Ecology and wildlife > Articles > Madagascar – The Island Continent

Culture shock comes quickly in Madagascar. Even as the plane banks over the red clay houses and emerald paddy fields on the outskirts of Antananarivo you scan for an image that will confirm your arrival in Africa. A dilapidated Citroen taxi shuttles you onward into the capital and, as it swerves around rickshaws and garishly painted carts drawn by hump-backed zebu cattle, you struggle against the illusion that you have landed in the Far East. Even the taxi driver’s fine-boned, café-au-lait features only help to confound your efforts to convince yourself that this is Africa.

Since Madagascar first sailed away from the African continent over 80 million years ago, the 250 miles of the Mozambique Channel’s fierce currents have done more to insulate the island than the entirety of the Indian Ocean. The intrepid Indonesian sailors who were the island’s first inhabitants have left their legacy everywhere: from the pirogue outriggers of the reefs; to the stilted huts, built to withstand the lowland monsoons; to the ecologically disastrous slash-and-burn agricultural system that had probably driven them from their homelands in the first place.

The Malagasy as a whole (and particularly the powerful Merina and Betsileo tribes of the high plateau) are descended primarily from Malay-Polynesian pioneers who arrived within the last 2000 years. But there are now eighteen main tribes, each with their own unique cultural and ethnic backgrounds. On the southern scrub-pastures and cactus deserts, there are Bara and Antanosy people who would not look out of place in the Mozambique of their forefathers, while along the eastern coast there are the Antaimoro (keepers of sacred texts written in ancient Arabic script) and the Antambohoaka whose bloodline may date directly to the Arab sailors who knew Madagascar as Gezirat Al-Komr - the Isle of the Moon.

You can waste a lot of time shifting Madagascar from Asian to African pigeonholes, and back again, until you accept the fact that the world’s fourth largest island is at once a combination of many things . . . and an island continent in its own right.

Linguists say that the Malagasy language is linked most closely with a Dayak language from southern Borneo, but just a glance at some of the place names on the map – Tsiroanomandidy, Ankazomandiladongo et al - can be enough to dissuade most travellers from any serious hopes of fluency in Malagasy! The capital, Antananarivo, was established in 1799 by the king with the impressive name - even by Malagasy standards – of Andrianampoinimerinandriantsimitoviaminandriampanjaka.

Described by a French contemporary as ‘a savage of genius,’ his own people knew him as ‘The Hope of the Merina,’ and it was he who began the campaigns that would eventually unify Madagascar under the Merina flag. While there were certainly renegades clans among the fearless Sakalava (‘Those of the Long Valleys’) and the Mahafaly (‘Makers of Taboos’), for almost a century the Merina rulers maintained their boast: Ny riaka no valamparihiko – the sea is the only limit to our rice fields.

Then, in 1890, France and Britain signed The Convention of Zanzibar, mutually recognising that island as a British colony and Madagascar as property of France. After a swift invasion - in which more French troops were accounted for by fevers than by the weapons of the Malagasy defenders - the colonial forces set about extending their dominion even beyond the rice fields of the Merina. The enlightened colons abolished the ‘benign’ slavery of the Merina caste system (in which slaves were considered part of the family) and replaced it with a far more unpopular taxation system that forced men to earn money by working for the state. The communications infrastructure, agriculture and business boomed and the French threw themselves into Malagasy life with such enthusiasm that they soon became known as the 19th tribe.

But throughout Africa the winds of change began to blow and the insurrection, when it finally exploded in 1947, was a particularly bloody affair; while over 1,000 French soldiers and 30 settlers died, the numbers of Malagasy dead may have been as high as 80,000. After independence in 1960 the country’s first president Philibert Tsiranana showed unusually magnanimity by avowing that there was still a place for the French in Madagascar: “You do not kick away the canoe that helped you to cross the river.”

However, the country’s fortunes soon proved themselves unequal to a population that has doubled, to around 14 million, since Independence. The Malagasy eat more rice than any other nationality (half a kilo per person, per day) and it was a sign that hard times had arrived in earnest when the country was forced to begin importing rice.

In 1927 Madagascar had become one of the first countries in the world to establish a national system of nature reserves under an ecological rallying-cry that was designed to hit the Malagasy where it hurt: ‘Tsy misy ala, tsy misy rano, tsy misy vary! - If there is no more forest, there will be no more water; if there is no more water, there will be no more rice!’

By that time Madagascar was already sorely in need of protection. Some estimates say that as much as 90% of Madagascar’s original forest has been destroyed to make way for rice paddies or pastures, and within a short time of man’s arrival in this ‘Garden of Eden’ two dozen species of large mammals had already become extinct. Madagascar has long been lauded as ‘the naturalist’s promised land’ and as early as the 13th century Marco Polo reported rumours of Madagascar’s incredible riches: ‘more elephants are bred here than in any other province . . . they have leopards and lynxes and lion also in great number.’ The island was apparently not one of the great explorer’s strong points: since only 10% of its wildlife can be found anywhere else on earth, it is hardly surprising that the creatures that he chose for his ‘Big 4’ can be found on the extensive ‘absentee list’!

Today there are over 50 national parks and reserves, taking in the whole range of desert, savanna, rainforest, deciduous forest, limestone plateaus and tropical islands that comprise what WWF has called the ‘world’s number one biodiversity hot spot.’ A share in the park entrance fees goes to local communities in an effort to offset the demands of a population that is principally struggling to scratch a living out of the denuded soil. The island is big enough to cope with almost any tourist influx and if done with sensitivity - and with the involvement of local communities - it is hoped that tourism could prevent the natural history ‘collection’ of this living museum from being consigned forever to the land of the ancestors.

Some fortunate creatures have achieved a sort of ‘diplomatic immunity’ courtesy of their reputations as envoys from the other world. The tiny Brookesia chameleon is seen as a god; in fact a Malagasy proverb has it that ‘it is better to tread on a divinity than to tread on a Brookesia.’ At the other end of the spectrum the huge Indri lemur (like a 7 year-old child in a panda suit) has long been protected by a belief that they are actually men who have been magically transformed into lemurs.

Mysticism and - to our eyes - superstition govern every important stage of Malagasy life, but in no other area is it more important than in the question of death. The Malagasy say that ‘a house is for a lifetime but a tomb is forever’ and there can be no worse fate than exclusion from the family tomb. For many, the duties of burial, re-burial and the famous ‘bone-turning’ ceremonies (along with the accompanying expensive cattle sacrifices and feasts) are the paramount obligation of the living. In some areas 80% of income is spent on the ancestors . . . but these ‘investments’ must be made if the living are to enjoy the protection of the dead.

Even the most mundane of everyday chores can be governed by a complicated web of fady (taboos). I once visited a village where, since time immemorial, it had been forbidden to move cattle on Tuesdays or Thursdays. If a cow was lucky enough to break into a cassava plantation on Monday night she would be free to remain there, feasting unmolested, until Wednesday morning. When the furious farmer finally went to drive her back to the pastures he would invariably be bare-chested, since another fady decreed that it was forbidden to tend the cattle wearing a shirt. The village headman explained the delightful logic behind this: “The zebu know that their owner always comes to collect them without a shirt on. So if bandits come one day to steal them, the cattle will see their shirts and think ‘uh-oh, this can’t be right,’ and run away.”

There are the personal fady of an individual, family fady, village fady, tribal fady and many that have become so widespread as to be almost promoted to the status of national fady. Few Malagasy would risk causing offence by pointing directly at a tomb, though not many would accept that to do so could make your finger fall off!

Even a Malagasy travelling in unfamiliar parts of the island could never be expected to know all the rules of every village through which he passes and, contrary to the reports of some writers, there is no great danger for the foreigner who unwittingly breaks a fady. The Malagasy are among the world’s friendliest people and to punish a guest for an unwitting transgression would be against all their codes of hospitality.

Just as a lone Englishman will form an orderly queue of one, a chance meeting between any two Malagasy on a lonely trail will become a friendship and a queue of more than three - waiting for anything at all - will become a party.

Overland travel through remote areas of Madagascar can involve a lot of waiting. With only 12% of the island’s roads paved, it is invariably slow (when it’s not downright impossible), often dusty (when it’s not muddy) and frequently excruciatingly uncomfortable. But with the fun-loving Malagasy as travelling companions, a journey through this ‘island continent’ is always sure to be full of surprises!

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