Fishing in Casamance, Senegal: estuarine wealth, fisheries crisis and marine protected areas
With its wide Atlantic frontage and a river reaching almost 300 kilometres inland, Casamance has one of the richest river systems in West Africa. Fishing here is not merely an economic activity: it is the foundation of local food security and profoundly shapes the social organisation of coastal and island communities. Yet this fishing eldorado is now showing worrying signs of depletion, pushing local stakeholders to rethink the management of these vital resources from top to bottom.
A twofold dynamic: coastal and estuarine fishing
Fishing activity in Casamance is split between two distinct zones, worked almost exclusively on an artisanal basis by fleets of wooden pirogues.
Coastal sea fishing, practised off the river mouth from major ports such as Kafountine or Cap Skirring, targets pelagic species (sardinella, bonga shad) and demersal species (captainfish, sole, white grouper). Estuarine and inland fishing takes place in the main river channel and in the maze of bolongs, those mangrove-lined tidal channels; here the catch consists of species adapted to changing salinity — mullet, red carp — along with crustaceans and oysters.
Jola and Lebou: the human geography of fishing
The Jola, rice growers before fishermen
Artisanal subsistence fishing sets the rhythm of daily village life. Its emblematic tool is the cast net, a weighted circular net thrown by hand with a precise gesture from small pirogues driven by paddle or sail. But this practice belongs to a specific cultural reality: the Jola people, by far the majority in Lower Casamance and of animist and Christian tradition, are not originally a fishing people. Hunter-gatherers in the distant past, the Jola became above all remarkable rice growers: mastering rice cultivation in mangrove areas remains the heart of their identity. Cast-net fishing is therefore a complementary, subsistence activity woven into the farming cycle, not a maritime specialisation.
The Lebou and the major landing centres
The major fishing centres rest on an entirely different reality. Sea fishing has historically been the preserve of the Lebou, a people from the Dakar region and the northern coast, mostly Muslim — the Lebou of the Cap-Vert peninsula are known for having formed, as early as the 18th century, one of the country's first autonomous political entities. It was they who, through successive waves of settlement, developed the major landing centres along the Casamance coast.
At sites such as Diogué, Kafountine or Cap Skirring, the activity reaches an almost industrial scale while remaining artisanal in its means. Fishing campaigns can last from a single day to several months: crews follow the fish along the West African coast, and it is not unusual for a pirogue to sell part of its catch on the way out, as far as Conakry, before returning fully loaded to its home port.
A coexistence shaped by history
The meeting of these two worlds — the Jola rice growers and the fishermen from the north — was not without friction. The establishment of many fishing camps, some of them informal, and the growing pressure on resources and land were among the many factors of tension that fed the Casamance conflict from the 1980s onwards. Some of these centres were destroyed and these episodes claimed lives. Recalling this history, without ever simplifying it or reducing it to a single cause, means understanding that today's Casamance fishing landscape is also the product of a complex human geography, made of sensitive memories.
The depletion of resources
Despite this historic abundance, local stakeholders are seeing a drastic fall in yields and an alarming decrease in the size of catches. This multi-factor crisis stems from several simultaneous pressures.
| Cause of depletion | Impact on the ecosystem and the resource |
|---|---|
| Industrial overfishing | Trawlers scrape the seabed offshore, take enormous volumes, destroy benthic habitats and cut off the fish migration route towards the estuary. |
| Increased artisanal fishing effort | Faced with falling catches, fishermen intensify their effort: larger pirogues and very fine-mesh nylon nets that catch juveniles before they can breed. |
| Mangrove degradation | The destruction of mangrove trees deprives fry of their nursery and breaks the breeding cycle of estuarine species — a mechanism explained in our feature on the mangrove and the bolongs. |
| Climate change | Falling rainfall causes hyper-salinisation of the river in the dry season, pushing freshwater species upstream and upsetting biological balances. |
The central role of women processors
While the men go out to sea, women unquestionably dominate the post-catch chain. At major landing sites such as Kafountine or Cap Skirring, they are the essential players in adding value to the fish and distributing it.
Mastery of preservation techniques
Without a developed cold chain, preserving surpluses rests entirely on women's know-how. Through smoking, drying, fermenting and salting, they produce kéthiakh (braised and dried fish) or gejj (fermented and dried fish), staple ingredients of Senegalese cuisine. This processing supplies the interior of the country, and a large share of the output feeds the West African sub-region for months on end.
Economic autonomy and vulnerability
Organised into Economic Interest Groups (GIEs), these women generate essential income that is reinvested directly in the local economy: children's education, household health, savings clubs. But they are hit hard by the scarcity of the resource: falling landings drive up purchase prices at the pirogue and squeeze their margins.
Above all, traditional smoking requires enormous quantities of wood — often from illegal mangrove cutting — and exposes women to serious respiratory illness. Moving to improved kilns (such as FTT ovens, which use less wood and pollute less) is now a major health and environmental challenge. This is where the fishing economy meets forest conservation directly.
Marine Protected Areas: the ecological response
To reverse this destructive trend, conservation strategy is turning towards spatial management: Marine Protected Areas (MPAs). In Casamance, areas such as the Abéné MPA or Kassa-Balantacounda have become the spearheads of fisheries conservation. Their success rests on a precise way of working that combines ecological science and local governance.
Spatial zoning
An MPA does not ban fishing everywhere. Its fully protected zone — the core of the area — is strictly closed to all extraction and serves as a breeding sanctuary. Around it, a buffer zone allows strictly regulated fishing (types of gear, net mesh size, biological rest periods).
The spillover effect
By turning the core zone into a sanctuary, fish are left to breed there in large numbers and grow. They eventually spill over naturally into the adjacent fishing grounds: this is the spillover effect, which raises overall yields around the MPA.
Community co-management
MPAs are managed participatively. Management committees bring together state officials, village chiefs, representatives of the fishermen and, increasingly, representatives of the women processors. Together they set the rules and sometimes carry out surveillance through village patrols.
Towards resilient fishing — and discovering it with respect
The survival of the sector now depends on its capacity to regulate itself. While Marine Protected Areas show that biodiversity and the local economy can be reconciled, these initiatives remain fragile: their durability will depend on the state's firmness against illegal industrial fishing, on supporting women processors towards sustainable practices, and on the continued buy-in of coastal communities.
These challenges are part of the wider picture of ecological protection in Casamance. For the visitor, encountering these different faces of fishing — from the cast of a net to the bustle of a landing centre, by way of a sport trolling trip — offers a unique reading of the region. We have documented several Casamance discovery itineraries that make it possible to observe these realities with the respect and guidance they demand, far from the standards of mass tourism.