On Saturday, the University of The Gambia conferred diplomas on its biggest cohort of graduands to date, over 1,600. It was a moment of great joy not only for the newly-minted degree holders and their loved ones but for the country at large. Their entry into the job market means more and better trained teachers, entrepreneurs, policemen, lawyers and doctors. This is the only route to develop a prosperous and progressive Gambia.
For a small nation of about three million people, The Gambia faces challenges that are anything but small: youth unemployment, climate vulnerability, a narrow economic base, and the lingering effects of decades of underinvestment in human capital. In this context, university education is not a luxury item on the national budget. It is the single most decisive investment The Gambia can make to move from dependency to agency, from survival to growth.
As we all know, The Gambia is not endowed with vast oil fields or mineral deposits. Its greatest asset is its people, and more specifically, the skills, knowledge, and creativity those people possess. A university system does not merely produce graduates; it produces problem-solvers. The nurse who reduces maternal mortality in Basse, the agronomist who develops drought-resistant rice varieties for the Central River Region, the software developer building fintech solutions for micro-traders in Serekunda — all of them are products of higher education.
According to Unesco, each additional year of schooling raises average annual GDP by 0.37%. For tertiary education, the returns are even higher. University graduates in sub-Saharan Africa earn, on average, two to three times more than secondary school leavers. That income translates into taxes, consumption, and savings that drive the domestic economy. In The Gambia, where over 60% of the population is under 25, failing to educate that cohort at university level is not saving money. It is deferring poverty.
It has been about a decade since the birth of ‘New Gambia’ but the state remains fragile. Sustainable democracy requires lawyers who understand constitutional law, public administrators trained in policy analysis, economists who can model budgets, and journalists who can hold power to account. These are university functions. A judiciary staffed by UTG law graduates is less likely to be captured by external interests. A Ministry of Finance with homegrown economists is better positioned to negotiate with the IMF or design debt strategies. That capacity is built in lecture halls and research labs.
The Gambia still relies heavily on foreign doctors. Expanding medical training at UTG and the Edward Francis Small Teaching Hospital is not just about prestige. It is about ensuring that a child in Kuntaur has the same chance of being treated by a well-trained doctor as a child in Kombo. During Covid-19, countries with strong research universities sequenced variants, ran trials, and advised governments. Countries without them waited for memos.
Every year, The Gambia loses teachers, nurses, and graduates to Europe and North America. The “backway” to Europe is often framed as an economic choice, but it is also an indictment of opportunity. A robust university system does three things: it provides an alternative to migration by creating pathways to employment, it equips those who do migrate with higher earning power abroad raising remittances and it creates incentives for diaspora professionals to return as lecturers, researchers, and entrepreneurs. Brain circulation, not just brain drain, should be the goal. But circulation requires a base. No engineer returns to a country where there are no labs. No professor returns where there is no library.
We must also note that university education is not only about STEM and GDP. It is about history, literature, philosophy, and the arts. For a country emerging from 22 years of authoritarian rule, the ability to document, critique, and reimagine Gambian society is essential. Who writes The Gambia’s textbooks if not Gambian scholars? Who archives oral histories from the provinces? Who debates what it means to be Gambian in 2026? Without that intellectual self-determination, we risk remaining consumers of narratives written elsewhere about our politics, our economy, and our culture. Universities are where a nation learns to speak for itself.
Critics argue The Gambia cannot afford mass university education. The reality is it cannot afford not to. The cost of youth unemployment, of preventable disease, of bad contracts signed because we lacked technical negotiators that cost is already being paid, daily. Investment must be strategic: expand UTG’s faculties in agriculture, medicine, engineering, and ICT. Fund scholarships tied to national service in critical sectors. Partner with diaspora academics for online modules. Leverage regional institutions like the West African Science Service Centre on Climate Change. And crucially, link universities to industry so graduates do not leave with theory alone, but with employable skills.
A thousand words in this editorial cannot capture every benefit of university education, but the point is singular: no Third World country has ever transformed into a First World country without it. The Gambia’s size is not a limitation. Small nations like Singapore, Mauritius, and Estonia built world-class universities and used them to leapfrog larger neighbours. Therefore, the choice before The Gambia is stark. Continue to export raw groundnuts and raw talent, or invest in the minds that will process both into prosperity. University education is not about degrees on a wall. It is about whether, twenty years from now, Gambian children will inherit a country that negotiates from strength or one that still asks permission to develop.
Kudos to former president Yahya Jammeh for establishing the University of The Gambia, to President Adama Barrow for sustaining and expanding it, and to Minister Pierre Gomez and the Governing Council for their visionary stewardship and the teaching and administrative staff for advancing the institution.
