2017. They once had 15 nets; now, they’re down to three. At $100 per net—a steep price in a country where per capita income is under $1,000—replacement is nearly impossible.
The government’s licensing system, which charges foreign trawlers up to $275 per ton of fish, is another sore point. Many local fishermen believe that the money generated from these licenses is why authorities turn a blind eye to violations. “Incidents are reported but nothing gets done,” said the Ndure brothers. According to Lamin Jassey, president of the Gunjur Conservationists and Ecotourism Association, most foreign trawlers operate without proper documentation and use unauthorized gear, further depleting stocks and damaging the marine environment.
Occasionally, the government takes action. In March 2024, Gambia’s navy detained eight foreign trawlers for offenses ranging from fishing in protected waters to using undersized mesh nets. One of the detained vessels was the Majilac 6, which had previously been involved in a deadly collision with a local boat that killed three Gambian fishermen. But such enforcement is rare, and the vessels soon returned to sea. Fines are negotiable and rarely enforced strictly, and repeat offenders face little real punishment. International watchdogs, like Sea Shepherd, have agreements to help patrol Gambian waters but did not visit last year, leaving the country’s poorly resourced navy to fend for itself.
The repercussions of this conflict are felt onshore as well. At the fish landing sites in Tanji and Gunjur, workers gather, pack, and ice the day’s catch, but the volume is shrinking. Prices have soared, putting fish out of reach even for many who once relied on it as a daily staple. “The majority of Gambians depend on chicken that is imported from the world, which is very sad,” Jassey told AP. The economic strain is pushing some fishermen to consider selling their boats and joining the risky migration toward Europe, seeking better fortunes across the Atlantic.
Meanwhile, the legal system offers little solace. Only two major cases related to fishing conflicts have reached Gambian courts: the arson attack involving Leigh and the fatal collision involving the Majilac 6. Justice is slow and costly—out of reach for most in a country where cash is scarce and legal support even scarcer. Omar Abdullah Jagne, managing director of the Majilac Group, declined to comment when contacted by AP. The government, too, did not respond to requests for comment.
Despite these challenges, the fishing communities of Gambia persist. At dusk, artisanal fishermen still cast their nets from Brufut beach; at the fish landing sites in Tanji, workers still pack and ice the catch. But the sense of community is fraying. As Gambians are forced to compete with each other for dwindling resources, the very fabric of coastal life is at risk.
Experts warn that, without urgent action, Gambia’s fish stocks could collapse within years—a disaster for a country that relies on seafood and tourism as its main economic drivers. The current “sea war” is more than a local dispute; it’s a warning sign for the entire region, where the appetites of distant markets and the pressures of global trade collide with the realities of poverty and environmental decline.
For now, the boats keep going out, and the struggle continues. But with every lost net and every empty haul, the future of Gambia’s fishing communities becomes a little more uncertain—and the need for a solution grows ever more urgent.