November 2013: The day started off as usual, with plans to leave Dakar after a night out, beach bar hopping with an intriguing new American friend. This guy was one of those fascinating characters you sometimes meet in West Africa—he provided security training in various developing countries, had worked in Angola overseeing a logging camp’s security, and even owned a bar in Kabul. Part of me couldn’t help but suspect he might be connected to the CIA. Characters like him always seem to pop up when you’re traveling through places like Mali or Senegal.
I boarded an ASKY Airlines Boeing 737, a Nigerian flight bound for Sierra Leone. The passengers were nearly all West Africans, save for myself and two other Americans nearby—a Peace Corps volunteer and a Sierra Leonean man returning to build a second home. We struck up a conversation almost immediately, sharing our stories and travel plans as we flew over West Africa. But partway through, the pilot, in a thick Russian accent, announced an unexpected stop in Banjul, Gambia. Banjul was definitely not on my itinerary, but apparently, it would soon become the only country I’d visit without ever planning to.
The plane landed uneventfully, but after 30 minutes on the tarmac, the pilot walked into the cabin to announce that we’d had a tire rupture and needed repairs before continuing. The flight attendants opened the doors, letting us stretch and take in the surroundings while waiting for word. After another 30 minutes, the Russian pilot came back on the PA system with another update. The mechanics had all gone home for the night, and it would be hours before they could return. And with immigration officers also gone for the day, we couldn’t officially enter the country or leave the terminal.
Eventually, an airline employee showed up with a bit of good news. They had arranged hotel rooms, meals, and even a small stipend for each of us until the plane could be repaired. After an hour in the hot, humid terminal with no power and nowhere to sit, the thought of a night in a beach hotel was an unexpected bonus. We were guided out of the airport, bypassing immigration entirely, and boarded a shuttle bus to our accommodations. It felt like we’d been handed a free beach vacation in a new country.
Once at the hotel, my new friends from the plane and I decided to make the most of the surprise layover. With the small cash allowance the airline had given us, we set out to explore the local bars outside the hotel, ready to make the best of our “free stay.” This unexpected Gambian adventure was shaping up to be a memorable—and thoroughly enjoyable—detour.
About Gambia
Gambia, the smallest country in Africa’s mainland, is a construct of the colonial powers. It was a British colony that if not for the British would be part of Senegal and French speaking. The country was built around the Gambia River and is currently a major peanut exporter and with its tropical beaches thriving off of European tourists, especially British who come for a lazy beach vacation.
Location of Gambia
Abandoned planes from the Gambian airlines
Crumbling main terminal building
We arrived at our beach hotel late in the evening, and it looked like a nice place. I threw my backpack in my room and headed down to the beach. Even though it was dark, the beach looked tranquil and beautiful, and I looked forward to seeing it in daylight.
I met up with my friends from the plane, and we had a quick buffet dinner included in our stay. We also cashed in the $20 spending stipend the airline had given us for the hotel. We set off down the dark, quiet roads, looking for the beach bars that had a reputation for being a little rowdy.
It didn’t take long to find a series of rustic bars with live music, and what seemed like an overwhelming presence of both female and male prostitutes. The men were seated at tables with older European women, mostly British. At first, I suspected what was happening, but it wasn’t until I talked with some of the women that my suspicions were confirmed. One British woman, who was openly kissing a young local man, told me candidly that she was in Gambia to have sex with young African men. Her language was far more explicit than that, but the sentiment was clear. The women all laughed together, almost as though they were sharing a private joke. They explained that they loved Gambia because there were many beautiful young men who pleased them in exchange for gifts. This was a reversal of what I had seen in other places around the world, where it was mostly men pursuing sex tourism.
My friend from the plane and I shared some drinks with them before heading back to the hotel in the very late hours of the night. I was ready for a good night’s sleep but, just as I was settling into bed, I heard loud knocking at my door. I almost ignored it, but decided to answer. It was an airline employee rounding up all the passengers. The mechanic had repaired the plane’s tire, and it was time to urgently depart. It was 2 a.m., and I thought, “Really? Now?” But there was no time to waste.
I went to wake my friends, one of whom was passed out with his door locked. I figured a good number of passengers would end up missing this flight. But I wasn’t one of them. I headed back to the airport and boarded the plane. The pilot explained that he wanted to test the new tire on the taxiway before taking off. Somewhere during the taxiing, I fell asleep, and when I woke up, we had landed in Sierra Leone.
It was an unexpected and free trip to Gambia, courtesy of ASKY, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the surreal nature of it all.