Gambian Women Plant Hope: Mangrove Restoration Shields Banjul from Rising Seas

Fatou Jarjue waits for the tide to slip back before dawn breaks over the Tanbi Wetland. She pulls on her gloves and socks, steps into the mud, and pushes her wooden canoe through narrow channels where mangrove roots tangle like veins. Today she is hunting crabs, though the season changes what she finds. Her brother Musa sometimes follows behind in a smaller boat, keeping watch. On other days, she goes alone.

Jarjue is 34 and has spent her entire life in these waters. She grew up in Ndangan, a settlement of about 300 people roughly two kilometers from Banjul, The Gambia's capital. At twelve, she began following her mother into the mangroves, learning to harvest oysters and catch crabs and fish. The forest was both classroom and income. Over the years, she watched the environment shift—rising seas, coastal erosion, changing weather patterns threatening the coastline her community depends on. Instead of only taking from the wetland, she decided to help rebuild it. Since last year, she has restored more than 5,000 mangroves.

The work is not separate from survival. The mangroves provide oysters, crabs, and fish that sustain her family. They also shield the island capital from erosion and flooding. When Jarjue paddles deeper into the wetland now, she points proudly at oysters clinging to mangrove roots, large and ready for harvest in another season. She leaves them untouched. Oysters are the more profitable catch—a milk-can measure sells for about 100 dalasis, roughly $1.34—but they are also harder to harvest. The annual closure during the rainy season is sometimes misunderstood as a warning that oysters become poisonous. Marine scientist Dawda Saine explains the reason is more complex. The closure forms part of The Gambia's Oyster and Cockle Co-management Plan, which allows oyster stocks time to regenerate and reproduce while reducing pressure on the resource. During the rains, increased run-off carries waste and other materials into waterways where oysters feed by filtering water. Allowing them to remain undisturbed protects both the ecosystem and consumers.

Jarjue is among several women in Ndangan who have become guardians of the ecosystem they depend on. Sussan Colley, 48, has harvested oysters, fished, and collected crabs since she was a teenager. She remembers when declining mangrove cover began affecting the community's catches. There were fewer oysters. Harvests became smaller. Families faced increasing uncertainty. As restoration efforts expanded, Colley began noticing changes. The oysters returned. They grew faster and larger. The wetland became productive again. "The mangroves are changing our lives for the better," she told Al Jazeera. For Colley, restoration is also about preparing the next generation. She is teaching her children the skills she inherited from her parents while passing on another lesson: people must protect the natural systems that sustain them.

Jarjue and other women received training in mangrove restoration through a local conservation initiative supporting coastal communities in The Gambia. The programme equipped them with the skills to restore degraded mangroves, protect the ecosystems that support fisheries, and strengthen their communities' resilience to climate change. For the women of Ndangan, the training changed how they viewed the forest—not only as a place to harvest, but as something they have a responsibility to protect.

The work happening in Ndangan carries significance far beyond the settlement. Banjul, The Gambia's capital, is a low-lying island city facing growing threats from rising seas, coastal erosion, and flooding. Experts have warned that a one-meter rise in global sea levels could inundate parts of the city. The threat is not only a future concern. In 2022, severe flooding affected thousands of people across The Gambia, exposing the vulnerability of communities living along the coast. For settlements surrounding the Tanbi Wetland, mangroves are more than an environmental resource. They are a natural defence system. Rohey Malick Lowe, the mayor of Banjul, says the future of the capital is closely tied to the survival of its mangroves. "Banjul is an island," she told Al Jazeera. "If the mangroves disappear, it goes with the city." The mayor said the Banjul City Council is working to protect the capital from climate threats but acknowledged that challenges remain, including the degradation of parts of the wetland through human activities. Supporting women like Jarjue, she said, is not just about protecting their incomes but also strengthening the city's resilience.

Despite their contribution, women in Ndangan still face challenges. Without reliable electricity, preserving oysters and crabs remains difficult, especially when market demand is low and harvests cannot be sold immediately. But each day, Jarjue returns to the mangroves. Sometimes she goes to harvest. Other times, she goes simply to check whether the trees she planted are surviving. The work is slow. A mangrove seedling does not transform a coastline overnight. But for Jarjue, every new root represents a future she is helping build. As the tide slowly rises, she guides her canoe back towards shore, leaving behind thousands of young mangroves she helped plant. Months from now, she will return to harvest oysters from the same roots she is protecting today. Until then, she is content watching the forest grow. Every new seedling is a quiet act of hope, not only for her family, but also for a city increasingly vulnerable to the rising sea.