By Rtd Lt Colonel Samsudeen Sarr
former commander of the GNA
I listened with rapt attention to Coffee Time Tuesday, April 8, 2025, featuring Hon Minister Ismaila Ceesay. The segment exploring the recent security overhaul by the Gambia Police Force (GPF) and local banks was as stimulating as it was timely. I was heartened to hear that the armed wing of the police is now offering full-time protection to all commercial banks in response to the disturbing wave of armed robberies. It’s a strategy I have long championed—and to see it finally bearing fruit, at the relatively modest monthly cost of D30,000 to D35,000 per bank, is both a relief and a vindication.
That said, I was intrigued—perhaps even a bit unsettled—by your reaction to the cost, describing it as high, and by the minister’s succinct but loaded reply: “Security is expensive.” Your brief exchange lit a spark in me—enough to pen this article, not as a critique but as a reinforcement of a fundamental truth: true security has never been cheap and never will be.
Our shared history, both regional and global, offers countless reminders of this hard lesson.
Just days ago, I watched Senegal’s 65th Independence Day celebrations with great admiration. The dazzling parade of their armed forces—disciplined, well-equipped, and confident—was nothing short of majestic. It was a vibrant display of military excellence, rarely matched on the African continent. Senegal’s unflinching commitment to investing in its security sector is something we, in The Gambia, would do well to emulate.
Your dialogue with Dr. Ceesay stirred memories of a prophetic warning issued back in 1990 by the late General Joshua Nimyel Dogonyaro (1940–2021). Addressing Presidents Joseph Momoh of Sierra Leone and Sir Dawda Jawara of The Gambia, General Dogonyaro cautioned that their stinginess toward national defense was a ticking time bomb. History, tragically, proved him right. On April 29, 1992, Sierra Leone’s President Momoh was overthrown by a 25-year-old army captain named Valentine Strasser. Just two years later, on July 22, 1994, our own President Jawara was toppled by a 29-year-old Yahya Jammeh. Two coups, foretold and avoidable.
But who was this man, General Dogonyaro?
He first earned international prominence during the early, turbulent days of the 1990 ECOMOG intervention in Liberia. Back then, Monrovia was a cauldron of violence. Rebel leaders Charles Taylor and Prince Johnson had besieged the city and were hostile to all foreign military presence. In a catastrophic blunder, ECOMOG’s Ghanaian commander, Lt. Gen. Arnold Quainoo, assigned the poorly equipped Gambian contingent to guard ECOMOG headquarters, while Ghanaian, Nigerian, and Guinean troops—with superior firepower—were sent to confront the rebels.
The results were disastrous.
On September 9, 1990, tipped off about a covert meeting between President Samuel Doe and General Quainoo, Prince Johnson stormed the ECOMOG base with his heavily armed rebels. In less than an hour, they slaughtered over 80 of Doe’s elite guards, captured the president, and later executed him on camera in a grotesque public spectacle. The Gambian troops, under-equipped and outgunned, could do nothing but stand by. General Quainoo’s leadership crumbled in the face of the bloodbath.
The fallout was swift. ECOWAS, reeling from the debacle, replaced Quainoo with General Dogonyaro—an officer of action and resolve. In no time, Dogonyaro cleared all rebel forces from Monrovia, including the deceitful Prince Johnson, once thought to be the lesser evil compared to Charles Taylor. It was Taylor, ironically, who bombarded ECOMOG’s base at the Port of Monrovia, killing several soldiers—among them, two young Gambians.
After this sobering chapter, General Dogonyaro embarked on a briefing to both Sierra Leone and The Gambia. He met with Presidents Momoh and Jawara, both of whom had contributed troops to ECOMOG’s mission. What he discovered left him with immense shock. The security architecture of both countries was in a pitiful state. He didn’t mince his words. His warning was blunt and prophetic—and yet, it fell on deaf ears.
Contrast that with Senegal.
It is unimaginable that General Dogonyaro would have ever offered such a damning critique of the Senegalese defense posture. On April 4, 2025, Senegal’s Armed Forces once again dazzled the continent with a display of military sophistication. The air force presented a diverse and powerful fleet—transport planes, trainer jets, multi-role helicopters, and agile Bell 206s. The navy paraded its formidable 62-metre patrol vessels—Walo, Niani, and Cayor—bristling with anti-ship and air-defense missiles. Accompanying these were smaller, fast-moving patrol craft capable of staying at sea for a full week without support.
On land, their armoured corps rolled in like thunder—Chinese-built armoured vehicles with 30mm cannons and anti-tank missiles; Turkish Otokar Cobras; French 4×4 APCs; South African infantry fighting vehicles; and a phalanx of 122mm and 155mm howitzers. They also have unmanned aerial vehicles—French, Spanish, and Chinese drones—marking Senegal’s embrace of modern warfare. Each armoured vehicle carried a price tag ranging from $500,000 to $4 million—a testament to the country’s firm resolve to protect its sovereignty.
Since their establishment on April 1, 1960, Senegal’s armed forces have stood as a paragon of professionalism, discipline, and organisation. Today, with 17,000 active-duty personnel, they are structured across multiple tiers:
Army: The cornerstone, with infantry, artillery, armour, engineers, and elite forces divided into regional intervention zones.
Navy: Defenders of Senegal’s maritime interests, now modernised with cutting-edge surveillance and weaponry.
Air Force: Responsible for transport, medevac, and aerial logistics.
Gendarmerie Nationale: A robust paramilitary force under the Interior Ministry.
Presidential Guard (Red Guard): A ceremonial unit, but elite in its function and discipline.
Among their many strengths are a deep-rooted training culture, a strategic organisation inspired by French doctrine, and a reputation for political neutrality and loyalty to civilian authority. Such a formidable institution doesn’t come cheap—but it offers something priceless: durability in democracy and peace.
And here lies the hard truth for us in The Gambia.
As a retired officer and lifelong student of military affairs, I have watched with unease as our nation continues to sideline the importance of defense. With just 4,000 active personnel today, a growing chorus of voices even questions the relevance of the Gambia Armed Forces (GAF). Some go as far as to advocate for its outright dissolution—a dangerously naïve sentiment. Such thinking likely prompted General Dogonyaro’s early admonition.
Let us not forget: The Gambia proudly contributed three infantry companies to World War II under the British Royal West African Frontier Force (RWAFF), two of which fought gallantly in Burma. Yet in 1958, the British—citing cost—disbanded the Gambia Regiment, replacing it with the underprepared Gambia Field Force (GFF). That fateful decision planted the seeds of our vulnerability.
By 1981, the GFF had become a politicized shell of a force—easily exploited by the likes of Kukoi Samba Sanyang, whose attempted coup would have succeeded without Senegal’s decisive intervention. This led to the formation of the Senegambia Confederation (1982–1989), an earnest attempt to reform our military along Senegalese lines. But political half-measures and mutual suspicion saw its untimely demise. The rest, as they say, is history—culminating in the 1994 coup, despite the presence of Nigerian support troops.
Since then, I’ve written, spoken, and campaigned for the professionalisation of the GAF into a modern, disciplined, and apolitical force. Watching Senegal’s recent military parade renewed my hope. With a trusted and competent government now in power in Dakar under PASTEF, I believe the moment is ripe to reimagine a military confederation or federation between our two nations—a union grounded solely in defense, mutual trust, and strategic vision. It is time—long past time—to stop treating national defense as an optional luxury. A well-trained, well-equipped, and neutral military is not only the bedrock of internal peace—it is the immune system of democracy itself.
