A River Runs Through It

As the sun slides behind a verdant neem tree and the scorching heat of the late afternoon eases a few degrees, the last ferry pulls away from the bank of the River Gambia. Normally, the rusting blue barge would be packed with people and vehicles, while the road that runs up to the river would teem with taxis and trucks, traders shouting for business and farmers herding cows and donkeys. But this afternoon, the Gambian port of Farafenni is a ghost town. Bereft of customers, traders are closing their shops, pulling down corrugated shutters and tugging on the padlocks to make sure they're secure. A two-month-old dispute between Gambia and its enveloping neighbor Senegal has cut river crossings, the lifeblood of Farafenni's business, to a trickle. "This is hurting both of us," says port tax collector Karamo Marong, counting out a thin clump of sweaty bills that is his day's meager haul. "And it's ordinary people who suffer."

At issue is not just bureaucracy but the crazy quilt of borders stitched across the continent by Europe's colonial powers during the scramble for Africa in the 19th century. The partitioning rarely followed tribal or cultural boundaries, and created some of the most nonsensical and least workable international borders in the world. Yet since independence in the 1960s, Africa's nations have held those borders sacred, fearful that unpicking a single seam might unravel the whole patchwork.

On a map, one of the more irrational colonial creations is the West African nation of Gambia. Save for a brief Atlantic coastline, the slender country, which wraps around the banks of the River Gambia and was formed after British traders set up a series of posts along the river, is entirely surrounded by Senegal. Past attempts at federation have failed and the English-speaking sliver remains an irritating thorn in the heart of its bigger — and much more democratic — French-speaking neighbor. Yet the two normally operate open borders, allowing people to cross with the flash of a local identity card. In particular, Senegalese truck drivers and traders have long cut through Gambia to get to the south of their own country, because the ferry route lops more than 500 km off the trip from the capital of Dakar.

The shortcut was abruptly closed in mid-August after Gambia doubled ferry charges. "The Gambians just woke up one day and increased the price of crossing," says Kebba Fall, a money changer in the Senegalese border town of Keur Ayib. "It's too expensive. We cannot take it." When Senegalese truckers complained, border police blocked Gambian-registered vehicles from entering Senegal. Gambian authorities retaliated by barring Senegalese vehicles from Gambia. "The Senegalese think they can rule us," says tax collector Marong, "but they should know they can't."

The blockades crippled local trade and boosted inflation in Gambia, which imports much of its fuel and other goods from Senegal. And it cut off access to Gambia's sea port, through which goods flow to neighbors such as Mali and Guinea. Senegalese President Abdulaye Wade suggested that his country should buy its own ferry to use on the River Gambia — or even tunnel under its neighbor. There are many longer tunnels in the world, Wade said, and China had already offered to help dig one here. Earlier this month, regional power Nigeria stepped in to end the impasse. Gambia agreed to scale back ferry fees and Senegal said it would reopen its borders. "The stupid thing is, we are the same people," says money changer Fall. "Our problems come between the authorities, not the people." In Africa, though, the dream of an integrated, borderless future remains a long way off.