We headed to the park fairly early. We stopped first to see the crocodiles which might have been a bit of a mistake as it might have been better to see the Ingris first and then again, it might not have mattered at all. The crocodiles lounged in the water of a large pool, all of them very large and all completely docile as crocodiles tend to be. The only time I've seen otherwise was in Vietnam when the keeper who was cleaning the cage of some youngers only about two meters long, was purposely abusing them by hosing them with water and hitting them with his broom. The large crocs were separated from the smaller ones enclosed in another, smaller pool higher up probably because they'd make a meal of their younger cousins. Our guide fed a Parsons chameleon which is always entertaining and then showed us a fossa. This is an interesting mammal whose body is shaped like a weasel and its head like a cat. They are one of the only enemies of the lemurs and extremely shy except when it comes to chickens and its for this reason that their lives are in danger. It lived in two cages with an underground passage from one area to the other through which it was always passing.
There was a bit of a drive to the Andasibe National Park where the indri are located. Right off the bat, we saw a bamboo lemur high up in the trees. A little further up the trail we began to hear the call of the indri, a spooky, hollow sound that can carry for up to two kilometres and it seemed to be coming from all aroun. We followed our guide off the path and, sure enough, when we were confronted with the presence of other tourists, we also saw the indri. M, the husband of K who we’re staying with describes their faces as that of yoda from Star Wars, a black faced yoda. Being high up in the trees we barely got a glimpse of them. Besides, their call, what also distinguishes these lemurs from others is their size, they're much larger, about size of a four year old. The trees sway when they jump from one to the other. Our guide got one that was seated in a tree just above our heads to start calling by playing their call on his cell phone and suddenly the forest was just ringing. They should package the sound. It's disturbing but also soothing.
The rest of the day was spent driving the rest of distance to Tamatave. It's disturbing to see the amount of land that's been slashed and burned and the level of poverty that the people are living in. Most live in huts made of wood sticks for the frame, weaved bamboo for the sides and dried rafia for the roof. (Rafia is a plant that grows close to the ground with large leaf like structures fanning from a stem that feels much like hard plastic to the touch.) The size of these houses wouldn't equal that of a small bedroom by western standards. Most stores carry very little in the way of manufactured merchandise (if any) and consist of the same material as the houses except without a fourth wall which is open to the street to display merchandise. A formal store that a person would enter is a rarity here.
We stopped in Brickaville for coffee. Romeo felt he needed one. Little wonder having to dodge pedestrians, pass tanker trucks, many headed to Ambatovy, the refinery that produces nickel on the coast. Ironically, despite it’s location right next to one of the country's biggest docks in Tamatave, all the oil that it uses must be shipped through Tana. I must admit to having been a bit alarmed at driving 80 kilometres or more through towns where people where the road had no shoulder and where it was usually lined with pedestrians and shops opened up no more than a couple of feet from the road’s edge.
While we were in one of the few restaurants we'd passed with the full complement of four walls, a group of boys hoisting cheap trophies and wearing relatively matching uniforms stopped at the front of the restaurant to show off their new hardware. Of course, they wanted some recognition from us of their new prize which K interpreted as free drinks. She bought them three cartons and I took their picture for posterity.
We didn't arrive in Tamatave until after dark which made driving through the towns particularly harrowing. From a distance, I thought that I'd seen the lights of the city but K had corrected me saying those were the lights from the plant. It's lit like many of the refineries we see in Edmonton however out here it provides a stark contrast to the darkness of the city surrounding it. First, we had to stop at the plant to pick up our ID badges. K was able to rouse the guard, a young Malagasy man who was eating his dinner. We were given forms, mostly filled out so all we had to do was sign it and receive our badges. Nicola was guest number 041 and I was 042. Ambatovy is a conglomerate made up of a number of companies of which Sherritt, for whom M works, owns 41%. It started in 2012 and started producing in 2014. M has been here for three years. The process starts here and involves processing in Cuba and Fort Saskatchewan according to the Sherritt website.
From the plant, we turned north toward the beach and drove beside a metal fence topped with razor wire. This is the operations camp for workers who come to work in Madagascar for six weeks and then return home for two. We then drive over a canal that extends along most of the western coast of Madagascar. It was built by the French and used for the transportation of goods. Unfortunately, it's not in a condition to be used to be used to transport heavy goods however It is used for movement by the local people and fishermen.
At the end of the canal is a 12 foot cement wall topped with both electric and razor wire. This is where the residents such as K and M live. It looks just like a prison with lookout towers on all four corners and two large gates, one on either side of the compound. This is the operations camp. This Is for workers who come in for six weeks and return home for two. At the south gate, guards take our badges and scan them in an office. Then Romeo gets out of the truck and removes his luggage leaving it by the guardhouse at the gate. Then, the gate opens and we drive through into the world of “Leave it to Beaver,” with single story bungalows and front lawns and a large park in front. There are no other streets, just one large loop so that it gives the illusion of size most of the bungalows are duplexes however there are a few separate homes for those individuals who have brought their families. Streetlights shine dimly from above.
Their duplex includes a great room that includes kitchen, dining room and living room plus two bedrooms and a four piece bathroom with a washer and drier inside. M was in the kitchen when we arrived. Being late, he'd eaten dinner but suggested that we go to the local bar. So, we dropped our stuff and went out for a walk on the compound. Steel shutters curtained all the windows on the community complex so I assumed the place was closed however M tried the door anyway. We were later to learn that the shutters are always down in the community centre as they are on most of the houses. M shut his when we got back to the house. It reminded me of one of those drug houses you see in the movies except it looks normal, Mayberry like, without the shutters.
We continued on our walk around the park past the school, the swimming pool, tennis courts and all the houses, about 20 in all. When we got back, M heated up some minestrone soup and poured some wine. He explained that security had been improved after a break in where a 54 inch colour television had been stolen among other items. It seems unlikely they could have hauled a device of such size over the wall so the guards were also considered suspect. A new company was hired to provide security and razor wire was added to the electric wire along the top. They have observed very little reticence by the people when it comes to stealing. K told us the night before that the Malagasy believe that sometimes God will leave something you need on the road which is meant to be taken. She says that the people have provided some flexibility to that story by thinking that something could also be behind a wall. M says so he can't really trust any of the Malagasys and adds that it's exhausting.
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