By Yankuba Jallow
It was just past 9:45 a.m. when Lamin* arrived at the Bundung Magistrates’ Court, clutching some documents she had been carrying back and forth for more than a year. He had left his home in Gunjur shortly after 6 a.m. and paid over D100 in transport fare to reach the court—only to be told by midday that his case had been adjourned again. “The magistrate didn’t have time for us,” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “They only sat for a few hours. I will have to come back next month.”
Sowe’s experience is far from unique. Across lower courts—from Banjul to Kanifing and Bundung to Brikama—court sittings routinely end between 1 p.m. and 2 p.m., long before the close of official working hours at 4 p.m. For a judiciary burdened with a growing backlog of cases, this pattern of early closure is quietly fueling public frustration, delaying justice, and deepening the already wide cracks in public confidence in the legal system.
“I come here every month, and it’s the same story,” said Mustapha*. “You pay transport from Kombo South, miss a day of work, wait from morning to midday, and then they adjourn the case. This is not justice—it’s suffering.”
Until recently, the Brusubi Magistrates’ Court served residents of the West Coast Region’s coastal belt. But since its relocation to Bundung due to ongoing construction, court users from Gunjur, Sanyang, Tujereng, Tanji, Brufut, Bijilo, Sukuta, and Brusubi now must travel long distances for hearings—only to be told to come back another day.
Three such court users shared their ordeal at Bundung.
Bakary* from Brufut said he has appeared seven times in a minor land dispute. “Every time I come, it’s transport money gone, a full day wasted, and they don’t even open the file.”
Mariama Drammeh*, a vendor from Tanji, said she left home at dawn. “We sat until after 1 p.m. Then the clerk said the matter would not be heard today. They gave me another date. This has happened four times.”
Ebrima* from Brusubi said he had been following a breach of contract case since 2022. “The magistrate starts late, and by 1 p.m., they are packing up. Why can’t they sit until 4 p.m. like other public servants?”
[Names of some litigants have been changed to protect their identities, as many expressed fears that speaking publicly could prejudice their unresolved cases.]
Additional testimonies from court users across Kanifing, Banjul, Brikama, Bundung, and Brusubi reveal similar experiences.
In Kanifing, Haddy Bah* is pursuing a civil claim for unpaid wages since 2021. “Sometimes we arrive by 8:30 a.m. hoping the court will start early because they adjourn my case at 9 am. But nothing happens until after 10. And even then, only a few cases were heard before they rose.”
At Banjul Magistrates’ Court, a man who requested anonymity said he had been on remand for six months. “They call my name, then postpone it. Again and again. One time, the magistrate left after hearing only five cases.”
In Brikama, a senior lawyer noted, “There are days the court has at least 20 cases on the roll. They’ll barely go through ten before calling it a day. The rest are pushed. It’s not fair to anyone—not the complainants, not the accused.”
In Bundung, a woman from Sukuta pursuing a land case said, “It has taken eight months and the court hasn’t given a decision. They just keep giving dates. My life is on hold.”
The problem, lawyers say, is institutional. Most Magistrates begin sitting between 9:30 and 10 a.m., and rarely extend sessions beyond early afternoon, even on days when dockets are full.
“It’s now a culture,” said a lawyer whose case was listed but was not heard. “You see it everywhere. The court sits late, breaks frequently, and ends too early. Meanwhile, the number of pending cases keeps growing.”
Justice Ebrima Jaiteh of the High Court is widely recognised for defying this trend. He is known to sit well into the late afternoon—sometimes until 6 p.m.—hearing multiple witnesses, managing his docket aggressively, and issuing rulings without unnecessary delay. Lawyers and court staff frequently cite him as a model of judicial efficiency.
“Justice Jaiteh demonstrates that it’s not impossible,” said a lawyer. “He treats each sitting seriously, manages time, and respects the litigants who come to his court. That’s how it should be.”
Experts believe that with efficient case management and commitment to full working days, a vast majority of matters currently clogging the lower courts could be concluded in just a few months. But systemic reforms are needed—especially the extension of the judiciary’s automated audio recording system to the Magistrates’ Courts, which still rely on handwritten notes by magistrates during hearings.
“This handwriting method is a serious time drain,” said a police prosecutor with years of experience. “It slows down the process, makes accurate documentation difficult, and leads to unnecessary adjournments. Automation would change everything.”
In an attempt to seek clarity from the judiciary on these concerns, this reporter formally wrote to the Judicial Secretary in June, requesting an interview. The letter raised key questions, including whether there are administrative guidelines behind the 2 p.m. closures, and what reforms—such as shift systems, docket controls, or digital modernisation—are being pursued to address the backlog. As of the time of this report, the Judicial Secretary has not responded.
The backlog is not a secret. The Chief Justice has previously declared special sessions devoted entirely to criminal matters to tackle congestion in the courts. But observers say these efforts are undermined by the persistent habit of courts closing early.
“Even during criminal sessions, if courts still rise at 1 or 2 p.m., we’re back to square one,” said a police prosecutor.
The deeper issue is public confidence. A March 2025 Afrobarometer survey revealed a troubling lack of faith in the justice system. According to the report, only 2% of Gambians say they would go to a lawyer or local court when facing a legal problem, while 31% would turn to the police, 20% to elders or traditional leaders, and 16% to family members. Fewer than half of respondents—44%—said they felt even “somewhat confident” that ordinary people can get justice in the courts. Only 46% expressed trust in the judiciary.
These numbers reflect what is now being seen in daily court routines: a justice system that too often turns people away before it has the chance to serve them.
“I believe in the law,” said Fatou Sowe*, still waiting on her civil case. “But every time I come and go without being heard, my faith dies a little. Justice is about time. And our time is being wasted. I will wait because I want justice.”
For now, the doors of the Magistrates’ Courts continue to close long before the workday ends.
