With Omar Bah
Growing up in my native village of Kerr Dekodeh, North Bank Region of The Gambia, I remember often waving at planes when they flew over with the dream that one day, I would board one to either Europe or America. At the time, no one in my village knew much about the existence of China. I am talking about between 2002 and 2010. At that time, if you asked anybody at my village where China was, they wouldn’t be able to tell.
That dream of one day boarding a plane was realised in 2019 when The Standard Newspaper sent me on my first international assignment in Istanbul, Türkiye to cover the anniversary of the 2015 failed coup. Since then, I have travelled to the United States of America on elections coverage and several African countries including Nigeria, Ghana, Burkina Faso, Sierra Leone, Benin, Zambia and others in my adventurous journalism journey.
I have learned and made friends during all those visits and the connections have brought more connections and joy. I am grateful. I thank God and The Standard Newspaper for everything. To my parents, I say a heartfelt thank you for training me well. I wish you were all alive to witness my steady but humble growth from a little village to the walls of the great People’s Republic of China. Whenever I remember the difficulties you went through to bring us up, I cry like a baby. I don’t cry just because of what you went through but because I couldn’t have the opportunity to treat you like angels now that I have the opportunity to do so…But God knows what is best for both of you. This is why I do not complain because even if I do, there is nothing I can do about it. For death is inevitable. Every living being will taste death. Rest in perfect peace, mummy and daddy, I will continue praying for you. You are the best thing that happened to me.
China experience
That said, let me now share my experience flying to China for the first time starting with the flight from Banjul to Beijing which is not a straight line but a meandering pilgrimage that threads through the blue span, across time zones, and into a country that many Gambian readers recognise from headlines but rarely in person. For a Gambian journalist visiting China for the first time, the journey begins with a taut, almost ceremonial tension: a long-haul commitment to understanding a global giant from the inside out. The air hums with engines, a constant reminder that a day-long trip can become a window into an entire civilisation’s ambitions.
The flight time tests patience and resilience. In the first stretch, the mind clings to a familiar rhythm—glances at the seatback screen, a meal that tastes like it was prepared hours before, the quiet companionship of colleagues who are chasing insights rather than merely a destination. The hours stretch on, the cabin lights shift with the body’s sleep patterns, and my notebook becomes a confidant for thoughts too sharp to voice aloud: What does it mean for The Gambia to observe a country that has reimaged itself in mere decades?
On arrival, the first good impression apart from the stress of missing my luggage is not luster but order. The Ghouzou airport is composed of signs, security checks, and passport stamps that flow like a well-rehearsed routine. An immigration officer’s calm: “Welcome to China. Please enjoy your stay.”
I feel the difference a nation’s tempo can make to a traveller’s mood and to a reporter’s frame. The efficiency is not cold; it is a practical courtesy that creates space for observation and inquiry.
The first conversations in Xiamen’s rhythm reveal a hospitality that travels beyond hospitality itself.
A host at Xiamen offers a listening ear, saying, “anything you want just let me, I will get it done.”
In a university lecture room, a professor adds, “Journalists are the builders of bridges; we need bridges to be both solid and transparent.”
I recorded a shared sense that the media can be both watchdog and partner, that access to sources is a form of respect that enriches public discourse.
In the city’s arteries, the juxtaposition of ancient and ultramodern becomes a daily grammar. A vendor in a shopping centre in Xiamen explains, “Our food is our memory; modernisation must never erase the flavours that tell our story.”
I note how public life in China balances scale with nuance: a metro system that ferries millions daily with punctual promise; a skyline that speaks to aspiration while quiet courtyards preserve heritage. These moments push me to ask about scale, governance, and the limits of rapid transformation.
Discussions, lectures and tour guides—candid yet measured—begin to reveal the country’s internal debates.
I captured how China negotiates rapid infrastructure and digital expansion with concerns about data privacy, environmental stewardship, and social equity. The takeaways become potential models—and cautions—for The Gambia’s own development aspirations.
At that point, the hectic flight time becomes a metaphor for the longer journey: a willingness to endure complexity, to listen deeply, and to translate that listening into reporting that informs, challenges, and connects.
The first days reinforce the realisation that China is not a monolith but a mosaic—cities and villages, policy labs and market stalls, digital revolutions and timeless rituals. For Gambian audiences, this mosaic holds lessons: how to design public services that scale without losing humanity, how to foster press ecosystems that balance scrutiny with collaboration, and how to envision development that uplifts all communities.
My first good impression comes not from sleek terminals or glittering signage, though those are present, but from something quieter: the unhurried efficiency that seems to have grown into the air itself. The orderly lanes, the polite insistence on following procedures and the tangible sense that a nation is orchestrating a million-strong flow with what feels like a quiet confidence—these are not flashy; they’re practical. They give a Gambian journalist time to breathe, to observe, and to ask a few deliberate questions: How does a society maintain such scale without losing humanity? What tools—technological, administrative, and social—make this possible?
The first bite of the country comes through the senses before the mind can catalog it. The air carries a cleaner crispness than expected, a familiar but unfamiliar scent of urban life that makes the imagination reach for comparisons to our own markets and motorways back home. The language is a reminder of the world’s interconnectedness: Mandarin is a language of precision, but the universal language of courtesy—gestures, smiles, respectful quiet—speaks across borders. Street scenes reveal a relentless energy: cyclists, scooters, buses, and pedestrians weaving in a choreography that seems to respect time as a resource, not a luxury. It is a tempo that invites a Gambian journalist to consider how public spaces are designed to accommodate millions, how transit systems are engineered to minimise friction, and how public expectations of efficiency translate into everyday trust in institutions.
The first days offer surprising warmth. Chinese hospitality—whether in a family-run restaurant, a university campus guesthouse, or a hotel lobby where staff anticipates needs before they are voiced—begins to rewrite the stereotype of distant bureaucracy with a gentler, more relational face. This warmth is not merely about hospitality; it is cultural practices that make a visitor feel seen. As a Gambian journalist, accustomed to the rhythms of a smaller, more intimate media ecosystem, I learned to read the subtle signs: a host who remembers a preference, a guide who clarifies a complex transit route with patience, a photographer who respects personal space and consent. These moments become the frame for a longer narrative about how trust is built between a visiting journalist and a host country, how transparency is practiced in daily interactions, and how press freedom and media partnerships can flourish when there is mutual respect for voice and accuracy.
The first impressions also extend to the city’s architecture and public life. Modern skylines, glass-fronted offices, and busy markets stand side by side with centuries-old alleys and traditional eateries. This juxtaposition is not accidental; it is the visible manifestation of China’s dual identity: a nation rooted in ancient civilisation and propelled by rapid, unapologetic modernisation. For a Gambian observer shaped by narratives of development, this is a reminder that progress is not a single lane but a multilayered journey. The conversations with local journalists, professors, and policymakers reveal a country wrestling with the moral dimensions of growth—environmental stewardship, equitable access to opportunities, and the protection of cultural heritage amid relentless change. These are themes Gambian readers understand intimately, and they create a bridge of shared concerns across continents.
Press rooms, lecture halls, and conference centres become crucibles for ideas rather than mere venues for statements. My notebook is filled with questions that cut to the heart of policy, media, and governance: How does China balance rapid digital transformation with concerns about data privacy? What lessons can be drawn from China’s approach to infrastructure finance for The Gambia’s own development pipelines? How do cultural differences shape journalism ethics and investigative practice in a country of such scale? In these exchanges, I discovered a common ground with Gambian officials and civil society actors who seek practical, rights-respecting, and prosperity-forward coverage and partnerships. The potential for media collaboration—news exchanges, co-productions, and joint investigations—emerges as a tangible outcome of respectful, rigorous reporting.
Ultimately, the first impressions of China for me are a blend of awe and responsibility.
China is a nation that has remolded its landscape with a speed that demands admiration, and responsibility to tell a story that is fair, context-rich, and useful to Gambian audiences.
To be continue
