Stateless in Their Own Home: The Undocumented Families of Gambia’s Ghana Town

The Legal Limbo of Ghana Town

As dawn breaks over Ghana Town, a fishing village perched on The Gambia’s Atlantic coast, Marie Mensah follows a routine familiar to parents worldwide: preparing breakfast, checking schoolbags, and walking her children to the roadside. However, behind this domestic normalcy lies a precarious legal existence.

Of the roughly 900 residents in this community, located 35 kilometers from the capital, Banjul, approximately 850 people are undocumented. Despite being born and raised on Gambian soil, they lack citizenship, passports, and national identity cards.

For Mensah, 30, this lack of documentation is an expensive burden. Three of her four children attend private school—not by choice, but because tuition-free public schools require national ID documents for enrollment.

"They ask for documents we don’t have," Mensah told Al Jazeera. "So the public schools refuse them."

A Community Rooted in History, Not Law

Founded in the late 1950s by 10 fishermen who migrated from the Gold Coast (modern-day Ghana), Ghana Town has evolved into a tight-knit community where residents speak local languages and are fully integrated into coastal life.

However, Gambian law remains a formidable barrier. Under Section 9 of the 1997 Constitution, citizenship by birth is determined by descent through at least one Gambian parent. Being born within the country’s borders does not automatically confer nationality.

This has left generations of families in a legal grey zone. Amina Issaka, 64, whose grandparents were among the village's founders, revealed that she and her 21 descendants—ranging from children to great-grandchildren—are all undocumented.

"We are all stateless," Issaka says from her small roadside stall. "If we cannot get Gambian citizenship, where else would we go?"

Economic and Social Exclusion

The consequences of statelessness extend far beyond the lack of a passport. Without a national ID or Tax Identification Number (TIN), residents cannot:

• Register a formal business
• Open a personal bank account
• Access certain healthcare services
• Own property or secure legal protection

Emmanuel Dadson, a 36-year-old teacher and secretary of the Village Development Committee (VDC), explains that even those who find employment are hampered. "You can work and even receive a cheque. But without ID, the bank will not recognise you," he says. Many rely on friends to cash checks or accept daily wages in cash.

Broken Promises and Political Shifts

The struggle for recognition has seen brief moments of hope. In 2014, then-President Yahya Jammeh issued a directive allowing some residents to obtain IDs. However, the move lacked permanent legislative backing. When Jammeh was ousted in 2017, the policy vanished. Those who held documents found they could not renew them once they expired.

Despite promises from the Gambia Commission for Refugees to regularize their status earlier this year, residents say officials have yet to visit the village.

A Call for Reform

Human rights expert Madi Jobarteh argues that the state's failure to address this "legal gap" leaves long-term residents vulnerable to police harassment and total exclusion from the modern economy.

"The residents of Ghana Town have lived here for decades, integrated fully, and contributed to the country," Jobarteh notes. "There is absolutely no reason why they should still be treated as non-citizens."

He advocates for legal reforms that would guarantee nationality to children at risk of statelessness, in line with international conventions.

As the government maintains its strict stance on descent-based citizenship, the people of Ghana Town continue to navigate a world where they are physically present but legally invisible. For Marie Mensah, the question remains heartbreakingly simple: "If I cannot get an ID where I was born, where else will accept me?" downs.