Barracuda, grouper, tuna – and seaweed: Madagascar’s fishers forced to find new ways to survive | Madagascar
AAlong the southwest coast of Madagascar, the Vezo people, who have fished in the Mozambique Channel for countless generations, are characterized by a lifestyle supported by the sea. Yet climate change and industrial exploitation are pushing this ocean-based culture to its limits.
The coastal villages around Toliara, a town in southern Madagascar, are home to tens of thousands of semi-nomadic Vezo people. people who make a living from artisanal fishing at sea. For centuries, they launched canoessmall boats carved from tree trunks go every day to the turquoise shallows to catch tuna, barracuda and grouper.
“We only depend on the ocean,” says Soa Nomeny, a woman from a small island off the southwest coast called Nosy Ve. “Whatever we catch today, we eat today. If we don’t catch anything, we don’t eat it.”
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A boat near the seaweed lines, which have become a main source of income for the village of Ambatomilo as warmer seas, bleached reefs and erratic weather accelerate the decline of local fish populations.
This dependence becomes precarious for the approximately 600 inhabitants of Nosy Ve. Michel “Goff” Strogoff, a former shark hunter turned conservationist from the Vezo hamlet of Andavadoaka, says fish populations began collapsing in the 1990s and have declined sharply over the past decade.
Rising sea temperatures, coral bleaching and reef degradation have destroyed breeding grounds, while erratic weather linked to warming oceans have shortened fishing seasons. “There is no longer abundance near the coasts,” he says. “We are forced to paddle further.”
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Soa Nomeny, dressed in traditional sunscreen, prepares the family’s main meal of rice and fish or octopus. The Vezo eat only the day’s catch, ensuring their meals are linked to the bounty of the sea.
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In Nosy Ve, fish is often cooked with tomatoes, onions and garlic; salted sardines are left to dry before being sold in Andavadoaka; Soa Nomeny applies beat uptraditional earth-based sunscreen taoloa fragrant bark; and the catch is transported to the market from the village of Bevohitse by cart pulled by zebu, the main means of transport in remote areas.
Local fishermen share the same concern. “There are just too many nets,” says Hosoanay Natana, who now travels hours beyond traditional areas to make a viable catch for himself and his fellow fishermen.
Industrial trawlers – Malagasy and foreign – often enter coastal waters despite a national ban prohibiting vessels from coming within two nautical miles (3.7 km) of the coast. Weak law enforcement means violations are common, leaving artisanal fishermen with declining incomes.
The environmental group Blue Ventures, which has worked in the region for two decades, reports that the biomass of reef fish in southwest Madagascar has declined by more than half since the 1990s. The organization supports locally managed marine areas (LMMAs) that help communities set their own fishing rules, restore reefs and seek alternative ways to make a living.
Among the most promising measures are the imposition of temporary closures, which have allowed octopus stocks to recover, and the new practice of algae farming, which acts as a commercial buffer against overfishing and climate shocks.
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Hosoanay Natana tightens the net around a school of barracudas. Divers steer the boats to form a circle with the net. Once the fish are trapped, divers collect them and bring them to the boat, ensuring more sustainable fishing.
Further down the coast, the village of Ambatomilo, known locally as Seaweed Village, has embraced this change. Supervised by its LMMA committee, it is part of several communities cultivating seaweed as additional income for fishermen whose traditional funds are overexploited. Families dry freshly harvested seaweed before selling it to local cooperatives.
Fabricé and his wife Olive, who started farming five years ago, harvest every two weeks. “The market pays around 1,500 ariary [25p] per kilo,” says Olive, spreading red seaweed on bamboo racks. Depending on the season, families can produce up to a tonne per month, providing significant additional income that helps protect household living standards when fishing falters.
“We still rely on fish for our daily needs,” she says, “but seaweed helps us plan ahead. »
Seaweed farming is one of the fastest growing coastal industries in Madagascar today. The crop is exported primarily for carrageenan – a gelling agent used in food, cosmetics and pharmaceuticals – but is also used locally as fertilizer and livestock feed.
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Fabricé harvests the algae. Depending on the season, they can harvest up to a ton per month. With his wife Olive, he transports the seaweed to prepare it for the market. It is also eaten or used as a seasoning, and serves as fertilizer or animal feed when dried. Soa Nomeny with an octopus that she speared to complete the fish catch
Environmental studies have shown that seaweed farms also help stabilize coastlines by reducing wave energy and absorbing carbon dioxide, helping with erosion control and carbon sequestration.
TThe adaptability of the Vezo people, once a source of pride, has become a condition of survival. Outside of cyclone season, some families still undertake long fishing migrations, camping on sandbars and uninhabited islets while following fish along the coast. “Extended migrations are always an option,” says Natana. “Whether we go on board or not depends on the fish stocks nearby. »
Such trips can last weeks or months, depending on catches and resources. The lure of high-value products – such as shark fins or sea cucumbers bound for Chinese markets – lures some to more distant waters, up to 1,000 miles away.
“Some even venture as far as the Seychelles,” says Strogoff, a nod to the unwavering nomadic spirit of the Vezo people: always looking for the next opportunity to make a living.
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The villagers gathered to Tromba ritual, performed to invoke blessings, honor ancestors, and seek protection, good health, and abundance. People are possessed by spirits, a goat or even a zebu are sacrificed and other offerings are made, such as rice, bread or rum. The ritual is also practiced in times of crisis, before a trip or for weddings.
Cultural traditions remain at the heart of community life. In Nosy Ve, families still gather for annual blessing rituals, seeking protection and prosperity. During one of these ceremonies, the elders invoke the ancestral spirits in a Tromba rite of possession while villagers sacrifice a goat or make other offerings to ensure safety at sea.
Life on the island reflects both endurance and fragility. Houses built from crushed shells and palm fronds line the beach; nights are lit by torches instead of electricity.
After a day at sea, the fish catch is shared equally between the crews, with the surplus sold or exchanged for rice or solar batteries. Meals rarely change: rice, beans and grilled fish.
For now, the Vezo people continue to depend on the ocean that shaped them. Yet each year the distance they must travel increases and the risks increase.
As industrial fleets expand and reefs decline, an ancient maritime culture faces an uncertain horizon. Their struggle reflects a larger challenge across coastal Africa: how small communities can survive when the sea that supports them is changing so rapidly.
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The daughter of Hosoanay Natana and Soa Nomeny plays with her “sunglasses”. When she is older, she will help other girls and women look for octopus, sea urchins and sea cucumbers.
