Sarah Marshall has travelled far and wide to see the world’s most incredible wildlife during her award-winning journalism career (National Geographic Traveller UK, Daily Telegraph, Sunday Times). She recently explored Madagascar with Rainbow to learn more about the conservation initiatives in place.
By Sarah Marshall
Crawling through a tangle of brittle shrubs and branches, several school children are perfectly proportioned to keep up with a fast-moving pair of crowned lemurs. Using a telemetry device, tracker Zozola Randrianaviana has located the collared animals, but securing a decent sighting is now down to agility, speed and size. With a bit of effort, even I manage to hulk my adult body through the undergrowth, only to be sternly reprimanded by one of the children to keep back and not disturb the lemurs. “It’s bad luck.”
Safeguarding Madagascar’s Endemic Wildlife
Teaching local communities to believe it’s fady (a cultural taboo) to hurt or upset one of Madagascar’s most enigmatic but equally endangered species is a clever ploy. Ensuring the long-term protection for these endemic creatures, it’s one of many tactics employed by conservationists at luxury resort Miavana, who’ve invited a group of Malagasy school children to visit on World Lemur Day.
Located on Nosy Ankao, part of an archipelago and marine protected area off the north-east coast of Madagascar, the exclusive 14-villa property of Miavana serves exquisite seafood, has the country’s only scenic heli-service and offers butler-serviced accommodation of a calibre to match the world’s finest. But the appeal of the place goes much further and deeper than that.
PICTURED: An aerial shot of Miavana (Image Courtesy of Time + Tide)
The lemurs, explains conservation field officer Zach Jordaan, were translocated here from the Bekaraoka forest on the mainland due to poaching and the destruction of their habitat. The ultimate goal is to return them, but for now, a population of two troops provides an important educational resource and employment for trackers.
How Resident Communities Are Leading Change
It’s been a rough ride for Madagascar over the last few years. Being one of the last places to open after the pandemic, a loss of tourism revenue hit the country – and communities – hard. But things are looking up. A shiny new terminal has opened at the international airport, highlighting significant investment; Air Madagascar has signed a lease for several new planes; and from June, Airlink will reinstate flights from Johannesburg to Nosy Be, the access point for Miavana.
PICTURED: A couple on a deserted beach, Miavana (Image Courtesy of Time + Tide)
Over the course of the past decade, conservation efforts have intensified. As part of their 99-year lease of Nosy Ankao, Miavana’s owners, Time + Tide, have planted 100,000 indigenous trees and introduced mangrove protection, instilling a sense of pride in island residents. Jean Claude Jaodimasy, president of the local fishing village, reiterates that fact when I visit him as part of a relaxed community tour.
After stopping at Mama Ceylon’s wooden bar and grocery store for a snack of fried king mackerel and zingy green mango salad, Zach takes me to Jean Claude’s immaculate home made from casuarina trees. Inside, bright plastic floral tablecloths are neatly laid over heavy wooden furnishings, with a jar of Ovaltine set next to a surprisingly incongruous four-poster bed. “Before, anyone could cut down the forests,” says the smiling, welcoming host. “But we made it fady. Now it’s protected, because without forests there would be no life.”
PICTURED: Tern colony, Miavana (Image Courtesy of Time + Tide)
Sustainable Stewardship in Maromizaha
A similar sentiment has secured the protection of forests at the Maromizaha Reserve, much further south, a five-hour drive from Madagascar’s capital, Antananarivo. Close to Andasibe-Mantadia National Park, the country’s premier protected rainforest region, the project is managed by non-profit organisation GERP and the local community. Opened to the public in 2018, it’s far less busy than its popular neighbour, yet the wildlife is equally impressive.
On a morning trek with local guide Etienne Miandriarison, I encounter chameleons coiled around branches and velvet asity birds nibbling on pearly-white berries as we weave through a maze of sturdy ironwoods and pandanus trees ripe with fruit. Beneath our feet, emerald millipedes wriggle their furry bodies and all around us is the echoing, wailing lament of the indri, Madagascar’s largest lemur.
Nine villages benefit from the reserve, explains Etienne, who admits he once chopped down trees to make charcoal. “That’s stopped now,” he says, as we stop—out of breath—at the top of a hill where a viewing platform has been erected. “People follow the rules, and we have beehives and fish farms as an alternative source of revenue.” But, gazing down at the swathes of undulating forest below him, rising and falling like turbulent ocean waves, he admits the world around him is changing. “A long time ago, it would rain,” he sighs. “But now the sun is very strong.”
Exploring the Otherworldly Spiny Forest
Like everywhere in the world, climate change is impacting Madagascar, and it’s even more acutely felt amongst a population still living largely from their land. In the far south-east corner of the island, a four-hour drive from Fort Dauphin in the commune of Ifotaka, communities have been experiencing one of the worst droughts in years. Despite the hardships, however, they are determined to take care of the oldest ecoregion in Madagascar and one of the oddest-looking collections of living things on our planet.
PICTURED: Aerial of the spiny bush, Ifotaka Community Forest (Image Courtesy of Madagascar Classic Camping)
Spiky, sharp and thorny to touch, the spiny forest should by definition be inhospitable. Accompanied by my guide, Theophile Zafison, from Mandrare River Camp, and a local spotter, I enter the alien space to find a surprising variety of life. Nicknamed dancing lemurs, Verreaux’s sifakas bound across copper-red soils, ricocheting between razor-sharp tree trunks without even a wince. Eventually ready to roost, most climb into the coiled arms of octopus trees, their ghostly-white forms spirited away by the darkness of night.
PICTURED: Verreaux’s sifaka in a thorny Didiera (octopus) tree, Ifotaka Community Forest (Image Courtesy of Madagascar Classic Camping)
Overlooking the Mandrare River in a vast sisal plantation, Ifotaka’s only tourism camp works alongside communities to build schools, improve infrastructure, provide employment and raise international awareness of the environment and its inhabitants. Along with wildlife-spotting excursions, I immerse myself in the lives of Antandroy people, wandering through local villages, where women have tattooed their skin with prickly pear spines, and watching zebu-drawn carts trundling through avenues of swollen baobabs at dusk.
A Sign of Things to Come
One morning, Theo brings me to a weekly local market, a place to buy goods, exchange gossip and even meet a prospective husband or wife. Women use the opportunity to parade their finest straw hats, while young men arrive eagerly with empty USB sticks to download new tunes from dusty, clunky laptops.
One stall in particular catches my eye with its collection of t-shirts bearing aphoristic and religious slogans. “I sacrifice my life so I can live in paradise”, reads one, inadvertently summing up modern Madagascar.
To me, the message couldn’t be clearer: hard work today will protect the natural world of tomorrow in this heavenly island on earth.
Journey to Madagascar’s Wild Heart with Rainbow
Step into Madagascar’s wild heart with Rainbow. You’ll spot dancing lemurs and explore otherworldly spiny forests alongside local guides – all while supporting wildlife, culture, and a sustainable future in one of the world’s most remarkable destinations.
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