Money Gambians send home from Europe is a lifeline for their families but the sacrifices take a toll

KWINELLA, Gambia (AP) — Binta Bah met her husband last year on a dating app and instantly fell in love. They spent hours every day glued to their mobile phones and soon got married on a video call.

But they've met in person only once, when Suleyman Bah came home to Gambia for a visit, months after the wedding. He is one of tens of thousands of West Africans who have undertaken the perilous journey to Europe, and is now working in a factory in Germany.

Every month he sends money home. He is not alone — Gambians abroad send hundreds of millions of dollars a year in remittances, according to the World Bank. The remittances account for a fourth of the tiny country's economy — the highest such proportion on the African continent.

Even as European countries increase their efforts to keep migrants out, Gambians and other West Africans keep risking the dangerous route, known locally as “the backway,” in unsafe boats across the Atlantic Ocean — or trek hundreds of miles across the Sahara Desert and then cross the Mediterranean Sea.

Almost 10% of Gambia’s population of 2.7 million has left the country, most of them young men from rural areas. The money they send is an economic lifeline for their families but their absence weighs heavily on their communities.

“It’s difficult to be apart,” the 24-year-old Binta Bah said of her long-distance marriage. “But it’s good when the other person takes care of you.”

“Whenever I need something, like to see a doctor, he sends the money straight away,” added Bah, who lives with her mother-in-law.

Life is increasingly difficult in their village of Kwinella, where villagers for centuries grew rice, maize, millet and peanuts to make a living. But ravages of climate change and outdated farming practices have made their traditional lifestyle unsustainable.

Moustapha Sabally, deputy chief of Kiang Central province, which includes Kwinella, said the rains have become unpredictable for farming, which is still done by hand and without tractors. Few young men are around to do that work, he said, and estimated that about 70% of them left the province for the capital, Banjul, or for Europe.

That leaves women and older people who struggle with the long and laborious work on the land, forcing the community to depend on remittances, Sabally said.

Without the remittances, "life would be very difficult,” he said.

Gambia, the smallest country on the African mainland, is surrounded by Senegal except for a sliver of the coast where the Gambia River flows into the Atlantic Ocean. According to the World Bank, 75% of its population lives in poverty and there is virtually no industry. The economy relies on imports, and living costs have skyrocketed since the coronavirus pandemic.

Nearly 60% of Gambians are under 25, and nearly half of them are unemployed. Despite European Union's efforts in West Africa to reduce the number of migrants, the lack of jobs reinforces the conviction of many that leaving is their only option.

Last year alone, over 8,000 Gambians arrived in Europe, according to the International Organization for Migration.

Many others die trying. Earlier this year, a boat carrying 300 migrants, mostly from Gambia and Senegal, capsized off Mauritania; more than a dozen were killed and at least 150 others went missing. Last year, a young man from Kwinella drowned on his way to Europe.

Because the journey is so risky, most young men slip away for Europe without letting their loved ones know they're leaving.

Musukebbe Manjang's 39-year-old husband left Kwinella for Italy 10 years ago, after he could no longer make enough money from construction work. She never encouraged him to leave, “the risk was just too high,” she said.

One evening, when Manjang was pregnant with their third child, her husband's younger brother called him from Italy, and he simply disappeared without a word. He later called to say he had left for Europe.

Then she heard nothing for nine months, and her anger turning to fear. When he finally arrived in Italy, he called and explained that he had been kidnapped in Libya, long a key starting point for many Mediterranean crossings to Europe.

These days, Manjang's husband sends around 14,000 dalasi, or $200, a month, enough to cover the children's school fees, food and clothes, she said. But on a personal level, it's been difficult.

“He misses all the important moments,” she said. “He hasn't even met our youngest daughter.”

Gambia's central bank says remittances amounted to over $730 million last year but experts warn that the rising costs of living will push more men to migrate abroad.

Eliman Jallow, 42, the Gambia-born founder of a U.K.-based company that facilitates sending money home to Africa, says his clients are a mix, from highly skilled workers to manual laborers.

The son of Ansumana Sanneh from Kaiaf, a village not far from Kwinella, was a teacher. He left for Europe because he could barely make a living on a teacher's monthly salary of 5,000 dalassi, about $70.

His journey was cut short when he was kidnapped by a Libyan militia and Sanneh paid the equivalent of $700 in ransom before his son was freed and returned home.

Sanneh believes the dreams of the young village men are fueled by the misguided idea of Europe as a promised land. But with rising costs of living in European countries, migrants today are able to send less money home than in the past, he said.

The gamble is simply not worth the risks, Sanneh said.

But stories of success journeys and evidence of what remittances can do often outweigh such words of caution — large concrete village homes built with money sent back are solid; images posted on social media by migrants who work in Europe appeal to the young men still in the village.

Despite his ordeal, Sanneh's son hopes to find a way to leave Gambia again.

Not far from their home, a group of teenagers practiced a dance routine in front of a stylish brick house, its driveway lined with spotless pink tiles. The teens were recording a video for TikTok, they said, and chose the prettiest — and largest — village house for the background.

The house, they said, belongs to a family whose young man migrated to the United States, for many, the most coveted migrant destination.

For more news on Africa and development: https://apnews.com/hub/africa-pulse

The Associated Press receives financial support for global health and development coverage in Africa from the Gates Foundation. The AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP’s standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at AP.org.

Teenagers record a TikTok video on the steps of a house owned by a migrant living in Seattle, U.S., in the village of Kaiaf, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Children play in Kwinella village, Gambia, where many Gambians emigrated from, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Lamin Sanneh, center, who supports 22 family members and rarely receives remittances from his migrant brother, plows in Kaiaf , Gambia, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Pateh Manjang herds his brother's goats in the in Kwinella village, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. He attempted to migrate to Europe but only made it as far as Tunisia, where he accepted support from the IOM to return home. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

A woman farms in Kwinella village, Gambia, where many have migrated from, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Musukebbe Manjang, left, speaks with her son Boubacar Darbo, center, and his sister Fatima in the village of Kwinella, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Ansumana Sanneh, whose son migrated to Russia, poses for a portrait on his farm in Kwinella village, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Moustapha Sabally, who receives remittances from his son, a doctor in America, poses for a portrait on his land in Kwinella village, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Binta Bah, whose husband Suleyman works in a factory in Germany, poses for a portrait outside her house in the village of Kwinella, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. (AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

Moustapha Sabally displays a photo of his son who is a doctor in America on his mobile phone in the village of Kwinella, Gambia, on July 27, 2024. ( AP Photo/Annika Hammerschlag)

A group of Buddhist monks and their rescue dog are striding single file down country roads and highways across the South, captivating Americans nationwide and inspiring droves of locals to greet them along their route.

In their flowing saffron and ocher robes, the men are walking for peace. It's a meditative tradition more common in South Asian countries, and it's resonating now in the U.S., seemingly as a welcome respite from the conflict, trauma and politics dividing the nation.

Their journey began Oct. 26, 2025, at a Vietnamese Buddhist temple in Texas, and is scheduled to end in mid-February in Washington, D.C., where they will ask Congress to recognize Buddha’s day of birth and enlightenment as a federal holiday. Beyond promoting peace, their highest priority is connecting with people along the way.

“My hope is, when this walk ends, the people we met will continue practicing mindfulness and find peace,” said the Venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara, the group’s soft-spoken leader who is making the trek barefoot. He teaches about mindfulness, forgiveness and healing at every stop.

Preferring to sleep each night in tents pitched outdoors, the monks have been surprised to see their message transcend ideologies, drawing huge crowds into churchyards, city halls and town squares across six states. Documenting their journey on social media, they — and their dog, Aloka — have racked up millions of followers online. On Saturday, thousands thronged in Columbia, South Carolina, where the monks chanted on the steps of the State House and received a proclamation from the city's mayor, Daniel Rickenmann.

At their stop Thursday in Saluda, South Carolina, Audrie Pearce joined the crowd lining Main Street. She had driven four hours from her village of Little River, and teared up as Pannakara handed her a flower.

“There’s something traumatic and heart-wrenching happening in our country every day,” said Pearce, who describes herself as spiritual, but not religious. “I looked into their eyes and I saw peace. They’re putting their bodies through such physical torture and yet they radiate peace.”

Hailing from Theravada Buddhist monasteries across the globe, the 19 monks began their 2,300 mile (3,700 kilometer) trek at the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth.

Their journey has not been without peril. On Nov. 19, as the monks were walking along U.S. Highway 90 near Dayton, Texas, their escort vehicle was hit by a distracted truck driver, injuring two monks. One of them lost his leg, reducing the group to 18.

This is Pannakara's first trek in the U.S., but he's walked across several South Asian countries, including a 112-day journey across India in 2022 where he first encountered Aloka, an Indian Pariah dog whose name means divine light in Sanskrit.

Then a stray, the dog followed him and other monks from Kolkata in eastern India all the way to the Nepal border. At one point, he fell critically ill and Pannakara scooped him up in his arms and cared for him until he recovered. Now, Aloka inspires him to keep going when he feels like giving up.

“I named him light because I want him to find the light of wisdom,” Pannakara said.

The monk's feet are now heavily bandaged because he's stepped on rocks, nails and glass along the way. His practice of mindfulness keeps him joyful despite the pain from these injuries, he said.

Still, traversing the southeast United States has presented unique challenges, and pounding pavement day after day has been brutal.

“In India, we can do shortcuts through paddy fields and farms, but we can’t do that here because there are a lot of private properties,” Pannakara said. “But what’s made it beautiful is how people have welcomed and hosted us in spite of not knowing who we are and what we believe.”

In Opelika, Alabama, the Rev. Patrick Hitchman-Craig hosted the monks on Christmas night at his United Methodist congregation.

He expected to see a small crowd, but about 1,000 people showed up, creating the feel of a block party. The monks seemed like the Magi, he said, appearing on Christ’s birthday.

“Anyone who is working for peace in the world in a way that is public and sacrificial is standing close to the heart of Jesus, whether or not they share our tradition,” said Hitchman-Craig. “I was blown away by the number of people and the diversity of who showed up.”

After their night on the church lawn, the monks arrived the next afternoon at the Collins Farm in Cusseta, Alabama. Judy Collins Allen, whose father and brother run the farm, said about 200 people came to meet the monks — the biggest gathering she’s ever witnessed there.

“There was a calm, warmth and sense of community among people who had not met each other before and that was so special,” she said.

Long Si Dong, a spokesperson for the Fort Worth temple, said the monks, when they arrive in Washington, plan to seek recognition of Vesak, the day which marks the birth and enlightenment of the Buddha, as a national holiday.

“Doing so would acknowledge Vesak as a day of reflection, compassion and unity for all people regardless of faith,” he said.

But Pannakara emphasized that their main goal is to help people achieve peace in their lives. The trek is also a separate endeavor from a $200 million campaign to build towering monuments on the temple’s 14-acre property to house the Buddha’s teachings engraved in stone, according to Dong.

The monks practice and teach Vipassana meditation, an ancient Indian technique taught by the Buddha himself as core for attaining enlightenment. It focuses on the mind-body connection — observing breath and physical sensations to understand reality, impermanence and suffering. Some of the monks, including Pannakara, walk barefoot to feel the ground directly and be present in the moment.

Pannakara has told the gathered crowds that they don't aim to convert people to Buddhism.

Brooke Schedneck, professor of religion at Rhodes College in Memphis, Tennessee, said the tradition of a peace walk in Theravada Buddhism began in the 1990s when the Venerable Maha Ghosananda, a Cambodian monk, led marches across war-torn areas riddled with landmines to foster national healing after civil war and genocide in his country.

“These walks really inspire people and inspire faith,” Schedneck said. “The core intention is to have others watch and be inspired, not so much through words, but through how they are willing to make this sacrifice by walking and being visible.”

On Thursday, Becki Gable drove nearly 400 miles (about 640 kilometers) from Cullman, Alabama, to catch up with them in Saluda. Raised Methodist, Gable said she wanted some release from the pain of losing her daughter and parents.

“I just felt in my heart that this would help me have peace,” she said. “Maybe I could move a little bit forward in my life.”

Gable says she has already taken one of Pannakara’s teachings to heart. She’s promised herself that each morning, as soon as she awakes, she’d take a piece of paper and write five words on it, just as the monk prescribed.

“Today is my peaceful day.”

Freelance photojournalist Allison Joyce contributed to this report.

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.

Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," get lunch Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Aloka rests with Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

A sign is seen greeting the Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Supporters pray with Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Supporters watch Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

A Buddhist monk ties a prayer bracelet around the wrist of Josey Lee, 2-months-old, during the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Bhikkhu Pannakara, a spiritual leader, speaks to supporters during the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks participate in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks participate in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Bhikkhu Pannakara leads other buddhist monks in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Audrie Pearce greets Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Bhikkhu Pannakara, a spiritual leader, speaks to supporters during the, "Walk For Peace," Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," arrive in Saluda, Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)

Buddhist monks who are participating in the, "Walk For Peace," are seen with their dog, Aloka, Thursday, Jan. 8, 2026, in Saluda, S.C. (AP Photo/Allison Joyce)