Land of lemurs

Although 40 per cent of Madagascar’s natural habitat is destroyed, the situation is gradually improving ,writes Richard Madden.

The aye-aye lemur is not a creature for the faint-hearted. But its bizarre name and even more bizarre appearance – somewhere between a miniature Edward Scissorhands and Dobby from the Harry Potter movies – made it the perfect poster boy for the much-loved conservationist Gerald Durrell, who died 20 years ago. Durrell’s 1992 book, The Aye-Aye and I, helped raise awareness of Madagascar as an evolutionary Noah’s Ark, home to many of the world’s most unusual animal species, 90 per cent of which exist nowhere else on the planet. Sadly, as Durrell was at pains to point out in his trademark humorous style, the island’s biodiversity was under threat from environmental catastrophes ranging from erosion and deforestation to hunting.

Ironically, the very same physical characteristics that ensured the aye-aye’s survival over 65 million years of evolution, namely hypersensitive pantomime ears (listening for insects inside tree trunks)  and a fleshless, elongated middle finger (extracting them), were also the catalyst for its near demise. Nocturnal and rarely seen, over the centuries it found itself on the wrong side of the rural Malagasy people’s strict “fady” system of ancestral taboos. The word lemur comes from a Latin word meaning “spirits of the dead” and the aye aye was believed to be an evil ancestral spirit that brought bad luck. It was also thought to kill humans in their sleep and was routinely hunted down.

Gradual improvement

My wife, Sarah, and I had long wanted to visit the island. Having just spent a year in the bush working in safari camps in Africa, we were all too aware of the poaching  epidemic that has engulfed the mainland and wanted to see how Madagascar’s  remaining biodiversity hot spots have fared in the 20 years since Durrell’s death. In the capital, Antananarivo, we met Richard Lewis, programme director for the Durrell Wildlife Conservation Trust, which helps endangered species recover and survive in the wild.

Richard told us that although as much as 40 per cent of Madagascar’s original forest habitat was lost as recently as the late 20th century, the situation is gradually improving.

Among his team’s recent success stories have been tracking down a smuggling ring that was illegally exporting the ploughshare, the world’s rarest species of tortoise, and helping the Madagascar pochard, the world’s rarest duck, re-establish itself in the wild after it was thought to have become extinct.

“Madagascar’s environmental problems have been largely caused by deforestation and intensive industrialisation during the colonial period and particularly just afterwards, in the seventies, when environmental laws were routinely ignored,” he told us. “Large numbers of Malagasys were moved en masse into areas where they had no historical links, but now we are helping re-empower local communities to preserve the environment and manage local resources.”

As in the rest of Madagascar, there are no super-predators like the lion, no snakes with life-threatening venom, and all the creatures we saw, from the smallest bugs to the most outlandish chameleons, did indeed seem touched by the supernatural. And yes, Madagascar’s lemurs do occupy centre stage. Who would not regress to teddy bear-hugging childhood at the sight of a family of ring-tailed lemurs dancing along a branch? Or a family of indris, the largest and fluffiest of lemur species, staring down at you from on high? And what about the brown and white sifaka lemurs that danced across the forest floor just a few feet away from us?

But the wonders of Madagascar’s wildlife don’t stop there. We also encountered a giraffe weevil with its massive articulated neck and metallic red body like a miniature construction crane, chameleons with catapult bug-catching tongues and painted frogs with Jackson Pollock markings. Not to mention the giant canary-yellow Madagascan moon moth with a 10-inch wingspan that landed on a bush beside us.

But it’s not just the phenomenal wildlife that plays dice with your brain on a visit to Madagascar. The downtrodden Malagasy people also pluck continually at your heartstrings. Despite the subsistence-level poverty of much of the island, there is a warmth and an absence of materialist values, particularly in the rural areas, that is in marked contrast to much of mainland Africa.

Pro-environment rituals

The Ifotaka Community Forest adjacent to the Mandrare river is as remote as it is wild and covers a huge expanse of gallery (deciduous) and spiny (desert) forest protected for generations by the Antandroy tribe. On the river bank, we gazed out from beneath a giant banyan tree on a biblical scene. On the far bank we visited the ancient burial grounds in the forests that are sacred to the ancestors. “The people here spend about three-quarters of their income on rituals to do with the dead,” Andreas, our guide, told us.

Although they have not especially favoured the aye-aye, fady beliefs are in general a strong deterrent against environmental destruction. Although rules vary from region to region, it is fady to kill most lemur species while vital pockets of irreplaceable rainforest habitat have been saved from destruction as they are revered as sacred burial grounds.

Cédric de Foucault, a maître de maison in Anjajavy Lodge in the far north-west of Madagascar is no ordinary maison. One of his ancestors, the Blessed Charles de Foucauld, was beatified by Pope Benedict while another, Robert Surcouf, the “King of the Corsairs”, was a French pirate who terrorised the British merchant fleet in the Indian Ocean and was made a member of the Légion d’honneur by Napoleon.

Located near the 12 private beaches bordering Indian Ocean is a forest that is home to many of the world’s most endangered species. It has an underground cave, where we came face-to-face with the fossilised skull of a species of giant lemur that became extinct more than 400 years ago.

Cédric, passionate about the island wildlife says, “Over the last 20 years new species have been discovered in Madagascar at the rate of one per week, some on this very peninsula.”

As if on cue, we were interrupted by the sight of a pair of sifaka lemurs dancing across the lawn towards us, bouncing on their back legs, their arms outstretched and their huge black leathery palms wide open as if worshipping at a Gospel church. Before we knew it they were ensconced high up in the branches of a nearby tree, gazing down at us with benign curiosity through their bright, circular orange eyes.

We saw many different species of lemur during our stay but none quite compare with the “dancing” sifakas with their white fur and brown “sleeve” markings on their arms and legs. Like almost everything about Madagascar and its extraordinary wildlife, they set our hearts beating in a way that would have eluded even Valentino in his prime.