Holding Onto Hope In Madagascar

Text and Images by Yvette Oosthuizen

Some time ago I worked on developing a lemur documentary concept with a good filmmaker friend in Madagascar. It came to fruition and was commissioned! I’m so glad it was, because my deep hope is that it moves the dial, even if just a little, for the conservation of these beautiful, sentient creatures. But I digress before having begun! This meant that I could actually go to Madagascar, and that’s where my story begins. As with all things, it begins with the Ocean.

I’m an avid freediver and photographer in the kelp forests here in Cape Town, meaning that very often I sink into these cold, rich environments. There is such a joy that pervades the dive and emerging from it. The rest of the day is beautiful, and I relive the dive when I look through my images and share them with others. This joy I have felt in other locations in the world that I’ve dived too – born from the awe at the biodiversity and beauty that I see before me.

Not so Madagascar. When I put my face in the water there in the Nosy Be area, I was met with a holocaust. There have been two far-reaching coral bleaching events there since December, and I know that there have been huge bleaching and algal bloom events across the planet in a short time. On land, slash-and-burn farming has resulted in the primal forests full of lemurs that we imagine, being a patchwork of tiny pockets and a few reserves with dwindling wildlife species. In such an incredibly unique place. You can imagine how hard it hit me. My whole vocation is about wildlife and nature, my deepest love, the natural world and most especially the Ocean. I’m also a sensitive human. I went quite numb, I felt dulled, not myself, impotent. I contemplated the world while I watched kids whacking ghost crabs along the shoreline and women fishing with mosquito nets, alongside mangroves full of plastic. Crestfallen is a good word – definitely not joy.

There were moments of comfort during my trip to Madagascar. A black lemur putting his hands on my leg and sitting with me quietly and watching the antics of his troop while I shared those minutes with him, that was a joy. The dive with my friend in a beautiful remote spot that receives some colder current and still looks healthy, despite the region’s overfishing. The undisturbed hermit crabs making patterns in the sand and making me laugh. The Green and Hawksbill turtles who hung around with me while I hung around with them. The incredible columnar rock formations on the islands we passed by.

Yet, when I got home I was glum and muted – somehow this sadness was just too pervasive to shake. It was another event in a much bigger sadness about the environment for me. And here is how I came to terms, at least to some degree. I went to talk to an expert and realised that I was grieving. Because the greater natural environment is not a specific person or animal, I hadn’t clocked this properly. I did find some answers that I want to share with you too, because I know that many of you feel much the same. Did you know – your grief is completely valid. That’s what I want to tell you.

The depth of our grief reflects how very much we love the thing that we have lost or are losing. In a way it’s a testament and honour to that which we care so deeply for. All we can do is to let grief have its way with us and understand the fact that this is what we are truly experiencing. A creative outlet, like this article, or sharing photos that inspire others for example, also helps us. As I described above, beauty and wonderful moments were still there in Madagascar. Being present in those moments and understanding that now is also beautiful, helps too.

In a world where it’s easy to feel hopeless and unable to help, when it seems there’s no use in even trying, we can hold on to this: It’s a good thing to be good. Doing that one small thing you can, close-in, matters. Keep going, you’re not alone.