Do you not hear it?
The silent screams beneath the waves?
The whispers of the lost carried on the wind from the desert?
The cries of mothers in the villages, in the markets, in the mosques, in the churches.
Do you not feel it?
This is not migration.
This is not a journey.
This is a mass grave in motion.
This is The Gambia bleeding out.
A Country Dying One Boat at a Time
1,603 Gambians have died last year.
Not in war. Not from sickness.
But from drowning, starving, suffering.
46 Gambians perishing on land, abandoned in the desert, beaten, tortured, erased.
We lost 46 entire boats.
Gone. No survivors. No wreckage. No bodies to bury.
1,254 Gambians missing.
No calls. No messages. No funerals.
Just empty beds. Empty chairs at dinner. Empty homes.
They said they were going for a better life.
They did not know they were walking straight into the belly of hell.
Gambian Youth Born to Die in the Sea?
Are we a country that sends our best and brightest to their deaths?
Are our young people nothing more than fuel for the fire of Europe’s border policies ?
Do we give birth to our sons and daughters, raise them, feed them, clothe them only to watch them die in foreign waters.
They Died Screaming for Help And Nobody Came
Imagine it. Feel it.
You are in a wooden boat in the middle of the Atlantic. The waves rise like mountains. The wind screams in your ears. Water rushes in.
The boat cracks.
Panic. Screams. Crying. Prayers.
A mother grips her baby, begging God, but the sea does not listen.
A boy of 15 holds onto a piece of wood, fighting, kicking, choking on saltwater, but the sea does not care.
One by one, they go under.
One by one, they disappear into the abyss.
This is how they die. This is how Gambians are dying.
And we WE LET IT HAPPEN.
A Silent People, A Dying Nation
Where are we ?
Where are the families, the communities, the neighborhoods
Why do we talk about football, about politics, about weddings, about everything except the thousands of Gambians dying every year
Why do we pretend this is not our problem
The Back Way is Not a Road It’s a Mass Grave
And for those who do not drown
For those who make it to Libya Hell awaits.
They are locked in prisons, beaten with iron rods, electrocuted, sold like cattle.
Gambian girls, our sisters, our daughters, are raped in filthy rooms, passed between men like objects, left pregnant, sick, or dead.
Gambian boys, our sons, our brothers, are chained like slaves, forced to call their mothers, begging for ransom, while their captors laugh and burn them with cigarettes.
And those who reach Tunisia They are forced onto boats at gunpoint. And if they refuse
They are dragged into the desert, beaten, and left to die under the burning sun.
Vultures pick at their bones.
This is the back way.
This is what we allow.
This Must End NOW!
How many more, Gambia
How many more must die before we act
How many more funerals
How many more grieving mothers?
How many more prayers for the missing, for the dead, for the unburied ?
Will it take your own child
Your own brother
Your own sister
Will you wait until it is your family’s turn before you finally understand
A Nation That Kills Its Own Future Will Not Survive
Gambia STOP THIS.
We cannot continue like this. We cannot keep sending our children to their deaths.
We must give them a reason to stay.
Education. Jobs. Hope.
We must stop treating our youth like disposable objects.
Because if we do nothing
Next year, I will write this article again.
And next year, the names of the dead will be longer.
And next year, your family might be in it.
Gambia, wake up.
Before there is no one left to wake.
Written By
Adrian Corish
founder of (AMAC)
