In The Meantime

No light.

Three days… four days… sometimes you don’t even know when it’s coming back.

And it’s hot.

So damn hot.

You’re sweating in your own house, you can’t sleep, you can’t breathe properly, and you’re just sitting there thinking…

What are we actually doing?

Some people don’t even have water.

And everything is expensive.

Bread is expensive. Transport is expensive. Food is expensive. Living is expensive.

Everything keeps going up…

but somehow, we’re expected to just adjust.

We adjusted when Jammeh left. We adjusted when the prices started going up. We adjusted when NAWEC started getting worse.

We keep adjusting…

but when do things actually get better?

We hear about millions.

Millions for electricity. Millions for development. Millions for this… millions for that…

But where is it?

Because I’m sitting in the dark.

My neighbour is sitting in the dark.

Somebody somewhere doesn’t even have water.

So where is it?

And the thing is…

we don’t even know what’s happening until it’s already too late.

We hear the news after the money has been given. After the decisions have been made. After everything has already happened.

And now…

the country isn’t even safe anymore.

People are being killed.

Bodies are being found in places bodies should never be found.

In trash.

In random places.

They killed a boy and left his body at his own mother’s door.

At his mother’s door…

Do you understand what kind of trauma that is?

What kind of person does that?

What has happened to us?

People are robbing people. Children are going missing. People are scared.

You can be inside your own house and still not feel safe.

And that’s scary.

Because this is The Gambia.

The country we used to call peaceful.

The smiling coast.

But what are we smiling about?

Because right now…

everything feels toxic.

The heat is toxic. The prices are toxic. The darkness is toxic. The fear is toxic.

And somehow…

December is coming.

Election is coming.

And suddenly…

the lights might come back.

The gifts might start coming.

The money might start moving.

People might start receiving things they’ve been begging for for years.

And I don’t blame the people who take it.

Because when you’re hungry, you take the food.

When you have nothing, you take the money.

When your children need something, you take the gift.

But that’s the trap…

They know we need it.

They know exactly when to give it.

And we take it…

because we need to survive.

Then we vote…

and after the election,

we go right back to the darkness.

Right back to the heat.

Right back to the expensive bread.

Right back to expensive transport.

Right back to no water.

To fear.

To asking…

Where did all the money go?

And that’s the part that hurts me the most.

Not even the darkness.

Not even the heat.

It’s knowing that we’ve become so used to surviving…

that sometimes,

we mistake survival for progress.

And maybe that’s what breaks my heart about The Gambia…

We are not asking for luxury.

We are asking for light.

For water.

For safety.

For affordable food.

For a country where our mothers don’t have to worry when their children leave the house.

For a country where people don’t have to choose between eating and getting somewhere.

For a country where we can finally say…

“Things are getting better.”

And actually mean it.

But for now…

we wait.

We sweat.

We struggle.

We protest.

We hope.

And we live…

in the meantime.

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