Gambian Women Restore Mangroves to Shield Capital Banjul

Banjul, Gambia – Before the heat blankets the shoreline, Fatou Jarjue waits for the tide to recede to begin her day. Wearing gloves and socks, she steps into the muddy flats of the Tanbi wetland and pushes her wooden canoe through narrow channels where mangrove roots weave a dense lattice.

The mother of one is deeply tied to the mangrove wetland she navigates daily. Mangroves—salt-tolerant coastal trees that shield shorelines from erosion and floods—provide the oysters, crabs, and fish that feed her family and serve as a natural barrier for coastal communities.

For generations, women around the Tanbi wetland have lived off these waters. Jarjue is no different, but unlike her predecessors, she also dedicates time to restoring the ecosystem that has sustained her family for decades.

Growing Up Among Mangroves

Jarjue was raised in Ndangan, a small settlement of about 300 people, some 2 kilometers from the capital Banjul. At age 12, she began following her mother into the mangroves to learn how to harvest oysters and catch crabs and fish. The forest was both a classroom and a source of income.

Over the years, Jarjue witnessed the environment change. Rising seas, coastal erosion, and erratic weather began threatening the shoreline her community depends on. Instead of only extracting from the wetland, she decided to help regenerate it. Today, she returns regularly not just to harvest but to inspect seedlings, replace damaged plants, and monitor areas needing restoration.

“Mangroves are part of our life,” she says. For Jarjue, conservation is inseparable from livelihood. The healthier the mangroves, the more secure the community’s future.

The Waiting Season

As Jarjue paddles deeper into the wetland, oysters cling to the roots. They are still young and growing, ready for harvest next season, so she leaves them intact. She points to them with pride, knowing that protecting them now will yield a bountiful harvest later.

While crabbing brings in income during the rainy season, oysters are more valuable. A tin of oysters sells for about 100 dalasi ($1.34), and demand at local markets is high. “Oysters are hard to harvest, but that’s where the money is,” Jarjue explains.

The annual oyster harvest closure during the rainy season is sometimes misunderstood as oysters becoming toxic. But marine scientist Dawda Saine says the reasons are more complex, rooted in conservation, ecology, and food safety. He says: “We don’t close because oysters are poisonous. We close to protect the resource and because during the rains, oysters filter everything in the water, including increased runoff, affecting quality, taste, and safety.”

Roots of Survival

Jarjue is one of many women in Ndangan who have become guardians of the ecosystem they rely on. For 48-year-old Sussan Colley, the difference is visible each time she enters the wetland. She has harvested oysters, fish, and crabs since her teenage years. As mangrove cover declined, oysters became scarcer, harvests shrank, and families faced uncertainty.

As restoration efforts expanded, Colley began to see changes beneath the roots. Oysters returned, growing faster and larger. The wetland was fertile again. “Mangroves are changing our lives for the better,” she says.

Colley also teaches her children and grandchildren both livelihood skills and lessons in protecting nature. “I want them to earn a living here, but also understand the importance of mangroves and their role in life,” she says.

Jarjue and other women have been trained in mangrove restoration through a local conservation initiative supporting Gambia’s coastal communities. The program equips them with skills to replant degraded mangroves, protect ecosystems that sustain fisheries, and boost climate resilience.

Banjul’s Last Shield

The work in Ndangan carries significance far beyond the small settlement. Banjul, Gambia’s capital, is a low-lying island city facing growing threats from sea-level rise, erosion, and flooding. Experts warn that a one-meter rise in sea level could submerge parts of the city. In 2022, major floods affected thousands across Gambia, exposing the fragility of coastal communities.

Rohey Malick Lowe, mayor of Banjul, sees the capital’s future as tied to the survival of mangroves. “Banjul is an island. If the mangroves disappear, the city will also disappear,” she says. The mayor says the city council is working to protect the capital from climate threats but challenges remain, including degradation of parts of the wetland due to human activity. She emphasizes that supporting women like Jarjue not only protects their livelihoods but also strengthens the city’s resilience.

Roots of Resilience

Despite their vital contributions, Ndangan’s women face many hardships. Unreliable electricity hampers the preservation of oysters and crabs, especially when market demand is low. Yet each day, Jarjue returns to the mangroves—sometimes to harvest, sometimes just to check whether the trees she planted have survived.

The work is slow. A single seedling cannot transform a coastline overnight. But for Jarjue, every new root is a future she is helping to build. As the tide rises, she paddles back to shore, leaving behind thousands of young mangroves she planted with her own hands.

“Every morning I wake up and see the mangroves growing, I feel at peace,” Jarjue says. “If the mangroves disappear one day, our lives will disappear with them.”