Conserving nature and livelihoods in West Africa

By Olivia Rempel

As a videographer at GRID-Arendal, I’m always looking for stories. I’m especially looking for stories that go beyond the high-level theory of how to tackle climate change and environmental problems, and instead give me a chance to talk to people who are actively trying to change things on the ground. Alongside my Dakar-based GRID-Arendal colleague, Richard Dacosta, I recently spent two weeks in West Africa, documenting marine conservation efforts in Guinea-Bissau and Senegal through photos and videos, and it was an eye-opening experience that reinforced just how deeply connected communities are to their marine environment.

The first part of my trip took me to the Bijagós Archipelago, a stunning chain of islands off the coast of Guinea-Bissau, which is also a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. I was based first at the Bubaque Island Headquarters of the Biosphere Reserve and later in the Orango National Marine Parks where my colleagues are working to expand conservation efforts through the Blue Bijagós Project, led by Partenariat Régional pour la Conservation de la zone côtière et Marine (or PRCM for short) and with numerous technical partners.

The idea is to create two new marine protected areas, Unhocomo and Unhocomozinho and create a new connectivity corridor between the Urok, Orango and João-Vieira marine protected areas, to help safeguard marine life while ensuring that local communities can continue to fish sustainably and contribute to a more secure livelihood.

I was there to capture visuals of the community in tandem with a capacity-building workshop, where local trainers guided by GRID-Arendal’s team led sessions on marine conservation and integrated resource management using the Blue Planning in Practice tools. And this local capacity is absolutely essential. Conservation isn’t something that can be imposed from the outside, it has to come from within, to naturally fit within the pre-existing social and natural ecosystem. In this case, having West Africans teach fellow West Africans ensures that conservation knowledge isn’t just understood but embraced. The conversations were fluid, shifting between Portuguese, Creole, and the local dialects, but the message was clear: these waters sustain livelihoods, and protecting them isn’t just something distant environmentalists want, it’s above all else what the local community needs.

“We’re not sitting in Bissau or in Arendal designing what needs to be done by the communities in the field,” says Richard. “We are here together with them, more than 30 participants in each local Blue Planning in Practice [session], in Bubaque and in Orango, sitting together with them, including the Governor of Bulama-Bijagós region and technical directorate at the national level, discussing what needs to be done and where, hearing the voice of the communities.”

“For us [this] is key, because at the end of the day, they will be the ones who use this management plan. They will also be the ones affected by the negative effects of climate change.”

On one of my last days in the Bijagós Islands, I had the chance to get out on the water with three local fishermen on their pirogue, a traditional West African fishing vessel, to see first-hand how artisanal fishing works.

We stayed relatively close to shore, but I filmed as this team masterfully coordinated their work. Two men remained on the pirogue, while a third followed along the shoreline. They released a net into the water, moving with an efficiency that could only come from years of experience. It was impressive to see how much strength, skill, and teamwork went into even a single cast of the net.

Then the conditions changed. The sea that was calm just moments before, suddenly turned rough and just like that, the day’s fishing was over after that one cast.

We talk a lot in our work at GRID-Arendal about the importance of artisanal fishing and the need to support local fishers. But being out on the water, seeing how challenging and unpredictable their work is, gave me a new level of respect for their expertise.

It also highlights how important it is to fight back against the threats facing these communities, from illegal fishing and indiscriminate industrial fishing to climate change and biodiversity loss, because it’s a hard job even without those factors at play!

The second leg of the trip took me and Richard to the Ufoyaal Kassa-Bandial Marine Protected Area in southern Senegal. Compared to the Cayar Marine Protected Area in the north, which has been operating since 2004, Ufoyaal Kassa-Bandial is much newer, having only been established in 2022.

To help strengthen its management efforts, GRID-Arendal and partners facilitated an exchange visit between the two marine protected areas, bringing together fishers, park rangers, researchers, chairs of management committees of the two marine protected areas, and women fish processors to learn from each other. This initiative is part of the Lenfest Ocean Program, which seeks to integrate scientific research with local knowledge to better understand the impacts of climate change on these marine protected areas, both in terms of ecosystem health and the livelihoods of communities that rely on the marine resources. Ultimately, the project aims to strengthen climate resilience in these vital coastal regions.

Over the course of several days, I followed the participants as they visited fishing and fish processing sites like Cap Skirring, Elinkine, and Pointe-Saint-Georges, documenting their discussions and experiences. One particularly memorable moment was in Oussouye, where we had an audience with the King of Oussouye. In this region, the king plays a major role in community decision-making, especially when it comes to resolving conflicts and mobilising support for conservation projects. If you want to get an initiative off the ground, having the king’s backing is crucial, because if the king is onboard, the community will be too. This highlights the importance of respecting local customs and authorities in the creation of marine protected areas and the conservation of natural resources in general.

One of the most striking things I noticed on these two trips was just how aware local communities are of conservation issues. Everywhere I went, whether it was talking to fishers or fish processors, I kept hearing the same thing: people know the ocean is changing. They can see it in the way fish populations are changing, in how certain species are harder to find, in the impact of climate change on their daily lives. And they’re not debating whether conservation should happen, instead they’re focused on how to do it in a way that supports their livelihoods.

That’s a stark contrast to some places I’ve worked in, where people are still arguing over whether climate change is even real. In West Africa, that conversation has moved on to how to respond.

Of course, there’s still work to be done. Plastic pollution is a huge issue, on almost every beach I visited, I saw plastic waste scattered along the shore. The degradation of mangroves also continues and, despite strong regulations, we still came across illegal fishing gear, particularly fine-mesh nets. These are banned because they trap juvenile fish before they can reproduce, and are used more out of necessity rather than choice when community members are struggling with food insecurity.

In Pointe-Saint-Georges, I talked to a group of local fishers engaged in “experimental fishing” for the marine protected area authorities, a practice where they document fish populations across different seasons and parts of the marine protected area to establish baseline data. These same fishers also patrol the marine protected area to stop illegal activities. On the day I was there, they encountered some fishermen using an illegal fine-mesh net, who left and abandoned their net in the process when confronted.

The team pulled the net from the water, but it was already full of hundreds of tiny, juvenile fish, the kind that should have been left to grow and replenish the population. I filmed and took photos as bucket after bucket of small fish was untangled from the net. It was easy to see the temptation, because using these nets makes catching fish look easy.

If weeks of rough sea conditions or otherwise low catch means you have to resort to catching some smaller fish or your family goes hungry, it makes perfect sense why one might use one of these nets.

It was a reminder that while the rules are in place, enforcement and education are ongoing battles.

After two weeks in the field, a few things stuck with me. First, you can’t do conservation without local buy-in. Whether it’s mayors of cities, fishers, women fish processors, or even the King of Oussouye, everyone needs to be involved in decision-making. If they’re not, the project won’t succeed.

Second, regional exchanges matter. Watching participants from Cayar and Ufoyaal Kassa-Bandial share ideas was proof of how powerful it is to learn from people who understand the same challenges and speak the same language.

And finally, organisations like GRID-Arendal and their role on the ground in West Africa is critical. There’s a place for international collaboration, but nothing replaces well-informed, regional expertise. Supporting local trainers for impact sustainability, facilitating exchange visits for knowledge exchanges and synergy, and working with the communities already doing the work is how real change happens.

There’s no shortage of challenges, but there’s also no shortage of people working tirelessly to protect our oceans and our future. Spending two weeks gathering photos, videos, and stories, and seeing important work in action, was a wonderful experience. I can’t wait to continue sharing this work far and wide.