Dear editor,
The kush drug is continuously eradicating a portion of our society’s finest which is definitely heartbreaking. The crucial inquiry is: how did kush drug end up in The Gambia? Is it across our boundaries? We have immigration officers at the borders, don’t we? Naturally, we have!
However, kush is getting in and it is in almost every nook and cranny of our dearest nation, as a result, our young people are dying of it all the time. Given the concerning number of deaths linked to kush, the government must strengthen border controls to make sure the substance does not enter the nation ever again. To further impede the ongoing spread of the already-available kush, the government should establish a formal, well-coordinated patrol led by the Drug Law Enforcement Agency.
On the other hand, young people also have a part to play. In our gatherings as youths, we should be discussing things that will lead us to a better future. Hence, our children are expected to be more rational and to divert their attention to activities that will be of great benefit to any flourishing community. Sports, music, and other activities are examples of paths where one might pursue good health, happiness and solace. Not only that, our youths should as well be more concerned to earning worthy skills for a better tomorrow than getting involved intoxicating oneself.
The community also bears a significant responsibility. To put it another way, our parents and religious leaders must take immediate action to prevent more deaths. Our pastors and imams should speak about this threat in their sermons. Our parents, in particular, should never stop talking to their children about drugs. As a result, we are optimistic that the campaign against kush will be successful.
In conclusion, our government must tighten borders and impose harsher penalties on those who trade in kush in order to create a Gambia free of this narcotic. Launch coordinated patrols as well to stop the drug’s spread. Our parents, pastors, and imams should also be involved in the fight for a Gambia free of kush.
Maha M Sowe
UTG
When they came for me
Karanta and I grew up in the same neighborhood in Bundung. Along with Raheem, Sura, Kebba, and a host of others, we all grew up in Bundung and called ourselves Talokoto Boysol. With time, the River of life meandered us into different tributaries but our core remained tethered to Bundung. Some of us let go of Bundung but Bundung never let go of us. Bundung’s social currents always had a way of pulling us back in.
I remember the day they came for me like it was yesterday. I was sitting with my Bundung friends in Tallinding right around the Bantaba. It was a cool breezy evening. The air smelled of roasted corn. The sand felt damp. Insects were out and about as if they were celebrating because the rain decided to give them some reprieve. Ifang Bondi’s Daraja album was on repeat, permeating the aura with their scintillating beats that make you yearn for the olden days of Gambia!
The police pick-up truck pulled up right along where we were seated playing scrabble. Out jumped four men in cargo pants with tactical vests and faces covered in baklavas. They headed straight at me and yelled: Come with us to the station. I felt my heartbeat quicken, my breath shortening, as fear set in. This has got to be a mistake I thought to myself. All my friends seated around me seemed too shocked to be able to react. Then I recognized one of the officers. Karanta is my cousin. I felt some relief, hoping whatever misunderstanding this was would soon be cleared up. My cousin knows me. Knows my history. I felt even more at ease when I was forcefully bundled into the pickup truck and I realized that Karanta was the leader of the security officers.
A part of me found it strange that Karanta wasn’t talking to me. He won’t even look me in the eye. It was as if he didn’t know me. Perhaps he didn’t want his colleagues to think he is in any way conflicted, I consoled myself. I looked at the driver of the pickup truck and realized it was my half-brother, Musa. We are of the same father. I had always believed that he worked as a driver at the Ministry of Finance. What was he doing with these security officers? Musa too avoided my eyes and wouldn’t say a word to me. My sense of relief gave way to confusion. These are supposed to be my family members!
The officer seated to my right unhooked the handcuffs dangling on his tactical vest and motioned for me to stretch my hands so he can handcuff me. The cuffs were too tight and I politely asked him to loosen them but he ignored my pleas. The pickup truck drove recklessly through the traffic going from Tallinding headed to Westfield area. One of the officers was carrying a radio that does not seem to be functioning and only emited cracking sounds that no one seemed bothered by. Otherwise, the loud silence in the vehicle only increased my disquietude.
The car sped towards Banjul and we headed straight to Gambia Police Headquarters. I was helped out of the car and I could feel one of the officers pushing me in the direction they wanted me to walk. Curious onlookers stopped to look at me. I was dressed in a grand three-piece waramba. Not sure when I lost my matching hat but that was the least of my worries. I was ushered into a small dinghy room where three officers sat behind a desk. I recognized one of them. He’s a prosecutor. He too is a friend!
Alagie Saidy-Barrow
