Amido describes a journey to the East-African island in the Indian Ocean, with photos by Purushottama
(click on photos to see them fullscreen)
In 2005, after working in Hong Kong for two years teaching English, instead of flying straight back home to the US, Purushottama and Amido made a stop-over in Dubai, in Yemen (story to come) and Kenya. Then by bus they reached Dar es Salaam on the coast of Tanzania.
From Dar es Salaam they sailed the short crossing to the island of Zanzibar where they stayed for a few days and, strolling through the harbour, discovered there was a boat to Madagascar which, on the way, would also be stopping at the Comoros islands. Purushottama had worked in Madagascar in the early 70s and fallen in love with the island and its people, and was eager to see it again.
The ship overflowed with passengers from the Comoros and their purchases. Every available bunk-bed space in the large dormitory was stacked high with goods. Ramadan was approaching and the passengers were returning home to Moroni, the capital of Grande Comore.
Miraculously, we managed to secure a bench to sit on, and subsequently sleep on, small but adequate with synchronized repositioning. A column of miniscule insects shared the back of the bench, in constant motion, but they were so completely uninterested in me that my concern about them subsided. I understood we lived in parallel universes. My relationship with insects underwent a fundamental shift that night, from unease to friendly interest.
The first stop was Dar es Salaam, the largest city in Tanzania, and its financial center. We had spent a few days here before heading off to Zanzibar. Since the ship was not leaving until the next day, we returned to the hostel we had previously occupied. The next day we went through immigration, expecting to board the ship and set off to the Comoros, but a spanner had entered the works.
Wealthy white cattle owners had loaded their cattle onto every available deck space. The young captain was not happy with this arrangement. There was a standoff. The boat was unable to leave for hours… Purushottama encouraged the captain, Muhammed Ali, to stand his ground, and amazingly, the cows were unloaded. We set off late that night.
Meanwhile, even more goods had come on board into the dormitory space. We two were allowed to stay in the captain’s cabin and use his bathroom. Glory, glory hallelujah!
The other bathroom, the one and only, had a difficult approach; the floor covered in several inches of water, 4x4s placed at intervals to provide dry passage, not the greatest since this ship rolled drunkenly, and the nearer one got to the bathroom, the stronger the engine smell.
Staying in the captain’s cabin meant that Purushottama and I shared the upper bunk! The second-in-command had to find somewhere else to sleep. He never once complained to us.
The journey took three days. The morning we approached Moroni was so beautiful, etched forever in my mind, along with Celine Dion singing the captain’s favorite, My Heart Will Go On, which accompanied us every step of the way.
We spent a week or so in Moroni, waiting for an onward boat to Madagascar, staying with a lovely woman who had several guests in her house. There was a huge mango tree in the front garden.
Memories that emerge from that time: large bats in the evening sky; baobab trees, such perfection with their fat bottoms and constrained branches; the beach where a plane had crashed just barely off the shore in 1996; the poverty and scarcity of much considered essential; the man from Kenya who also had a room in the guest house and told me how when driving through a National Park he had seen a lion walking down the middle of the road. The lion made no effort to move out of the way so he had to. That thrilled me somehow, that the lion had no knowledge of needing to get out of the way, his is the way.
The next leg of the journey took us to Anjouan, a mid-sized island, also belonging to the Comoros. Just a brief stop to get a few supplies and then on we went. This was a far superior boat. Passengers shared the deck space which was mostly covered. We put out a lungi to mark our territory. Fishing rods were placed at the back of the boat and the fish caught were shared with passengers. We were few, mostly Malagasy people returning home.
Madagascar
Ocean colors were replaced by reddish waters as we approached the northern coast of the fourth largest island in the world. Astronauts describe the view from space as “Madagascar bleeding.” So much of its fertile soil erodes due to the combination of deforestation and heavy rains.
We pulled into the port of Mahajanga. The heat of the land replaced the relative cool of the ocean breeze. Mahajanga’s low-lying whitewashed buildings sizzled in the heat. It seemed as if the whole town gathered along the promenade from early evening on, to catch the sunset, buy or sell street food, and meet family, friends and lovers.
The Malagasy People
The origins and timelines of the settling of Madagascar are not yet untangled, but the intertwining of an Asian people with an African people is abundantly clear, and the results are a stunning beauty. Apparently, Polynesians were the first to settle, arriving by outrigger canoes in the first century CE (or possibly earlier) bringing rice and their method of cultivating it.
The Bantus originated in Western Africa, but overpopulation caused them to start migrating south, and some, after reaching the east coast of Africa, just kept on going. It is thought that their migration to the island occurred in the 6th and 7th centuries CE (possibly later). They introduced cattle pastoralism.
Arabs arrived sometime after the Bantus, creating trading posts and settlements along the northwest shore. They introduced Islam and the Arabic script. Persians, other African peoples, and Europeans subsequently added to the mix.
Malagasy is the language of this country, considered to be part of the Malayo-Polynesian language family. The Bantus contributed much in the way of vocabulary.
France and England for many years vied for dominance over Madagascar. During this time, both Catholicism and Protestantism were introduced. The French finally succeeded in being the colonizers toward the end of the 19th century. They left a lasting legacy, their language, and contributed to the Malagasys’ culinary adeptness.
We traveled around Madagascar in the same way the local people did: by minibus, elderly shared Renault 4s, and in the back of a pickup truck when the terrain was particularly rough. (The Renault 4s are impressive, such an enduring vehicle, and able to manage the challenging terrain.)
We would stop in villages mid-journey to eat or buy snacks. Sometimes people would be on their way home from the fields or school, but would so readily stop and smile, so happy to connect. It is as if the default is friendliness and a smile.
In the more rural areas where we stayed, when we were out walking, people had no issues with being photographed. In fact, sometimes they asked us to take their picture, and enjoyed viewing the results.
From Mahajanga we took a boat to Nosy Be, an island far along the coast eastward. Miles and endless miles of sandy beach and jungle. Our destination was a much smaller island, Nosy Komba (also called Nosy Ambariovato), just off Nosy Be.
This was a much more rural part of the country. Much poorer but fertile. I saw a pineapple growing for the first time.
When we were in Maroansettra, on the north-east coast of Madagascar, an American marine biologist working for a research organization told us that once, in a remote area, he and his girlfriend were looking to find somewhere to eat. They saw a man who had just caught some fish and asked if they could buy them. The man declined, saying he needed them for his own meal. This is a land of scarcity.
Comments are closed.