By Jali Keeba
Faith is the heartbeat of Gambian life. From the first adhan before sunrise to the blessings whispered at night, religion is woven into our identity. It shapes how we live, how we speak, and how we see the world. But that same faith, when entangled with politics, can become a tool — not for enlightenment, but for control.
In recent months, millions of dalasis have been poured into mosque constructions and renovations — all financed by the President and his friends. Gleaming domes rise across the country, politicians smile for the cameras, and grateful Imams offer prayers of thanks. On the surface, it looks noble — faith meeting power for the good of the people. But beneath the surface lies a troubling question: Whose interests does this really serve?
This practice is not new. Former President Yahya Jammeh followed the same pattern, using mosque donations and religious patronage to extend his political reach. He openly gave money to Imams, pledged three million dalasis to the Pirang mosque in 2009, and even donated one million dalasis to the Gambia Christian Council in 2015. These gestures were framed as acts of faith, but they also served to bind religious institutions to political favor.
What we are witnessing today is a continuation of that same playbook — only on a grander and more calculated scale. The pattern is clear: political generosity wrapped in religious symbolism, strategically timed as elections draw near.
Yet not everyone is silent. Earlier this year, in May, one Imam courageously cautioned his peers about accepting such “gifts” from the state. His warning was simple but powerful:
“Every Imam should be mindful of what you receive, eat, and wear. Your congregations reposed confidence in you. If the leader is corrupt, what will then become of the followers? Hence, the Imams should be cautious. What can you advise the President on? Is it about the religion so that you can all band together to develop the nation? But no, it’s all about ‘tell me what I want to hear and I will open a bank account for you, give you a car and money.’ But where is the source of that money? If it’s public money, which is not endorsed by the masses or the National Assembly to be spent that way, the consequence is hell fire.”
His words pierced through the silence — reminding the nation that moral authority cannot be bought.
Religion holds enormous influence in Gambian life. When politics fails, faith often becomes the refuge of the people. But that refuge can also become a form of quiet obedience. When the pulpit is polished by political hands, sermons risk losing their soul. The result is not peace, but silence — a silence that protects power, not people.
I recently came across a YouTube video that captured this dilemma perfectly. The speaker said:
“Religion is the most successful Western project in Africa. Not colonialism, not slavery, not the IMF — religion. It didn’t need chains; it needed only a book, a pulpit, and a fear-stricken crowd. It didn’t kill the body; it captured the mind.”
He went on to add:
“Every time a nation rises, it’s through science, structure, and strategy. But in Africa, we keep fasting when we should be farming. We keep tithing when we should be training.”
Those words cut deep because they apply not only to Christianity but to Islam as well. Too often, we pray for miracles while ignoring method. We fast when we should be farming, hoping for blessings while neglecting planning. We surrender responsibility in the name of patience — forgetting that true faith calls for both prayer and preparation.
The Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) taught that a believer ties his camel before praying for its safety. Yet today, we pray while our camels wander — our schools underfunded, our youth idle, our leaders unaccountable.
Faith was never meant to paralyze us. It was meant to awaken us.
But when politics uses religion to pacify, and when religious leaders grow dependent on political generosity, faith becomes an ornament — sacred in appearance, hollow in purpose.
This is not a call to abandon religion. It is a call to protect it — from manipulation, from dependency, and from the slow decay that occurs when truth is traded for favor. A mosque built with public money is not automatically sacred. Its holiness lies in the honesty of the message preached within it.
When Imams speak truth to power, faith regains its dignity. When they remain silent, faith loses its moral authority.
The Gambia does not need louder prayers or grander mosques. It needs faith that feeds the hungry, schools that sharpen the mind, and leaders — both political and spiritual — who see honesty as worship.
Because when politics fails to serve the people, it is the pulpit that must feed the conscience.
And if that conscience goes quiet, the nation will drift — praying harder, yet seeing less.
Faith should not make us blind. It should help us see.
And the future we keep praying for will not descend from heaven; it will rise from within us.
