CHAPTER XII
RAMBLES IN THE UPPER FOREST
THERE are a number of paths in the forest which may be followed from the sanatorium, north, east and south, and with a considerable variety of scene. But it is easy to get lost in them, for I remember one day when a party of us set out for a morning’s walk, but could not find our way back, although we often caught sight of the house; and it was late in the afternoon before we at length got home, very tired and very hungry. Two of our friends, who were well acquainted with the neighbourhood, were lost in paths not very far from the sanatorium, and had to spend the night in the woods, making as comfortable a resting-place as they could with leaves and bracken, but getting no sleep from the multitude of mosquitoes. And a curious circumstance was, that the Malagasy from the house, who came out to seek for them, were afraid either to shout out loud to them, or to show the lights they carried, for fear of offending the lòlo, or spirits, which they think haunt the woods. Had they done either of these things, our friends would probably have escaped being benighted. Happily, the time of this adventure was in the dry season, or it might have had serious consequences.
From what has been said in [Chapters IV.] and [V.] about the difficult paths through the chief forest, it is not strange that the Malagasy have considerable dread of it and do not share in our admiration of its beauties. So one of their proverbs says: “Roa lahy miditra ala: ka izy tokiko, ary izaho tokiny”—that is, “Two men entering the forest: it’s ‘He’s my confidence, and I am his’”; the fact is that both are afraid. It is to them the “dark forest,” full of mystery and fear, and it may easily be imagined that before any practicable roads were made through it, it had much to inspire dread. One of the native hymns, often sung when the natives have friends going away to a distance, prays for protection for them in the forest and also in crossing the rivers, on account of the many things in both which may injure the traveller.[14]
A MADAGASCAR FOREST
It would probably be a very serious matter for a European to be lost for long in a Madagascar forest, for he would be entirely at a loss for food, and would most likely be unable to produce fire to cook anything he could find. To a Malagasy, however, especially one living in the neighbourhood of the woods, it would not matter so much, as there are several species of yam, which he would easily find. These Ovinàla are climbing plants common in the forest, belonging to the genus Dioscorea, and have very large edible tubers, which are much sought after by the people; their taste is similar to other yams which are so largely used as food in other parts of the world. In Drury’s “Adventures,” he speaks frequently of procuring these yams in the south-western forests; for, living many years, as he did, like a native in that part of the island, he became well versed in woodcraft and could live as the people lived.
A European would be equally puzzled as to obtaining fire to cook his yams, were he so fortunate as to find any; but a forest-dwelling Malagasy could easily produce fire by friction. Choosing two pieces of a particular kind of wood, he would cut one to the shape of a round stick with a pointed end; the other he would make into a flatter piece, in which a slight groove is cut. Taking hold of the pointed stick, the operator twirls it first one way and then another, until the friction produces smoke and then fire, which is communicated to a little tinder placed close to the point. Gently blowing upon the spark which is produced, the tinder bursts into flame, the whole operation occupying only a few minutes. There are special words for this mode of obtaining fire: mamòsitra, which is also used for the boring of a hole by an insect, or a chameleon, to deposit its eggs; and miraingy, the pieces of wood being called raingy. But it may be feared that the universal use of Swedish matches will soon render this means of producing fire one of the lost arts.
To tend a fire is, in Malagasy, to misòrona àfo; and since misòrona also means “to exercise a priestly function,” it looks as if this word or phrase was a relic of ancient reverence for fire as a sacred thing, a feeling which is found in the customs and speech of many peoples.
WATERFALLS
In several directions there are beautiful waterfalls, to which a pleasant picnic excursion may be made. One of these is called “Tsi-màharé-rìtsoka,” which means, “Where a whisper cannot be heard,” for indeed, when near it, you must bawl as loud as you can to be heard at all; this fall is a succession of cascades, coming down from a considerable height. At another place a large body of water pours at one sweep over a great ledge of rock, perhaps thirty feet deep. And along the automobile road, only a few yards from it up a little valley leading into the main valley of the river Mandràka, we were fortunate one day to discover a most lovely waterfall of considerable height in the midst of dense wood, with a large pool of water at its foot, where a delightful bathe might be taken; an ideal place for a summer day. But the largest and grandest waterfall, and within a little over an hour’s walk from the sanatorium, is really an artificial one; for in making the automobile road to Tamatave along the Mandràka valley, the river was diverted from a circuitous course over a number of rapids, and brought by a short-cutting over a nearly sheer fall of about a hundred and fifty feet, where it pours down a magnificent body of water, with a roar and clouds of spray that wet everything for a long way round. The sides of the cutting are being rapidly covered with vegetation from the constant moisture, so that in a short time it will have all the effect of a natural fall. The noise is tremendous, and the fall can be seen from several points on the main road.