By Michaella Faith Wright

The Gambia offers no easy wins, unemployment, prejudice, and a tarnished name shadow their days, yet their voices raw with frustration and flickers of grit carry a plea for dignity and a better life.

Mohammed Fofanah, two years in, feels the grind, No jobs, no mercy, he says, Paperwork’s a trap officials bark, locals point fingers. He’s stung by how Sierra Leoneans get pinned for crimes, no questions asked, while others dodge heat by flashing their IDs.

Alimamy Turay, a Makeni native also two years deep, sees a faint upside. Moving forces you to hustle, he says. Construction skills now keep him afloat a far cry from home’s drift. His advice Stay sharp, skip the thug life it’s a dead end.

Chernor Yorpor’s tale cuts deeper. Lured by a company three years back, he slaved eight months unpaid, spoke up nothing changed, he says. Worse, he watches his community’s rep take hits from a few bad actors, it drags us all down.

Ibrahim J. Sankoh, an electrician, aches for unity, we don’t lift each other, he laments, others fake our IDs, stain our name, yet he’s learned from Gambians’ tight-knit ways, wiring cash home to his family, peace and work that’s what we need, he urges.

Alusine Kamara, scraping by with a small stall, is at his limit, if I could afford the ride, I’d bolt back, he says from Turn Table, our name’s mud here blamed for others’ mess. He begs officials for help to return, Alusine Sheriff echoes him, hunger gnawing, I fled Sierra Leone’s hard times, but here’s no better, home’s calling.

These migrant traders, builders, dreamers aren’t just surviving; they’re shouting for change, Stigma stings, jobs vanish, yet their hope holds for respect in the Gambia or a fresh start in Sierra Leone. Their stories demand ears governments, communities, anyone who’ll listen to turn their pleas into paths forward.