The whole group arranged for sailing pirogues to take us to the nearby island of Nosy Hao. It seemed a gorgeous day for a sail and snorkel, with a picnic lunch prepared by the expedition kitchen to top it off.  For the eleven of us, we found four pirogues, each with a crew of three, to depart mid-morning for our excursion.  I rode in the pirogue led by the most experienced captain, one who clearly enjoyed not only sailing well, but racing hard.  His crew quickly unfurled the huge sail, leading us to an early start, and throughout the half-hour journey, he was alternately fiddling with the rigging and pumping his fist in the air, shouting with glee as the wind whipped our hair, the sea sped beneath us, and the space between us and the boats behind grew and grew.  The crew, like we, were full of delight for such a perfect day to sail.

We had a good couple of hours on the island, taking time to snorkel the reef flat (enjoyable but for the many jellyfish near the surface that day) and to enjoy our packed lunch of rice and fish.  While we were swimming and eating, we didn’t notice the slow but dramatic turn the day’s weather was taking, and it was only after the wind started to gust after lunch that we noticed the approaching storm.  The sky had turned completely gray, the wind had begun to whip the waves of the sea into a gentle froth, and rain was visible from the bases of the clouds in all directions, growing ever closer.  We knew the inevitable downpour would not be far off.

The experienced boat crews found the first shelter as the skies opened, crouching in the beached pirogues and wrapping themselves in the sails.  Several of us tried to use one of the sails as a massive tarpaulin, an attempt made futile as the sail grew heavier from the absorbed rain and whipped against our backs ever more violently with the increasing wind.  The clever ones among our group realized that the air had cooled below the water temperature and swam back out to keep warm while the rest of us were made equally wet from the heavy rain.

After a bone-drenching five minutes, the rain began to subside, and everyone jumped into action to prepare for our return, despite the persistent wind. Within moments, our picnic was fully packed, the boats were back in the now-rough water, the sails were aloft, and we had clambered back into the boats for the return trip.  Gone was the care-free shouting of the earlier race as the crew focused their entire attention on keeping the boat upright as we faced the stiff wind and tall swells to sail back.  The small flag at the front of the boat used to measure the wind was chattering mightily as it fluttered, standing erect in the wind, as the waterlogged sail was drooping into the crests of the passing waves.  One of the crew, sitting out on the balance pole, leaning against the rigging rope, would ride high into the air with every passing wave, and then drop back down as the boat rode down the back of each crest, drenching us with spray as it fell back against the water.  It seemed a miracle that he didn’t fall from the pole as he went up and down while the boat listed from side to side.  Our captain again fiddled with the rigging throughout the trip as he sat tall and alert, focused on the sea ahead as if waiting to be attacked at any moment, while another of the crew worked to bail out all of the water we were taking on with every passing swell.

Our return trip was finally successful and surely shorter than the first sailing even if it seemed longer due to the tense air and the continual drenching.  One of the boats suffered a cracked mast under the force of the heavy sail against the wind, though that crew was quickly able to lash the sail well enough to keep the boat moving.  Our crew was so sure of themselves that we never felt in any real danger despite the threatening conditions.  After all, this was just another day at sea for the Vezo, who are out nearly every day, rain or shine, calm or storm, working hard as they try to catch what they can.  Their livelihood depends entirely on what they can catch from the sea, and they toil endlessly to make the most of it.  Watching them makes me hopeful that our conservation effort is successful, helping them to fish more sustainably and remain in balance with life in the sea.  As we saw that day, living with the sea is already hard enough without having to worry about whether it will die out.

The stumble down to Andava beach was worth it just to see Marcellin, the boat driver, in
a fetching orange balaclava. Unfortunately we didn’t get to carry Jen
onto the boat (as boat marshall – this blog is payment for her getting
up and looking after us) which would have been amusing. It was a great
ride out to Nearshore Coco and the phosphorescence in our boat wake
was very pretty. After a little bit of worrying about the temperature,
and the possibility of being picked off by sharks on the surface, we
rolled back and descended.

It was slightly chaotic, with everyone trying to stick very close
together; there were a lot of people on their first night dive. We
seemed to cover the whole site twice, moving a lot to keep warm and to
find something exciting to point our torches at. This mission was
successful. Apart from the expected plethora of soldierfish, sparkly
plankton and hard corals with their polyps on show, there was a nice
array of crabs – a big, tasty looking red one and lots of hermits with
anemones on their shells. We saw an electric ray and got rather close
until we realised it wasn’t, in fact, harmless. Then there was the
stonefish, munching on a squirrelfish. I could hear Bic giggling into
his regulator because he thought it was smiling, although I can’t say
I saw that.

The sun came up just as we did, with beautiful, amazing colours. After
a slightly chillier ride back I ran up the beach in full gear trying
to warm up; we’ve all got a lot wussier while we’ve been here!
Luckily, rather than spending the hour or so before breakfast having a
fairly pointless nap, we all headed over to Bic’s for banana pancakes.
Almost better than the dive, it woke me up more, particularly with a
Mars Bar pancake and unbelievable coffee (pretty sure it was strained
through a sock – that’s what it looked like).

So now I’m still processing the sugar and about to go on the 9am dive
to Mah – my last dive, and hopefully a great way to end my time in
Andava. So far, it’s been a pretty good start to my day.

View from Nosy Cao, the classroom

Unfortunately I’ve got a bit of a head cold at the moment and thus have not been able to equalize for the last couple days.  However, instead of continuing to feel sorry for myself, wallowing in the sorrows of being land-bound, I thought this would be a better use of my time.  Already the “new” set of volunteers (all four of us) have been here nearly three weeks.  The three of us who were not yet Advanced Open Water certified have now finished that course (yay!) and we have started doing some Point Intercept Transects (P.I.T.s) as well.  We’ve almost finished learning our fish species (they were so much easier to recognize once I had actually seen them swimming around), and hopefully we’ll be moving on to fish belts next week.

The weather here has been interesting.  I was expecting cooler days (mid-20s) since it is the winter season, but already we’ve had a couple pretty wet, rainy and windy bouts as well.  On our first day off, only a week into our expedition, we took a group of pirogues over to the island Nosy Hao for the day.  The weather was slightly overcast when we left, but by midday the sky had really gotten grey and there was thunder and lightening in the distance.  This quickly evolved into a full out rainstorm right over the island, and we could no longer see the mainland.  We tried to shelter ourselves from the pounding of the cold rain under the pirogue sails but it was a pretty tight squeeze and ultimately a limited success.  A few of us decided to take our chances in the ocean instead, so we threw off our already soaked clothes and ran into the water.  Once in the sea, it was actually quite a surreal experience: floating in gorgeous bright blue-green water with black skies above, and heavy raindrops shooting furiously down at us, before bouncing back out like highland dancers.  Naturally we made the most of the stormy waves and we swam and jumped like little kids in the world’s biggest bathtub.  Once the rain settled enough to attempt a return trip, we quickly loaded the pirogues and made for Andavadoaka.  The trip took a long time because of the wind, waves, and rain, but it was an experience I will not soon forget.  The storm itself ended up lasting for at least another two days, during which we had no power and part of the well pump was damaged.  So we didn’t have running water for about ten days after that either, but that wasn’t too big a deal once we got used to it.  (The pump was fixed a couple days ago and everything is back to normal now).

So far I have really enjoyed my time here, and I’m thrilled to be surrounded by marine life everyday.  Even when not diving, it’s been nice to go walk amongst the tidal pools or snorkel in the seagrass beds to see what’s hiding and surviving amongst their flora.  That said, I’m really looking forward to being over this cold so I can get back in the sea and help with more science dives.  The corals and fish are so beautiful and I love seeing them interact and behave in their natural habitat.  About a week ago we saw a HUGE southern stingray at the Lovobe site.  It must have been over five feet long (without barb and tail) and nearly four feet wide.  It didn’t seem too concerned about us and we were able to watch it for a while before it rose up off the sand (similar to a fighter jet) and swam off gracefully.  Although that ray was amazing, my favourite fish experience thus far was a few days ago during my underwater benthic test.  Thinking that I was a manatee, or at least a larger fish, a little golden trevally followed me for the whole dive.  Sam (my boyfriend/ dive buddy) told me that it hovered just beside my bright yellow scuba tank for most of the time, although I was lucky enough to see it pop up twice near my BCD.  I’m not sure what specific species it thought I was, but either way, I must have looked the part of strong and fearless protector.  I’m sure I will have many more enjoyable and memorable aquatic experiences, but I was very grateful for that one.  As silly as it may sound, that little fish’s behaviour made me feel like I was welcome here.  It made me feel like I was actually a part of the reef ecosystem that I am lucky enough to visit on a daily basis, and I was more than happy to share my dive with such an adorable local.  And I’m pretty certain that it helped me pass my test too!

Placed neatly between Coco Beach (staff quarters/restaurant/tourist huts etc) and Half Moon Beach (the wonderful volunteer hub/dive center) is the Blue Ventures football ‘stadium.’ Perfectly banked on one side by a natural gradient (providing a viewing hill capacity of approximately 500), the pitch boundaries are also marked out by mother Earth in the shape of bushes. The gravel/sand/stone/raised grass pitch provides a stern test for even the most nimble of feet. The version of the mentioned sport is football (not s#cc#r – I was told not to swear in the blog). The lack of Astroturf surface and equipment provides a stumbling block to play the American version but not as much as the fact that no-one outside of the States understands (not beyond Playstation John Madden anyway) the rules.

Everyday at approximately 4.30ish, local players arrive and depending on numbers either play a little skills in a circle (I am sure there is a better name but you get the idea), keep ball or a game when enough are present. Clothing ranges from no shirt (depending whether Viviane has given the washing back yet) and no shoes to full kits and football boots in some people’s cases. I had walked past many of these occasions and contemplated joining in. The deciding factor also being that even at 4.30 (usually 5 by the time it starts - Malagasy time) the sun is still shining and in that heat I would be as useful as an underwater bouncy castle. As it happened it wasn’t too long until my theory was put to the test.

Into my 5^th week on site, a match was organised between Andavadoaka village and Blue Ventures staff and we were all asked if we fancied playing. I expected a fairly light hearted affair so you can imagine my concern when I arrived to a green shirt (matching kit!) being thrust towards me and a rather healthy squad of 20! This was the least of my concerns. On being told I was starting as striker alongside Thomas, the BV shark and turtle conservationist (lovely guy…. won’t pass) I began to regret restrictive board shorts as my choice of attire, which would clearly only emphasise my blinding lack of pace. Next I find out that in this oversized oven that is the Madagascar sunshine, we were to play 45 minutes each way! However, putting this to one side, as well as the infected left ankle, it wasn’t difficult to remind myself that this was still football… the universal language. Lined up alongside fellow Vazaha Pete (looking wistful on the left wing), with Mr T and Chris not finding it difficult to keep warm on the bench, I was as ready as I would ever be in my worryingly tight green shirt.

Things did not start wonderfully. Much to do the delight of the raucous village supporters – 34 as an approximation that sounds like I looked more carefully than if I had said 50 – Andavadoaka took the lead through a scrappy goal after only two minutes. Defending might not have been the order of the day at that stage for the BV staff but with 87 minutes left we were not about to panic. Roll on 87 minutes and panic had by this stage certainly ensued! Despite several ‘roll-on-roll-off’ substitutes (I am always a little disappointed that this phrase is not taken a little more literally) and superstar performances from the volunteer subs Chris and Mr T as well as Pete on the wing we were unable to break down a resolute village defence. Even the half time refreshment drink bath (imagine drinking water from a very very large kitchen pan) was not enough to spur our boys on. I am not afraid to admit that I was by this stage my competitive edge had taken over and I actually really wanted us to score so I did what every bad loser does and blamed the whistle happy referee!

The game was very tiring, thoroughly exhilarating and enjoyed by all. It also showcased some very good Gasy footballers notably Naina (midfield rock/Coco beach handyman), Beneme (skilful winger/Coco beach chef) and Gildas (BV conservative fishing educator). Whether the sport be football, volleyball or basketball the volunteers and Gasy staff really enjoy playing (daily in the case of volleyball) with or against each other. This exercise helps both parties in learning the others native tongue but more importantly than that, the sport here creates a real sense of community at BV with the players, volunteer cheerleaders and even the villages that often come to watch.

Even though this is only a very small snippet into a single event hopefully the number of people and setting is portrayed (if a little tongue in cheek) as well as the integration between village and Blue Ventures. The wonderful thing about playing these sports in the late afternoon sunshine is the knowledge that come six O’clock, a nice cold beer will be waiting for you with panoramic views of the Velondriake coastline from above the restaurant and you cannot ask for more than that.

Madagascar has one of the world’s fastest growing populations, with an average fertility rate of over 5 births per woman and nearly half of the country’s population currently under fifteen years of age. Only one in five women in union has access to contraception despite government programmes to promote family planning.

A recent UNAIDS survey in Madagascar found that only 12 percent of young men aged between 15 and 24 used a condom the last time they had sex with a casual partner. For women, the figure stood at 5 percent. ?In the remote coastal regions where Blue Ventures operates, access to sexual and reproductive health services is even more difficult. As a result, girls often have their first child as young as eleven and women are having up to 16 children. Infant and maternal mortality figures are high. The rapid growth of coastal populations, whose doubling time is approximately 10-15 years, poses a severe threat to the future sustainability of the country’s extensive coral reefs and other marine habitats, upon which the livelihoods, culture and future economic wellbeing of coastal communities depend.

In the isolated coastal communities of southwest Madagascar - among the poorest in the country - the remote villages depend on dwindling marine resources that are under direct pressure from population growth in the villages, and health care and family planning services are extremely limited. ??”A woman in the village of Andavadoaka who wanted to access contraceptive services faced a 50km journey on foot to Morombe, the nearest town, or would have to pay for passage on a passing ship,” explained Dr Vikram Mohan, founder of the clinic in Andavadoaka. “In cities there are good contraceptive services available; in remote areas like ours most organisations can’t offer a service.” ? The Andavadoaka clinic is funded by Blue Ventures Conservation (BVC) and supported by a programme of community education, which draws upon social marketing techniques to raise awareness, enabling individuals to make their own reproductive health choices. The link between population growth, the lack of family planning facilities and the increasing pressure on fragile natural resources prompted the organisation to establish the small clinic. ??”The work being done by BVC to enable coastal communities to manage their resources sustainably ran the risk of being undermined by the mushrooming population of the community,” says Vic Mohan (Director of Sexual and Reproductive Health Programme and Medical Advisor).  “In addition, an awareness of sexually transmissible infections and a willingness to take precautions was low.”

Working in close partnership with regional health institutions and sexual and reproductive health NGOs, this initiative aims to empower and enable individuals to make their own reproductive health choices, and protect themselves against STIs. It is doing this through the provision of sexual and reproductive health services in 24 villages along the south coast of Madagascar.

So what has this got to do with Tess Shellard walking a whopping 1,293 miles?

Tess aims to raise at least £10,000 and here’s why:

For the cost of a couple of text messages, 20p, they can provide a 3 month supply of the pill.

For the same price as a chocolate bar, 40p, they can provide a contraceptive injection that lasts 3 months.

For less than the cost of a night out, £25, they can pay for an interpreter to work in the clinic for a whole month.

Lots of people would happily pay £200 for a new mobile – that would pay for a nurse to run the outreach clinics and education programme for a whole month, or amazingly it could even buy enough education materials to last an entire year.

Tess only has 40 more days to go of  her 54 day hike and has so far raised £1,535 and she will need your help if she hopes to make her target for this extremely worthy cause!  As the above facts outline, every penny makes a difference!

DONATE NOW!

You can read Tess’ blog posts online at: http://themightyjogle.co.uk/category/blog/ - extracts include:

‘By far the best day’s hiking so far. Our route followed part of The Great Glen way all along the edge of Loch Ness. The path climbs up into the hills and although for most of it you can only see the forest around you, every now and then it opens up and you get the most beautiful views out across the loch and over to the mountains on the other side. Best of all, from up there you can’t see any of the few bits of touristy monster-related rubbish – it feels completely unspoilt’. excerpt from Day 8: Drumnadrochit to Fort Augustus

Please support Tess, please give generously!

Today was the final dive of my Advanced Open Water course, the anticipating deep dive. We dove at a fantastic site called 007, which is within the permanent no-fishing marine reserve.  On our boat ride to 007, two dolphins swam less than 15 meters away from us!  The boat then delivered us to the site, where the other volunteers and I descended with ‘Goddess-of-the-Deep’ Dive Instructor and Field Scientist, Samantha to approximately 28 meters.  Once at full descent , Samantha brought out an egg - yes, an egg, shell and all, having managed to somehow carry it from breakfast to the boat with all of her dive gear, and then down to 28 meters while unwinding the line for her SMB! We knelt on the sand while Samantha cracked the egg so we could play ping-pong with it! To my amazement, the yolk and white remained intact! Next, Sam had me solve a few simple maths problems on my dive slate, to test my mental alertness at this depth.

After the games and maths test, we slowly swam along the side of the reef just above huge, robust Gorgonian Sea Fans.  Of course the sighting of fish didn’t disappoint either: my first sighting was of a Purple Tinged Peacock Grouper, followed by a Ribbontail Ray swimming close to us, and an impressive Crocodile Flathead blinking its eyes while we stared at it from a distance. We also saw a very purple 2-spine Angelfish, a Moray eel and at least 35 other species of fish in this dive alone.  To finish off, a dive with Sam would not be complete without seeing her all time marine favourites: Nudibranchs. Today we saw the bright orange Striped Pajamas Nudibranch. So small, yet so exotic looking when you get a chance to see them up close.

Striped Pajama nudibranch

Among these sightings and my own excitement, Sam was administering my in-water fish test. Out of the 150 species we are required to learn, a volunteer is asked to identify 30 species as the instructor points to them.  To pass the test (and qualify to do fish surveys), one can only make 3 species mistakes, with no mistakes when it comes to naming fish families.  Today was my third attempt at taking the fish test and I finally passed! On my previous 2 attempts, the field scientists were very supportive in helping me learn from my mistakes, whilst still on the dive. This made it easier to remember the fish next time, and motivated me to study even harder with practice computer tests and the practice Fish ID PowerPoint slides, provided by BV. Now that I’ve passed both my Benthic and Fish ID tests, I look forward to collecting real data for Blue Ventures’ research next week.

For me, diving has gradually become more and more enjoyable as I’ve learned corals and now, many fish species.  Learning and remembering the fish species required a steady amount of studying and effort, but it’s something that will make all of my future dives even more exciting. As another volunteer said, “now that I know the fish, I can stop trying to identify them and instead watch their behaviour.” I’ve also been introduced to the Striped Pajamas and their cousins,  so will always look carefully to spot more of these perfectly formed and colourful “bottom-dwellers.”

They would come to be known as Team 51,

Once the next expedition had truly begun,

Only Kathryn had been there and done it before,

For the rest there were lots of new things to explore.

Amanda would teach us to swim upside down,

Part diving, part yoga, with a touch of the clown.

Alyssia from Jersey, the coolest by far,

Sometimes lives in Hawaii, sometimes lives in her car.

Marketta who never wakes up till midday,

At breakfast she simply has nothing to say

But Manga Lodge coffee would make her convert

To a pole-dancing vixen and outrageous flirt.

Daniella the architect, like, loves to enthuse

About all forms of sea life and wooden canoes

She purchased a turtle to, like, keep it alive,

And only stops talking in order to dive.

Anne who came here to try diving again,

And who, thanks to Samantha, discovered her Zen,

Who sees underwater like Mr Magoo,

But BV will make sure she has something to do.

And Steve who designed a ridiculous chair

Which is more like a throne but he doesn’t care,

He thinks he’s the Big Man they call Papa Steve,

But that chair will be firewood as soon as he leaves.

And let’s not forget Goffe, our child of the sea,

Who makes us feel tired with his sheer energy.

And guiding them all through their days in the sun,

Are the staff, like Chiara, exposing her bum,

As they finally let her get back in the boat,

After making to leave and just letting her float,

And Pete who is sweet and is missing his cat,

And fiancée too, of course, don’t forget about that,

And Sam who was born to live by the sea,

Who takes Nudibranch pictures and loves herbal tea.

Bic is the diver we all want to be,

We suspect he has gills but they’re too hard to see,

Georgie looks after sea cucumber beds

And ties sea weed to bottles with long nylon threads,

Sophie the Queen of the science we do,

Who loves noodles and chocolate drinks thicker than glue.

Capitain Nick, the Napoleon Wrasse,

Who the Malagasy staff seem to love to harass

By filling their laptops with bugs he can kill,

“It won’t happen again Nick!” but you know that it will,

And finally Shawn who looks over it all,

Thin as a rake and terrifically tall,

Who is dreaming of broadband and Tacos to eat,

And who wanders around with no shoes on his feet.

When the NTZ opens it will signal the end,

Except for Kathryn, Alyssia and newcomer Ben,

They will get a bit longer in Andavadoaka,

While the rest of us hope that the camion is broke

So we set off to Tulear in a nice 4x4,

Though hopefully a bit better planned than before,

And we say our farewells to the people we’ve met,

But we’ve all had a time we will never forget.

Many blogs have spoken about a typical day here which involves waking up to a sea so blue that you think your imagination must be playing tricks on you. Typically after a breakfast of coffee and sometimes not-so-stale bread it’s off to dive the reefs and practice the skills we have been learning which involve benthic PITs² and fish belts. Absolutely starving we rush off to lunch and to well-deserved hammock time, followed by introductory lectures to science, the reefs, ecology and Vezo culture. The day ends with the hot sun meeting the sea in yet another legendary Madagascan sunset and a fresh fish grill.

This typical day in the life of a BV volunteer however does not nearly convey the experience of being here. The feelings, the meanings, the taste, the smell is lost in the description of a schedule. What is Andavadoaka about?  Andavadoaka is the sea and the sun. A warm, perfect sea of blue that no camera seems able to capture. A sea that leaves a salty algae taste on your lips, and a brush of sand on your hips. And a sun so hot you feel like you are melting away at times.

Andavadoaka is its people, the Vezo. A people connected to the sea like a tree to its roots. The Vezo are sculpted by the sea and the sand. They are the fish that dance, the fish who hunt, the fish who survive. They are filled with colour and pride like the butterflyfish, angelfish, parrotfish and wrasse. The Vezo are the laughter of a wave breaking on the shore, living for the moment without worry of the next.

Andavadoaka is its wind that blows relief to hot skin, and carries the salty smells of baking sand and braziers of frying fish, sakay samosas and bok bok. A wind that kisses a perfect sky and clears away the promise of clouds to reveal the breathtaking milkyway which floods the sky each night.

Andovadoaka is its hope, for a people so poor who battle to survive off a sea no longer able to provide what it once gave. A place that would not be without its people and a people which would not be without their place. My heart cries to see their hold on their land slipping as rich French and Italian foreigners buy up all the beautiful beaches and islands slowly pulling out the roots of the Vezo and pushing them into the spiny forests to flap aimlessly like fish out of water.

¹ The local Epiciery or grocery store that is also a bar.

² Point Intercept Transect, a method used to estimate benthic species cover on a coral reef.

With everyone thus prepared after training on the nearer reefs, the next three truncated weeks can be spent collecting the scientific data for real, and risking precious fuel on visiting some of the more remote sites. Given the quality of the more accessible reefs I can only wonder how marvellous the deeper ones will be.  My wife Anne was reflecting yesterday that this is a rare opportunity to dive such pristine reefs while still being the only dive boat on the horizon.  I wonder how much longer the relative isolation of Andavadoaka will preserve this experience.  Still, if the Marine Protected Area is in place and BV and others can expand the tourism in a responsible way here, then more people may be able to enjoy this beauty for years to come and bring much needed income to the gentle Vezo people, who are so dependent on their fishing for their survival and identity. Lots of work left to do, but I am King of the Barbie at party time tonight and I am meeting Mr Roger from the Velondriake Committee soon to help him drive his new computer, so time to sign off for now.

The two day pirogue journey however peeled open my expectations and revealed to me a realm of experience, sight and understanding I had not in my wildest dreams anticipated. The journey began with the rising sun, and a lesson on how to lift the diagonal mast of the pirogue sail, and off we gently floated with the early morning wind over the still asleep sea to our first stop in Lamboara.

How does one describe a journey by pirogue? The pirogue seems as part of this earth as the sand and the sun. The pirogues are carved from trees in the forest with great skill - as I was to learn in Ampasilava the next day, a village renowned for its pirogue makers. With only an axe as a tool the various different woods are carved into something of great beauty and dexterity that flies over the sea as if it too were a wave. Although a pirogue appears quite a simple thing, the skill needed to sail one is matched only by the skill needed to make one.

Lamboara was our first stop where Thomas met with his first sous–collector¹. Thomas’ dream is to start an education project, whose first step would entail teaching people not to catch baby shark and turtle. But how do you teach a people who live a subsistence existence to put back something they have caught? Surely the challenge would be too great? The sous-collector in Lamboara however, convinced me that Thomas’ dream is not so farfetched. She shone with pride when she brought her book of data out to show him and had a bucket of Kasioke shark (a small species of shark I have yet to identify in a book) ready to measure and document in order to show how methodical she was at her job².

Although Thomas is from Andavodoaka, he was treated with great respect in each village we went to. The idea of kinship is very important to the Vezo, but the people’s reaction to Thomas was more than this, it was the reaction of people to a leader, they really listened to him, and sought to speak with him when we arrived.

From Ankintambagna we set off to Antsepoky, where I encountered a village that seemed to rise out of the reflected heat of the snow white sand. A village of mall wood huts set in white sand dunes and filled with people who once again welcomed a Vazaha (white foreigner) and invited me to take pictures. Since it is impossible to post pictures as yet to accompany the blog I will have to attempt instead to describe the image of a reed shelter of white sand floor with wooden benches on either side. A woman with a yellow painted face and multi-coloured sarong bursts into a smile on seeing me and poses for a photo, framed by the azure blue sea.

From Antsepoky we travelled to Tampolove through the Baie des Assassins, a bay of crystal blue water edged with mangroves and punctuated by egrets and flying fish. A place so quiet that you can hear the coral crackling underwater while sitting in the pirogue. The most amazing thing about travelling by pirogue is that time takes on a new dimension. Your travel becomes zen-like as it’s governed by the elements and as such the idea of being in a rush is non-existent, impossible, a non-entity. Some would say that being here is like being in a bubble yet I find that time here seems more real tied as it is to the sea and the wind.

Tampolove is a village of the sea, for the tide shapes its very soil, creating islands of village when it comes in and uniting the village when it goes out. For a village shaped by water I was fascinated by the attention paid to the built form and the pride that was apparent in the way that the people decorated their houses, and gardens. Sitting at the epibar, watching two piglets and a troop of ducks waddle past, while listening to the laughing musical voices of the people around me while they sorted the catch of the day, I was struck by how at peace Vezo life is. Sailing off into the sun setting over the mangroves while Thomas told me stories of his people I was silenced by the incredible sight before me of a sky fighting for glory over a perfect sea, painting and repainting its colours continuously as a last show of glory before the hush of evening fell.

Waking up with the sunrise in Lamboara, I took a walk along the still quiet beach watching the first of the fishermen slip their pirogues into the orange-tinged sea. After a breakfast of bok bok (fried bread) and sweet Vezo tea we too slipped into the water for our journey to Ampasilava. Arriving in the village after a leisurely pirogue ride with a wind still half-asleep I was greeted by the whisper, scrape and sliding of axes, the smell of freshly sawn wood, and the flashing of colourful clothes drying on fences. Ampasilava is legendary in the Velondriake region for its pirogue builders and as an architect all I could do was stand in awe at their handiwork which they showed off to me with great pride. As I hoisted the diagonal mast of the pirogue for our sail home and tightrope walked across to the ballast to take up my position of holding onto the sail to correct our balancing in the waves, their laughing voices were carried over to us in the wind- apela vezo foty they cried with delight (a white girl fisherman)!

¹ The aim of each sous-collector in each village is to record any sharks or turtles that are caught, to write down their species and measurements and then to take a photograph for the records. The project at this stage is merely a survey to monitor what is being caught and to research what effect this is having on the shark and turtle populations.

² The sous-collectors do not earn a lot of money for their work, it is a job they agree to do because they want to help. The idea of helping your village and helping your community is an important concept to the Vezo people. This is something I saw again and again throughout this trip.