Before deciding to write my dissertation as a quantitative study, I contemplated adopting a mixed-methods approach. The year before I began writing, I had the opportunity to intern and volunteer for a social protection study in The Gambia. This experience had a profound impact on me. I engaged with local professionals, established meaningful relationships with stakeholders, and became convinced that incorporating interviews with the individuals I connected with in Banjul would significantly enrich my project.

But that ambition was quickly reined in. The feedback from my professors was clear and consistent:

“You will not have enough space.”

“Debbie, you are not writing a PhD thesis.”

As a novice researcher, I had to recalibrate my expectations and scale back my project. Through this experience, I learned — as many seasoned researchers do — that research is a continually evolving process.

I opted for a quantitative approach, drawn in part by my previous experience with it and its inherent clarity. However, I certainly did not anticipate the moments of frustration and tears that would arise from grappling with my dataset.

As I proceeded with this quantitative method, I remained acutely aware that it would ultimately convey only a fragment of the larger narrative. I was eager to employ the Capability Approach theory as my guiding framework. While numbers and statistics often feel impersonal, the inequalities they revealed were strikingly human. I had not merely imagined what these disparities looked like—I had witnessed them first-hand. My aspiration for this dissertation was not just to add to the existing body of literature; I wanted it to serve as a compelling call to action.

📊 What the Data Revealed (and Did not)

The findings may not have surprised many: 

✶ Children from wealthier households were more likely to complete their education compared to those from poorer backgrounds. 

✶ Girls had slightly higher completion rates in primary and lower secondary education, but this trend reversed in upper secondary, where more boys completed their education.

✶ The urban-rural divide persisted, and there was significant regional variation in completion rates. 

What stood out to me the most was the wide regional disparity, which was difficult to explain using the available data. Were regions in rural areas simply under-resourced? Were there social or cultural factors not captured in the dataset? Additionally, the gender pattern raised more questions than it answered. Why did girls perform well initially but fall behind later on? Who were the children who managed to succeed despite the odds?

These were not questions that a regression table could answer, yet they lingered with me long after the paper was submitted.

🧠  The Researcher Behind the Data

This project humbled me. I spent hours not only analysing numbers but also grappling with what they represented and considering whether I was interpreting them ethically and meaningfully. I became more aware of my positionality as a white researcher, born in Romania and educated in the UK, writing about a West African country where I had only spent a month.

That awareness shaped how I wrote. I invested time in engaging with Gambian education policies, reading research from local NGOs, and immersing myself in perspectives that could ground my work in context, even if I could not claim to have insider knowledge. I understood I could not speak for anyone, but I aimed to ensure that I was not writing over them either.

🔍 So, What Now?

This study inspired me to view school completion not merely as a statistical measure or a policy objective, but as a deeper indicator of whether a child feels valued, supported, and safe enough to remain in school. It reminded me that education goes beyond the curriculum; it is about capability, specifically, whether children have the genuine freedom (fundamental rights) to choose their future, in the sense defined by Amartya Sen.

That freedom should not be determined by gender, wealth, or geography. Yet, for many children in The Gambia — and globally — it still is.

Writing this study reinforced my belief that while quantitative evidence is essential, it is not sufficient on its own. Research must combine solid data with qualitative insights that consider policy, involve local stakeholders, and reflect the lived experiences of families and children. This is the kind of research I aspire to, where my work not only informs but also listens.

Access the full dissertation paper:🔗How I Found My Passion for Education, Research, and Equity

💬 Let’s Talk

Have you ever explored a topic that challenged your assumptions or prompted you to reflect differently on your role? I would love to hear how others have approached education research with care, critique, and curiosity.

📄 Coming next: Curriculum and Identity: A Reflection on Romania’s History Textbooks